Isn't life strange................

"....aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The noise of Geoffrey's blood-curdling screams echoed round my skull like a...

Oh I can't be bothered.

If truth be told, we're still sitting by the fire as per usual, drinking tea and musing over life's strange vagaries while the rain drums off the windowpane.

Life is very odd, isn't it? but that's what makes it interesting. Most of its oddity - I find - comes from two sources. One, that we're mortal, and all this - whatever it is - comes to an end - and we've no clue as to how, or when. That can make life feel quite pointless at times - what's it all for? I haven't the foggiest. I tend to think that as we're interconnected, organic creatures - everything is organic, when you think about it - we must be an essential part of the general warp and weft of the universe. And so it's a mistake to feel that anyone's life is pointless and ineffectual.
The second interesting oddity is human relationships. Can. Of. Worms. Can. Of. Worms. An endless source of oddness and fascination. Crashing around like bulls in china shops. Blooming heck. Not even going to GO there.

"Biscuit?"

"Don't mind if I do."

"Stopped raining yet?"

"Dunno."

Photos from last day of the year

Happy New Year Everyone!

Erm...that's it I think...

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...

Thanks and a very happy Solstice to all my readers

I'd just like to say a big thank you to those who have contacted me over the past day or two to say they're reading and enjoying this blog. And of course, massive thanks to those who have kept hanging in there over the past couple of years. It goes without saying, but I'm saying it anyway - you're all Very Much Appreciated. Indeed.
Blogging can be kind of like screaming into a void, so getting that kind of encouragement means a lot - especially on this, the darkest day of the year!!!

#duh duh DUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH!# (dramatic music)

I have already posted the promo video for Jethro Tull's Solstice Bells. [As mentioned on my musical tastes page, despite all my better instincts I do have a weakness for "the mighty Tull", possibly after getting Ian Anderson's autograph in 1976. His auntie was our local chemist.]

Later on, Geoffrey and I will be putting on our jester's hats and our slippers with the pointy curled up toes and bells on the end, getting blind drunk, expanding our brains with strange herbs we've foraged from the moors, lighting a roaring driftwood fire and hunting down and roasting the first sentient being we can find in a ghastly low budget re-enactment of the final scene from the Wicker Man. I'll tell you all about it later.

Black Bun - the scourge of Scotland

Geoffrey and I have been arguing over which special comestibles to get in over the Festive.

As long-term readers will know, the "Big Day" Hereabouts is the Solstice rather than December 25th which we see as mere southern jiggerypokery and up-their-ain-bumness.

Yes, we celebrate the sun's nadir and the total dearth of sunlight and warmth and cheer with as much glee as we can muster - which isn't that much if I'm totally honest.

Geoffrey reckons we should try to obtain some "Black Bun".

"I really fancy a slice of Black Bun," he said. He sounded enthusiastic enough but I could still sense an element of doubt in his tone.

"I haven't laid eyes on a Black Bun since 1978," I countered. "And I can't say I'm all that sorry. As I remember, I burst a filling on the last slice I attempted. It seemed to be full of low grade gravel. And it tasted like something that came out of a dog's behind. So I can't see the attraction, quite frankly."

"I don't care," he pouted." I'm going out to search for some right now."

"Knock yourself out," I said, reaching for my pipe. "I'll keep an eye on your online Heartache Removal Service till you get back..."

My new dentures

It's amazing what modern dentistry can achieve. My orthodentist-style person has managed to craft a set of teeth identical to the ones he extracted from my mouth, just last week. Nobody would guess they're fake, and cost twenty grand.

They're a lovely fit as well. Thanks Dr. Will I. Kilmore!

Meanwhile - back on the boat....

More sing-a-longs in the sea

We've only spent the entire night in an open frigging life raft.

"Come on chaps. We must keep our spirits up," urged the T-G, rubbing his hands together.

"Oh I'd love to keep my frigging spirits up. I'd kill for a brandy."

"No need for that kind of attitude Tuppy. We have to work with what we've got. We're all intelligent creatures - well, kind of. Think of Captain Scott."

"He died of starvation."

"And possibly of the cold, and scurvy as well. But that's NOT going to happen to us," he replied firmly. "Look at Spockfingers. He's an example to us all."

Yes, Spockfingers was still there, swimming around the boat.

"Ah'm running oot o' fuel lads," he gasped. "Youz'll huff tae let me intae the boat. Ah cannae stay afloat. Ah cannae tak' much more o' this."

And he plonked his front hooves on the edge of the life raft, making it dip alarmingly.

"No Spockfingers! You'll sink us!" we shouted.

"Poke him with an oar T-G," I begged. "Get rid of him. Shoot him if you have to. He'll take us all down with him."

Spockfingers glared at me balefully. "Duly noted ye yeller wee get. Duly noted. Ah'll get ma revenge yoo mark ma wurds. Noo let me suggest an alternative. Let's all hae anuther wee sing-sang an' ah'll gulp doon lotsa air while ah'm daein' that, and try tae manyoufaktyure sum mare wind. Mebbes ah'll manyoufaktyure enuff tae power us hame. Noo whatsit tae be?"

"How about Row Row Row your Boat," suggested Geoffrey.

"NO!" we all replied. "That's far too twee. Let's go for Sweet Child in Time by Deep Purple."

"Okay doke," said Spockfingers, wriggling his shoulders. "Ah jist gang mare or less strait intae the climax."

"SWEET CHAHLD IN TAH-AH-M
YOO'LL SEE THE LAH-AH-T

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."

His falsetto echoed ear-splittingly round the Bay.

"For heaven's sake, " said the T-G as we all exchanged worried glances. "He's going to do us a damage screaming like that. We'd better try something tamer and hope that he joins in. Anybody got any ideas?"

"I rather like Daughter of Darkness by Tom Jones," suggested Geoffrey shyly. "I'll start it off."

"AH'LL start it aff," Spockfingers interrupted. "Heer we ging."

#" Dodder of dah-ahrkniss

Stay oot o' mah life mah life

You nicked ma chips an' you et the flamin' lot

Yoo dodder of dah-ah-rkniss..."

"Oh that's not right," scoffed the T-G. "It goes like THIS. #Woman, I can remember a woman... warm were her...#"

"Is that Mrs T-G you're singing about T-G," Geoffrey butted in eagerly. "Is she a woman? can I meet her? I've not met one before you see, and I'd love to."

"Geoffrey!" I frowned."I've warned you about this type of thing before. You can't have truck with women."

"Why can't I have truck with women Tuppy?"

"I explained all that already."

"No you didn't. I don't understand, at all."

"You're getting uppitty now Geoffrey."

"Oh I don't know why I'm even sitting here freezing my nuts off and being bossed around and sneered at! After all, I'm a gull, and I've got wings. BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

And with that, Geoffrey flew high into the lowering grey sky, and headed who knows where.

Meanwhile, back on the boat...

"Ye've goat room fur wan mare noo ah see."

Frigging hell.

A Tom Jones sing-a-long in the sea

Well here we are waiting to be rescued. Apsley said he's sending for help - god only knows how long that will take. Meanwhile to keep our spirits up we're having a wee sing-a-long.

#"Well sheez all yood ever wan' sheez god stahl sheez god grace sheez a winner"# I began, clicking my fingers and standing up in the liferaft.

"Stop it Tuppy!" commanded the T-G. "You'll capsize us. Sit the frig DOWN. Besides, you're doing it all wrong. It goes like THIS.

(he coughed)

#Well sheez all yood evva wan' sheez the kahnd yood lahk to flaunt an' take to DINner#"

"NO NO NO NO NO!" boomed a voice from nearby. "YOU'VE got it wrong an' all."

"Who the frig's that?" I muttered. "Oh my God. It's Spockfingers. He must have..."

"Yes! I've survived the blast and here I am large as life and twice as nasty. You lot are pants at Tom Jones. Here's how it SHOULD be sung." Spockfingers approached the boat at an impressive rate of knots. Apparently, he was still passing wind, and it was acting like a kind of crude but highly effective and convenient form of jet propulsion, enabling him to not only stay afloat but to travel about in the water at will. He began to circle the boat, singing as only he can sing (see post about me and Spockfingers in the belly of the beast, to find out just how powerful his voice is...)

#"Well sheez all yood evva wan' sheez the kahnd o' burd they'd lahk tae flaunt an' tak' fur CHI-ips

Sheez the kahnd o' burd whit likes her plaice

sheez got salt sheez got broon soss...

Sheez a winner..."#

"Frigging hell. Make him shut up, someone."

#" Shee kin tak' whit ah dish oot an' that's no eezy

She's fine an' breezy...

Her feet R cheezy..."#

"Oh - an' by the way - yooz lot didnae contribute SHIT fur the sick and poorly weans in Africa. Yeez are a bunch o' stingy bastards. Ah'll deal wi yooz la'er. Noo piss aff an' let em feenish ma sang.

#Oh she et ma fish an chips an' removed ma orange pips

Sheez a lady...

wo wo wo

She's...#"

I think that's QUITE enuff of that jist fur the noo. I'll go and shampoo my sporran now.

KER-B-O-O-O-M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, you heard. KER - B-O-O-O-O-O-M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What happened was this.
Readers will recall that on Saturday Geoffrey and I were invited to Spockfingers fundrazing gig for awfy needy sick wee kiddies in Africa. We ended up watching X Factor first, and look where that got us.
Caught in a net, dangling hundreds of feet above a fiery pit, awaiting our turn at the Mindmuck removal device.
Anyway. Back to KER-B-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-M!!!!!
There we were, swinging above the flames at the end of our tethers and at each other's throats, when suddenly...
"WHAT ABOOT MA FUCKIN FUNDRAZER YE STINGY GETS? WHIT ABOOT THON WEE SICK AN AWFY NEEDY KIDDIES IN AFRICA? GET YER WALLETS OOT RICHT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
And with that, Mr Spockfingers turned round and let rip with one of his special hi-octane cabbage-fuelled anal emissions. Regular readers will know what THAT'S like. (Irregular readers will have to click on the post label below, to find out more. )
The concentrated jet of methane collided with a swift updraught of flame from the fiery pit and the result was an almighty explosion.
Still tied in the net, we were blown clear out of the cave and far out into the Bay.
"I can't swim! I can't swim!" I burbled, flailing.
"Never fear, Tuppy," soothed the Tupfinder-General, calmly treading water. "I've got an inflatable life raft. Just hang on a jiffy till I pull the toggle. It's caught in my...ouch!"
"Hurry up! I'm sinking!" I spluttered. Geoffrey lifted my head with his wing as the T-G struggled to inflate the raft.
"Just as well I did junior life saving at the baths," he said proudly.
POP!!!!!!!!!! WHOOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"There we go," said the T-G, heaving himself into the life raft. "Stop whingeing Tuppy. You've no moral fibre at all, have you?"
"It's all very well for you two. You're not handicapped by wool."
Geoffrey chortled. "I'd like to see your face if anyone else said wool was a "handicap!"
"Never mind that now. Where's the medical chest? I could do with a good whiff or two of sal volatile and a couple of opium tabloids to get me through the afternoon without going completely insane."
"For heaven's sake Tuppy! We'll have to get sculling. We'll have to get home before dark, and there isn't much time. You'll have to put your back into it I'm afraid. We can't afford slackers. If you can't manage, I'm sorry but we'll have no option but to shove you overboard. We're all in this together you know."
"Oh. I didn't realise Nick Clegg had joined us." I glanced around in an exaggerated comic kind of manner.
"H-E-E-E-L-L-O-O-O-O-!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" A voice boomed out from atop the nine hundred foot cliffs just to our right.
It was Apsley Fulmar, using a megaphone.
"Hang O-O-O-O-N! We're going to rescue Y-O-O-O-U!"
But how?
more later.

Still suspended in a net, over a fiery pit

Yeah, we're still here, and I don't mind saying that it's getting a tad uncomfortable.
The three of us - Geoffrey, me, and the Tupfinder General, are crammed in here together and once we get out we're going to have shocking criss cross net imprints on our backs. Mind you that's the least of our worries while we're still stuck up here like a right bag of lemons.
Everyone's nerves are strained to the limit.
"Get your foot out of my face, Tuppy," asked the T-G through gritted teeth. "I'm asking you nicely this time. Next time might well be a different matter."
"Oh you'd be no fun at Twister. You're sounding about an eight on the tension scale T-G," I snickered rather unpleasantly, not moving my foot an inch.
"Make that a ten,"he growled, and I heard a distinct "click" as he released the safety catch on his pistol.
"Now now chaps. Let's not start turning on each other like a pack of wolves just because we're trapped in a net above a fiery pit with no apparent means of escape. Let's all try to keep our sanities shall we."
*Oh stop being so flaming sanctimonious Geoffrey. If I want to lose my mind I'll flaming well - "
KER-B-O-O-O-O-M!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
more later.

Muckfast Abbey

(first off - apologies for the brown thing at the RH side of the bottle - there's something stuck in my scanner)

...there we were, suspended in a net, hundreds of feet above a fiery pit.
Far below, we saw thousands of rats scurrying around with lengths of tubing, attaching them to bubbling, smoking test tubes.
"What's going on?" we gasped in unison.
"Welcome to Muckfast Abbey," shrilled Tuppence, removing a pistol from his belt and twirling it in a devil-may-care fashion.
"He's only extracting Mindmuck and distilling into a rather lethal tonic wine!" whispered the T-G.
"I heard that!" snapped Tuppence, giving the net a shove with a pointy stick and making us swing out further over the fiery pit. "Yes. I'm making Muckfast, and it will be available in a range of flavours in Speedispend hypermarket and compulsory screening centre for Christmas. For example - Greed, Jealousy, Spite, Envy (that's a bit like Chartreuse), Bile, Hatred, Lust (not that that applies to you lot), Foot-picking, and Arse-scratching. There will be more. And for that, I need more source material."
Tuppence lifted a megaphone to his lips. "Lower the net! get them into position, then begin the MindMuck Removal procedure IMMEDIATELY!"
"Oo-er Tuppy," quavered Geofrey. "Hadn't we better ought to DO something?"
"Anyone got a pair of scissors," I asked feverishly. "Maybe we could cut our way out of the net."
"Don't be stupid Tuppy. We'd only plummet into the fiery pit. We'll have to think of something else."
more tomorrow.

The Mind Muck Removal Kit

God almighty! what a night.
After some debate Geoffrey and I decided to attend both "functions" i.e. despite the sub zero temperatures we sat on some rusty old sun loungers on the Fulmars decking and watched X Factor on their 62" telly through their panoramic French window style doors, warmed by their patio heaters and our tartan knee rugs.
We'd brought some crisps and a flask of purple peril and plenty of black bogey to keep us going.
UnFORtunately, there was a bit of a drama when Simon Cowell smiled suddenly just as the cameras were zooming in for a close up. The resulting glare from his teeth ricocheted off the cliffs opposite the Fulmars, setting off a terrible din - a sort of clattering, rumbling noise.
Apsley and Cherry heard nothing due to their octuple glazing, but pretty soon we heard the tippetty tap of the Tupfinder general's cane rattling off the ice as he hurried along the cliff tops towards the source of the sound.
"It's Tuppence! he's up to his old tricks again!" he shouted. "Ive been keeping watch as usual, and now I'm off to intervene!"
With difficulty we heaved ourselves off our sun loungers and headed after the T-G. Geoffrey was still in bits after watching Mary cry at the end of "Memories".
"She sang it for her dead mother, Tuppy!" he sniffled as we hurried along the cliffs.
"Oh shut up Geoffrey and stop talking such a load of old cock. Dead mother nothing. She was just thinking about how she'd feel if she had to go back to working in Speedispend - and I can't say I blame her."
"Oh you're so hard hearted Tuppy. Can't you...oh!"
Geoffrey halted suddenly as the clattering, rumbling, sucking noise grew louder and louder.
We were nearing the source.
"Be careful lads. Look!" said the T-G, beckoning with his pistol. (we had caught up with him).
We found ourselves at the mouth of a gigantic cave. Inside, illuminated by an arc light powered by rats on several bicycles, was a chair. Sitting on the chair, was a female sheep with what looked like a metal colander on her head with some tubing coming out of it and going in to a bucket (see diagram above). Behind the chair stood Tuppence, directing a solar-style panel.
What had happened was this.
The glare from Simon Cowell's teeth, magnified by the Fulmars' octuple glazing, had ricocheted off the solar panel, which in turn set off the "Mindmuck Removal Device, or "kit"".
He was testing it on the poor ewe.
"Oh, she's got a very clear conscience," said Tuppence. "How tiresome. No muck to remove, at all. We need to find another victim to experiment on. Aha! Visitors! Perfect!"
Oh no. He had spotted us...
"We're armed," said the T-G.
"Yes, I can see that you've got a pistol ASUSUAL," smirked Tuppence, "but ASUSUAL it's half-cocked, just like you. Mwah ha ha!"
And with that evil guffaw, he yanked a lever in the wall and a giant net dropped down on top of us. In a trice we were whizzing through the air, suspended above a bottomless pit of fire...
More tomorrow...

Spockfingers warms up for a gig

'#...black is black

Ah wunt mah baybee back...

'S grey is grey

Der ner ner ner ner...MOOO!#'

"Oh do bog off Spockfingers!" I was becoming a little tetchy after hearing Spockfingers' umpteenth rendition of Black is Black.

"Don't be so uncharitable Tuppy. After all, it is in a good cause."

"What is?"

"The fundraising gig, tonite at 7pm at the Puff Inn. Spockfingers is doing a fundraiser to raise funds for ...erm...something or other. Don't tell me you'd forgotten?"

"Forgotten? Hardly! I didn't get the chance! Nobody thought to inform me. Now I'm going in a massive huff and you can all sod off."

"For God's sake Tuppy. Take one of your special pills and pull yourself together. Here - " Geoffrey seized the medical chest and threw it open " - take several. Take them all!"

"Well! if THAT'S the way you're feeling..."

"It is. I'm pig sick of you and your huffs Tuppy. I want to be able to sit down this evening in front of Apsley and Cherry's 62" telly and watch X factor and enjoy myself. Even though Wagner's out. I don't want you ruining it with an atmosphere."

"WHIT ABOOT MAH FUCKIN' FUNDRAZER?" demanded Spockfingers, front legs on hips.

"Oh, my! Language! a bit of decorum, please, if you don't mind and all that."

"AH DINNAE FUCKIN' CARE ABOOT THAT. FUCK THE LOT O' YEZ. IF YER NO CUMMIN TAE MAH FUCKIN' FUNDRAZER YEZ CAN A' DAE YIN."

Geoffrey and I exchanged glances and I quickly put my huff on the back burner as Spockfingers began drumming one of his feet in rather a tense manner.

"Erm..what are you raising funds for, Spockfingers? what's the cause?"

"COZ? COZ?? the coz is sick kiddies in erm...Africa. Aye. That's richt. Sick kiddies in Africa. They're awfy needy an' that. Yez cannae deny them your dosh you stingey bastards. Sick kiddies in Africa. Noo kin yez?"

"Hmmm..."

X factor down at the Fulmars' place, sitting outside on their decking eating crisps with the super-powered patio heaters blasting away full-tilt, or a dodgy fundrazer down at the Puff Inn, featuring Spockfingers and his dreadful, nightmarish screeching, off key voice.

We'll see how we feel nearer the time...

Enough dullness - back to the Outcrop

Right I'm fed up so it's back to business as frigging usual.

Me, Geoffrey and the T-G were all sitting round a roaring driftwood fire last evening, puffing on our Meerschaums and working our way through a barrel of madeira, when suddenly the door burst open and in came Razor Bill, clutching a telegram.

"I think it's bad news!" he blurted, before throwing himself exhausted on the couch and fanning himself with a copy of the Speedispend Christmas catalogue.

"Open it then, Tuppy," said the T-G in his serious voice.

"We've to start paying rent!" I said shakily, after reading the awful news.

"Rent! what's that?" asked Geoffrey.

"And council tax," I added.

"But why? and who to, exactly?"

"What for, you mean," said the T-G. "This isn't on, lads. Not on at all. We'll have to take action. Where's me pistol?"

"Can we not have a bacon sandwich first," I asked in an outraged voice. "Surely..."

"Stop thinking about your stomach for one second, Tuppy. There are more important things afoot. Grab a packet of smokey bacon crisps and let's get cracking."