We Must Find the Alexander Brothers

"Where is it? Where is the anti-matter?" Tuppence raved, thrashing his head from side to side.
It was no use. Geoffrey and I had administered doses of sal volatile that would have floored a horse (and we should know - we tried it on Titus) and he was still running a temperature to rival the solar wind. Which, as most folk know, is so hot that the sun's gravity cannot hold on to it. Actually, it's the sun's corona which is the hot bit, and the winds...anyway, I'm digressing.
"You must find Tom and Jack! ask them what it was like, to stare into the abyss - to stare at anti-matter, mano a mano, and survive! find them! find the Alexander Brothers!" And he fell back on to his pillows, exhausted.
Yikes. I think I read somewhere they're due to do a gig at the Hadron Collider.

The Death of Prog

"Whatever happened to prog?" Tuppence shrilled for the umpteenth time, as he lay slumped in the corner, exhausted after his five nite run at the Puff Inn performing The Six Wives of Henry the Eighth" on his moog. "Nobody gives a toss any more about Tull, or Yes, or Egg."
"You can say that again," muttered Geoffrey, who had long since lost patience.
"Look, Tuppence," I interjected. "What more do you want? You've just had a five nite run at the Puff Inn, with an audience of at least three each nite, and five on weekends. That's pretty good, for Hereabouts. The Alexander Brothers had an audience of minus twenty five last year. Think on. Think how THEY must have felt, faced with an audience of anti-matter."
"I know, I know. Tom and Jack got sucked into a black hole. I've heard it all before. But I want something different. I want the Big Time. I want the Skye Gathering Hall. I want the Birnam Institute! I want the Gig in Blairgowrie!"
Geoffrey and I shook our heads sadly and exchanged glances. "Fetch the medicine chest, Geoffrey. Before it's too late."

Rick Wakeman Rocks!

Least, that's what Tuppence screamed as he powered up the moog last Friday evening and began belting out the first few bars of "The Six Wives of Henry VIII". Can't remember much after that. Probably just as well.

Biscuit of the week - Fox's Ginger Crinkles

Yes, here it is again - our popular biscuit of the week feature! This week's chosen biscuit is the Fox's Ginger Crinkle. It WAS going to be the Fox's Ginger Crunch Cream, which we picked out on Friday - however, due to over-ingestion of meth 'o' pops over the weekend, we forgot and ate them all before we took the photo.
In our opinions, the Crunch Cream is a superior biscuit. We like the cream filling. But a Crinkle will do in a crisis.
Health and Safety warning - this biscuit MUST be dunked, otherwise teeth may be broken. It's pretty freakin' hard.
Plus - it's kind of syrupy and really sticks to your teeth, so a large quantity of tea is required, in order to rinse it off. Be especially wary, if, like us, you have false teeth - you can end up with them glued together for some considerable time. I'm saying no more (because I can't).

Tuppence's fleece

BTW u2 can buy a fleece like Tuppence's - here! let's all get beige and look the same!!!

The rats drag a moog into the Puff Inn

It doesn't say anything on the blackboard due to the rain having washed it off, but Tuppence is playing a gig at the Puff Inn tonite. I saw the rats dragging in the moog earlier, along with a couple of crates of salty snax 'n' stuff, plus a vatload of absinthe flavrd meth 'o'pops and a couple of stomach pumps. Geoffrey and me are already in the Q - see u Munday!!!

By the Way

In case you're wondering - Tuppence swam back to shore. He's still on his health and fitness drive, and was determined to show off his prowess.
"For pity's sake," we shouted, as he prepared to jump overboard just as the "Hebridean Princess" bore down upon the coracle, "Don't be foolish, Tuppence. Nobody could care less about your prowess."
But our words were drowned out by the ear-splitting honking of the boat's fog horn, and the horrified screams of the passengers as the coracle was sucked into the wake and chopped into a million pieces by the whirling propellors.
He returned late last night, none the worse and unbearably full of himself. And amazingly, his wool was bone dry.
"See, uncle Tuppy? I'm in terrific shape. A quick five mile swim in the icy waters of the Minch is just the ticket. Dr Wilson..." (at this point, Geoffrey and I sighed loudly, and spat into the fire)"...Dr Wilson has started up compulsory body pumping classes, followed by a glass of black carrot juice, colonic irrigation and a ten mile hi-energy jog along the cliffs. I'm all for it. Besides, he sez anyone who doesn't take part, will..."
At this juncture, a familiar face, or rather, hooded head, appeared at the open window. It was the freakin' Reaper - again.
"Why bother with all that rubbish? You might as well relax, put your feet up and eat chips. After all, you're all going to die anyway!" and he laughed his horrible, hollow, echoing laugh as he glided off.
"I think a quick snifter's in order," I murmured, reaching for the madeira. "By the way, Tuppence - why isn't your wool soaking wet, after your five mile swim? it's not acrylic, by any chance?" I sniggered in an unpleasant, snide kind of way.
"Don't snigger like that," scolded Geoffrey. "You're lowering yourself to his standards. There's absolutely no need. Besides, you're right. It IS acrylic. Look!"
Tuppence was unzipping his "wool" which, it turns out, is actually an acrylic fleece-style zip-up jacket. Beneath that, he was wearing a "dry suit" and a jet-propelled life jacket.
"You didn't think I'd go out in that holey old coracle unprepared, did you, uncle Tuppy?"

Disaster

What a disaster. Me and Geoffrey ended up going slightly "off piste" due to "someone" stopping rowing (he blames me, but he's completely wrong - as usual!! he nodded off due to the "intense heat"/over-ingestion of madeira (we'd found a loose barrel floating in the Bay, and tied it on to the painter), but he'll never admit it. Of course, I would NEVER let HIM down by doing such a thing.) and us ending up going round in circles.
Upshot was, we ended up "Overthere" for pity's sake, and barged into the path of an oncoming Calmac ferry. We were then dragged on board by the scruffs of our necks by the over-zealous crew - to prevent us being sucked into the propellors, apparently.
Once on board, we hoped for a triple brandy snifter AT LEAST, but instead we were offered a strange brew which they referred to as "koffy" - the most disgusting concoction I have EVER tasted. It was "served" in a cardboard-style cup, and came spurting out of a "Jackson"-style boiler/machine, and tasted like...well, what I would imagine (not that I want to) whatever revolting sludge lurks at the arse end of the Fulmar's septic tank. Regular passengers are charged the princely sum of £1.55 for it! (£ = munny BTW)
Anyway - after the utter indignity of being placed in the hold as "livestock", we managed to jump ship and make our way back to the Rocky Outcrop, where we are now sitting toasting out feet by a roaring driftwood fire and sipping mugs of boiling madeira (not actually boiling as such - we wouldn't want to boil off the alcohol - quite the reverse...)

Geoffrey poses for the camera

Here's Geoffrey, in a favourite pose during a stop-off on our coracle trip.

We Dust Off the Coracle (again)

"Come on, Uncle Tuppy! get some of that fat off!"
It was Tuppence, shouting in the window at some ungodly hour. He threw open the curtain - releasing a cloud of moths as he did so - and clambered in.
"What was that? Speak up uncle Tuppy!"
I cleared my throat and decided not to repeat it. After all, why risk a serious "doing" when you don't have to?
"We're only on our fourth cup of tea, for pity's sake Tuppence!" complained Geoffrey.
Anyway - the upshot of it all is that the three of us have dragged the old coracle out of the attic and we're off for a scull round the Bay.
I can only hope that the weather remains calm, and that Baby Orca is still somewhere off the Orkneys...

Processed Meat Slice of the Week - Corned Beef

This week's Processed Meat of the Week is The Co-operative Corned Beef (5 slice pack).

This is probably our fave meat, though normally, Geoffrey and I prefer the tinned version. However, we take our pleasures where we can and if that's all they've got it's all they've got. Plus, we got it cheap as it's reached its sell-by.

Corned Beef - or "korn bif" as we know it - is a versatile and tasty meat. We eat it cold on its own with some red sauce or "yellow sauce" (salad cream). The T-G tells us that Mrs T-G makes it into something called "korn bif Alaska", which consists of a slab/tin of korn bif, covered in red sauce then covered again in mashed potato and grated cheese, and baked in the oven. Naturally Geoffrey and I can't be bothered with all that faff.

Readers might recall that Cherry Fulmar often prepares something called "korn bif kebabs" when she's having a BBQ. These consist of chunks of korn bif, skewered on sticks alongside chunks of tinned pineapple, BBQd, and served with a "yellow sauce coulis". Again, Geoffrey and I can well live without the pineapple chunks ("froot" - yuck) but we'll eat anything if it's free.

The Fulmars haven't had a BBQ this year due to inclement weather, so fingers crossed they might be planning one soon.

Processed Meat Slice of the Week - Corned Beef

This week's Processed Meat of the Week is The Co-operative Corned Beef (5 slice pack).

This is probably our fave meat, though normally, Geoffrey and I prefer the tinned version. However, we take our pleasures where we can and if that's all they've got it's all they've got. Plus, we got it cheap as it's reached its sell-by.

Corned Beef - or "korn bif" as we know it - is a versatile and tasty meat. We eat it cold on its own with some red sauce or "yellow sauce" (salad cream). The T-G tells us that Mrs T-G makes it into something called "korn bif Alaska", which consists of a slab/tin of korn bif, covered in red sauce then covered again in mashed potato and grated cheese, and baked in the oven. Naturally Geoffrey and I can't be bothered with all that faff.

Readers might recall that Cherry Fulmar often prepares something called "korn bif kebabs" when she's having a BBQ. These consist of chunks of korn bif, skewered on sticks alongside chunks of tinned pineapple, BBQd, and served with a "yellow sauce coulis". Again, Geoffrey and I can well live without the pineapple chunks ("froot" - yuck) but we'll eat anything if it's free.

The Fulmars haven't had a BBQ this year due to inclement weather, so fingers crossed they might be planning one soon.

Biscuit of the week - the two finger Kit Kat

This week's biscuit of the week is the two finger milk Kit Kat. We've tried the peanut kind as well, and we like those also. We don't care for the orange variety - too frooty.
Why has this been chosen as biscuit of the week? well, it's all we could find in the bins at the tourist car park today - plus, the red wrapper is very eye-catching and it makes you want to pick it up.
It's also a very good biscuit. We don't choose any old rubbish for this feature, even though we might find things in skips etc.. The chocolate is very tasty and not cloying like Cadbury's (can be).
Geoffrey enjoys a frozen Kit Kat, whereas I prefer mine slightly off the chill. Not that I'm fussy or anything.

Tin of the Week

This is an unusual item - a tin containing "froot".

We don't normally eat "froot", as we like to stick to our processed meat and salty snax diet as much as possible. Our systems are accustomed to it and we feel that "froot" would interfere with that.

However we found this on the skip outside Tupfinder Towers, and decided just to take it for a rainy day, or for throwing at visitors, or both.

It's a tin of Co-operative pear quarters, and was priced down at 39p. It states on the tin that you have to eat THE WHOLE TIN in order to reach just ONE of the mandatory five a day, as laid down by the Ghastly Wilson and his ilk. Needless to say we won't be bothering with that carry on.

We talk about jobs and munny

We quickly became bored with our cloaks and have stuffed them under the sofa, to use another time.
Razor Bill stopped by with the post this morning, and stayed for his usual blether.
"It occurs to me that I'm the only person Hereabouts with a "job"," he said, tucking into a hefty bacon and double egg sandwich.
Geoffrey and I exchanged glances. "What's a 'job'?", we asked.
Bill nearly choked. "Look at ME! carrying sacks of letters and goodness knows what, all over the shop! you don't think I do this for pleasure, do you?"
Bill explained that he works a certain number of hours per week, for an employer, viz. the G.P.O., and is rewarded with "munny".
"But we don't use "munny" Hereabouts. We don't need it."
"I know," said Bill. "It's all very well for you chaps to rake bins and skips for food. Not to mention your OTHER activities. Manners prevent me from saying what. The rest of us mortals have to LIVE. People talk about you two, you know."
"Well, we're not the only ones who don't have jobs. No-one else does Hereabouts. We're all self-sufficient. And by the way - how's your bacon and double egg sandwich? no trouble at all to fry that up piping hot for you and put on the red sauce just the way you like it and everything."
Bill coughed in an embarrassed way as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Very nice thanks. Suppose I'd better be off."
"Suppose you'd better," I scowled, glancing at the letter he'd brought. Oh no. It was another one from the Humungous Whacking Great Pylon and Compulsory Green Energy Consumption Commission.
I put it on the fire while Geoffrey wasn't looking.