Matters came to a head with Geoffrey and we had to intervene before he killed himself. The Grim Reaper was hovering in the background with a horrible leering grin as we - me, the Tupfinder, Apsley and Cherry - approached. What we did was this. Geoffrey was cycling at a terrific pace, and it would have proved impossible if not dangerous just to seize him in mid-flow, so the Tupfinder found a pole, and shoved it between the spokes of the front wheel - this halted the bike immediately, and Geoffrey was thrown headfirst over the handlebars - we caught him in a blanket and no harm done.
Since then we've been nursing him round the clock. As well as suffering from shock and severe dehydration his breathing is erratic and he's running a high fever. For a ghastly moment or two I feared the worst - i.e. that I'd have to consult Dr Wilson re. Geoffrey's condition - however, the Tupfinder thinks he'll recover in time, so no need for that.
Tuppence is probably attempting to plug his moog into the Fulmar's generator again, but if the silence is anything to go by, he hasn't yet managed it. Hopefully we'll all manage to enjoy a brief respite from the bleeding from our ears.
I know that crisps are probably not the best thing for Geoffrey's health at the moment, but I'm certain that even the sound of a rustling packet will cheer him up, so I'm off to scour the bins at the tourist car park. Embarrassing, but it will be worth it just to see the look on Geoffrey's face.
Saturday 28 February 2009
Tuesday 24 February 2009
kill two birds with one stone
Kill two birds with one stone, somebody once said. Well, I don't know about two, but I think I can be fairly certain that ONE bird is sailing pretty close to the wind.
Geoffrey's obsessive anxiety about his waistline has driven him clean out of his mind - well, that's just my opinion, going by his behaviour.
What happened is this. We had a meeting - me, Geoffrey, the Tupfinder general, and the Fulmars - to discuss what to do about Tuppence's persistent draining of the Fulmar's electric system. Not to mention the racket. We decided after some heated argey bargey that flooding the tunnels with raw sewage was not a great idea. For one thing, Wilson still inhabits a cave in the cliffs, and he would be none too pleased if any of the effluent contaminated his living quarters - which it would - especially if I was directing the flow. ( see previous posts re. my hatred of Wilson)
During the discussion I'd noticed that Geoffrey was becoming increasingly agitated and I was amazed when he refused a top up of madeira. He was clearly very out of sorts. Eventually he sprang to his feet and declared "I will kill two birds with one stone" and flew out of the window immediately.
Apsley and Cherry were alarmed, thinking that he was referring to them, but nevertheless flew after him, and reported later that they'd seen him fly into the tunnel entrance at the old coastguard hut - Tuppence's hideout - word later reached us that in what seems to be a desperate attempt to lose weight he's since been cycling hell for leather on one of the rats exercise bikes (previously used to power up the moog at the lunchtime gig at the Puff Inn some weeks ago) and Tuppence has taken advantage and connected it up to the moog. This means that the Fulmars are no longer having their electrics drained, so obviates the raw sewage option, but we are still left with the problem of the racket.
Not to mention Geoffrey's mental and physical health - he's been cycling without a break for days, and the sweat is lashing off him - we're very concerned indeed.
Geoffrey's obsessive anxiety about his waistline has driven him clean out of his mind - well, that's just my opinion, going by his behaviour.
What happened is this. We had a meeting - me, Geoffrey, the Tupfinder general, and the Fulmars - to discuss what to do about Tuppence's persistent draining of the Fulmar's electric system. Not to mention the racket. We decided after some heated argey bargey that flooding the tunnels with raw sewage was not a great idea. For one thing, Wilson still inhabits a cave in the cliffs, and he would be none too pleased if any of the effluent contaminated his living quarters - which it would - especially if I was directing the flow. ( see previous posts re. my hatred of Wilson)
During the discussion I'd noticed that Geoffrey was becoming increasingly agitated and I was amazed when he refused a top up of madeira. He was clearly very out of sorts. Eventually he sprang to his feet and declared "I will kill two birds with one stone" and flew out of the window immediately.
Apsley and Cherry were alarmed, thinking that he was referring to them, but nevertheless flew after him, and reported later that they'd seen him fly into the tunnel entrance at the old coastguard hut - Tuppence's hideout - word later reached us that in what seems to be a desperate attempt to lose weight he's since been cycling hell for leather on one of the rats exercise bikes (previously used to power up the moog at the lunchtime gig at the Puff Inn some weeks ago) and Tuppence has taken advantage and connected it up to the moog. This means that the Fulmars are no longer having their electrics drained, so obviates the raw sewage option, but we are still left with the problem of the racket.
Not to mention Geoffrey's mental and physical health - he's been cycling without a break for days, and the sweat is lashing off him - we're very concerned indeed.
Thursday 19 February 2009
trendy
Readers will be anxious to know how Geoffrey is getting on with defeating his terrible crisp addiction. At New Year, he resolved to lay off crisps due to concerns re. his rising blood pressure, but his willpower is awfully weak. He still can't pass a layby without having a good rake in the bins. Now as well as sky high BP, he's worried about rampant middle aged spread.
"I'm turning into a gutbucket, Tuppy", he wailed. "I can't get into my white lycra bell bottoms any more - without looking grotesque."
"Just get a bigger size," I said absently - I'm bored with his constant whingeing about his age and appearance.
Obviously this didn't satisfy his need for sympathy and he blurted out his pathetic concerns to Cherry Fulmar when we went along to the Old Rectory to discuss the sewage-flooding-the-tunnels plan. "Wear a kaftan like I do. Paisley pattern. A nice big design, in towelling or chenille. Great for the chilly evenings, and so versatile," she said, yawning and passing him a sack of chilli heatwave doritos.
"But I want to look TRENDY!" he wailed.
"Your trendy days are over, Geoff," said Apsley, patting him on the shoulder. "You might as well accept it."
I had to agree with him. But Geoffrey clearly didn't. I detected a distinct glint in his eye, as he stared disdainfully at Cherry and Apsley's matching fleece housecoats.
"I'm turning into a gutbucket, Tuppy", he wailed. "I can't get into my white lycra bell bottoms any more - without looking grotesque."
"Just get a bigger size," I said absently - I'm bored with his constant whingeing about his age and appearance.
Obviously this didn't satisfy his need for sympathy and he blurted out his pathetic concerns to Cherry Fulmar when we went along to the Old Rectory to discuss the sewage-flooding-the-tunnels plan. "Wear a kaftan like I do. Paisley pattern. A nice big design, in towelling or chenille. Great for the chilly evenings, and so versatile," she said, yawning and passing him a sack of chilli heatwave doritos.
"But I want to look TRENDY!" he wailed.
"Your trendy days are over, Geoff," said Apsley, patting him on the shoulder. "You might as well accept it."
I had to agree with him. But Geoffrey clearly didn't. I detected a distinct glint in his eye, as he stared disdainfully at Cherry and Apsley's matching fleece housecoats.
Tuesday 17 February 2009
Tuppence's hideout
Tuppence has been rehearsing in the tunnels again - the old coastguard hut (see above) looks really small, but the tunnels underneath are vast, labyrinthine and cavernous, so he has plenty of room to create utter havoc with his moog. The rats flatly refused to use the bikes to power it up, so Tuppence ingeniously managed to tap into the Fulmars electric generator (see previous posts) and syphon off some of the supply. This obviously leaves them short, and their security lights keep flickering. The Fulmars are definitely getting the worst of it - on top of the electric problem, with the old rectory being on the cliffs, the noise is causing them sleepless nights and it's all been getting a bit on top of them this past week.
Something will have to be done - we've had our differences with Apsley and Cherry over the years, especially over their security lights ( see previous posts) but the racket from the tunnels is horrendous and we're all very sympathetic to their current plight - the Tupfinder's all for setting up a task force to root Tuppence out of his lair, but that could prove difficult, given the enormity of the tunnel system.
Apsley suggested using the sewage system somehow - as readers might remember, it caused a bit of a mess when raw sewage was accidentally pumped through the Fulmar's jakoosy (see previous posts) - it might just be possible to flood the tunnels with sufficient effluent to flush Tuppence out. HOWEVER - downside is, that the stocks of madeira and korn bif would be at serious risk of spoilage.
We're going to mull the whole thing over this evening, over a glass or two of madeira.
Something will have to be done - we've had our differences with Apsley and Cherry over the years, especially over their security lights ( see previous posts) but the racket from the tunnels is horrendous and we're all very sympathetic to their current plight - the Tupfinder's all for setting up a task force to root Tuppence out of his lair, but that could prove difficult, given the enormity of the tunnel system.
Apsley suggested using the sewage system somehow - as readers might remember, it caused a bit of a mess when raw sewage was accidentally pumped through the Fulmar's jakoosy (see previous posts) - it might just be possible to flood the tunnels with sufficient effluent to flush Tuppence out. HOWEVER - downside is, that the stocks of madeira and korn bif would be at serious risk of spoilage.
We're going to mull the whole thing over this evening, over a glass or two of madeira.
Tuesday 10 February 2009
the return of the purple peril
I've had a bit of a head for the past few days, hence no correspondence. Geoffrey's been the same - in fact, he almost lapsed into a coma again. Since Sunday, the two of us have been crouched trembling by the fireside, with tartan knee rugs over our heads, sipping hot madeira. It's all we can cope with.
What happened is this.
We decided to venture over to the Puff Inn, Sunday lunchtime. We were pretty sure Tuppence's gig was off, for reasons described in last two posts, so assumed it would be a case of sitting quietly in the snug with a bottle or two of Stormy's finest madeira and a large bowl of some delicious salty snack mixture. HOWEVER - the ever-resourceful Tuppence, aided by Stormy, who was acting as "road manager" - had managed to rig up a "sound system" and power up the moog at the same time. It worked like this.
Some of the rats, overfond of Stormy's wares, had run up a massive bar tab, and there was no indication that they intended to pay it off anytime soon. Stormy had been worrying about this for some time, but had no means of forcing them to pay up, as they seemed quite oblivious to ordinary threats and coercion. HOWEVER - he noticed that they began to shrink back into the shadows whenever the Reaper appeared. Ergo, Stormy deduced, here was a weapon. Like the rest of us mortals, they too fear the Reaper.
Stormy threatened to use his influence - meaning, that if the Reaper was going to be paid for a gig at the Puff Inn, then technically, Stormy was his employer, and could call himself such - to get the Reaper to move the rats up to the top of his "list", unless they agreed to co-operate with his plan.
Which was as follows. The rats were to obtain a number of exercise cycles, bring them to the Puff Inn, wire them up to the moog, and start cycling for grim death - literally.
And that's exactly what they did. It took a while for them to crank the power up to a usable level, but my goodness, when they did, the sound was amazing - deafening actually. Tuppence began with ELP's Fanfare for the Common Man - he played it with one hoof, and managed to hit all the right notes "but not necessarily in the right order" as someone once said - not my cup of tea, but the rats loved it and it spurred them on to even faster cycling. Someone had to throw cups of water over the wheels to stop them catching fire and the resulting clouds of steam only added to the atmosphere.
Stormy had resurrected the Purple Peril koktale to mark the occasion ( see previous posts for info. re. this lethal meths 'n' madeira concoction) I'm afraid Geoffrey and I succumbed to tempation, hence our current semi-comatose condition.
I don't remember much of what happened next. Obviously we staggered back to the rocky outcrop somehow. Geoffrey put his back out at some stage in the proceedings, we don't know how.
Word from Razor Bill this morning tells me that Spockfingers turned up halfway through Tuppence's act, determined to give his rendition of Sweet Child in Time. There was a terrible shrieking towards the end and all the windows blew in. Then Wilson stormed in, covered in seaweed (see previous posts) in a furious temper, screaming something about them all being utter philistines and that they were besmirching the name of prog. He ripped the electric cable from the exercise bikes and brought the act to a sudden end. Spockfingers offered to crank things up again using his incredible wind power, but it was thought too risky.
Anyway, back to normal now.
What happened is this.
We decided to venture over to the Puff Inn, Sunday lunchtime. We were pretty sure Tuppence's gig was off, for reasons described in last two posts, so assumed it would be a case of sitting quietly in the snug with a bottle or two of Stormy's finest madeira and a large bowl of some delicious salty snack mixture. HOWEVER - the ever-resourceful Tuppence, aided by Stormy, who was acting as "road manager" - had managed to rig up a "sound system" and power up the moog at the same time. It worked like this.
Some of the rats, overfond of Stormy's wares, had run up a massive bar tab, and there was no indication that they intended to pay it off anytime soon. Stormy had been worrying about this for some time, but had no means of forcing them to pay up, as they seemed quite oblivious to ordinary threats and coercion. HOWEVER - he noticed that they began to shrink back into the shadows whenever the Reaper appeared. Ergo, Stormy deduced, here was a weapon. Like the rest of us mortals, they too fear the Reaper.
Stormy threatened to use his influence - meaning, that if the Reaper was going to be paid for a gig at the Puff Inn, then technically, Stormy was his employer, and could call himself such - to get the Reaper to move the rats up to the top of his "list", unless they agreed to co-operate with his plan.
Which was as follows. The rats were to obtain a number of exercise cycles, bring them to the Puff Inn, wire them up to the moog, and start cycling for grim death - literally.
And that's exactly what they did. It took a while for them to crank the power up to a usable level, but my goodness, when they did, the sound was amazing - deafening actually. Tuppence began with ELP's Fanfare for the Common Man - he played it with one hoof, and managed to hit all the right notes "but not necessarily in the right order" as someone once said - not my cup of tea, but the rats loved it and it spurred them on to even faster cycling. Someone had to throw cups of water over the wheels to stop them catching fire and the resulting clouds of steam only added to the atmosphere.
Stormy had resurrected the Purple Peril koktale to mark the occasion ( see previous posts for info. re. this lethal meths 'n' madeira concoction) I'm afraid Geoffrey and I succumbed to tempation, hence our current semi-comatose condition.
I don't remember much of what happened next. Obviously we staggered back to the rocky outcrop somehow. Geoffrey put his back out at some stage in the proceedings, we don't know how.
Word from Razor Bill this morning tells me that Spockfingers turned up halfway through Tuppence's act, determined to give his rendition of Sweet Child in Time. There was a terrible shrieking towards the end and all the windows blew in. Then Wilson stormed in, covered in seaweed (see previous posts) in a furious temper, screaming something about them all being utter philistines and that they were besmirching the name of prog. He ripped the electric cable from the exercise bikes and brought the act to a sudden end. Spockfingers offered to crank things up again using his incredible wind power, but it was thought too risky.
Anyway, back to normal now.
Thursday 5 February 2009
gig off
Great news! Razor Bill (postman) stopped by on his rounds for a drop of madeira this morning - never too early - as someone once said "It's five o'clock somewhere" - and gave us the latest from the Puff Inn. Rehearsals for Tuppence's band's Sunday lunchtime gig have not been going too well. There have been horrible scenes. Dr Wilson insisted on playing "pure prog" (no surprise there - he's such a pedant) but Tuppence and the Reaper wanted to play more heavy rock, egged on by Mr Spockfingers, who wanted to start the set with Deep Purple's Sweet Child in Time, so he could showcase his vocal range. Wilson stormed out in a terrible huff, which left them without anyone to squeak the glass. And without electrics, that means they only have the biscuit tin lids left.
Anyway it's all gone "tits up" as they say.
And Geoffrey and I couldn't be more pleased. We don't like music. We like Val Doonican.
Anyway it's all gone "tits up" as they say.
And Geoffrey and I couldn't be more pleased. We don't like music. We like Val Doonican.
Tuesday 3 February 2009
grim reaper reveals a musical side
I'd been wondering what had happened to the old grim reaper (see previous posts - quite recent for a change actually) - it seemed a bit unlikely that someone who'd been dispatching people since the dawn of time would be scared off for good by the Tupfinder waving a pitchfork and shouting "Begone, begone."
And unlikely it is. Word from the Puff Inn tells me that he's gone nowhere - he's been lurking around in the shadows like the proverbial bad smell, leaning on his scythe and looking grim without so much as a by your leave. "Waiting..." as he puts it.
What's on his mind? well, apart from the usual, music for one thing. If you can call it that - I wouldn't, but for obvious reasons won't be sharing my views with the Reaper. Anyway, Tuppence has formed a band - supposedly prog rock - and Stormy Petrel has agreed to give them a gig this Sunday lunchtime at the Puff Inn. He isn't taking much of a risk, as it's usually dead in there at that time - will be even deader this Sunday, what with the Reaper playing musical scythe in Tuppence's band. Line up - provisional - seems to be as follows: Tuppence - Moog synthesizer and lead vocals; Mr Spockfingers - backing vocals (??!); Grim Reaper - musical scythe; Dr "I hate him" Wilson - the glass (rubbing a wet finger round the rim to make a humming/squeaking noise); a rat - biscuit tin lids (percussion).
Only problem is, the Moog will need to be plugged in, and as readers will know, the only folk with leccy Hereabouts are Apsley and Cherry Fulmar - and we all know what trouble Geoffrey and I caused when we accidentally cut through their generator cable. (see previous posts - if you can be bothered - it was ages ago)
Anyway, Stormy's working on it.
And unlikely it is. Word from the Puff Inn tells me that he's gone nowhere - he's been lurking around in the shadows like the proverbial bad smell, leaning on his scythe and looking grim without so much as a by your leave. "Waiting..." as he puts it.
What's on his mind? well, apart from the usual, music for one thing. If you can call it that - I wouldn't, but for obvious reasons won't be sharing my views with the Reaper. Anyway, Tuppence has formed a band - supposedly prog rock - and Stormy Petrel has agreed to give them a gig this Sunday lunchtime at the Puff Inn. He isn't taking much of a risk, as it's usually dead in there at that time - will be even deader this Sunday, what with the Reaper playing musical scythe in Tuppence's band. Line up - provisional - seems to be as follows: Tuppence - Moog synthesizer and lead vocals; Mr Spockfingers - backing vocals (??!); Grim Reaper - musical scythe; Dr "I hate him" Wilson - the glass (rubbing a wet finger round the rim to make a humming/squeaking noise); a rat - biscuit tin lids (percussion).
Only problem is, the Moog will need to be plugged in, and as readers will know, the only folk with leccy Hereabouts are Apsley and Cherry Fulmar - and we all know what trouble Geoffrey and I caused when we accidentally cut through their generator cable. (see previous posts - if you can be bothered - it was ages ago)
Anyway, Stormy's working on it.
tuppence waxes musical
Terrible news. Word from the Puff Inn tells me that Tuppence, with his newfound enthusiasm for prog rock, has started a band, with none other than Mr Spockfingers (see previous posts - and photo) as lead singer. They've managed to lay their hands/hooves/whatever, on a Moog synthesizer and a couple of coathangers, and are doing covers of Uriah Heep and Spookytooth. Spockfingers has made himself a cape. One of the rats is banging away on a couple of old biscuit tin lids, and another is rubbing his paw round the rim of a jam jar, making a squeaky sound. Another is on backing vocals.
Apparently, Stormy has offered them a gig at the Puff Inn, next Sunday lunchtime, just to see how they get on. As readers will know, the Fulmars are the only folk with electrics hereabouts, so negotiations are afoot with Apsley and Cherry to see if Tuppence and Spockfingers can plug their moog into their generator. We know only too well that said generator has experienced problems in the past (see previous posts - Geoffrey and I accidentally cut the cable when over-refreshed with the purple peril) I only hope that it can cope with the strain.
Viz a viz the Purple Peril - apparently Stormy wants to bring this delightful koktale back, specially for the occasion. However, health and safety - not that we bother much with that Hereabouts) precludes it. Too many people have gone blind/and/or insane.
Friday 30 January 2009
newsflash
A bit of good news - B.O. has left the bay, thus relieving me of the dreadful worry of having to go about with a bounty on my head. According to the latest newsflash from the Puff Inn, Tuppence played "The Tull"'s Aqualung album at full volume, down one of the tunnels (see gazetteer). He was merely attempting to maximise the rather tinny sound of his antiquated stereo system, but the rather fortuitous side effect was that as said tunnel ended in one of the massive caves in the cliffs, causing an ear-shattering echo/reverb effect, the Baby Orca was driven from the bay by the appalling din.
tuppence develops a taste for prog rock
Geoffrey's still recovering from his coma. He insists it was genuine - brought on in part by watching Celebrity Big Brother for more than five consecutive seconds, which we already knew; what we didn't know that was it was also partly brought on by shock, caused by catching a glimpse of Apsley Fulmar's unmentionables.
We managed to find this out by employing a form of regression therapy - which didn't work - the Tupfinder general then produced a vial of truth serum, which he proceeded to inject into poor Geoffrey's brachial artery, despite my protestions.
"Hold him down Tuppy!" he ordered, and cravenly I complied. I'm petrified that Geoffrey will never forgive me, but I'm more petrified of the Tupfinder, and as he says" Better out than in." Though I'm certain that can't be said of Apsley's unmentionables. Or can it? I'm not one to judge.
At any rate, once well and truly under, Geoffrey blurted out the truth - Apsley and Cherry had been watching Celebrity Big Brother whilst lounging on their faux leather recliner settee, attired in their customary matching fleece robes. Apsley had got up from the recliner in rather an ungainly fashion, causing his robe to gape open - that was when Geoffrey saw...well, a rather dreadful sight. As he stood aghast, Apsley went to their kitchen - openplan, faux oak fittings, an Aga, walk-in fridge - and fetched a large bowlful of crisps which he and Cherry proceeded to demolish. That was too much for Geoffrey (see previous posts re. Geoffrey's crisp addiction). He remained transfixed, and that is where Razor Bill found him the following morning - frozen in time, eyes glazed, standing on one leg, beak agape.
Anyway he's much better now.
News from the Puff Inn tells me that Tuppence is having problems - he's currently living high on the hog in the tunnels with the rats, pistol in his belt etc. - likes to think he's their leader (see previous posts) however, he's deluding himself. There's a rebellion afoot. The rats are sick and tired of Tuppence and his arrogant ways and they want him out. More fuel was added to the fire by Tuppence's recent obsession with prog rock - apparently he found an old copy of Rick Wakeman's Six Wives of Henry VIII and has been playing it nonstop on an old stereo system he rigged up.
We managed to find this out by employing a form of regression therapy - which didn't work - the Tupfinder general then produced a vial of truth serum, which he proceeded to inject into poor Geoffrey's brachial artery, despite my protestions.
"Hold him down Tuppy!" he ordered, and cravenly I complied. I'm petrified that Geoffrey will never forgive me, but I'm more petrified of the Tupfinder, and as he says" Better out than in." Though I'm certain that can't be said of Apsley's unmentionables. Or can it? I'm not one to judge.
At any rate, once well and truly under, Geoffrey blurted out the truth - Apsley and Cherry had been watching Celebrity Big Brother whilst lounging on their faux leather recliner settee, attired in their customary matching fleece robes. Apsley had got up from the recliner in rather an ungainly fashion, causing his robe to gape open - that was when Geoffrey saw...well, a rather dreadful sight. As he stood aghast, Apsley went to their kitchen - openplan, faux oak fittings, an Aga, walk-in fridge - and fetched a large bowlful of crisps which he and Cherry proceeded to demolish. That was too much for Geoffrey (see previous posts re. Geoffrey's crisp addiction). He remained transfixed, and that is where Razor Bill found him the following morning - frozen in time, eyes glazed, standing on one leg, beak agape.
Anyway he's much better now.
News from the Puff Inn tells me that Tuppence is having problems - he's currently living high on the hog in the tunnels with the rats, pistol in his belt etc. - likes to think he's their leader (see previous posts) however, he's deluding himself. There's a rebellion afoot. The rats are sick and tired of Tuppence and his arrogant ways and they want him out. More fuel was added to the fire by Tuppence's recent obsession with prog rock - apparently he found an old copy of Rick Wakeman's Six Wives of Henry VIII and has been playing it nonstop on an old stereo system he rigged up.
Tuesday 27 January 2009
the T-G's war wound plays up
"Why did Mertz and Mawson eat the husky livers if they knew they were poisonous?" I had to ask. It had been troubling me all night.
The T-G sighed heavily. "They DIDN'T know, in those days. It all happened before the Great War. You know. Before I got shot in the Balkans."
I winced. The T-G tends to get tetchy when his old war wound plays up. And that's never a good thing. He's terribly butch, and had a piece of shrapnel, from said war wound, mounted in silver and fitted on the nub of his sword stick, with the words"Ready for Action" engraved along the business end.
"They didn't have vitamins in those days?" I queried. Mind you, I thought, I have precious little of them myself.
"They didn't NEED vitamins. They were a different breed. Tough. Men were men, in those days." The Tupfinder was gazing into the middle distance with a wistful expression. I didn't like to remind him about the vitamin A poisoning, and daren't even breath the word "scurvy". I defo. didn't want to cross the Tupfinder, in his present mood. I imagined he was remembering his first meeting with Mrs T-G, in the field hospital at Scutari.
"That reminds me - I've been wonderin' - what the dickens happened to the other items from my vitrine? the Meerschaum pipe for example? not to mention Scott's last biscuit." (see previous posts)
I coughed nervously, as one does in such situations, and tried to change the subject.
"Another smidgeon of madeira, T-G? Terrible weather we're having."
Just as he reached towards me, glass in hand, Geoffrey sprang up from his pillows and shrieked"Eccles! he's in the canal!" and collapsed, insensible once more.
The T-G eyed him sceptically. "I wonder..." he mused, and lit a small cigar. When the tip was glowing brightly, he held it to Geoffrey's left ear. Before it touched the feathers, Geoffrey was up like a shot, and flying round the ceiling in a panic.
The T-G sat back smugly. "Thought so!"
Geoffrey? feigning illness? whatever next! but why?
The T-G sighed heavily. "They DIDN'T know, in those days. It all happened before the Great War. You know. Before I got shot in the Balkans."
I winced. The T-G tends to get tetchy when his old war wound plays up. And that's never a good thing. He's terribly butch, and had a piece of shrapnel, from said war wound, mounted in silver and fitted on the nub of his sword stick, with the words"Ready for Action" engraved along the business end.
"They didn't have vitamins in those days?" I queried. Mind you, I thought, I have precious little of them myself.
"They didn't NEED vitamins. They were a different breed. Tough. Men were men, in those days." The Tupfinder was gazing into the middle distance with a wistful expression. I didn't like to remind him about the vitamin A poisoning, and daren't even breath the word "scurvy". I defo. didn't want to cross the Tupfinder, in his present mood. I imagined he was remembering his first meeting with Mrs T-G, in the field hospital at Scutari.
"That reminds me - I've been wonderin' - what the dickens happened to the other items from my vitrine? the Meerschaum pipe for example? not to mention Scott's last biscuit." (see previous posts)
I coughed nervously, as one does in such situations, and tried to change the subject.
"Another smidgeon of madeira, T-G? Terrible weather we're having."
Just as he reached towards me, glass in hand, Geoffrey sprang up from his pillows and shrieked"Eccles! he's in the canal!" and collapsed, insensible once more.
The T-G eyed him sceptically. "I wonder..." he mused, and lit a small cigar. When the tip was glowing brightly, he held it to Geoffrey's left ear. Before it touched the feathers, Geoffrey was up like a shot, and flying round the ceiling in a panic.
The T-G sat back smugly. "Thought so!"
Geoffrey? feigning illness? whatever next! but why?
Monday 26 January 2009
the T-G provides an explanation for Geoffrey's coma
"Husky livers."
"What?"
"Husky livers. It's the only explanation. Or polar bear. Or seal." The Tupfinder general sat back on Geoffrey's usual chair by the fire - unlit, as we're out of fire lighters - and gave me the benefit of his thoughts on Geoffrey's condition.
"Where on earth would Geoffrey find a husky or a polar bear, round here? The odd seal, perhaps, but I honestly can't see him eating its liver."
"Well, you did ask. And it's one possible explanation for his raving. Vitamin A poisoning. Like Mertz and Mawson."
"Mertz and Mawson?"
"One of the greatest stories of polar exploration. They survived, after their companion plus all their food went down a crevasse, by killing their huskies and eating their livers. The livers contain toxic doses of Vitamin A - Mertz died, Mawson did not. I can go on, if you like."
"N-n-no, please don't trouble," I said hastily. But he was still in full flow...
"I think I've got Mertz's pinky finger in the vitrine somewhere. The one he bit off."
I put my hands over my ears. "Please!"
The Tupfinder looked taken aback, then we both did as Geoffrey pulled himself up from his pillows and shrieked"Stephanie! don't do it!" the fell into a faint again.
He must have had a fly look at the TV mag after all. Well, that made my mind up! I immediately began folding the pages into kindling for the fire. No more TV mags for him! I'm all but out of sal volatile and this can't go on.
"What?"
"Husky livers. It's the only explanation. Or polar bear. Or seal." The Tupfinder general sat back on Geoffrey's usual chair by the fire - unlit, as we're out of fire lighters - and gave me the benefit of his thoughts on Geoffrey's condition.
"Where on earth would Geoffrey find a husky or a polar bear, round here? The odd seal, perhaps, but I honestly can't see him eating its liver."
"Well, you did ask. And it's one possible explanation for his raving. Vitamin A poisoning. Like Mertz and Mawson."
"Mertz and Mawson?"
"One of the greatest stories of polar exploration. They survived, after their companion plus all their food went down a crevasse, by killing their huskies and eating their livers. The livers contain toxic doses of Vitamin A - Mertz died, Mawson did not. I can go on, if you like."
"N-n-no, please don't trouble," I said hastily. But he was still in full flow...
"I think I've got Mertz's pinky finger in the vitrine somewhere. The one he bit off."
I put my hands over my ears. "Please!"
The Tupfinder looked taken aback, then we both did as Geoffrey pulled himself up from his pillows and shrieked"Stephanie! don't do it!" the fell into a faint again.
He must have had a fly look at the TV mag after all. Well, that made my mind up! I immediately began folding the pages into kindling for the fire. No more TV mags for him! I'm all but out of sal volatile and this can't go on.
Friday 23 January 2009
addendum
You won't be surprised to know, that during Geoffrey's coma, I could hear the swishing of you-know-who's scythe drawing ever nearer. As I stood watch by Geoffrey's bedside I was grateful for the Tupfinder general's sturdy presence with his service revolver at the ready. He stood guard by the door, which is a bit ricketty at the best of times - see photo - and shouted "Begone, begone" from time to time, fired the odd shot, and brandished a blazing pitchfork full of hay and stuff. That seemed to do the trick.
Geoffrey in a coma
Dreadful news - I've had a terrible week. On Monday, as I think I mentioned, Geoffrey was out scouring the bins for crisps, in preparation for the Tupfinder's visit. He happened to swoop by the Fulmar's place mid-evening, and his eye fell upon their 62 inch LCD telly - the one we watched at Christmas when we were invited round. Anyway, I was aware that Geoffrey coveted a telly like that - but I'd no idea, not the remotest, how badly it was affecting him and seizing hold of his brain. We haven't got a telly at all, of course, and have to make our own entertainment - and readers will know only too well what nightmarish scenes THAT can lead to - see previous posts if you don't believe me.
What happened is this. Geoffrey could not control himself when passing the Fulmars, and simply had to stop, alight on their decking and watch the telly through the enormous French windows. The programme which was on, was something called "Celebrity Big Brother", and it was so mind-numbingly dull, that Geoffrey fell immediately into a deep coma. And that's where he's stayed, ever since. Razor Bill the postman found him comatose and flat out early the next morning - well, eleven o'clock.
He was taken back here to the Rocky Outcrop, where I've been nursing him round the clock.
Oh! he's coming back to us! I must fetch the medical case.
What happened is this. Geoffrey could not control himself when passing the Fulmars, and simply had to stop, alight on their decking and watch the telly through the enormous French windows. The programme which was on, was something called "Celebrity Big Brother", and it was so mind-numbingly dull, that Geoffrey fell immediately into a deep coma. And that's where he's stayed, ever since. Razor Bill the postman found him comatose and flat out early the next morning - well, eleven o'clock.
He was taken back here to the Rocky Outcrop, where I've been nursing him round the clock.
Oh! he's coming back to us! I must fetch the medical case.
Monday 19 January 2009
B.O. becomes less of a threat, and Tuppence sends us a note
No go with Tuppence and the TTD blueprints. We managed to get a message to him via Razor Bill the postman, and we got one back quick as you like, with just the two words written on a piece of torn lavatory paper. Not surprisingly one of them was "off". It was actually quite hard to read, due to it having been written in felt pen and the paper being the posh quilted variety. But we got his drift. Quilted bog roll! Tuppence is clearly doing quite well for himself! whereas Geoffrey and I are enduring the rigours of whatever cheap "value" range we can find. Geoffrey does favour Izal, but honestly, at my age that's not on at all.
So, back to square one with the reaper. We've decided to consult the Tupfinder general about it all. He's bound to have encountered this problem before. We also need his advice about Baby Orca - Tuppence has been revelling in it all and egging him on to ever greater heights of slavering revenge - it's pathetic really. Why can't he let bygones be bygones. Anyway, apparently I was mistaken about the bounty on my head being a real bounty as in bar. However, word from the Puff Inn is that nobody's interested in capturing me and flinging me into the sea to be consumed by B.O., as it's well-known that he - Baby Orca - hasn't got any cash and wouldn't be able to pay out. His mum died broke (in more ways than one - see previous posts), and he just lives from one meal to the next. A bit like me and Geoffrey at the moment, so I've no sympathy.
Obviously, he was counting on yours truly being on the menu before too long, but although I'm "most unpopular" Hereabouts ( see previous posts) it looks like there's not enough money on the table, so nobody can be "arsed" to use one of Tuppence's favourite words, getting mixed up in it all. Specially at this time of year - the weather isn't half "parky" and nobody wants to be scuttling around kidnapping folk unless it's absolutely unavoidable. So, that's one less thing to worry about.
Tonight we've invited the Tupfinder round for madeira and crisps - Geoffrey's scouring the bins as I write - and we hope to come up with a solution re. the Reaper.
So, back to square one with the reaper. We've decided to consult the Tupfinder general about it all. He's bound to have encountered this problem before. We also need his advice about Baby Orca - Tuppence has been revelling in it all and egging him on to ever greater heights of slavering revenge - it's pathetic really. Why can't he let bygones be bygones. Anyway, apparently I was mistaken about the bounty on my head being a real bounty as in bar. However, word from the Puff Inn is that nobody's interested in capturing me and flinging me into the sea to be consumed by B.O., as it's well-known that he - Baby Orca - hasn't got any cash and wouldn't be able to pay out. His mum died broke (in more ways than one - see previous posts), and he just lives from one meal to the next. A bit like me and Geoffrey at the moment, so I've no sympathy.
Obviously, he was counting on yours truly being on the menu before too long, but although I'm "most unpopular" Hereabouts ( see previous posts) it looks like there's not enough money on the table, so nobody can be "arsed" to use one of Tuppence's favourite words, getting mixed up in it all. Specially at this time of year - the weather isn't half "parky" and nobody wants to be scuttling around kidnapping folk unless it's absolutely unavoidable. So, that's one less thing to worry about.
Tonight we've invited the Tupfinder round for madeira and crisps - Geoffrey's scouring the bins as I write - and we hope to come up with a solution re. the Reaper.
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