a pig flu

I'm afraid Dave and Valerie refused our invite to a BBQ at the Fulmars, and furthermore didn't like our "general attitude", which they found slack and degenerate! apparently, we are completely lacking in knowledge of our local ecology never mind that of the "planet" and we need to be "re-brained".
Clearly this won't do - and we aren't taking this lying down, or even "feet up on the sofa" - but more of that later. As regular readers would expect, we are having a top level meeting with the Tupfinder to discuss a riddance plan over a glass or two of madeira. But there is a bit of a problem at the moment - we can't actually get out! Dave and Valerie have decreed that as we are not humanoid like them, we are a massive pig flu threat and we have therefore been quarantined, at the outcrop. (It might also have something to do with the powerful reek of rotting pork emanating from the back of our oven...)Dave's using a surveillance camera to ensure we stay put, and if we don't we're going to be hit with a tranquilliser dart and shipped over to the hulks, and we know what ghastliness happens there, having rescued all these sheep from the jaws of death just last year (see gazetteer for "hulks" and previous posts for the rescue drama)!
The likes of Dave Nark isn't going to get the better of us. He's clearly raving. We're resourceful characters and will be out of here in a trice. Fortunately, we have spades and have started a tunnel - we hope it will link up eventually with one of the many others in the tunnel system in the cliffs (see gazetteer), and we'll be able to escape via the landmark on the cliffs known locally as the "sow's purse" (well it is now, and it will be added to the gazetteer forthwith).
Of course, before we hit on the idea of digging our way out, we were feeling quite "boared" and so we had a game of "backGAMMON" until we got "pig sick" of it. I'm sure Wilson will be working on a "cure" for pig flu but he's bound to make a "pig's ear" of it. It's high time he got the "chop". I've heard the symptoms of pig flu include crackling in the ears. Instructions for taking remedies involve "swilling" down some medicine with a bucket of water....

new neighbours are utter swine

We've got new neighbours. Two eco-style warriors have set up home in a yurt in the tourist car park. They're called Dave and Valerie Nark, and they want all of us to get our roofs and pipes lagged, and cavity walls insulated, or they'll do something terrible. They announced through a loudhailer that we're destroying our environment, and if we don't do as they say, they will spray the area with the deadly pig plague virus. That way, the environment will be free from our contamination and abuse.
Obviously this is a bit worrying, but we think if worst comes to worst, we can ask the dreaded Wilson to manufacture "vaccine" from the dead pig behind oven - yes, it's still there - we can't move it, it weighs a ton. We'll just have to leave it till it rots away completely.
We can't possibly get our walls etc. insulated - the Outcrop is "traditional-build" i.e. draughty and full of holes - it would be a case of rebuilding the entire place, and that is utterly unthinkable.
We're going to try and get Dave and Valerie along to a BBQ at the Fulmars, this weekend weather permitting - although they do have supercharged patio heaters, so weather doesn't really matter - to see if we can get them to mellow out a bit.

dead flying pig source of horrible pong

We found the source of the horrible pong - there was a dead pig behind the oven. Geoffrey says that his cousin Ranald (Ranald Wand'ring Albatrosse) has seen pigs flying about willy nilly all over the shop, and we can only think that one of them passed away and plummeted to earth, via our holey roof, and landed behind our oven. When I say "passed away", there is a bullet hole in the pig's skull. The only guns Hereabouts belong to the Tupfinder general - and of course Tuppence stole the Tupfinder's old service revolver from the vitrine some while back ( see previous posts)
The Tupfinder still has a brace of pistols, but I can't really see him firing them at pigs. We can only hope that Tuppence does not come looking for his "bag". Well, if he does, he will get more than he bargained for (I say bravely). We've dug a deadfall outside the front door, just in case.
He won't be expecting that! neither will anyone else, of course - which could be a problem...

spring cleaning

Due to extreme nature of pong, we decided we had to do some spring cleaning, so Geoff and I put on our pinnies and Marigolds and got down to it.
We ended up having to use a blow torch for some of it - burnt on grease etc. - losing the general "patina" in the process - I'm not sure if the place looks better or worse.
We've got rid of the smell at any rate - when we pulled out the oven, you'll never guess what we found...

smell a rat

Geoff and I have been sleeping off the effects of a "lock in" at the Puff Inn - Stormy decided to push the boat out in honour of my and Geoffrey's return last evening, and he fetched an extra couple of barrels of madeira from the cellar - not to mention a few rounds of Purple Peril. I don't remember much after 8pm (we'd been there since lunch) - I know we staggered home eventually around dawn, as I can just recall the dawn chorus being in full cry just as I was dropping off.
I'm not sure if this really happened or if I dreamt it - but I think Granny Sooker made a rare appearance, carrying a basket of plants for sale - absinthe - which she's been growing in her "garden" or rather, outside laboratory. Geoff and me must have purchased a few stems - anyway there's something green, fibrous and slimy soaking in an old zinc bath at the back door - we'll leave it to macerate for a while longer, then distill it down once we've got all the goodness out of it. Might be nice at Christmas - if we can wait that long!
We awoke this morning to an increasingly terrible "pong". At first we attributed it to our own breath, both of our mouths not being in tip top shape after last night's bacchanalia - but after cleaning our teeth and checking our extremities I'm afraid to say the smell was still very much in evidence. We realise we're going to have to track it down - okay, we can often open windows at this time of year, but the weather isn't always this clement - this will undoubtedly mean doing some pulling out of furniture, lifting of lids etc.
Can't face it today - but will have to see if we can find the strength tomorrow. Goodness knows what we will find.

no go with the camper van

Cherry got a lucky break this week, vis a vis her diet (see previous posts). Somerfield have got Nik Naks on special, so she's been buying them up by the pallet-load.
Geoffrey and I had a swatch at the camper van ( see two posts ago). Sadly it is a very rusty piece of kit indeed, so virtually unsalvageable, and certainly no use as a TTD - it would never, ever withstand the rigours of being blasted into another dimension. To be honest, Geoff and I are quite relieved - the amount of sanding down and "filling" we'd have had to do doesn't bear thinking about. We were also a bit nervous about the time travelling part, to be frank. Last time out, Tuppence had the helm, and we didn't really pay much attention to what he was doing with the theodolite and the sextant - so, we were far from certain that we would be able to navigate without his assistance. Goodness knows where we might have ended up. Geoff's always wanted to visits his relatives in the Southern Ocean, but it doesn't appeal to me.
We did have a look inside the thing, but in its fragile rusty condition it wouldn't take both our weights and the innards dropped out. I think there's a chemical toilet left in there, which someone might find useful, and we managed to find some old tins of this and that - sardines, Granny's tomato soup, All Day Breakfast, and so forth. There were pineapple cubes as well, but we left those.
So, we're going to have to transfer our allegiance from Fisher and Donaldson to somewhere else - we're thinking of trying Goodfellow and Steven, and then the Tower bakery.

we decide to resurrect the TTD

Geoffrey and I have decided we can't live without Fisher and Donaldson pies and cakes. Obviously Cherry Fulmar feels the same way - and by the look of Apsley's waistline, he does too.
So, as we sipped a glass of madeira while watching the sunset last evening, puffing steadily on our pipes and listening to the reassuring crackling of the fire, an idea popped into our heads - mine and Geoffrey's, that is. Viz., we think that if we can manage to resurrect the time travelling device - or TTD - it could prove most convenient for travelling back in time, just a week or two to when Fisher and Donaldson were still open Hereabouts. We could then pick up fudge doughnuts and steak pies whenever we felt like it. Another advantage popped into MY head - we could probably get away with not paying for them as well. But I kept that to myself - meantime.
Readers will remember that last summer Tuppence made the original TTD out old korn bif tins. It got powered up by sunlight reflecting on to the panels and causing a combustive reaction with the poofoo valves. We were then able to effect a rescue of all the sheep and other animals stranded on the hulks half way between Hereabouts and Over there. After that, we had to invent a milking device...but readers will have to go back and consult previous posts for use thereof, diagrams etc.etc.
ANYWAY - word from the Puff Inn tells me that there's an abandoned camper van up in the tourist car park - quite an eyesore and it needs to be removed anyway - Geoff and I reckon we could fix it up into a new and improved TTD. We wouldn't even need the poofoo valves - we could power it up using the Fulmar's generator.
That's if we can be bothered of course!!

wilson makes himself unpopular - again

I changed my mind - I won't describe the blast produced by Mr Spockfingers after all. I've decided to err on the side of good taste - as usual. (Also, cannot be "arsed".) Suffice to say, it worked - but there was a ghastly mess to clean up, and can I also say that I won't be able to face cabbage for a very very long time ( not much of a hardship!). Readers will recall that the first plan mooted was to flood the tunnels with raw sewage - and we decided against, due to reasons of mess and concern that our supplies of madeira would be contaminated (unthinkable). Well, the Spockfingers option must have rivalled that unpleasant scenario, and we had to spend hours flushing the caves and tunnels out with buckets of pine scented Flash and hosing down the crates of madeira and korn bif. There's still a bit of a smell actually.
However, I think I can mention without fear of offending anyone much, that my announcement, a couple of posts back, of Cherry Fulmar's forthcoming "happy event" was a bit previous. Turns out that her "bulge" is due to an increasingly severe food addiction, to Fisher & Donaldson fudge doughnuts, scampi flavoured fries and Nik Naks to be precise. The Fisher & Donaldson aspect has already been taken out of her hands, as the local branch has closed down. There isn't another F & S outlet for more than 20 miles. This is a bit of a pain for me and Geoffrey as we too are partial to a fudge doughtnut - or "F.D." - not to mention their steak pies and coffee/chocolate towers. Gloom.
Stormy Petrel of course has a monopoly on scampi fries and Nik Naks, and the prices he charges for buying them over the bar are outrageous quite frankly. Cherry has become so desperate that she has resorted to burglary and is raiding his cellars at night - the poor thing - of course Geoffrey and I would never stoop to that kind of pathetic criminal-style behaviour ( see previous posts for total contradiction)
anyway - as if that wasn't bad enough, the ghastly cave-dwelling doom-merchant Dr Wilson has thought fit to poke his horrible self-righteous nose in and lecture poor Cherry about her spiralling obesity problem and the risk of diabetes, heart disease and stroke. Bad enough that he's been bad-mouthing me and Geoffrey about our fondness for madeira and tobacco. Irritatingly he always proclaims that he's making these pronouncements "for our own goods", but that won't wash. It's obvious he's just worried about having an increase in his own future workload - plus, there is a terrible unholy joy about him whenever he climbs up on his soapbox, which is rather alarming. Really he should be worried about whether or not he's going to get a punch in the face - not that anyone Hereabouts is violent like that, and not that I would personally recommend that very physical type of reaction, especially when Wilson is clearly unhinged.
But I do think that we should consider chucking him over the top ( see gazetteer and previous posts). Titus, the horse, did that last year (see previous posts) if you ask me he did us all a favour - it's just a shame that Wilson scrambled back up again. Another option would be to banish him to the time space anomaly zone. I intend to discuss that fully with Geoffrey and the Tupfinder over a extra large glass or two of madeira this very evening.
Geoffrey and I have decided to help Cherry in the best way we can - by planning a raid ourselves on Stormy's overstocked cellars, and obtaining for her as many cartons of Nik Naks and scampi fries as we can. We're also going to lobby Fisher and Donaldson to see if they will re-open a shop nearby, so we don't all wither away to scrawny shadows like SOME people we could mention, namely Wilson.

mr spockfingers helps out

I had a brainwave on Saturday night. Just as the Tupfinder was sorting through his collection of antique "Boer War"-style fuses, and rooting around in his vitrine for the gelignite, while muttering "I'm sure I had some nitro-glycerine around somewhere..." I suggested another solution to the moog concreted in to the wall problem. I'm certain the Tupfinder knows what he's doing around explosives, but it was all getting a tad out of hand for my comfort.

Anyway, my suggestion was as follows.

a) track down Mr Spockfingers and get him in an obliging mood by asking him to sing a few songs of his own choosing

b) feed him up with copious amounts of beans/stovies/cabbage

c) take a flame thrower (lighter too dangerous - does not allow room for running away) down to the cave with the moog, along with Mr Spockfingers

d) I think I need say no more - you know where I'm going with this. Regular readers will recall my escape from the belly of the whale, after being blasted out with the assistance of Mr Spockfingers and my lighter. (see previous posts)

The Tupfinder general was a bit dubious - also miffed because he felt he was being sidelined by a petomaniac Highland cow - his main criticism being that Spockfingers blast would not have the pinpoint accuracy of his own. He also argued that due to the likely amount of methane produced, there was a severe risk of blowing a hole in the actual ozone layer directly above our heads. Personally I'm not sure about that - I think the methane will neutralise after being set light to. Nevertheless, when out of doors I've taken the precaution of wearing an old beekeeper's outfit which I found in the Tupfinder's secret room, when his back was turned. There was an old bottle of nitro glycerine in one of the pockets - I took the liberty of disposing of it as I thought it rather dangerous - I chucked it "over the top" as is our wont Hereabouts ( see previous posts and gazetteer) There was the most humungous blast as it hit the rocks at the bottom - just below Dr Wilson's cave - how terribly unfortunate!! tee hee!!

anyway - Mr Spockfingers' performed up to his usual standard and the whole thing went off - or up - beautifully. Full account will be given in next post.

moog-generator-Fulmar's-cable-style problem

Well, we haven't quite solved the "moog-cable-Fulmar's generator" problem, but almost. I suppose this is what some might say is the "cup-half-full-cup-half-empty" paradigm - but not me. I don't like these "either or" things. I'm more a "shades of grey" person. Tuppence always despised me for it and used to tell me that I'm criminally lacking in moral fibre. I suppose he could be right, but moral fibre-style decision-making seems to require such a lot of brain effort, and frankly I can't be bothered. Perhaps some people know immediately what's right or wrong, but not me. I'd rather blow with the prevailing wind. It can lead me into some difficult, perhaps morally compromising situations, but I can generally winkle my way out of them by flattery, bribery, cheating and/or fibbing. Why not! After all I've had lots of practice! and it's done me no harm! Mind you I was voted "least popular" in the solstice poll last year (see previous posts) and have been ostracised by the local community on several occasions...perhaps people are trying to tell me something? but personally, I believe that the poll results say more about the harsh and judgmental nature of those voting rather than those voted for or against i.e. me...anyway, personally I think the "truth" is pretty elastic in nature. Why make life harder by sticking to it, specially when no-one really knows what it is. Least of all me.
Anyway I'm rambling too much. Back to the moog problem. Apsley managed to track down the tape recorder, and managed to neutralise it by snipping through the tape with a pair of nail scissors. The cable connecting it to the Fulmar's generator was unfortunately concreted in to the cave wall, and the recorder was jammed right up against said wall, also concreted in, so it wasn't possible to cut the cable as we'd planned. We're going to have to go back tonight with some gelignite to blow the thing off. It's the only possible solution. The Tupfinder's got "jelly", fuses, the lot, so it shouldn't be a problem...

minstrel not in the gallery

Well, no joy at the bins. I was forgetting myself - I got carried away with it being so mild for a day or two, but really it's a bit early in the season for visitors and the camper vans haven't arrived as yet. Rich pickings when they do - they seem to chuck all sorts of things away. Not that we want their old bras and "snuff movies " - even if someone was glad of them last year and auctioned them off on "an internet auction site" with great success. Goodness only knows what kind of customer feedback rating they got for that lot but I suppose it takes all sorts. Manners prevent me saying who it was who sold them but they live just along the cliffs, wear matching fleece robes, and are upwardly mobile - how do you imagine they pay for all these home improvements? latest acquisition - purchased from said auction site, presumably - is a set of industrial power tools - the chain saw is going like the clappers night and day just now and my head is splitting - mind you, it does drown out Tuppence's moog. But more of that later.
Despite the cold snap Spring is in the air and word from the Puff Inn tells me that Cherry Fulmar is expecting. Apsley has been busy refurbishing the Old Rectory AGAIN - hence chainsaw racket problem - what he's doing to it I really don't know, after all they've got every possible mod con, stone cladding, decking, gas fired BBQ, summer house, mini-greenhouse (empty - just for show), water butt, faux rose arbour, not to mention the security lights - but I suppose they're redecorating a spare room as a nursery or something.
re. Tuppence's on-going moog drama - word from the Puff Inn tells me that he isn't actually playing it in person - he's set up a loop tape or some modern equivalent, which plays incessantly while he's off enjoying himself somewhere else. We were wondering when he'd wear his fingers out playing the keyboard solo from Tull's Minstrel in the Gallery. It should be a fairly simple matter to disconnect the moog from the Fulmar's generator - all we have to do is find the right cable...

we rescue geoffrey

Matters came to a head with Geoffrey and we had to intervene before he killed himself. The Grim Reaper was hovering in the background with a horrible leering grin as we - me, the Tupfinder, Apsley and Cherry - approached. What we did was this. Geoffrey was cycling at a terrific pace, and it would have proved impossible if not dangerous just to seize him in mid-flow, so the Tupfinder found a pole, and shoved it between the spokes of the front wheel - this halted the bike immediately, and Geoffrey was thrown headfirst over the handlebars - we caught him in a blanket and no harm done.
Since then we've been nursing him round the clock. As well as suffering from shock and severe dehydration his breathing is erratic and he's running a high fever. For a ghastly moment or two I feared the worst - i.e. that I'd have to consult Dr Wilson re. Geoffrey's condition - however, the Tupfinder thinks he'll recover in time, so no need for that.
Tuppence is probably attempting to plug his moog into the Fulmar's generator again, but if the silence is anything to go by, he hasn't yet managed it. Hopefully we'll all manage to enjoy a brief respite from the bleeding from our ears.
I know that crisps are probably not the best thing for Geoffrey's health at the moment, but I'm certain that even the sound of a rustling packet will cheer him up, so I'm off to scour the bins at the tourist car park. Embarrassing, but it will be worth it just to see the look on Geoffrey's face.

kill two birds with one stone

Kill two birds with one stone, somebody once said. Well, I don't know about two, but I think I can be fairly certain that ONE bird is sailing pretty close to the wind.
Geoffrey's obsessive anxiety about his waistline has driven him clean out of his mind - well, that's just my opinion, going by his behaviour.
What happened is this. We had a meeting - me, Geoffrey, the Tupfinder general, and the Fulmars - to discuss what to do about Tuppence's persistent draining of the Fulmar's electric system. Not to mention the racket. We decided after some heated argey bargey that flooding the tunnels with raw sewage was not a great idea. For one thing, Wilson still inhabits a cave in the cliffs, and he would be none too pleased if any of the effluent contaminated his living quarters - which it would - especially if I was directing the flow. ( see previous posts re. my hatred of Wilson)
During the discussion I'd noticed that Geoffrey was becoming increasingly agitated and I was amazed when he refused a top up of madeira. He was clearly very out of sorts. Eventually he sprang to his feet and declared "I will kill two birds with one stone" and flew out of the window immediately.
Apsley and Cherry were alarmed, thinking that he was referring to them, but nevertheless flew after him, and reported later that they'd seen him fly into the tunnel entrance at the old coastguard hut - Tuppence's hideout - word later reached us that in what seems to be a desperate attempt to lose weight he's since been cycling hell for leather on one of the rats exercise bikes (previously used to power up the moog at the lunchtime gig at the Puff Inn some weeks ago) and Tuppence has taken advantage and connected it up to the moog. This means that the Fulmars are no longer having their electrics drained, so obviates the raw sewage option, but we are still left with the problem of the racket.
Not to mention Geoffrey's mental and physical health - he's been cycling without a break for days, and the sweat is lashing off him - we're very concerned indeed.

trendy

Readers will be anxious to know how Geoffrey is getting on with defeating his terrible crisp addiction. At New Year, he resolved to lay off crisps due to concerns re. his rising blood pressure, but his willpower is awfully weak. He still can't pass a layby without having a good rake in the bins. Now as well as sky high BP, he's worried about rampant middle aged spread.
"I'm turning into a gutbucket, Tuppy", he wailed. "I can't get into my white lycra bell bottoms any more - without looking grotesque."
"Just get a bigger size," I said absently - I'm bored with his constant whingeing about his age and appearance.
Obviously this didn't satisfy his need for sympathy and he blurted out his pathetic concerns to Cherry Fulmar when we went along to the Old Rectory to discuss the sewage-flooding-the-tunnels plan. "Wear a kaftan like I do. Paisley pattern. A nice big design, in towelling or chenille. Great for the chilly evenings, and so versatile," she said, yawning and passing him a sack of chilli heatwave doritos.
"But I want to look TRENDY!" he wailed.
"Your trendy days are over, Geoff," said Apsley, patting him on the shoulder. "You might as well accept it."
I had to agree with him. But Geoffrey clearly didn't. I detected a distinct glint in his eye, as he stared disdainfully at Cherry and Apsley's matching fleece housecoats.

Tuppence's hideout

Tuppence has been rehearsing in the tunnels again - the old coastguard hut (see above) looks really small, but the tunnels underneath are vast, labyrinthine and cavernous, so he has plenty of room to create utter havoc with his moog. The rats flatly refused to use the bikes to power it up, so Tuppence ingeniously managed to tap into the Fulmars electric generator (see previous posts) and syphon off some of the supply. This obviously leaves them short, and their security lights keep flickering. The Fulmars are definitely getting the worst of it - on top of the electric problem, with the old rectory being on the cliffs, the noise is causing them sleepless nights and it's all been getting a bit on top of them this past week.
Something will have to be done - we've had our differences with Apsley and Cherry over the years, especially over their security lights ( see previous posts) but the racket from the tunnels is horrendous and we're all very sympathetic to their current plight - the Tupfinder's all for setting up a task force to root Tuppence out of his lair, but that could prove difficult, given the enormity of the tunnel system.
Apsley suggested using the sewage system somehow - as readers might remember, it caused a bit of a mess when raw sewage was accidentally pumped through the Fulmar's jakoosy (see previous posts) - it might just be possible to flood the tunnels with sufficient effluent to flush Tuppence out. HOWEVER - downside is, that the stocks of madeira and korn bif would be at serious risk of spoilage.
We're going to mull the whole thing over this evening, over a glass or two of madeira.