Mild swear word of the week

"Chuff." As in "chuffing hell/heck", "what the chuff is that?", "get chuffed", and "chuff off."

Quote of the week

Geoffrey and I found this in a skip outside the T-G's residence, yesterday afternoon. I'd like to say that our eyes just happened to fall upon it, willy nilly, as we were passing, but no - I'm afraid we were short of readies (not that we use "normal munny") and we were running low on crisps. Usually, in such circs., we would nick some from the Puff Inn cellars, or Geoffrey might rake the bins at the tourist car park. However, on this occasion, we decided to check out the T-G's skip. Reason? we'd heard via Razor Bill that Mrs T-G had been to a "Bums 'n' Tums" evening last Wednesday night, and had been so horrified at the state/size of her "Bum 'n' Tum" compared to the others there, that she rushed home in a right old state to Tupfinder Towers, and immediately emptied all fatty foods 'n' snax from all of her cupboards. There was so much, that the lid of their wheelie bin wouldn't close and the T-G had to arrange a skip.

Cue me and Geoffrey. We couldn't care less about our bums 'n' tums.

"But it was only recently that you got stuck in the crack, " queried Geoffrey, as we stuffed a bin liner with crisps and packets of pies. "Shouldn't you..well...be cutting down a bit?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a reply," I sniffed. How dare he betray me like that?

"I'm only thinking of your health," he ventured, noticing my hardening expression.

"Well don't flaming bother," I snapped. "Else you'll have to start thinking about your...here, what's this?"

And I picked up the book pictured above - Elizabeth Goudge's The Middle Window.

It fell open at page 54. "People talked a lot about the death of the body and the life of the spirit but what did they know about it? What did anyone know? Men laughed and talked and ate and drank inside a little lighted house of life and outside was a great windy darkness that stretched they knew not where and held they knew not what," I read.

"Indeed," boomed a familiar voice. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

"For pity's sake. can't you give us a break for five minutes? And don't you ever wear anything other than that ghastly black hooded cloak?"

It was the frigging Grim frigging Reaper, lurking about in his usual cheery manner.

"I find it covers up the "Bum 'n' Tum" very nicely if I'm having a fat day," he growled, twirling his scythe. "Plus, I never need to concern myself with "bad hair" days, either. Job done. Maybe YOU should get yourself one, Tuppy."

Our cooking implement

A reader wonders how Geoffrey and I manage to cook, as we don't have "leccy" or "gas", or indeed an electrical gas-fired BBQ, like Apsley and Cherry.

Well we sometimes managed to boil up a can of beans on the fire - see header photo - and that is what we generally use for boiling the kettle, also. But we have another implement - the spirit stove - please see photo. As you can see, there are holes for fitting the outer pot, on to the stove, and within the outer pot, we fit an inner pot, which contains the vittles. Geoffrey works the "poo foo valve", which can be seen to the right of the photo, in order to fire the thing up, while I do the stirring.

Geoffrey tells me I'm a born stirrer. I'll take it as a compliment as I cannot be arsed having an argument with him - but I know full well what he's getting at, and what's more he knows that I know.

Biscuit of the Week - kind of

This week's biscuit of the week WAS going to be the Cadbury's Turkish Delight - the biscuits, obviously, NOT the chocolate bar. However, as Geoffrey ate them all before I could take a photo, and then cunningly disposed of the wrapper hoping I wouldn't notice they were gone, they're not.
I managed to eat ONE before they disappeared, and I have to say they have a limited appeal. I've never been a fan of Cadbury's chocolate (far too sickly), but if you are, you might enjoy them as they are thickly coated in the stuff. The Turkish Delight bit is tiny, and quite runny - sort of a small blob of rose-flavoured jam - and the biscuit base is quite nice and crunchy. But overall the dominating flavour is of Cadbury's chocolate.
Word of warning - they are too small and chocolatey to dunk - in my opinion AND experience. The whole thing can easily slip out of your hand and drop into a cup of tea. Especially if you've just been indulging in a "hair of the dog" after a bit of a night of it at the Puff Inn - but that's another story, which I will tell probably tomorrow once I've had me fry-up.
Personally, re. biscuits - I'm sticking with my faves, the FJR (Fox's Jam Rings).

1980s songs that drive you over the edge

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...

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.

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."

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.

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-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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."

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Spring-time