blimey - near tragedy on the cliffs!

Blimey! what a day yesterday. Nippy Grimshaw marched up and down along the cliff tops wearing sandwich boards emblazoned with the words DOWN, DOWN, DOWN with EVERYTHING, and shouting the same at the top of his lungs! We tried to engage him in conversation, and offered him some refreshment in the form of a korn bif and wotsit sandwich, but he burst into tears - we felt terribly sorry for him but there was little we could do. We tried asking him to be a bit more specific - down with everything is a bit broad - but unfortunately before we got to the bottom of the mystery, a gust of wind caught the sandwich boards and lifted him off the ground and over the cliff edge. Nippy is now drifting on a thermal, slowly across the open sea...perhaps he'll return when the wind changes...

duck island

"Duck freakin' island? Duck FREAKIN' island???!!!" I'm afraid Geoffrey and I were awakened VERY rudely by Apsley and Cherry Fulmar's less than dulcet tones. What happened is this.

Apsley and Cherry are very nice in their own way - BUT - they are prone to petty jealousies. Hereabouts, we don't "keep up with the Jones's", we keep up with the Fulmars. Or would, if we gave a toss about keeping up with anybody - as readers will know only too well, we don't.

The Fulmars discovered that "someone" has built a floating island for ducks, half way between Hereabouts and ...Over there. It's not ideally situated, actually, as the sea gets terribly rough and there's a whirlpool and everything, (please see previous posts re. my travels to see the oracle in my coracle) so my guess is it won't last long. Nevertheless, the Fulmars are black affronted as they can see the freakin' thing from their patio. They're determined to either demolish it or build their own.

nippy grimshaw

Razor Bill told me this morning that a new person has moved in - someone called Nippy Grimshaw, and he's living in the flat above the Puff Inn. (no, Stormy doesn't live there - he lives in the old broch). A lot of people seem to be coming and going at the moment. The Narks are still at the North Pole, and obviously we're hoping they decide to stay there.
Spockfingers has gone to London for the finals of Britain's Got Talent. The Swallows are around, but we don't see them much as they're very busy due to impending arrival of youngsters. The Tupfinder general is recovering from a touch of swine flu, so has obviously been staying in. The only person we've seen this week is Razor Bill when he delivers the post.
I suppose we did have quite a weekend of it though, so can't complain.
Wilson's still working on a "cure" for swine flu, and as the dead pig behind our oven had rotted sufficiently to allow it to be unwedged, we managed to heave it over the cliffs, where it landed just above the tide line, and Wilson is presently performing a dissection.
We hope to make Nippy's acquaintance later at the Puff Inn.

spockfingers goes for bgt

What a weekend we've had. We all made a bit of a night of it on Friday, down at the Puff Inn. Stormy had a lock in, broke open some doritos and made up a vat of Purple Peril in honour of the return of Chic and Phemie Swallow - all courtesy of their second home allowance of course. The revelry continued until well into Saturday, when we all went round to Apsley and Cherry Fulmar's to watch the Eurovision Song Contest on their 62 inch LCD telly. As readers will know, and despite what Dave and Valerie Nark might think, the Fulmars are the only folks Hereabouts who have leccy and a telly - however, Chic and Phemie are now planning to claim for an £8000 home cinema system, again courtesy of their seemingly very elastic second home expenses. They plan to generate the leccy for it by paying (or threatening) the rats to get on their bikes again and power it up - as they did for Tuppence when he went through his prog rock phase (see previous posts) and performed a gig with his moog at the Puff Inn.
Anyway - I conked out soon after the start of Eurovision (thankful for small mercies) but woke up for the voting. Geoffrey was glued throughout - his fave was Ukraine (something to do with the outfits, I gather), followed by Malta. Manners prevented him from commenting on the UK entry, or the winner, so I'm none the wiser.
More news - mr spockfingers has entered Britain's Got Talent, but is unsure which talent to display to the public. Readers will know he's got two. His singing voice is certainly unmistakeable, but a little voice in my head and a flutter of apprehension in my bowels tends to make me think that he will lean towards the appalling anal emissions department - he watched the chap who was on last week giving a very feeble account of himself and declared that he could do MUCH better - as if we didn't already know that. Oh dear - it's all terribly vulgar - mind you, if he makes it to the final, Geoffrey and I will be loyally feeding him cabbage and cheering him on, and if the Swallows get the home cinema system installed in time, I will personally offer to get on a bike and cycle like "Billy-be-jiggered" in order to power it up. (er...maybe not that last part...)

summer approaches

Chic and Phemie Swallow are well and truly back and ensconced in their "second home", designated as such for tax purposes and expenses claims. Some are whispering that it's their "primary residence", given that they raise at least one family here every summer and travel to warmer climes merely to escape the weather, but who knows. No-one else bothers paying tax Hereabouts anyway - we don't hold with such draconian goings on. Incomers have made attempts to drag us into that horrible system, but so far we've always managed to see them off.

Speaking of which, the Narks seem to have abandoned their yurt, hopefully for good, but people say they have gone on an eco-holiday to some boiling hot godforsaken hellhole, so we sense they may return and Bonkers McGee is standing by just in case.

Oh - Razor Bill has just delivered the mail, and he tells me the Narks have not gone to a boiling hot godforsaken hellhole, they've gone to the Arctic Circle and are planning to swim to the North Pole.

We can only hope that they will be suitably refreshed by their holiday and that afterwards they will have the strength to target their eco-rage on some of the massive multinationals who are belching out immeasurable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere instead of ranting on to us miserable individuals about our lack of cavity wall insulation.

tupfinder general livid - calls in bonkers mcgee to save the day

Well, we tried to tunnel out as best we could but we only made it as far as the deadfall (which we had prepared a few days ago in case Tuppence arrived to collect the dead pig from behind our oven. The pig's still there by the way, but we've kind of got used to the smell - strange to say, it seems almost pleasant now... that can't be normal, can it?) Geoffrey managed to fly out of course, being a gull, and he managed to drop a length of rope down for me to shin up. I got out eventually sans dignity but it was far from easy - never mind - at least it was a tad less traumatic than being blasted out of the belly of the beast by one of Spockfingers' anal emissions (see previous posts, if you're curious).
We spent the evening at the Tupfinders' - Mrs T-G had made some cucumber sandwiches - NOT my favourite, as regular readers will know, but managed to polish them off anyway - with the aim of hatching a plan to get rid of the Narks. But the Tupfinder already had it all in hand! he was absolutely livid.
"We can't have this kind of carry on round here. Leaflets thrust through letterboxes willy nilly. Quarantined without a by your leave. Cavity wall insulations if you please. Pipe lagging experts springing up like a bad rash. Ghastly lectures about living without cars and LCD tellys - we don't HAVE cars and tellys Hereabouts...never mind cavity walls...most of us don't even have leccy...but they don't care about that..."
The Tupfinder was in full flow. "It simply won't do. I've contacted the Heavy Mob."
"Not Bonkers McGee?" Geoffrey and I were aghast.
"We've no option. Serious times need serious people. And there's no-one more serious than Bonkers McGee."
"But..who's going to control him?"
"Who said anything about controlling him? I intend to let him rip...as far as I'm concerned he can do his worst."
Bonkers arrives on Monday, and is sure to be tooled up. We've all battened down our hatches. Bonkers' worst is sure to wreak absolute havoc Hereabouts...

a pig flu

I'm afraid Dave and Valerie refused our invite to a BBQ at the Fulmars, and furthermore didn't like our "general attitude", which they found slack and degenerate! apparently, we are completely lacking in knowledge of our local ecology never mind that of the "planet" and we need to be "re-brained".
Clearly this won't do - and we aren't taking this lying down, or even "feet up on the sofa" - but more of that later. As regular readers would expect, we are having a top level meeting with the Tupfinder to discuss a riddance plan over a glass or two of madeira. But there is a bit of a problem at the moment - we can't actually get out! Dave and Valerie have decreed that as we are not humanoid like them, we are a massive pig flu threat and we have therefore been quarantined, at the outcrop. (It might also have something to do with the powerful reek of rotting pork emanating from the back of our oven...)Dave's using a surveillance camera to ensure we stay put, and if we don't we're going to be hit with a tranquilliser dart and shipped over to the hulks, and we know what ghastliness happens there, having rescued all these sheep from the jaws of death just last year (see gazetteer for "hulks" and previous posts for the rescue drama)!
The likes of Dave Nark isn't going to get the better of us. He's clearly raving. We're resourceful characters and will be out of here in a trice. Fortunately, we have spades and have started a tunnel - we hope it will link up eventually with one of the many others in the tunnel system in the cliffs (see gazetteer), and we'll be able to escape via the landmark on the cliffs known locally as the "sow's purse" (well it is now, and it will be added to the gazetteer forthwith).
Of course, before we hit on the idea of digging our way out, we were feeling quite "boared" and so we had a game of "backGAMMON" until we got "pig sick" of it. I'm sure Wilson will be working on a "cure" for pig flu but he's bound to make a "pig's ear" of it. It's high time he got the "chop". I've heard the symptoms of pig flu include crackling in the ears. Instructions for taking remedies involve "swilling" down some medicine with a bucket of water....

new neighbours are utter swine

We've got new neighbours. Two eco-style warriors have set up home in a yurt in the tourist car park. They're called Dave and Valerie Nark, and they want all of us to get our roofs and pipes lagged, and cavity walls insulated, or they'll do something terrible. They announced through a loudhailer that we're destroying our environment, and if we don't do as they say, they will spray the area with the deadly pig plague virus. That way, the environment will be free from our contamination and abuse.
Obviously this is a bit worrying, but we think if worst comes to worst, we can ask the dreaded Wilson to manufacture "vaccine" from the dead pig behind oven - yes, it's still there - we can't move it, it weighs a ton. We'll just have to leave it till it rots away completely.
We can't possibly get our walls etc. insulated - the Outcrop is "traditional-build" i.e. draughty and full of holes - it would be a case of rebuilding the entire place, and that is utterly unthinkable.
We're going to try and get Dave and Valerie along to a BBQ at the Fulmars, this weekend weather permitting - although they do have supercharged patio heaters, so weather doesn't really matter - to see if we can get them to mellow out a bit.

dead flying pig source of horrible pong

We found the source of the horrible pong - there was a dead pig behind the oven. Geoffrey says that his cousin Ranald (Ranald Wand'ring Albatrosse) has seen pigs flying about willy nilly all over the shop, and we can only think that one of them passed away and plummeted to earth, via our holey roof, and landed behind our oven. When I say "passed away", there is a bullet hole in the pig's skull. The only guns Hereabouts belong to the Tupfinder general - and of course Tuppence stole the Tupfinder's old service revolver from the vitrine some while back ( see previous posts)
The Tupfinder still has a brace of pistols, but I can't really see him firing them at pigs. We can only hope that Tuppence does not come looking for his "bag". Well, if he does, he will get more than he bargained for (I say bravely). We've dug a deadfall outside the front door, just in case.
He won't be expecting that! neither will anyone else, of course - which could be a problem...

spring cleaning

Due to extreme nature of pong, we decided we had to do some spring cleaning, so Geoff and I put on our pinnies and Marigolds and got down to it.
We ended up having to use a blow torch for some of it - burnt on grease etc. - losing the general "patina" in the process - I'm not sure if the place looks better or worse.
We've got rid of the smell at any rate - when we pulled out the oven, you'll never guess what we found...

smell a rat

Geoff and I have been sleeping off the effects of a "lock in" at the Puff Inn - Stormy decided to push the boat out in honour of my and Geoffrey's return last evening, and he fetched an extra couple of barrels of madeira from the cellar - not to mention a few rounds of Purple Peril. I don't remember much after 8pm (we'd been there since lunch) - I know we staggered home eventually around dawn, as I can just recall the dawn chorus being in full cry just as I was dropping off.
I'm not sure if this really happened or if I dreamt it - but I think Granny Sooker made a rare appearance, carrying a basket of plants for sale - absinthe - which she's been growing in her "garden" or rather, outside laboratory. Geoff and me must have purchased a few stems - anyway there's something green, fibrous and slimy soaking in an old zinc bath at the back door - we'll leave it to macerate for a while longer, then distill it down once we've got all the goodness out of it. Might be nice at Christmas - if we can wait that long!
We awoke this morning to an increasingly terrible "pong". At first we attributed it to our own breath, both of our mouths not being in tip top shape after last night's bacchanalia - but after cleaning our teeth and checking our extremities I'm afraid to say the smell was still very much in evidence. We realise we're going to have to track it down - okay, we can often open windows at this time of year, but the weather isn't always this clement - this will undoubtedly mean doing some pulling out of furniture, lifting of lids etc.
Can't face it today - but will have to see if we can find the strength tomorrow. Goodness knows what we will find.

no go with the camper van

Cherry got a lucky break this week, vis a vis her diet (see previous posts). Somerfield have got Nik Naks on special, so she's been buying them up by the pallet-load.
Geoffrey and I had a swatch at the camper van ( see two posts ago). Sadly it is a very rusty piece of kit indeed, so virtually unsalvageable, and certainly no use as a TTD - it would never, ever withstand the rigours of being blasted into another dimension. To be honest, Geoff and I are quite relieved - the amount of sanding down and "filling" we'd have had to do doesn't bear thinking about. We were also a bit nervous about the time travelling part, to be frank. Last time out, Tuppence had the helm, and we didn't really pay much attention to what he was doing with the theodolite and the sextant - so, we were far from certain that we would be able to navigate without his assistance. Goodness knows where we might have ended up. Geoff's always wanted to visits his relatives in the Southern Ocean, but it doesn't appeal to me.
We did have a look inside the thing, but in its fragile rusty condition it wouldn't take both our weights and the innards dropped out. I think there's a chemical toilet left in there, which someone might find useful, and we managed to find some old tins of this and that - sardines, Granny's tomato soup, All Day Breakfast, and so forth. There were pineapple cubes as well, but we left those.
So, we're going to have to transfer our allegiance from Fisher and Donaldson to somewhere else - we're thinking of trying Goodfellow and Steven, and then the Tower bakery.

we decide to resurrect the TTD

Geoffrey and I have decided we can't live without Fisher and Donaldson pies and cakes. Obviously Cherry Fulmar feels the same way - and by the look of Apsley's waistline, he does too.
So, as we sipped a glass of madeira while watching the sunset last evening, puffing steadily on our pipes and listening to the reassuring crackling of the fire, an idea popped into our heads - mine and Geoffrey's, that is. Viz., we think that if we can manage to resurrect the time travelling device - or TTD - it could prove most convenient for travelling back in time, just a week or two to when Fisher and Donaldson were still open Hereabouts. We could then pick up fudge doughnuts and steak pies whenever we felt like it. Another advantage popped into MY head - we could probably get away with not paying for them as well. But I kept that to myself - meantime.
Readers will remember that last summer Tuppence made the original TTD out old korn bif tins. It got powered up by sunlight reflecting on to the panels and causing a combustive reaction with the poofoo valves. We were then able to effect a rescue of all the sheep and other animals stranded on the hulks half way between Hereabouts and Over there. After that, we had to invent a milking device...but readers will have to go back and consult previous posts for use thereof, diagrams etc.etc.
ANYWAY - word from the Puff Inn tells me that there's an abandoned camper van up in the tourist car park - quite an eyesore and it needs to be removed anyway - Geoff and I reckon we could fix it up into a new and improved TTD. We wouldn't even need the poofoo valves - we could power it up using the Fulmar's generator.
That's if we can be bothered of course!!

wilson makes himself unpopular - again

I changed my mind - I won't describe the blast produced by Mr Spockfingers after all. I've decided to err on the side of good taste - as usual. (Also, cannot be "arsed".) Suffice to say, it worked - but there was a ghastly mess to clean up, and can I also say that I won't be able to face cabbage for a very very long time ( not much of a hardship!). Readers will recall that the first plan mooted was to flood the tunnels with raw sewage - and we decided against, due to reasons of mess and concern that our supplies of madeira would be contaminated (unthinkable). Well, the Spockfingers option must have rivalled that unpleasant scenario, and we had to spend hours flushing the caves and tunnels out with buckets of pine scented Flash and hosing down the crates of madeira and korn bif. There's still a bit of a smell actually.
However, I think I can mention without fear of offending anyone much, that my announcement, a couple of posts back, of Cherry Fulmar's forthcoming "happy event" was a bit previous. Turns out that her "bulge" is due to an increasingly severe food addiction, to Fisher & Donaldson fudge doughnuts, scampi flavoured fries and Nik Naks to be precise. The Fisher & Donaldson aspect has already been taken out of her hands, as the local branch has closed down. There isn't another F & S outlet for more than 20 miles. This is a bit of a pain for me and Geoffrey as we too are partial to a fudge doughtnut - or "F.D." - not to mention their steak pies and coffee/chocolate towers. Gloom.
Stormy Petrel of course has a monopoly on scampi fries and Nik Naks, and the prices he charges for buying them over the bar are outrageous quite frankly. Cherry has become so desperate that she has resorted to burglary and is raiding his cellars at night - the poor thing - of course Geoffrey and I would never stoop to that kind of pathetic criminal-style behaviour ( see previous posts for total contradiction)
anyway - as if that wasn't bad enough, the ghastly cave-dwelling doom-merchant Dr Wilson has thought fit to poke his horrible self-righteous nose in and lecture poor Cherry about her spiralling obesity problem and the risk of diabetes, heart disease and stroke. Bad enough that he's been bad-mouthing me and Geoffrey about our fondness for madeira and tobacco. Irritatingly he always proclaims that he's making these pronouncements "for our own goods", but that won't wash. It's obvious he's just worried about having an increase in his own future workload - plus, there is a terrible unholy joy about him whenever he climbs up on his soapbox, which is rather alarming. Really he should be worried about whether or not he's going to get a punch in the face - not that anyone Hereabouts is violent like that, and not that I would personally recommend that very physical type of reaction, especially when Wilson is clearly unhinged.
But I do think that we should consider chucking him over the top ( see gazetteer and previous posts). Titus, the horse, did that last year (see previous posts) if you ask me he did us all a favour - it's just a shame that Wilson scrambled back up again. Another option would be to banish him to the time space anomaly zone. I intend to discuss that fully with Geoffrey and the Tupfinder over a extra large glass or two of madeira this very evening.
Geoffrey and I have decided to help Cherry in the best way we can - by planning a raid ourselves on Stormy's overstocked cellars, and obtaining for her as many cartons of Nik Naks and scampi fries as we can. We're also going to lobby Fisher and Donaldson to see if they will re-open a shop nearby, so we don't all wither away to scrawny shadows like SOME people we could mention, namely Wilson.

mr spockfingers helps out

I had a brainwave on Saturday night. Just as the Tupfinder was sorting through his collection of antique "Boer War"-style fuses, and rooting around in his vitrine for the gelignite, while muttering "I'm sure I had some nitro-glycerine around somewhere..." I suggested another solution to the moog concreted in to the wall problem. I'm certain the Tupfinder knows what he's doing around explosives, but it was all getting a tad out of hand for my comfort.

Anyway, my suggestion was as follows.

a) track down Mr Spockfingers and get him in an obliging mood by asking him to sing a few songs of his own choosing

b) feed him up with copious amounts of beans/stovies/cabbage

c) take a flame thrower (lighter too dangerous - does not allow room for running away) down to the cave with the moog, along with Mr Spockfingers

d) I think I need say no more - you know where I'm going with this. Regular readers will recall my escape from the belly of the whale, after being blasted out with the assistance of Mr Spockfingers and my lighter. (see previous posts)

The Tupfinder general was a bit dubious - also miffed because he felt he was being sidelined by a petomaniac Highland cow - his main criticism being that Spockfingers blast would not have the pinpoint accuracy of his own. He also argued that due to the likely amount of methane produced, there was a severe risk of blowing a hole in the actual ozone layer directly above our heads. Personally I'm not sure about that - I think the methane will neutralise after being set light to. Nevertheless, when out of doors I've taken the precaution of wearing an old beekeeper's outfit which I found in the Tupfinder's secret room, when his back was turned. There was an old bottle of nitro glycerine in one of the pockets - I took the liberty of disposing of it as I thought it rather dangerous - I chucked it "over the top" as is our wont Hereabouts ( see previous posts and gazetteer) There was the most humungous blast as it hit the rocks at the bottom - just below Dr Wilson's cave - how terribly unfortunate!! tee hee!!

anyway - Mr Spockfingers' performed up to his usual standard and the whole thing went off - or up - beautifully. Full account will be given in next post.