Kriss-mass-time, etc.

"Kriss-mass-tahm, don' let the belzend..kriss-mass-tahm, don' let the belzend..."

Spockfingers is giving it plenty welly this morning. We had a marathon festive lock-in at the Puff Inn last night, and I don't mind telling you I feel like death warmed up...might tell you all about it later...

the debt-bringer

Blimey we've had a strange few days. As soon as Geoffrey finished waterproofing and "caulking" (as I believe those familiar with such goings on call it) the coracle, we put on our wellies and sou' westers and set off in a dreadful storm the other afternoon, just as sun was setting.
Rather than boringly pushing off from the rocks in the Bay below, as we normally would, we decided to try a new, exciting type of launch. We enlisted help from our neighbours, the T-G and Apsley and Cherry. Then Geoffrey and I sat in the coracle and waited for a suitably powerful gust of wind; when one arrived, our helpers pushed us in a windward direction, i.e. Over The Top - and off we flew, sailing out and over the Bay, carried by the storm in the general direction of Over There.
Anyway - we were heading for Cuba, so we were hoping that the wind would carry us in a westerly direction, for some considerable distance. If that occurred, and with any luck, we reckoned we'd definitely overshoot Over There, thus avoiding all the concomitent ghastlinesses such as the Speedispend Hypermarket and compulsory health screening centre, and so forth. But as it happened the wind shifted direction and forced us northwards. We now find ourselves just to the north west of Over There, and on course for Greenland rather than Cuba. Oh dear. To make matters worse, we seem to be just within range of the Speedispend magnet-style Xmas shopping victim detector and grab radar, (known as "the debt-bringer")so we are having to scull for our lives just to stay in the same place - if we give up for a second, we'll be sucked into the terrible vortex that is Speedispend. We can even hear the tinny blare of Xmas carols and pop tunes being played incessantly like some sort of ghastly medieval noise torture...
"Keep sculling, Geoffrey! for pity's sake keep sculling!"

Well, the weather's calmed down a bit and so have I, now that the immediate threat to my person has passed. This is because I managed to survive Solstice night. According to custom Hereabouts, if a person gets through the night without being seized, then the sentence is null and void, and life goes on as normal. Normal! how can I live a normal life, knowing that the entire community has voted me least popular person? I suppose I just have to count my blessings, and appreciate good friends like Geoffrey. Nevertheless, I shall always be wondering what is really going on behind the mask of civility.
Geoffrey and I have sent off our letters to Sanity Claws. He usually pays us a visit Christmas Eve, but he's a strange character and one can never be sure quite what to expect. He doesn't bother trying to squeeze himself down chimneys these days, and just thumps on the door shouting "I'm gagging on a madeira" or some such, then barges in and flings himself on the settee in a melodramatic fashion. I wouldn't mind, but more often than not he gets all the presents mixed up, or fails to bring anything at all - we're last on his list, Hereabouts, so we often end up receiving the oddest conglomeration of items. Sanity says the rest of the leftover stuff goes on Ebay.
Anyway, we'll see what this evening brings. Geoffrey and I will be relaxing by the fire before the rigours of the forthcoming social whirl - Fulmars tomorrow, Tupfinders on Boxing Day.

draft letter to sanity claws

Dear Sanity,
Please may I have the following or as much of the following as you can manage.
Twelve crates Duke of Clarence style madeira, industrial strength - or equiv. in butts. (year's supply)
7 x 52 Fisher and Donaldson steak pies to be delivered on daily basis so as to avoid staleness
7 x 52 Fisher and Donaldson fudge dough nuts - to be delivered as above
12 crates of korn bif
12 crates luncheon meat
12 boxes "Black Bogey" pipe tobacco
replacement Meerschaum pipe
12 boxes ammunition for muskets - you never know
new set of muskets - again, you never know
2 prs. wooly socks
2 prs slippers - non-slip soles
If you bring me the food part, I won't have to stoop to using supplies stolen from the smuggler's tunnels. Which can only be of benefit to the wholoe community and reduce risk of me being voted "most unpopular" again next year.
Much obliged! Will leave usual sustenance by the grate.

solstice slump

Geoffrey and I are feeling under the weather at the moment. We think it's probably the annual "solstice slump", so are administering the usual remedies to each other i.e. Fisher and Donaldson steak pies and regular ingestion of Duke of Clarence-style madeira, industrial strength.
The Tupfinder generals are having open house on Boxing Day, so goodness knows who might turn up. Geoffrey and I are going of course - wouldn't miss out on free grub, despite Mrs T-G's sausage rolls leaving a lot to be desired. I think I'll take the muskets the Tupfinder lent me, just in case Tuppence arrives mob-handed. Always best to prepare for the worst.
On Christmas Day we've been invited to a slap up lunch/BBQ at the Fulmars. Again, we won't turn down free food, but we do have doubts as to how our digestions will cope, and are stocking up on bisodal. Menu is to include deep fried turkey and chipolatas with BBQ sos, and Xmas pud. flambeed in meths.
On Christmas Eve, Geoffrey and I plan to have the evening entirely to ourselves, sitting in our customary and beloved shabby armchairs at either side of the fire, at the rocky outcrop. We'll be preparing stockings for each other. Last year, Geoffrey was disgusted with me because I'd bulked out his stocking with some stale monkey nuts and a dried up satsuma - I did get him a Cliff Richard CD as well, and a pair of bed socks - but the monkey nuts and satsuma have rankled and he's not properly forgiven me. So, I have to think of something better this year. It's easy for him - my stocking is for some reason, half the size of his. So, a packet of wotsits and a handful of Quality Street and it's practically full up.
But before then, there is the main event of the year, which is the winter solstice, at which time fires are lit all along the cliffs and everyone makes merry. It's also the time when, traditionally Hereabouts, we throw people we don't like "over the top" (see previous posts). It goes like this. There is a secret ballot, and everyone votes for the person they like least. The Tupfinder general collates the votes. No-one knows who the most disliked person Hereabouts is - sometimes Stormy Petrel opens a book on it, and last year, Dr Wilson was favourite to go, and go he did, though not quite as or when expected - (see previous posts) ANYWAY - the Tupfinder hog-ties whoever the unfortunate person is, and does the deed - i.e. chucks them over the cliffs.
I'm not sure if that is going to happen this year. No-one has mentioned it - at least, not in my presence...I tried to discuss the subject when we were at the Puff Inn recently, but everyone avoided my eye and began talking about something else...what can it mean?

sa-a-a-aa-yah-ah-lint na-a-a-aht, ho-o-o-o-ley na-aa-a-ht

"slee-ee-e-e-e-e-ee-e-e--epin' in he-ee-vvinleeeeee-e-ee-e- pe-e-e-ee-e-e-YEEEECE...sle-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-pin' in hevvinleee peeeeeeeeece.."
So sings Mr Spockfingers, unfortunately. He's as tuneless as ever. How did I cope, when we were trapped in the belly of the whale together, for a fortnight? I can only imagine that it's because I'm such a tolerant and resourceful person - easy going, and modest with it...but oh dear! what am I saying? Geoffrey insists I've not to boast. I must say however that Spockfingers' wind problem has settled down a bit - so I'm thankful for small mercies. Mind you, he did create my escape route from belly of said whale - albeit unwittingly....(see previous posts - sorry about this).. by letting rip an almighty - but I'm forgetting myself again.
We had a "lovely" evening at the Fulmars last night, watching the X factor final. Spockfingers got very emotional. He went through two rolls of Apsley and Cherry's "Bounty" thirst pockets kitchen roll. Geoffrey kindly contributed several packets of doritos he'd picked up at the tourist car park - not too soft, either, although most had been opened. The Tupfinder brought some sausage rolls, charcoal flavour, baked by Mrs T-G - Mrs T-G never leaves Tupfinder Towers, so obviously did not accompany him, and we appreciated her gesture. I brought a cherry madeira - well, what was left of it.
We thought we would be spared a BarBQ due to time of year - but no, Apsley had a massive gas burning stove all set up on the decking outside the conservatory right next to an enormous Christmas tree - see photo - so once again we had to endure the korn bif and pineapple kebabs with a salad cream coulis.
After the show was over we all headed for the Puff Inn. Stormy had a new batch of madeira just delivered. Apparently, the tunnels are back in use. Word is, that Tuppence is now head honcho of the Other End of the smuggling operation - he's taken over from the rats. The Tupfinder is worried about what he might get up to next.
"Smuggling madeira is one thing, Tuppy, " he confided," but cold blooded murder...that's quite another!"
I gulped. Murder? Whatever next?