Spockfingers has been giving it laldy at the Puff Inn most nights recently. It must be the Spring air or something. Unfortunately he got hold of a 1980s songbook as part of a Speedispend special offer/from off some minging skip somewhere, and his top three are as follows (brace yourselves and have a bucket handy):
"Take My Breath Away" by Berlin
"Power of Love" by Jennifer Rush
"Lady in Red" by Chris de Burgh
It's driving everyone nuts - to the extent that people are running willy nilly towards the cliff edge in order to escape the ghastly racket. Consequently, the cliffs have started to crumble and "snap off" - we're at risk of disappearing into the sea...
Monday, 17 May 2010
Sunday, 16 May 2010
The Special Freshness Device
Just a quick "biscuit addendum" - here's what we call our "Special Freshness Device" - or "tin". Simply put your opened packet of biscuits in the device, or tin, and close the lid. They should keep for weeks.
However - word of warning - if following the "impress visitors" option, please be aware that your biscuit wrapper MIGHT become crumpled in the confines of the device, thus raising suspicions among visitors, that you are "pulling a fast one" vis a vis biscuit quality. It's up to you what you do next, but personally I'd have a back up plan.
The Special Freshness Device
Just a quick "biscuit addendum" - here's what we call our "Special Freshness Device" - or "tin". Simply put your opened packet of biscuits in the device, or tin, and close the lid. They should keep for weeks.
However - word of warning - if following the "impress visitors" option, please be aware that your biscuit wrapper MIGHT become crumpled in the confines of the device, thus raising suspicions among visitors, that you are "pulling a fast one" vis a vis biscuit quality. It's up to you what you do next, but personally I'd have a back up plan.
Biscuit of the Week - the McVitie's milk chocolate digestive
Glitch having un-glitched itself (along with multiple clumps of my hair) here we go with biscuit of the week - the McVitie's Digestive (milk chocolate). £1.20 for a big pack, this is not bad value. However, the actual "Value" brands taste much the same, and are a quarter of the price, so here's a handy money-saving tip. If you want to impress visitors, keep the empty McVitie's packet - in as good condition as you can - and fill it with the "Value" biscuits. Make sure the "McVitie's" label is to the fore when you proffer the packet.
Tuppence takes a liberty
Tuppence arrived this morning, willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave. Haven't seen him for ages - and for once, he seemed not to be armed to the teeth. Instead, he was clutching a piece of paper, which someone with "leccy" had printed off their "computer".
"Uncle Tuppy, uncle Tuppy," he shouted. "Over on Shatner's Toupee, they have suggested that "toups" or "toup-like material" could/should be used to clear up the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought maybe when you get sheared next month, you could use your spare wool to mop up the overspill from the Fulmar's cesspit? everyone complains about the stench once the weather heats up - and the flies!!"
"Yes all right Tuppence. We get the picture", I said testily. I hate people mentioning my wool, and the annual shearing. It's terribly embarrassing - a personal issue, which I loathe discussing. "But what I do with my spare wool is my own business, thank you. Anyway, what are you babbling about all that for at this ungodly hour? it's not half ten yet and I'm still in my P.J.s. Wait till I put the kettle on and fire up my pipe. And by the way - where are your pistols?" (Tuppence usually has a brace of pistols stuck in his belt).
"Right here, uncle Tuppy!" he shrilled, whipping them out from somewhere around ankle level. I glanced downwards.
"Where in the name of the T-G did you get THOSE? are you wearing them for a bet?"
"One of the rats stowed away on a ship bound for the Americas, and brought them back with him when he returned," explained Tuppence proudly, twirling round to show off an enormous pair of cowboy boots. "A souvenir of his trip. I took them off him in exchange for a debt. They're real snakeskin."
"You're not money-lending again?" I said worriedly. I'd heard that Tuppence was cashing in on the credit crunch. Geoffrey and I don't use actual money, and neither do many folks Hereabouts, but Tuppence often travels to Overthere, and gets up to "Allsorts" - none of it good.
"Yes uncle Tuppy. I've been up to no good again, money lending to prisoners on the hulks (see gazetteer for details). To people who can't possibly pay me back - and I don't care! I always get my pound of flesh in the end! ha -ha-ha!!" he laughed coldly. He then proceeded to turn his back to the fireplace, close his eyes and aim the pistols over each shoulder with arms crossed.
"Not again," wailed Geoffrey, hiding under the table and covering his eyes.
"I'm afraid so," I sighed, reaching for the sal volatile.
Readers will recall that some time ago Tuppence managed to write the letter "T" above our fireplace, in bullet holes. Well, he managed it again on this occasion - and I must say his aim is excellent - specially given he had his eyes closed.
"The bullets went in exactly the same holes as last time!" we chorused.
"You fools! I was firing blanks!! can't you tell the difference? you're SO naive!" Tuppence laughed again, in an annoyingly chilling, high-pitched manner.
Suddenly the ceiling fell in and everything went dark for a while.
"Uncle Tuppy, uncle Tuppy," he shouted. "Over on Shatner's Toupee, they have suggested that "toups" or "toup-like material" could/should be used to clear up the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I thought maybe when you get sheared next month, you could use your spare wool to mop up the overspill from the Fulmar's cesspit? everyone complains about the stench once the weather heats up - and the flies!!"
"Yes all right Tuppence. We get the picture", I said testily. I hate people mentioning my wool, and the annual shearing. It's terribly embarrassing - a personal issue, which I loathe discussing. "But what I do with my spare wool is my own business, thank you. Anyway, what are you babbling about all that for at this ungodly hour? it's not half ten yet and I'm still in my P.J.s. Wait till I put the kettle on and fire up my pipe. And by the way - where are your pistols?" (Tuppence usually has a brace of pistols stuck in his belt).
"Right here, uncle Tuppy!" he shrilled, whipping them out from somewhere around ankle level. I glanced downwards.
"Where in the name of the T-G did you get THOSE? are you wearing them for a bet?"
"One of the rats stowed away on a ship bound for the Americas, and brought them back with him when he returned," explained Tuppence proudly, twirling round to show off an enormous pair of cowboy boots. "A souvenir of his trip. I took them off him in exchange for a debt. They're real snakeskin."
"You're not money-lending again?" I said worriedly. I'd heard that Tuppence was cashing in on the credit crunch. Geoffrey and I don't use actual money, and neither do many folks Hereabouts, but Tuppence often travels to Overthere, and gets up to "Allsorts" - none of it good.
"Yes uncle Tuppy. I've been up to no good again, money lending to prisoners on the hulks (see gazetteer for details). To people who can't possibly pay me back - and I don't care! I always get my pound of flesh in the end! ha -ha-ha!!" he laughed coldly. He then proceeded to turn his back to the fireplace, close his eyes and aim the pistols over each shoulder with arms crossed.
"Not again," wailed Geoffrey, hiding under the table and covering his eyes.
"I'm afraid so," I sighed, reaching for the sal volatile.
Readers will recall that some time ago Tuppence managed to write the letter "T" above our fireplace, in bullet holes. Well, he managed it again on this occasion - and I must say his aim is excellent - specially given he had his eyes closed.
"The bullets went in exactly the same holes as last time!" we chorused.
"You fools! I was firing blanks!! can't you tell the difference? you're SO naive!" Tuppence laughed again, in an annoyingly chilling, high-pitched manner.
Suddenly the ceiling fell in and everything went dark for a while.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Something Must be Done (but what?)
Blimey. This place is getting out of hand. (I'm back at the Outcrop, by the way - successfully unwedged by a powerful blast from Spockfingers rear end. "We fed him cabbage again, Tuppy," said Geoffrey, excitedly. "It always does the trick." Well, cabbage has to be good for something, I suppose.)
Anyway - the appalling Sir Erchie has been prancing about the place willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave, poking his nose into all sorts. As a matter of fact, we had a VERY distasteful conversation earlier, right on our very doorstep.
"What's this about pylons and a ditch?" he asked, taking out his biro and spiral notebook. "Sounds like a juicy tale. (Not!!)" he smirked up his sleeve. Yes, it is possible to do that, but it's very rude.
"Bog off," I said. "Anyway, it's a trench, not a ditch."
"Have you seen it lately?" he asked, needled by my tone."It's packed full of old bits of rubbish. It's just a dump. It's an environmental hazard. The Council will have to sort it out. Whoever's responsible will get an enormous fine."
"But..." I gasped.
"What idiot's been dumping rubbish in the trench? It's supposed to keep the pylons away!" snapped the T-G, who had just arrived on the scene for his mid-morning snifter.
Geoffrey and I glancced at each other quickly.
"Er...must have been...someone else..." murmured Geoffrey, shamefacedly.
"Yes. Exactly," I said briskly, "Someone else with no moral scruples, unlike us. Anyone for a snifter? Crack open the madeira, Geoffrey, for pity's sake. It's gone half ten."
Anyway - the appalling Sir Erchie has been prancing about the place willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave, poking his nose into all sorts. As a matter of fact, we had a VERY distasteful conversation earlier, right on our very doorstep.
"What's this about pylons and a ditch?" he asked, taking out his biro and spiral notebook. "Sounds like a juicy tale. (Not!!)" he smirked up his sleeve. Yes, it is possible to do that, but it's very rude.
"Bog off," I said. "Anyway, it's a trench, not a ditch."
"Have you seen it lately?" he asked, needled by my tone."It's packed full of old bits of rubbish. It's just a dump. It's an environmental hazard. The Council will have to sort it out. Whoever's responsible will get an enormous fine."
"But..." I gasped.
"What idiot's been dumping rubbish in the trench? It's supposed to keep the pylons away!" snapped the T-G, who had just arrived on the scene for his mid-morning snifter.
Geoffrey and I glancced at each other quickly.
"Er...must have been...someone else..." murmured Geoffrey, shamefacedly.
"Yes. Exactly," I said briskly, "Someone else with no moral scruples, unlike us. Anyone for a snifter? Crack open the madeira, Geoffrey, for pity's sake. It's gone half ten."
Monday, 10 May 2010
More Embarrassment
As I flew through the air, powered by Spockfingers' forensically aimed anal emission, I spotted none other than young Sir Erchie McPheasant-Blaster - journalist and owner of the Miserable (calls himsel' Scottish) Git Publishing Company.
Blimey. Looks like I'll be on the front page of the paper. More of that later.
Blimey. Looks like I'll be on the front page of the paper. More of that later.
Chic and Phemie return from Africa
By the way - Geoffrey informed me on a recent fly past that the Swallows are back - it's always good to see Chic and Phemie. Unfortunately nobody remembered to air their chalet before their arrival so they're a bit upset/in a huff.
Geoffrey also informs me that to try and make it up to them the Fulmars are hosting a BBQ in honour of their return, this weekend, weather permitting - not that the weather matters much at the Fulmars, what with their patio heaters, decking etc. Here's hoping I drop a few pounds before....
Oh! a solution has just presented itself, in the form of Spockfingers. Readers will recall how he helped me escape from the belly of the beast last summer, by allowing me to set light to one of his incredibly powerful anal emissions. I can see him at the centre of the crowd on the cliff top. he's turning round. Oh dear. I'd better brace my-S-E-E-E-E-E-E-L-L-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Geoffrey also informs me that to try and make it up to them the Fulmars are hosting a BBQ in honour of their return, this weekend, weather permitting - not that the weather matters much at the Fulmars, what with their patio heaters, decking etc. Here's hoping I drop a few pounds before....
Oh! a solution has just presented itself, in the form of Spockfingers. Readers will recall how he helped me escape from the belly of the beast last summer, by allowing me to set light to one of his incredibly powerful anal emissions. I can see him at the centre of the crowd on the cliff top. he's turning round. Oh dear. I'd better brace my-S-E-E-E-E-E-E-L-L-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Special Tea
A reader reminds me that Geoffrey and I were supposed to be hosting one of our "special teas" this week, for Dave and Valerie Nark. Sadly, I've been held up as I'm still wedged in the crack.
"You'll just have to "wait" till some of the "weight" drops off," shrilled Tuppence, who had travelled out to see me in a new motorised raft he had constructed.
"Bog off," I muttered, flailing my legs about in a vain attempt to loosen myself. Meanwhile, Geoffrey flew anxiously round and round.
"But what if the Narks turn up? I don't know how to make a special tea," he said as he wheeled past.
"No more do I," I said.
"Why did you say that then? Special tea?"
"Don't start on me now, Geoffrey, for heaven's sake. Just get me the frig out of here, and we'll think of something. And chuck us a packet of Doritos or something, will you? I'm starving."
"Can't be done, Tuppy," said Apsley Fulmar, who had flown out, along with most of the population of "Hereabouts", to view "the spectacle" i.e. me. "Tuppence is right. You're wedged in too tight for us to pull you out. You'll have to drop a bit of weight and starve yourself out - it's the only way, Tuppy."
"Can't I even have a sip of madeira, to strengthen myself? Get me the hip flask, Geoffrey, and a straw, for pity's sake."
"PUT THAT HIP FLASK DOWN!!" commanded a familiar voice.
"God almighty." It was none other than the ghastly Wilson, pushing his way through the crowds on the cliff top.
"Very Doctor Finlay. Just ignore him, Geoffrey. He's all mouth and no trousers. Tell him to eff off and get me a drink, for god's sake. And I wouldn't mind a puff of Black Bogey while you're at it."
"Righty oh Tuppy."
Wednesday, 5 May 2010
Bagged Up
"H-E-E-E-LP!!!" I screamed as the coracle hurtled towards the crack in the cliffs.
Not only was I suffering from severe indigestion, my waterproof trousers were cutting in something awful - possibly, though I hate to admit it, due to the bagging up effect of recent over-indulgence in FJRs.
Before venturing out in the coracle, Geoffrey and I were discussing the possible "health properties" of the jam, i.e. "fruit", in the middle, and wondering whether it might count towards our five a day (not that we're that bothered).
"Don't be so stupid," sneered a scornful voice. It was none other than the Ghastly Wilson, sticking his head through the open window (the chimney had been smoking again) all geared up to provide us with yet another unwanted lecture on health/death avoidance.
"Oh, who cares anyway," we replied, grabbing some supplies and making a dash for the boathouse. "Let's go for a quiet sail and relax."
It has been pleasant so far, if a tad choppy. Let's hope we make it through the C-C-C-R-R-A-A-A-A-A-CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Not only was I suffering from severe indigestion, my waterproof trousers were cutting in something awful - possibly, though I hate to admit it, due to the bagging up effect of recent over-indulgence in FJRs.
Before venturing out in the coracle, Geoffrey and I were discussing the possible "health properties" of the jam, i.e. "fruit", in the middle, and wondering whether it might count towards our five a day (not that we're that bothered).
"Don't be so stupid," sneered a scornful voice. It was none other than the Ghastly Wilson, sticking his head through the open window (the chimney had been smoking again) all geared up to provide us with yet another unwanted lecture on health/death avoidance.
"Oh, who cares anyway," we replied, grabbing some supplies and making a dash for the boathouse. "Let's go for a quiet sail and relax."
It has been pleasant so far, if a tad choppy. Let's hope we make it through the C-C-C-R-R-A-A-A-A-A-CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
Oo-er - feeling a bit bilious
Out in the old coracle again this afternoon - heading for that crack over there in the cliffs...maybe I shouldn't have had that third packet of FJRs...
"Geoffrey! medical chest please!"
Biscuit of the Week - the Fox's Jam Ring
Yup, this our biscuit of the week - the Fox's Jam Ring. Usually priced at 89p (or more!), the FJR is currently on offer at Somerfield at two packets for a pound.
This is a good biscuit. I'd go so far as to say it's pretty much my all-time favourite, except that I've kind of scunnered myself what with them being two for a pound at the moment.
They consist of a double nice light shortbready-style biscuit, sandwiched together by white butter cream, and are enlivened by a pleasantly flavoured jam in the centre. To top it off and add even more class, there is a hint of a sugary sprinkle, as well.
They are dunkable, in my book, although some might disagree due to concerns about the high melt-risk of the cream filling. But as this tends to be quite solid, especially if you keep them in the fridge, I'm going to stick my neck out and say the FJR actually falls into the "low to medium" melt risk category.
Good buy.
Monday, 26 April 2010
A Dose of the Narks
Well, Stormy had his usual lock-in on Friday and we all ended up three sheets to the wind. Spockfingers was there, giving it laldy at the karaoke machine. It'll be a long time before I'll want to hear "Overnite Sensation" again, I can tell you. Not to mention Black Box's "Ride on Time". At least, that's what I THINK it was called.
Anyone remember the T-G's idea about the trench? well, after Stormy finally called time, we all thought it would be a good time to start digging it. But after about five minutes hacking away at the heather-clad peat, we all ran out of energy. So we now have a kind of shallow ditch running east/west across the moor.
Remember Dave and Valerie Nark? the eco-warriors who lived in the yurt up at the tourist car park last summer? well, they've been away on an extended eco-friendly holiday somewhere hot 'n' horrible in Central America, but now they're back - and they are in a right friggin' state about the ditch.
"You're digging up priceless peat reserves. You're releasing immeasurable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere, and killing the planet," Dave raved, as he tied the chin strap of his Peruvian hat tighter under his chin, to keep out the north easterly whipping across the Bay.
Who knew? not us, obviously.
"Yeah? wot are U going to do about it?" said Spockfingers, belligerently.
Geoffrey and I decided to take a gentler approach, and have invited them round for one of our "special teas" later this week...
Anyone remember the T-G's idea about the trench? well, after Stormy finally called time, we all thought it would be a good time to start digging it. But after about five minutes hacking away at the heather-clad peat, we all ran out of energy. So we now have a kind of shallow ditch running east/west across the moor.
Remember Dave and Valerie Nark? the eco-warriors who lived in the yurt up at the tourist car park last summer? well, they've been away on an extended eco-friendly holiday somewhere hot 'n' horrible in Central America, but now they're back - and they are in a right friggin' state about the ditch.
"You're digging up priceless peat reserves. You're releasing immeasurable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere, and killing the planet," Dave raved, as he tied the chin strap of his Peruvian hat tighter under his chin, to keep out the north easterly whipping across the Bay.
Who knew? not us, obviously.
"Yeah? wot are U going to do about it?" said Spockfingers, belligerently.
Geoffrey and I decided to take a gentler approach, and have invited them round for one of our "special teas" later this week...
Friday, 23 April 2010
Another windy day in the Bay
A bit blowy here again. (Photos of the Bay currently being used have been sent in by regular reader Jim. I can't use a camera what with my hooves not having fingers.)
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