The World of ePigg &c.

"What's that awful smell?"
"It's Mrs Tupfinder General's latest recipe.  Black Pudding Mousse.  Home-made."
"It doesn't smell like black pudding.  It smells like...like...well I hate to say it, but blood."
"Well of course it does.    She's been slaughtering pigs all week so she can collect enough blood for the puddings."
"Slaughtering pigs? All by herself?"
"Yes.  You know what she's like. Rubber apron and a big knife."
"Good grief.  Where did she get them?"
"The apron and the knife?  Probably found them in the outhouses or something.  They've got everything up at Tupfinder Towers."
"I meant the PIGS.  Where did she get the pigs?"
"She ordered them online, apparently.  From a website called ePiggandsonsdotcom.  Run by a Eddie Pigg and his daughter, also called Eddie.  They couldn't call the site ePigganddaughterdotcom as someone was already using that name.  They provide everything pertaining to the world of pig - so long as it's a live pig that you want and nothing else."
"You're awfully well-informed.  Why have I not been privy to this information?"
"You're always staring out windows or smoking your pipe, or finishing a bacon sandwich.  I don't like to disturb you when you're busy.  She's started an alligator farm as well.  Selling steaks and making handbags from the skins."
"And I thought all she could do was knit baggy jumpers and make black sausage rolls! (see previous posts for more on black sausage rolls)  What does the T-G make of all this?"
"Oh he doesn't care, as long as he gets his dinner on time.  He's absorbed in some new artefact that he's nursing in his vitrine. (see e-books for more on the T-G's vitrine.)"
"I expect...oh!"
*crump crump crump*
"It's him! It's the T-G!"
"Hallo chaps.  Would you mind closing the windows?  I can't stomach the smell of blood for a moment longer.  Have you any sal volatile?  I could do with a whiff to clear my head."
"Of course. Geoffrey - open the medical chest please. And chuck me an opium tabloid while you're in there.  I'm feeling a bit nauseous with the smell.  It's terrible, isn't it T-G?"
"You think this is bad?  Wait till you smell the mousse."

Parlour Games

"What's orange, has three noses, five legs and - final clue - and surely you'll get it with this one - breath that smells off.  Sorry OF.  That's breath that smells OF newspaper.  Come on  - answer me someone." Geoffrey tapped his pen against his beak. "I haven't got all day."
"Oh do shut up Geoffrey," I snapped. "It's three in the morning.  We've been at this for hours."
"How are we supposed to know?" asked the Tupfinder General. "For pity's sake.  I'm going to get some air.  Unlock the shackles will you?"
"Not Until You Say the Answer," said Geoffrey.
"That's outrageous!  Surely we're entitled to a comfort break.  This is only an after dinner parlour game, after all."
"It Matters To Me," replied Geoffrey. "And you said I could choose as it's my birthday, and you two would play along."
"Yes but - "
"If you let me down now I'll never be able to trust either of you again.  Come on now.  What's orange, has three noses...."
"Oh we give up.  Just tell us the answer and put us out of our misery."
"OK.  NOTHING, is the answer. A-hahahaha!" laughed Geoffrey. "Nothing!  You fools.  What on earth could it be?  There's nothing on earth that answers that hideous description. Tricked you!  I win!  A-hahaha!"
"Are you all right, T-G?" I asked.  The Tupfinder General was turning an un-natural shade of purple. "Is that steam coming out of your ears?"
"Never mind that. I can hear someone scurrying about outside.  And am I the only one who can smell newspaper?"
"Yes."

more later.

From Lismore public conveniences

Loch Slapin

In the Yurt, with a Flamethrower and a Nice Cup of Goji Berry Tea

"I could get to like this Geoffrey." I placed a fresh log in the burner, then sighed contentedly as I lay back on a cosy pile of Val's handmade rag rugs and home-knitted blankets, and sipped a cup of Goji berry tea, made from home-grown organic Goji berries grown in Dave and Val's poly-yurt, and sweetened with sea-weed honey harvested by Dave from remote wild seaweed-eating bee colonies on the cliffs over on the Far Side.

"Me too.  Goji berry tea isn't half as bad as it sounds, " replied Geoffrey, who was munching on a cob of ultra-sweet sweetcorn, also grown in the poly-yurt, along with tomatoes, melons, aubergines, monster gabba-gabba fruits and various other new-fangled vegetables. "I think there's a tang of chili in there Tuppy.  What do you think?"
"Yes Geoffrey.  I think you could be right.  Definitely a hint of warmth on the tastebuds."
"I can't wait for Val to come in and give us one of her extra-special shiatsu treatments. My sinuses have been playing up something shocking.  You know I think she's right - allopathic medicine does more harm than good, and the natural ways are the best.  Perhaps it's time we reviewed the medical chest Tuppy, and ditched the old opiates."

"I think that's taking things a bit far to be honest.  That medicine chest has served us well over the years, and  we mustn't be rash.  Besides,  Val says opiates are permissible because they're made from opium, which comes from a plant.  Nevertheless - "

"Shut your pie-holes will you!" snapped Tuppence, who was standing guard at the "door", or "curtained entrance", with a cocked pistol, a flame-thrower and a machete stuck in his belt.  "Val says Val says.  Goji berry tea.  What is this namby-pamby crap?  We're not on holiday you gibbering fools.  This is serious.  We're Occupying the Car Park.  Remember?"

"What's wrong with enjoying ourselves while we're here?" I protested.

"Nothing.  As long as you keep your wits about you and remember to trash the place after, like we planned. You two sound like you're being taken over by the Dark Side.  Since when did you enjoy froot, Uncle Tuppy?  Pull yourself together, for pity's sake.  We've got a mission to accomplish."

"Which is?" asked Geoffrey archly, as he extracted a stray piece of corn from a cavity in his upper incisor with his favourite zircon-encrusted tweezers. "Ow."

"Don't play the idiot with me Geoffrey.  Not that you ARE playing, you witless, pathetic apology for a creature. As well you know, our objective is clear.  Trash the yurts, or failing that drive out Dave and Val, and take them over as a going concern.  Or the other way round.  I'm not quite sure."

"Trash the yurts?  A going concern?" I gasped.  "But that wasn't discussed, when we planned this back at the Outcrop last Monday. We merely agreed to mount a mildly disagreeable and inconvenient protest and then come home again once the food ran out and the toilet facilities overflowed.  You're taking things to a different level here Tuppence, and I don't like it."

"Neither do I," chimed in Geoffrey." I enjoyed Val's talk last week about alternative remedies and environmental friendliness.  I quite like her."

"Yes Dave's definitely the nutter.  Val's all right," I agreed. "When she's on her own."

"Perhaps we should rescue her from Dave!" suggested Geoffrey, eagerly. "She could stay with us, instead.  It'd be her choice entirely, of course, but I think she'd - "

"Oh shut up," snapped Tuppence. "We've got a plan, and we're sticking to it.  I'm the one packing, remember?"  And he switched on the flame-thrower, full-blast.

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrghh!"

My Amazon page -
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kate-Smart/e/B008MFK3NE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

The tectonic plate experiment

My attempt to re-create the tectonic plate analogy using a plastic bowl and an assortment of "plates" has ended in total failure - or perhaps success, depending on how you want to look at it.
Everything sank.  Immediately.

"Life's a series of tectonic plates,  which collide for a while and give an illusion of stability, then crumble and slide away beneath us, into the great ocean.  The trick is, not to be afraid, and not to mind."


The Tupfinder General

*discuss*

"Ride those mofos - yee-ha!"

Tuppence

*one possible response*

"Sit on a plate for as long as is humanly (or otherwise) possible, while essential supplies last, then simply fly off to another one."

Geoffrey

*the scorn-inducing response*

"Find the most secure-looking plate - they can be deceptive, mind - sit on it with a vat of strong drink and some mind-numbing drugs for as long as humanly (or otherwise) possible, then slide off into the deep when the time comes, hoping that enough substances have been ingested to ensure a pain-free transition to...whatever comes next."

Me.

*whatever*

Whatever Boils Your Kettle - Strivers and Scroungers

"I know which one I'd rather do,"  I muttered as I thrust a "pamphlet" shrieking "ARE U A STRIVER OR A SCROUNGER?"  which some deranged nutter had rammed through our letterbox - or *hole* - on the fire, along with another screaming "DEATH TO SCROUNGERS"  and yet another yelling "GO AWAY ANYONE WHO'S NOT FROM ROUND HERE BEFORE WE KILL YOUSE ALL".
Yes, it's come to this.  Politix.  Politix has arrived, finally, on our draughty doorstep, via Mrs Tupfinder General's niece-by-marriage, Melaena Shovelbum-Steele.
Melaena is what we call an "incomer".
She's not "normal", like us.
She comes from "Overthere".
I don't think I need say more.
"I'm too old to strive," I said firmly, as she parked herself in Geoffrey's usual armchair,"And that seat's taken by the way.  Geoffrey's not here but I need it for putting my feet on."
"You're never to old to strive, Tuppy.  People - creatures like yourself, even - are living till ninety plus, thanks to the help of health boffins such as Drs Kwak and Wilson (see e-books, and paperbacks) and why on earth shouldn't you continue to contribute and do your bit for society, right up until your final breath? "He Strived Until He Dropped". Wouldn't you like to have that inscribed on your gravestone?"
"No.  Now sod off Melaena.  I've got a kettle to boil."
Melaena stood up, smoothing her Tupwatch Tartan trews over her well-toned thighs.  How did I know they were well-toned?  Because the Tupfinder General recently informed me with a heavy sigh that Melaena has installed a gym in the dungeon of Tupfinder Towers, complete with Stairmaster.
"I thought she was involved in the occult when she started banging on about The Stairmaster," he said, aghast," But no - it's worse.  She's a Parliamentary Candidate - and she's into body-pumping, and personal development - and what's worse still, she wants us ALL to do it...we've to have a fast day once a week and there's no smoking and no drinking and no bacon and no sausage rolls and we're not allowed to complain about anything because we've all to cultivate a positive mental attitude - Mrs T-G is NOT impressed...and my life is now officially HELL.  Hell Hell Hell.  And what's put the tin hat on it is, my home is a wreck - again (see e-books for details of previous debacle)"
Apparently, the gym was originally installed in the uppermost floor of the uppermost turret of Tupfinder Towers - just above the Secret Room, with the Vitrine (see e-books, and paperbacks) - however, due to the weight of the equipment, the entire room came loose from the ancient stone walls, and crashed holus bolus down through the turret and the banquet hall and the drawing-room and the kitchens and the pantry and the still-room, right into the bowels of the dungeon, where it rightly belongs.

Something Will Have To Be Done............................