The Count Five - Psychotic Reaction

 'Is there going to be another lockdown?' asked Geoffrey, breathlessly.  'Is the social distancing and handwashing and stuff working? What about the test and trace system?'

'Stop getting over-excited and get those fish fingers grilled,' I replied, packing my pipe with Black Bogey.

'No it's just that we might have to start stockpiling again.  Toilet paper and that.'

'I thought we went through all that already (see previous posts)?  We don't NEED toilet paper.'

'I know WE don't need it, but what if we have visitors?'

'If there's a lockdown we won't have visitors Geoffrey.  But if you feel THAT badly about it, nip down to the tunnels after lunch and see if you can find a pack or two of Izal.  And pick up a barrel of best Madeira while you're there, we definitely don't want to run out of that.'

'Wilco.  Val Nark's coming over later, she's got a petition for us to sign.  It's about the Gaelic signage.'

'Wot?'

'The Gaelic signage.  Someone's been going about with a tin of blue paint, erasing all the English signs so nobody knows where they're going.'

'And?'

'Val wants the remaining Gaelic signage to be replaced by pictograms - that way, nobody will feel left out and everyone will be able to understand - or 'unnerstaun' - the signs and therefore won't get lost.'

'I see.  Well, I daresay we can have a look at it and if my inky footprint will help then she's welcome to it.  We can't have folk stumbling around lost hereabouts - the cliffs are far too dangerous, as well we know (see posts passim) Does she still have folk self-isolating in the yurt?'

'Yes, still the same ones.  Nobody's seen them for six weeks - Val leaves quinoa and wholegrains and such-like by the flap and they pull it under using the end of a walking stick, and push out their rubbish when they're finished, using a toxic waste bin which Val then flings over the cliffs - it's a good system.  I think she's put Dave on the furlough scheme, he never does much anyway except film otters and post his vids on the internet.'

'That runs out in October though.  What's he going to do then?'

'He's applied for a job as a covid tester.  And, coincidentally, so has Tuppence.'

'What does that involve?'

'Well, I gather you get masked up and stick cotton buds up people's noses and test them for covid using a test-tube and some sort of 'liquid' covid-detector-serum. If they turn black and shrivel in the fresh air you've got it, and they fling you in a dungeon, or something.'

'They won't get anywhere near my nostrils with their cotton buds I'll tell you that for nothing.  They can stick 'em where the sun don't shine and it isn't up their nose.'

more on this later

Eric the half-a-bee

'I hate you lot.  You're old stupid fascists with no idea about anything and I'm going to cancel you all.'

 'Why are your ideas, needs and wishes more important than ours, Tuppence?' 

'They aren't,' said the T-G.  'He just doesn't understand the need for compromise.  Or that older, more experienced minds generally know best.'

'I understand that you lot have lived longer than I have,' said Tuppence, ' but that doesn't mean that you know any better.  Look at the state of you!'

'What do you mean?'  I paused as I reached for the baccy jar.

'You live in a tumbledown shack with a hole in the wall for a door.  You survive on stolen food, not to mention drink. You've not got a brass ha'penny to your name.  You've never travelled beyond your immediate environment. And I'm not even going to mention your toilet habits.  You've never even been to uni, for god's sake!'

'We went 'Overthere', remember?  About ten years ago? (see books for details of the trip) And we went to Flannan Isle. You were there too Tuppence.  Don't say we never took you anywhere.'

'You never took me anywhere.  I went places in order to rescue you.  You lot couldn't handle yourselves!  It was me who learned how to shoot a pistol, and use a crossbow.  Not to mention, captain a submarine and fly a plane.'(again, please see books for details of these exploits)

'I've been to 'uni',' said Geoffrey quietly.

'Oh what.  The 'university of life' I suppose? All that means is, you're old and too thick to have gone to proper uni! You lot are pathetic right wing fascist nutjobs who don't even know what privilege means, you're so thick and uneducated.  Read some books!  and I don't mean the Beano annual because THAT'S fascist too.'

'I really HAVE been to uni,' said the T-G. 'I attended the university of Holstein Carlsberg Saxe-coburg Gotha in 1846, and after finishing my degree, I did a further research degree on the lethality of curare poison when applied to small wooden darts and fired through multiple bamboo pipes and its possible use in wiping out the world's excess population.'

'Cripes!  You really ARE a fascist T-G!' shrieked Tuppence, spilling his Vimto.

'I don't subscribe to any political creed,' T-G replied, packing his pipe with Black Bogey. 'I think it was Nietzsche who said, I am not my book.  In my case, I am not my research paper.'

to be continued

'

YES - Then

Classic vid.  Almost unlistenable prog.  Tuppence loves it. 

Arson About

Remember the unidentified pile of bones found when the wicker man burned down? Well, they aren't 'unidentified' any more.  Not really, anyway.  This is what happened.
Dave and Val were livid when they saw what happened to the wicker man. When I say 'what happened to',  of course I should really say 'what Tuppence did to'.   With a Zippo lighter and a box of firelighters.
'We understand that Tuppence has issues,' said Val. 'We aren't surprised that he's turned to arson.  The poor creature hasn't even been to school.  And with role models like Tuppy and Geoffrey...'
'His diet's awful as well,' added Dave. 'No fresh vegetables.  I think he just gets crisps, fish finger sandwiches and corned beef to eat.'
'It's a wonder he's alive,' added Dr Wilson, 'he'll never make it to old age and maybe that's a blessing.  For all of us.'
This 'convo' took place on the headland where Dr Wilson was picking through the remains of the wicker man, and was overheard by Geoffrey as he circled over on his way to the Tunnels to check out the crisps and corned beef situation - we were running a bit low on supplies for that evening's tea.
'They even let him have a brace of pistols,' said Dr Wilson, foaming at the mouth, 'and live ammo.  He should really be in a secure unit - one of the old-style Borstals, where they could birch some sense into him. That's clearly a human femur by the way.'
'Oh no!' said Val, 'it's not his fault.  He needs help.  Proper psychological help like what we can offer and that.  Punishing him won't help.'
'He's already been in the sweat lodge (please see paperbacks for details of this awful experience).' said Dave. 'I'm not sure we can offer much more.'
'What about a short course of online C.B.T. or some ear-candling - once the pandemic's over of course?' said Val. 'It might help him develop a more positive mental attitude.'
'That wouldn't even make a dent,' scoffed Dr Wilson,' the lad's battle-hardened.  No, no, no, a good birching once a week would sort him out.  I'll do it. I've got a birch tree growing outside my garden and - '
'He hasn't even got a garden,' I said, interrupting Geoffrey's account. 'He's raving again.'
'I know,' said Geoffrey. 'Just wait till you hear the next bit.'
'OK but hurry up. I'm starving and I want to get the tea on.'
'Well,' said Geoffrey,' I'll cut a long story short.  Turns out Val and Dave had a self-isolating visitor self-isolating in their healing yurt, and they went for a socially-distanced stroll along the headland to admire the view.  Thinking they'd get an even better view from the top of the wicker man, which was of course then in situ having been erected as a publicity stunt by Val and Dave, they climbed to the top, got trapped in the head and were unable to make their way down.  Tuppence failed to hear their frantic screams over the calling of the gulls and the howling of the gale that whipped over the clifftops as he set light to the thing, and they perished in the inferno.'
'What a lovely story,' I said. 'Did you get any corned beef when you were out?'

next time - Stormy's relatives return to the States having failed to inherit the Puff Inn, and Dave and Val start a government-style anti-obesity clinic, free at the point of delivery - actual funding details to follow.  The bones of the late self-isolating yurt guest are hygienically crushed into paste with hand sanitiser, hygienically folded into a face-mask and flung over the top of the cliffs and into the sea, for hygienic funeral-style reasons.  Somebody says a few words but nobody can hear them over the calling of the gulls etc.. and there is a ham sandwich tea back at ours.  Dave and Val don't come because we don't provide a vegan alternative.  Tuppence hears about Dr Wilson's plans to birch him, and plots a ghastly revenge...

Well!  Guess who turned up at Stormy's funeral?  Stormy!  yes, he wandered in half-way through the cage fighter's dismal reading of Stop All the Clocks, and asked whose funeral it was.
'Yours,' I said. 'Oh wait...'
 Turns out the bones that were found inside the wicker man *weren't his after all*.  SO WHOSE ARE THEY?
The problem is, we don't have 'police' or 'coroners' or 'procurators fiscal' hereabouts.  No.  We attend to everything ourselves.  If you recall (and if you don't, it doesn't much matter), we solve many of our local difficulties by simply chucking them 'over the top', i.e. off the cliffs and on to the jagged rocks and boiling seas below.  Where often-times (excuse the egregious use of 'often-times') there can be found a hungry Orca, with jaws a-gape, bored out of its mind, and only too pleased to snap up a juicy morsel.   We also hold an annual vote to decide who is the year's 'most unpopular' person, and whoever it is gets dead-legged on a midnight clifftop ramble, and hey presto! it's a happier, simpler world hereabouts. 
'But you were seen climbing up the wicker man,' said the T-G.
'Maybe I was, T-G.  But I climbed back down again.  It wasn't that hard. I roped myself up and everything, I'm not TOTALLY thick.  I went up to have a look for the clipper that was due to sail past on its way from Portugal to Massachusetts with a holdful of best Madeira.  I thought I'd get a better view from the head, and so I did.   I waved my storm lantern and guided it nicely on to the reef, where it foundered perfectly.  Since then me and the rats have been shifting the Madeira from the clipper to the Tunnels.   We could've done with a hand by the way.'
'We thought you were a goner Stormy.  We thought we'd never sup another pint of Purple Peril again,' said Geoffrey.
'And I thought I'd never get another gig again,' said Tuppence. 'When are you opening up?'
'I've got the social distancing worked out and I've extended the bar area outside by rigging up a few yards of tarpaulin.  We should be on for Friday night, given a following wind.  I've got ten gallon drums of hand sanitiser and - '
'Never mind all that!' snapped the T-G. 'What about the crew of the foundered clipper?  I take it you didn't allow them to drown?'
'And what about us?' growled Stormy's relatives. 'We ain't turned up here for nuffink.  We thort there'd at least be a funeral tea with 'am sandwiches and a bottle or two of stout.  Plus the reading of the Will of course, leading to us probably inheriting the Puff Inn and selling it on to a property developer and then going on a fancy holiday with the proceeds and being set for life.  Not that we were expecting anything or had thought it all through on the way here or that.  We're just saying.'

Next time - everyone goes to a socially-distanced 'welcome back' night at the Puff Inn.  Including Stormy's relatives and the crew from the foundered clipper.  Tuppence powers up the Moog and does a selection of E.L.P. classics before someone cuts the electric cable and causes a power outage.  There is a massive fight in the darkness caused by a shortage of cheese and onion crisps and general over-ingestion of alcoholic comestibles.  Nobody knows who is hitting who and nobody much cares. Meanwhile, the unidentified pile of burnt bones still lie in what was supposed to be Stormy's coffin...

Graham Chapman - George Melly interview

'Stormy was a racist and a transphobe,' declared Tuppence, nailing a poster stating the same to the door of the Puff Inn.  'I'm glad he's cancelled.'
'He's not 'cancelled',' said the T-G,' He's dead.  You set fire to him, remember?  He was inside the wicker man when you burned it down.'
'Oh dear how sad what a shame never mind.'
'That's a terrible thing to say Tuppence,' said the T-G. 'In fact, you should be careful.  You might be done for 'hate speech'.'
'Not to mention, murder,' I added. 'Although it doesn't sound like you're especially worried about such niceties.'
'The world's a better, kinder place without his sort,' replied Tuppence, twirling his hammer. 'He was spiritually and morally and intellectually dead anyway.  The physical death was just a technicality.  And an inevitable one, given his incredible moral turpitude.  All for the best, that's what I say.  And so will anyone else who matters.'
'I wonder what his family will say to that.  Aren't they people who matter?'
'Stormy doesn't have a family.  Does he?'
'He does actually.  Or rather, he did,  poor bloke.  Stormy Junior is a cage fighter in Vegas and his ex-wife is a Thai kick boxing champion.  His sister (formerly brother) is a retired Olympic weightlifter and built like a brick outdoor convenience-style facility. Her hobbies include knuckledusting and biting the heads off live chickens.  They're all arriving for the funeral tomorrow and they're staying in Val's campervan - they would have stayed in the yurt had you restrained yourself from burning that to a crisp last evening.  You really need to stop all this wanton destruction Tuppence.  It won't end well.'
'It will! I'm only destroying anything offensive.'
'But not everyone finds it offensive Tuppence.  And must you resort to murder? Can't you live and let live?'
'No.  Besides,  I think you'll find Stormy's death was an accident. Not murder.  How was I to know he was inside the wicker man when I set it alight?'
'You can't prove that you didn't know Tuppence,' said the T-G.
'I wonder what he was doing in there?' mused Geoffrey.  'He must have had a reason for climbing inside.'
'Perhaps he was looking for something.'
'Or, perhaps he was hiding something.'
'Never mind all that,' I said. ' Here we all are standing outside the Puff Inn, scene of many a night of wanton revelry, and it's SHUT.  Not merely 'coronavirus shut' - it's shut because the landlord is no more.  He is an ex-landlord.  An ex-everything.  Soon to be pushing up the daisies.  Who's going to run it?  Who's going to serve us our socially-distanced Purple Perils and salty snax?  Who's going to book you in for gigs Tuppence - you and your dreadful prog band?  Nobody else would pay you to play,  I'll guarantee you that.'
'Oh bore off.  You three need to educate yourselves.  Read some books and I don't mean the Beano summer special!' snarled Tuppence.
'You can start lecturing us about books when you're not in danger of being arrested for murder Tuppence.  Are you going to turn yourself in?'
'Certainly not.'


Next time - Stormy's funeral brings his relatives, and they aren't happy with what they're told about his 'accidental' demise.  They are determined to find out the truth.  Tuppence is forced to hide out in the Tunnels and as all the korned beef, snax and Madeira which are usually kept therein were consumed during lockdown he must survive on rations lowered down to him by rope till he can be smuggled out to a place of safety. Or, until the relatives leave...

Well, we went out to the headland last evening as planned and we burned the wicker man to the ground.  All that's left now is a pile of wood ash, some blackened chicken wire - and some bones.  More on those later.  I sat at a safe distance, sipping a triple strenf absinthe and laudanum koktale and crunching my way through a packet of 'Kalms' while Tuppence danced naked beside the leaping flames.
I needed the Kalms because as we made our way across the moor towards the headland Tuppence began to wonder whether the wicker man was cis or trans.  'If he's trans I won't burn him Uncle Tuppy.  He'll be a fantastic representation of liberation from the hegemony of the binary sexual economy.'
'Even though you said before that he's a vile and disgusting representation of capitalism and binary-legged hegemony?'
'Yes.'
'How will you know if he's trans though?  It's a very basic figure with no defining characteristics other than two arms and two legs.  And a head.'

'I'll know.'

As it turned out,  he didn't know.  If I'm honest, I don't think he cared - or at least, he cared more about setting the huge thing ablaze.  

As the vast knees crumbled into ash and the torso fell forwards over the cliffs, tumbling onto the rocks below in a dense orange cloud of sparks and wood smoke and leaving two stumpy, smouldering 'feet',  Tuppence cried, 'So passes the tyrannic age of the binary-legged money-grubbers!  Look upon your work ye mighty and despair!' 

'Don't you mean 'my works' ye mighty?'  I pulled a copy of Palgrave's Golden Treasury from my bumbag and leafed through it.  

'Oh who cares about such details now Uncle Tuppy.  We're free!'

'How does burning a wicker man make us free?'

'It just does.  For one thing, it gets the anger out of your system when you destroy things.'

'What about Val and Dave Nark's floundering tourism business?  What about the yurt?  What about Val's ear candling?'

'You can't do social distancing and ear candling.  Everyone knows that.  Val and Dave will just have to diversify.  Anyway I really enjoyed the conflagration Uncle Tuppy.  I'm sure lots of other people did who were watching, as well.  I was surprised to hear the blood-curdling screaming noise it made as it burned - I wonder if we'll ever know what caused that.  Probably just some damp wood reacting to the heat or something.  Not to worry!   Now I'm going to find something else big to burn and I think I know what it's going to be.'

Next time - Tuppence burns Val and Dave's yurt to a crisp.  Val and Dave don't know this yet as they're staying in a friend's airbnb in Leicester and have been 'locally locked down' due to the coronavirus spike.  We also discover that Stormy Petrel has gone missing from the Puff Inn and was last seen clambering determinedly up the wicker man's left leg, followed by a mysterious black-clad figure...this leaves the Puff Inn sans patron just as they've erected a gazebo and extended the beer garden for safe consumption of outdoor comestibles...who could be responsible for Stormy's disappearance?  Could it possiby be...a rival local busniess person, or persons?  

Tuppence came in last night in an agitated state.
'I'm in an agitated state Uncle Tuppy,' he said, wringing his hands. 'Where's the chainsaw?'
'We don't have one.' I tipped an extra dose of laudanum into my tea.  Lord knows I need it these days.
'Well an axe then.  An axe will do.  Anything with a blade.  And ropes.  A block and tackle.  Matches.  Petrol!  Tinder!'
'Usually you manage fine with your brace of pistols Tuppence.  What's all this for?'
'I want to tear down the wicker man. Destroy it, and push it into the sea, to perish on the rocks below.'
'Not the wicker man that Val and Dave Nark have just finished carefully fashioning from locally sourced willow wands, and placed on the headland to attract tourists!'
'Yes!  it's a representation of their two-legged tyranny over the neighbourhood Uncle Tuppy.  A grotesque symbol of the dominion held by the two-legged haves over the four-legged have nots. Dave and Val are money-grubbing capitalists of the first water, trying to slip under the radar camouflaged as green sustainable living type people.  They're nothing short of fascists Uncle Tuppy and I want to saw the legs off their statue and burn it to the ground.  Burn it I say!'
'Why don't you saw Dave and Val's legs off and burn them to the ground?'
'Because I would get done for murder Uncle Tuppy.  Someone would dob me in.'
'Well it is true not much gets past the old Tupfinder General with his infrared spyglass.  But I don't think he'd ever dob you in.  Never mind - we can think about that later.   Why not sit down and have your tea before you rush into anything. It's double egg and chips with bread and butter and plenty brown sauce.  Once we've eaten I'll dig out the balaclavas and rubber soled shoes and we can both head noiselessly over to the cliffs.  I'll help you burn the bastard down.  I can't stand Val Nark.'

next time - Tuppence manages to set fire to the wicker man using a tinder box, some empty crisp packets and a bottle of methylated spirit, and the resulting flames attract a passing coronavirus-infested cruise ship that has failed to find a port that will allow them to land.  More on that later. 

Franklin's Tower ☮ Grateful Dead, 5/9/77

Covid Queeries

'If someone's famous does that make it OK if they break the lockdown?' asked Tuppence.
'It helps if they are both rich AND famous.  But mainly rich.  And it doesn't make it OK,  it just makes it easier transport-wise and less likely that you'll get arrested.  Are you referring to the second home phenomenon?'
'Yes.  Apparently a rich author has just jetted in to one of Val Nark's luxury glamping yurts for some rest and such-like.  He arrived with five cases of baked beans, five boxes of Chili Heatwave Doritos and five barrels of McEwan's 80 Shilling.  His wife has ancestors from Hereabouts and he's self-isolating, he announced with a megaphone when he arrived.  There's also a notice pinned to the post-box, stating the same.'
'Is his wife with him?'
'No.'
'This is an outrage.  It isn't a second home phenomenon - it's a glamping situation which is even worse and he doesn't even have the figleaf of the wife's ancestry to cover himself with.  Clearly Val Nark is complicit in this blatant rule-flouting, because  - true to form - she has rented the luxury yurt to said famous person.  For actual hard cash money.  Tuppence - you won't have experienced such an event, and even I can barely remember the last time it happened, but - this is a pitchfork job.'
Geoffrey nodded.  'If ever there was an occasion to use them , this is it.  T-G - are the pitchforks still to hand?'
'Yes,' he replied quietly.' They're in the Iron Age burial chamber up on the moor.  They haven't been used since the last violation, during the Great Plague of Incomers.  We chased them off the cliffs with them.  My, we were a magnificent sight, wielding our pitchforks, our blue faces shining in the light of flaming torches rudely fashioned from the thighbones of our ancestors as we ran full tilt at the infected incoming hordes.'
'Why were your faces blue?' asked Tuppence.
'The exertion Tuppence.  When you're charging across the moors slightly out of condition with a pipe of baccy gripped between your teeth, a pitchfork in one hand, a flaming torch in the other, plus a flask of soup and a snack for later in your backpack with the usual emergency medical supplies,  it tends to get you out of puff.'
'Will the pitchforks be sharp enough though,' asked Tuppence,' Might they not have rusted up a bit after all these years?'
'Oh but I've maintained them Tuppence.  Polished them carefully with fine wire wool and WD40 by the light of every Full Moon.  Excellent question by the way.'
'Well what are we waiting for?  Let's go!  Let's rid ourself of this selfish incomer.  Pitchfork him over the cliffs and make a Tiktok of it so nobody else thinks they can come here to self-isolate.'

next time - we end up going 'over the top' as we rush headlong and willy nilly at anyone 'strange'.  Tuppence decides not to make his charity single as the lockdown will be over soon. 

'It escaped from a lab in Wuhan Uncle Tuppy,' Tuppence raved as he paced the room with a loaded pistol in one hand and a empty packet of hot 'n' spicy Niknaks in the other.
'What did?'
'For pity's sake, Tuppy,' yawned the T-G (for he had returned), 'Whatever else does anyone talk about these days but that tiresome virus.'
'It's not a virus though,' continued Tuppence, his eyes glittering feverishly, 'It's a bioweapon.'
'That doesn't preclude it being a virus Tuppence.  It could be a weaponised virus.'
'What about the bats?'  I asked.  'I thought it originated in bats. Someone in China et one and it jumped species.  Didn't they?'
'I thought pangolins,' said Geoffrey from the kitchen, raising his voice over the sound of sizzling bacon.
'I'll tell you precisely where it originated,' said the T-G, filling his pipe. 'It originated in darkest South America, in a Nazi colony that's been thriving since the fall of Hitler and waiting its chance for world domination.  Do you remember when you got stung by the giant South American wasp, Tuppy?'
'I do.  I'm still troubled by occasional hallucinations about being pursued by that massive egg.'
'That was just the start Tuppy.  They were only warming up at that point.  You, yes you - were the guinea pig.'
'You mean, the wasp that stung me had escaped from a laboratory run by Nazis?'
'Yes.  Or was it released? You see Tuppy, those Nazis are determined to return, using hi-tech bioweapons delivered by wasps that will wipe out half the population of the earth with minimum effort.  The concentrated venom of the giant South American wasp makes the effects of Covid-19 look like a five year old's birthday party.  They intensified its toxicity through years of careful inbreeding.  Just one droplet is now enough to wipe out a city the size of Inverness.'
'I thought that the wasp had escaped from your vitrine - the one in the topmost tower of Tupfinder Towers, late of this parish.'
'It did. A contact of mine had managed to capture it and sent me it via Yodel in a cast iron strongbox, bolted and padlocked but sadly with no key, so that I could study it. I was out when it arrived but they left it in the coal bunker and put a note through the letterbox.  When I eventually crow-barred open the box and got the creature under a hi-powered microscope with a pair of two foot long fire tongs I was appalled!  So appalled that I let go of the tongs and the wasp escaped and - well, you know the rest.  Yet that wasp was only an outrider Tuppy!  The wasps they've got now make that one look like a Mayfly.  They're super-intelligent, but also completely insane due to the inbreeding.  And their venom - dear Lord.'
The T-G shuddered and I signalled to Geoffrey to fetch the sal volatile.
'What can we do to protect ourselves?  Stay indoors and save lives?  Wash our hands for twenty seconds in hot soapy water?'
'That won't do any good.  We need a plan.  I suggest that firstly we must construct individual hazmat suits, so that we can safely go out-doors.  Then, we should all meet up in the Puff Inn.  Stormy's re-opening while maintaining social distancing - though, how he's going to manage that with a pub the size of your average bathroom, beats me.  But we need to support local businesses so -'
'But his staff have been furloughed T-G', Tuppence interrupted, ' and why should they return to work when the virus is still on the loose?'
'Stormy hasn't got any staff, he does it all himself,' I replied. 'He uses rats when he needs casual labour.  Fetch the sewing machine and the tarpaulin Geoffrey.  We'd better get those hazmat suits made up.  I could murder a pint of Purple Peril.'

next time - battling our terror we venture down to the Puff Inn in our newly-fashioned hazmat suits to find that Stormy has devised a foolproof method of keeping himself and his customers safe - six foot long drinking straws, leading from external seating to the bar, and a six foot long 'money chute' for 'contactless' payment.  Also, Tuppence releases a charity single to raise funds for the NHS, featuring a 100 year old care home resident playing the theremin with his false teeth.

'They're loosening the lockdown and I'm not ready to die Geoffrey.'
Geoffrey had returned from being away.  'Away' was an illicit visit to his elderly cousins-twice- removed, who are 'self-isolating' in their second home on a rock somewhere off the St Kilda archipelago and needed some groceries dropping off.
'Sorry I didn't tell you where I was going Tuppy, but I thought best you didn't know cos you'd only have blabbed to snitches like the Fulmars or someone and I'd have been reported to the authorities.'
He was sitting on the mantelpiece eating a four-fish-finger sandwich (his third since his return).  I was so glad to see him I'd even made the sandwiches myself.
'Sandwich all right Geoffrey?'
'Reem thanks,' he said through a belch, wiping tartare sauce from his chin with the large red-spotted handkerchief he'd used to carry the groceries. 'Nobody's ever ready to die.  You just have to get on with it when it happens.  There's not a lot else one can do, short of finding the elixir - ,' he belched again, 'Pardon me, the elixir of eternal life.'
'Remember how we used to worry about smoking Black Bogey and eating too many biscuits and fatty foods?  We thought we were living on the edge if we had a bacon sandwich.  Halcyon days Geoffrey.  Now look at us.  Scared to leave our own four walls.'
'I believe Val Nark's offering free online 'Meditations on Mortality' in podcast form.  I saw a notice nailed to the gate-post by the post-box as I flew in, and I asked Razor Bill about it when he arrived to collect the mail.'
'Free?  That's not like the Narks. They're always such money-grabbers.'
'Entrepreneurs Tuppy.  Up and coming go-getters.  Trying to get by during straitened times.  But on this occasion what they're offering is free, or, free at the point of delivery as Val puts it.  She does the podcast from the healing yurt with all her products carefully price-labelled and arranged in full view.  Her own-made artisan pine-scented earwax candles, antiseptic creams, herbal cough linctus, masks woven from nettle fibres and so forth.  And there are adverts for eco-funerals at intervals during the sesh.'
'That's nice.  What part does Dave play in all this?'
'He sets up the camera of course.  You know how he does his wildlife vids..  I reckon not many people watch anyway.  Nobody really wants to meditate on their own mortality.  They'd rather take their minds off it by getting blind drunk, or binge-eating Hobnobs while watching The Chase.  Mind you that's much the same thing.'
'So here we are, dancing our merry way along life's razor edge, as usual.  How are we going to get through this one Geoffrey?  Must we return to the Old Ways, and fetch the opium from the medical chest?'
'No Tuppy.  I think we must indeed return to the Old Ways, but by that I mean the Old Religion rather than opium.  We need to find the key to eternal life Tuppy.  If there isn't an elixir (and I'm not saying there's not) then there must be a key.  And if anyone can find it, it's us!'

next time - we set out to find the key to eternal life, and Tuppence and his band release a charity single produced by Gob Beldof .