Something Must be Done (but what?)

Blimey. This place is getting out of hand. (I'm back at the Outcrop, by the way - successfully unwedged by a powerful blast from Spockfingers rear end. "We fed him cabbage again, Tuppy," said Geoffrey, excitedly. "It always does the trick." Well, cabbage has to be good for something, I suppose.)
Anyway - the appalling Sir Erchie has been prancing about the place willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave, poking his nose into all sorts. As a matter of fact, we had a VERY distasteful conversation earlier, right on our very doorstep.
"What's this about pylons and a ditch?" he asked, taking out his biro and spiral notebook. "Sounds like a juicy tale. (Not!!)" he smirked up his sleeve. Yes, it is possible to do that, but it's very rude.
"Bog off," I said. "Anyway, it's a trench, not a ditch."
"Have you seen it lately?" he asked, needled by my tone."It's packed full of old bits of rubbish. It's just a dump. It's an environmental hazard. The Council will have to sort it out. Whoever's responsible will get an enormous fine."
"But..." I gasped.
"What idiot's been dumping rubbish in the trench? It's supposed to keep the pylons away!" snapped the T-G, who had just arrived on the scene for his mid-morning snifter.
Geoffrey and I glancced at each other quickly.
"Er...must have been...someone else..." murmured Geoffrey, shamefacedly.
"Yes. Exactly," I said briskly, "Someone else with no moral scruples, unlike us. Anyone for a snifter? Crack open the madeira, Geoffrey, for pity's sake. It's gone half ten."

More Embarrassment

As I flew through the air, powered by Spockfingers' forensically aimed anal emission, I spotted none other than young Sir Erchie McPheasant-Blaster - journalist and owner of the Miserable (calls himsel' Scottish) Git Publishing Company.
Blimey. Looks like I'll be on the front page of the paper. More of that later.

Chic and Phemie return from Africa

By the way - Geoffrey informed me on a recent fly past that the Swallows are back - it's always good to see Chic and Phemie. Unfortunately nobody remembered to air their chalet before their arrival so they're a bit upset/in a huff.
Geoffrey also informs me that to try and make it up to them the Fulmars are hosting a BBQ in honour of their return, this weekend, weather permitting - not that the weather matters much at the Fulmars, what with their patio heaters, decking etc. Here's hoping I drop a few pounds before....
Oh! a solution has just presented itself, in the form of Spockfingers. Readers will recall how he helped me escape from the belly of the beast last summer, by allowing me to set light to one of his incredibly powerful anal emissions. I can see him at the centre of the crowd on the cliff top. he's turning round. Oh dear. I'd better brace my-S-E-E-E-E-E-E-L-L-........!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Special Tea

A reader reminds me that Geoffrey and I were supposed to be hosting one of our "special teas" this week, for Dave and Valerie Nark. Sadly, I've been held up as I'm still wedged in the crack.

"You'll just have to "wait" till some of the "weight" drops off," shrilled Tuppence, who had travelled out to see me in a new motorised raft he had constructed.

"Bog off," I muttered, flailing my legs about in a vain attempt to loosen myself. Meanwhile, Geoffrey flew anxiously round and round.

"But what if the Narks turn up? I don't know how to make a special tea," he said as he wheeled past.

"No more do I," I said.

"Why did you say that then? Special tea?"

"Don't start on me now, Geoffrey, for heaven's sake. Just get me the frig out of here, and we'll think of something. And chuck us a packet of Doritos or something, will you? I'm starving."

"Can't be done, Tuppy," said Apsley Fulmar, who had flown out, along with most of the population of "Hereabouts", to view "the spectacle" i.e. me. "Tuppence is right. You're wedged in too tight for us to pull you out. You'll have to drop a bit of weight and starve yourself out - it's the only way, Tuppy."

"Can't I even have a sip of madeira, to strengthen myself? Get me the hip flask, Geoffrey, and a straw, for pity's sake."

"PUT THAT HIP FLASK DOWN!!" commanded a familiar voice.

"God almighty." It was none other than the ghastly Wilson, pushing his way through the crowds on the cliff top.

"Very Doctor Finlay. Just ignore him, Geoffrey. He's all mouth and no trousers. Tell him to eff off and get me a drink, for god's sake. And I wouldn't mind a puff of Black Bogey while you're at it."

"Righty oh Tuppy."

Bagged Up

"H-E-E-E-LP!!!" I screamed as the coracle hurtled towards the crack in the cliffs.
Not only was I suffering from severe indigestion, my waterproof trousers were cutting in something awful - possibly, though I hate to admit it, due to the bagging up effect of recent over-indulgence in FJRs.
Before venturing out in the coracle, Geoffrey and I were discussing the possible "health properties" of the jam, i.e. "fruit", in the middle, and wondering whether it might count towards our five a day (not that we're that bothered).
"Don't be so stupid," sneered a scornful voice. It was none other than the Ghastly Wilson, sticking his head through the open window (the chimney had been smoking again) all geared up to provide us with yet another unwanted lecture on health/death avoidance.
"Oh, who cares anyway," we replied, grabbing some supplies and making a dash for the boathouse. "Let's go for a quiet sail and relax."
It has been pleasant so far, if a tad choppy. Let's hope we make it through the C-C-C-R-R-A-A-A-A-A-CK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Spring-time

Oo-er - feeling a bit bilious

Out in the old coracle again this afternoon - heading for that crack over there in the cliffs...maybe I shouldn't have had that third packet of FJRs...

"Geoffrey! medical chest please!"

Biscuit of the Week - the Fox's Jam Ring

Yup, this our biscuit of the week - the Fox's Jam Ring. Usually priced at 89p (or more!), the FJR is currently on offer at Somerfield at two packets for a pound.

This is a good biscuit. I'd go so far as to say it's pretty much my all-time favourite, except that I've kind of scunnered myself what with them being two for a pound at the moment.

They consist of a double nice light shortbready-style biscuit, sandwiched together by white butter cream, and are enlivened by a pleasantly flavoured jam in the centre. To top it off and add even more class, there is a hint of a sugary sprinkle, as well.

They are dunkable, in my book, although some might disagree due to concerns about the high melt-risk of the cream filling. But as this tends to be quite solid, especially if you keep them in the fridge, I'm going to stick my neck out and say the FJR actually falls into the "low to medium" melt risk category.

Good buy.

A Dose of the Narks

Well, Stormy had his usual lock-in on Friday and we all ended up three sheets to the wind. Spockfingers was there, giving it laldy at the karaoke machine. It'll be a long time before I'll want to hear "Overnite Sensation" again, I can tell you. Not to mention Black Box's "Ride on Time". At least, that's what I THINK it was called.
Anyone remember the T-G's idea about the trench? well, after Stormy finally called time, we all thought it would be a good time to start digging it. But after about five minutes hacking away at the heather-clad peat, we all ran out of energy. So we now have a kind of shallow ditch running east/west across the moor.
Remember Dave and Valerie Nark? the eco-warriors who lived in the yurt up at the tourist car park last summer? well, they've been away on an extended eco-friendly holiday somewhere hot 'n' horrible in Central America, but now they're back - and they are in a right friggin' state about the ditch.
"You're digging up priceless peat reserves. You're releasing immeasurable amounts of carbon into the atmosphere, and killing the planet," Dave raved, as he tied the chin strap of his Peruvian hat tighter under his chin, to keep out the north easterly whipping across the Bay.
Who knew? not us, obviously.
"Yeah? wot are U going to do about it?" said Spockfingers, belligerently.
Geoffrey and I decided to take a gentler approach, and have invited them round for one of our "special teas" later this week...

Another windy day in the Bay

A bit blowy here again. (Photos of the Bay currently being used have been sent in by regular reader Jim. I can't use a camera what with my hooves not having fingers.)

Biscuit of the week - the Orange Club

These are half price (72p) in Somerfield at the moment, which is why they are our biscuit of the week. The Jacob's Club is not my favourite biscuit, but it is cheap, and you have to have something with a cup of tea, so it will do. That's all I'm saying.

breakfast of the week - the double egg roll

Geoffrey doesn't eat eggs. To him, it's cannibalism. I can understand that, of course. But when he nipped out to get a breath of fresh air earlier, I took the opportunity of making myself a double fried egg roll with a red sauce garnish and some salt and pepper. I then opened the windows to get rid of the evidence i.e. "fried egg smell".
By the way - I'd like to apologise if the "juxtapositioning" of the photo below, and the photo shown here, has caused any readers to reach for the Rennies due to "abdominal discomfort" and/or nausea. Soz!!

breakfast of the week - the double egg roll

Geoffrey doesn't eat eggs. To him, it's cannibalism. I can understand that, of course. But when he nipped out to get a breath of fresh air earlier, I took the opportunity of making myself a double fried egg roll with a red sauce garnish and some salt and pepper. I then opened the windows to get rid of the evidence i.e. "fried egg smell".
By the way - I'd like to apologise if the "juxtapositioning" of the photo below, and the photo shown here, has caused any readers to reach for the Rennies due to "abdominal discomfort" and/or nausea. Soz!!

Cake of the Week

This is a new feature - cake of the week. This week's cake is the Co-operative's Ginger Loaf Cake. The T-G brought it round yesterday when he stopped by for another chat about the pylon/road problem (yawn - call me shallow, but I'm bored rigid already). We didn't open it till he went away - naturally - but as soon as he disappeared across the moors, we ripped open the packaging and tucked in. As you can see, there isn't much left.
It's nice and moist with small pieces of stem ginger mixed through, and a crunchy sugar topping. I haven't examined the list of ingredients, as I don't want to scare myself, but the extreme lightness and stickiness of the cake leads me to suspect the presence of not entirely natural substances. I will update this later once I put my specs on/when I get round to it.

Geoffrey's back to normal

Geoffrey's back to normal, thank frig. The partial soul extraction "wore off" - although I'm tending to the view that it may well not have happened in the first place. A soul extractor? what a load of codswallop...oops - the Tupfinder General has just tapped on the door so better throw the old tartan knee rug over this lot for a sec. till I see what he wants.
Three hours later...the T-G was all apologetic about the "accident" with the soul extractor, saying that his sleeve must have caught on a handle, or something, and he brought a plateful of sausage rolls to make up for it. Fine by me. I'd swap my immortal soul for a fresh Tower Bakery sausage roll, any day.
He's still wittering on about the trench.
"We could get Titus and Spockfingers to do the heavy labouring, Tuppy."
"Oh yes. Asked them about it, have you?"
"Er, no."
"Hmmph. I shouldn't waste your breath. They aren't into manual labour. especially Spockfingers."
"It might help them shift a few pounds. Heaven knows they could do with it."
"Are you saying I'm fat? or are my ears needing cleaned out?" Spockfingers' dulcet tones bellowed through the half-opened window. (well, it IS spring-time)
"Probably both," replied the T-G rather acidly.
"How very dare you! I'm big-boned! Just you wait there one minute..." and there was a loud splintering sound as Spockfingers attempted to heave himself through the window-frame.
"See what I mean," I whispered as the T-G put on his cape ready for a quick exit.