Tuppence goes on the Rob

This morning Tuppence burst into the kitchen wearing a full-face balaclava and twirling a brace of pistols.

'I've packed the job in and I'm going out on the rob,'  he announced.

'Low-hanging fruit?' asked Geoffrey, buttering one of those round, chewy, bread-y type things with a hole in.

'Yes!  I might as well get something out of three weeks of humiliation as a modern apprentice toilet cleaner.'

'Not to mention the risk to your health, from the wrong-sized Marigolds,'  I said. 'Well, all I can say is, don't dirty your own doorstep.'

''course not.  What do you take me for?  I'm doing tourists only and before they know what's hit them they'll be away back to wherever they came from - '

'Overthere,' said Geoffrey, adding marmalade to his round, chewy, bread-y type thing with a hole in.

'Quite,' I added. 'Overthere.  You've been to Overthere, Tuppence, only you were too little to remember.'

'I remember it all right!  Oh yes! We sailed off in the coracle to look for the oracle, and we got some crisps or something to eat, and you and Uncle Geoffrey tried to avoid the BMI assessment and compulsory health screening or something*. You didn't care about me - '

'We did!  We did!'

' No you didn't, and that lack of care and insight has scarred me for life. Twisted me, psychologically.  You two, in fact, are responsible for me being an arch-crim -'
'What's wrong with that?'
'- and a total failure in the job department.'
'That's another positive, surely?  It's a blessing to be an independent thinker, Tuppence.'
'That's not what Val Nark says.  She also knows someone who will sort me out with a few sessions of ear-candling and so forth, she's already discussed my case with them because they've been staying at the yurts this week and she says the sixty pounds a sesh will be well worth it.  It would normally be sixty one but she's getting me mates' rates. Anyway, what I was saying is - '

'The tourists will be away home before they know anything's missing.  Hmmm.  Sounds like a reasonable plan Tuppence, and much more enterprising than continuing as a modern apprentice toilet cleaner slash wage slave for £3.50 an hour.  Now I wonder what it is that you're planning to steal, that they wouldn't immediately miss?'

Later - Val Nark's ear-candling mate discovers her ear-candling kit is missing, and Tuppence sets up shop as an ear-candler...

*all true and details can be found in the e-books and paperbacks

Home for Christmas...

We're not sure if we're really home, or if we're hallucinating due to lack of food and drink.  At the moment, we don't much care.
We seem to remember being pushed shore-wards at alarming speed by the Great 'Fat' Whale of Norway.  Both of us remember that,  so it must be true, surely.   We reached land at about 5 o'clock this morning - Christmas morning - and managed to leap ashore and throw the painter round a rock to secure Fancy, before she could escape.
It wasn't easy, weak with hunger as we were, and we wouldn't have managed it but for the assistance of the forward momentum provided by the Whale.
"Thank you, Whale!"  we cried.
"Don't forget me lads!  Throw me some food as soon as you get the chance."  The Whale circled slowly in the deep water of the Bay.
Not too far behind him, circled the other coracle - the Big One.   When we got back to the Outcrop, I found my most powerful spyglass and had a look at it from the livingroom window while Geoffrey set to in the kitchen, lighting the fire and getting some breakfast on the go.
"Sausages, egg, bacon, fried bread, tattie scones, beans....yes, that should do.  Brown sauce.  Mustn't forget that.  Toast and marmalade for afters, and a large pot of tea," I heard him murmur, amidst the clattering of pans, and the spattering of hot fat.  Comforting, homely sounds.
"That coracle's carrying a ragged black flag at half-mast,"  I said. "What do you make of that,  Geoffrey?"
The kettle whistled.
"Same as you,  I imagine,  Tuppy.  She's a Death ship, come to claim her own during the Dark Days of Winter.  Let's chuck a sausage sandwich down to the Whale and then light the signal fire.  We'd better warn the others."
"What others?"
"You know.  Our neighbours.  The Fulmars.  Stormy Petrel. The Narks.   Doctor Wilson."
"Wilson?  The Narks?  You must be kidding."
"Well, the Tupfinder-Generals then. Although, I'm quite certain he'll already be aware."
"Oh I can't be bothered Geoffrey.  At least, not until I've had my breakfast and a serious nap.  Surely nothing bad will happen today.  After all, it's Christmas.  Goodwill to all.  A time of joy and starlight and happy faces crowded round a homely fire over glasses of hot punch.  Everyone will be busy with their Christmas dinners and stockings and presents and stuff."
"Not everybody,  Tuppy.  Think of that poor Whale, circling round and round all alone in the cold and the dark.  All he has to eat is what we throw down to him."
"But that's his natural environment Geoffrey.  He's a Whale.  He can't manage on land, just as we can't manage in water."
"I can.  I'm a gull.  I can manage water, land and air."
"Don't be smug!   You know what I mean.  Not everyone can enjoy Christmas like we can,  but there's nothing we can do about it so we're just going to have to blot out the guilt with insane amounts of food and drink,  and hopefully every other nasty memory.  Is that breakfast ready yet?"
"Oh dear Tuppy.  That's not the way to approach things, at all."
"Well I can't help it,"  I snapped," I'm tired and I can't manage moral dilemmas and guilt on an empty stomach.  I hope you've made plenty tattie scones."
"I have,  Tuppy.  I have."
"Black pudding?  Don't say a word.  I can tell by the look on your face that you forgot."
"Well to be honest Tuppy - and I know this is very poor timing - I think we need to give up black pudding."
"Oh?"
Geoffrey swallowed anxiously.  "I want to go macrobiotic Tuppy.  There, I've said it."
" I'll have your full-cooked then."
"I didn't mean right now!  It's something for the New Year. You know the kind of thing."
"I do."
Phew!  I thought.  Macrobiotics?  It'd be yoga next,  if I couldn't nip this in the bud, and giving up smoking and opium.  And then where would we be?  Life wouldn't be worth a candle.  I'd need to keep a close eye on Geoffrey.

We sat by the fire and ate in silence, and then dozed pleasantly in the warmth as we waited for the sun to creep above the horizon.

And we tried not to think about the lonely Whale, swimming round and round in the cold dark water, or the coracle of Death, as it drifted ever closer....

"Biscuits," I said. "If only!  We ran out of food AGES ago and now we're going insane with hunger.  I was just thinking about eating my best friend, until you came along, taunting us with talk of biscuits and weight gain."

"It's remarkable how long one can manage without food," said the Whale, "For example, when I was Overthere... "

"Yes," interrupted Geoffrey, "Food's not important.   It's water that's essential to life.  At least at first.  And we're running out of that.  There are only three teeny weeny drops left in the flask.  Ooops!  I dropped it and it broke!  I'm sorry Tuppy.  I've let you down again, haven't I?  Please don't be too angry.  I feel bad enough as it is."

"Right.  That's it.  We've no food, and no water, and our boat refuses to behave as it should," I began furiously, thumping the foc's'l with my front hoof.  I had to take control - I simply had to.  But how could I, when the boat had a mind of its own, and we were in the middle of some sort of trackless ocean-style thing?

"Coracle!" shouted Geoffrey.

"Yes, I know it's a coracle.  I was using the generic term.  We're being dragged to wherever Fancy takes us, and it's about as much fun as having your fingers trapped in a door."

"No - CORACLE!  There's another one, and it's heading our way.  It's far bigger than this one, and it appears to be steam-powered.  Oo-er.  Fancy - you have a rival."

more later

The Great 'Fat' Whale of Norway Shares His Feelings about This and That

"I don't know much about This,  but I can tell you an awful lot about THAT," began the Whale.*

Then it began to cough.

"Jings,"  I said.

"Crivvins," said Geoffrey.

"Help ma boab**," said Fancy, spinning round and round in her excitement.

"STOP THAT FANCY!" I shouted, "You'll knock us all sick."

"Yes please do stop," said the Whale,"I can't address a spinning audience.  It reminds terribly me of the terrible time when I had a terrible inner ear infection, and I got terrible vertigo.  I got terribly ill and it took me a terrible length of time to recover.  And even then, when I was supposedly better, I felt terrible."

"Doctors eh," said Geoffrey.

"Never trust 'em,"  I added darkly.  (We were both thinking of Drs Wilson and Kwak, mentioned in earlier Tales, and in the first four e-books)

"That was how the weight gain started," continued the Whale, warming to its tale. "There I was, housebound, with only a reclining chair, a biscuit barrel, a deep fat fryer and a wall-mounted TV for company."

Geoffrey and I glanced at each other.  "Where were you?  A sheltered housing complex?"  I asked. "Did you have a walk-in bath, as well?"

"No Tuppy.  You're quite wrong.  They couldn't possibly allow deep fat fryers in sheltered housing, due to health and safety issues," said Geoffrey in his best 'job'sworth' tone.  Not that he's ever had a job.

"Yes!" said the Whale,"Well, kind of. It was a theme park for elderly whales.  Well they said it was a theme park, but really it was a knacker's yard, for old whales who couldn't jump and do tricks any more. Before they made us into scampi bites and fish-style fingers.  They wanted us to fatten up.  Pile on the beef, so to speak.  You know - Overthere.  Right by the Speedispend Hypermarket and Compulsory Screening Centre.  I managed to escape," it added proudly.

"How?  How did you manage to escape?"  we cried.

"Give me a biscuit and I'll tell you.  I've not had sight or sound of so much as a Rich Tea for three long months."

more later



*apologies to the late Chic Murray

**apologies to The Broons

An Encounter with the Great 'Fat' Whale. Of Norway.

No,  of course I didn't eat Geoffrey.  He would probably be perfectly edible served up with a couple of rashers of bacon on his back and some sage and onion stuffing, or even, at a push, roasted with a Knorr stock cube crumbled and massaged into his skin 'to bring out the flavour', and an unwaxed lemon up his nethers a la Marco Pierre White,  or even simmered vilely in Coca Cola a la Nigella,  but sadly there are no cooking facilities on the coracle and I just couldn't face him 'au nature' or whatever.
I certainly couldn't manage to pluck him, with my hooves.  I'd have to singe his feathers off.  Maybe with my Zippo.  But it would take AGES.......

"Tuppy!  How c-can you even think of such things!"  gasped Geoffrey.  I'd forgotten about his mind-reading facility.

Oh dear.   Oh well.....

"I'm STARVING Geoffrey!  Have a heart.  Call yourself a friend?  The least you can do is...."

WHOOOOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHH     BBLLOOWWWWWWWWWWW

A large whale appeared off our starboard bow.  Well, it would have been our starboard bow, if we had one. The coracle doesn't have bows,  being circular.  So,  I suppose all bows are at the same time either and or equally starboard and or port depending on how the mood - or indeed "Fancy", to make another nauseating and laboured allusion* - takes you.

"My.  You're awfully big.  Even for a whale.  What kind are you?" asked Geoffrey politely.

"I'm the Great 'Fat' Whale.  Of Norway," replied the creature.

"Really?  How interesting.  Do tell me how you came by your name, especially the 'Fat' bit. I'm sure it will be an absolutely fascinating tale, and I'm longing to hear it," enthused Geoffrey.

I put my feet up on the bowsprit and prepared myself for a nap.

"Fire the kettle on and crack open your best biscuits, friend," replied the genial Leviathon**, "Chocolate ones.  And maybe some cake as well.  And I wouldn't say no to a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, if you have it.  And plenty full fat milk and six sugars in my tea.  And after that I'll tell you how I got my name and other tales that will make your feathers fall out."

I opened an eye.  "Ummmmm....."

*the name of our coracle is Fancy.  Feel free to split your sides.

**apologies for using the term 'genial Leviathon'

Hamster Droppings

We're still on the boat.  IN the boat, rather, what with it being a coracle.  And all.

It's still in a mood.  It skirted the Corryfreckle whirlpool, lacking the courage, thankfully, to plunge right in, and took us instead round the Paps of Jura and out into the wild Atlantic.  Where we remain.  Waving forlornly to passing trawlers and such-like.

Not to mention whales.  More of those later.

Two rather pressing issues.  One, we forgot to bring the Travel Scrabble (always a godsend on a long trip).
Two, we're STARVING!!!!!!

Goji berry flapjacks, UHT almond milk smoothies and all that other vegan food is no substitute for flesh.  To make matters worse, Geoffrey informs me that the flapjacks that we so blithely consumed, were made from the sweepings from Val Nark's horrible child's horrible hamster's cage.

"Those chewy bits weren't goji berries Tuppy.  They were hamster droppings."

"Hamster droppings?"

"Yes.  From the Nark child's hamster's cage."

"I didn't know that there was a Nark child."

"Oh yes.  I think it's a boy child,  called Bucket or something.  Something that's not a proper name, anyway.  I can't remember.  Oh Tuppy!  I'm too hungry to think!  What are we going to do?"

"I haven't the foggiest.  Only I'm thinking, you DO look rather like chicken Geoffrey.  Quite appetising,  if you were trussed up with a couple of rashers of bacon on your back and half a dozen chipolatas sizzling on the side. I might even manage a sprout or two, if they were going begging.  Just for the aesthetic appeal."

"Charming!  I thought that sheep were herbivores!"

"Not in a tight spot, Geoffrey."  I edged towards him, hands outstretched.  Was I really going to eat my best friend?

more later

The Self-Destructing Coracle

Well here we are, still stuck on this sodding boat.  Yes I know that's a horrible way to describe our beloved coracle 'Fancy', which has served us so well etc. etc. and been our friend yawn yawn through many dangers - enough already.
If YOU had been crammed into a coracle, especially ours, which is spherical, and has a mind of its own in terms of whether the 'fancy' takes it to actually go where we want it to,  i.e. in terms of NAVIGATION, which is kind of an essential aspect of a 'craft', you'd be calling it a 'sodding boat' too, or perhaps a lot worse.
Besides, it leaks.
It doesn't have to leak.  It just does, because it's in that kind of mood.
A leaky mood.  You could say it was crying I suppose, if you were feeling sympathetic.
Nobody here felt sympathetic.
And nobody was talking to it.
No.  We were all talking ABOUT it.
"It's all an act.  It's all put on.  Ignore it, that's the best way.  Anyone got any fags left?  I'm gasping."
"I'll sink myself!" shrieked Fancy. "I'll self-destruct!  I'll remove my bungs!  Don't think I won't!"
"Why though?" Geoffrey was using his most soothing tone.  I've no idea if it was deliberate. "Why self-destruct?"
"Well, I'm not sure.  But I just feel in that kind of mood.  I know what.  I'm not going to remove my bungs.  I'm going to circumvent the co-ordinates you put in and I'm going to head straight for the Corryfreckle whirlpool INSTEAD, where Death surely awaits.  Put that in your pipes and smoke it."
"If only we could,"  I murmured.

Next time - Cannibalism - the pros and cons when in a tight spot.

The Dark Crossing

"Tuppy?"

"At your service, as ever.  In a manner of speaking.  Terms and conditions apply."

"I think we're going to need a bigger boat.  In fact,  I know we are."

"I could have told you that before we set off.  Now shut up and keep rowing."

The moon was up and lighting our path homewards across the Clinch, and a following breeze was proving helpful, especially with Geoffrey being terrible at rowing;  so far so good.  However, a vast, expanding, black cloud was obscuring the stars on the far horizon, and it was moving our way.

Rapidly.

And we were towing a trailerful of terrified, orange, wooden-toothed sheep.

"Tuppy."

"What is it now?"

"I'm scared.  I'm scared of the big black cloud.  Pretty soon the moon will be covered and we won't be able to see a thing. And the waves are getting bigger.  We've the tidal race and the whirlpool to get through, and they're bad enough in daylight."

"I know."

"Maybe if you rowed as well..."

"I can't!  Not with my back.  Just do your best and we'll deal with whatever happens somehow.  Something always turns up when we least expect it.  And I'm sure that for once it'll be a good something."  I filled my pipe and stared out at the oily swell.  "Karma, Geoffrey.  We've done the right thing by rescuing those poor sheep.  Nothing can possibly go wrong.  The fates are with us."

"It would make a change.  What did we rescue them from, exactly?"

"I'm not sure..."

more later

We've Been Where Fancy's Taken Us - and now we're going home again (hopefully)

"Load it up Geoffrey.  Hurry!  The tide's about to turn."

"It would help if YOU helped, Tuppy. I can't manage all these bags of Spanish coin on my own."

"I AM helping.  I'm the look-out.  And if I help YOU,  I won't be able to see anything,  will I?  Just get on with it, will you?"

Fancy had taken us to the secret cave stuffed with treasure from a wrecked Spanish galleon (mentioned in a post last week.)  For days we had huddled in Fancy's bowels, surviving on a "sample" bag of dried cranberry and macadamia nut mix, three fun-sized flapjacks, and a flask of goji berry tea - all courtesy of Val Nark's table sale at last weekend's Harvest Home Festival.

We don't have a "church", Hereabouts, but Val and Dave felt that some sort of seasonal gesture would be nice, as well as being a good promotional tool for their ongoing yurt business.

"We're building a super-yurt next.  It'll be up and running for the start of the next tourist season," stated Dave, in his most irritating "I will not be denied" manner.

Naturally, that remains to be seen.  Or in other words,  NOT if we have anything to do with it.  Which we fully intend to ensure we do.  In every imaginable respect.  Especially if said respect involves large amounts of combustible material,  fire accelerant,  and a Zippo lighter.

"You shouldn't be taking samples," said Val, as we filled our duffel bags with flapjacks, goji berry tea, and anything else that was lying about. "You've tried everything.  You should be at the buying something stage by now."

"We just want to make sure that we like it all before making our minds up," said Geoffrey obsequiously, as he brushed a few macadamia nut crumbs off his waistcoat.

"Yes.  Times are hard and we can't afford to spend munny on stuff we aren't sure about,"  I added, through a mouthful of yogurt-covered dried fig and banana bar.

"Really." snapped Val.  "And since when did you two have a dog?"

We glanced at each other in astonishment.  "A dog?"

"Yes.  Those are organic vegan dog biscuits you're dunking in your samples of knotweed and dock leaf tisane."

Well we liked them.  But we thought perhaps best to leave Val to her rapidly-emptying stall, and her latest knitting project.

And so here we are on the far-flung outpost of Frockall,  loading our coracle with the treasure that we found at the bottom of the secret cave, and trying to avoid the attentions of the native cannibal sheep with orange wool...

"And truly massive incisors Tuppy.  Did you see the incisors Tuppy?  They're truly massive.  I saw the incisors Tuppy.  They're massive and they clearly belong to a serious meat-eating species."

Geoffrey was reading my mind again.  It's very annoying - although sometimes, very useful.

"Do stop panicking Geoffrey.  Have you finished packing the gold coin?  Oh I suppose that'll do.  We can always pop back for more.  Right.  Let's be off before  - aaaaaaaarrgghhh!!!!!!!!!!!"

One of Them

"Oh, Geoffrey.  What's the point? One travels only to arrive, and when one arrives, one simply wants to be off again.  Isn't it best for one simply to remain where one is, and wait for Death?"

I dropped my end of the coracle and sat down heavily on a sea-weed-covered rock.

"Pull yourself together Tuppy.  We're not on a pointless mission.  We're after a hoard of Spanish treasure, remember?  Look - I've painted FANCY on the bowsprit, so that we can truly say that we're going where Fancy takes us!"

I smiled weakly. "Thanks for making the effort,  Geoffrey."

Geoffrey blinked rapidly and preened himself.  "I knew you'd like it.  Perhaps as well as the treasure we'll get some of that orange wool off the indigenous sheep and get Mrs T-G to knit us jumpers when we get back.  She's got a new Acme Knit-o-matic knitting machine and is knitting loads of stuff, all the time.  Did you know that, Tuppy?  Did you know about her new Acme Knit-o-matic knitting machine, and that she's knitting loads of stuff, all the time?"

"No I didn't.  Stop babbling.  Now think.  Did you pack the blunderbuss?  Because honestly I'm not going one step further if not.   These orange sheep are cannibals, and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm One of Them.  I don't want to end up simmering in a pot at Gas Mark 3, with a Knorr stock cube, a glass of red wine, a bay leaf, a sprig of thyme, two onions, a carrot and a third cousin twice removed."

"I think it's in the carpet bag under the extra gelignite.  But more than likely you won't need it.  I'm sure you'll be welcomed with open arms Tuppy.  Come on now - the moon's up.  Let's catch the tide."

Fuckall.

"Get out there and DO IT Tuppy!  Come on - get up off your fat back-side and do some star jumps.  Healthy body healthy mind. UP UP UP!!!!  Get that blood pumping through those blocked arteries and flush out those fatty plaques before you develop clinical depression and slash or die of a massive myocardial infarction."

"No.  I've got stuff to do."

"What stuff?"

"Absolutely fuck all - and that's the way I like it.  Now fuck off."

"Did you know there is an island off the north coast of North Rona,  called Fuckall?  It has its own breed of indigenous sheep.  They have orange wool and are cannibals.  And there's an underground cave,  packed with treasure from a wrecked Spanish galleon, which lies undiscovered to this day."

"No, I didn't.  And neither does anyone else.  Stop making things up.  Wait a minute - did you say treasure?  Fetch the coracle Geoffrey, and fill the flask!  We're off to Fuckall on the next tide.  Let's follow the stars and see where fancy takes us."

In the Bay

"Put your back into it Geoffrey! you can't expect me to do all the work."

"I've got a splinter. I can only row with the one wing."

"For heaven's sake! no wonder we're going round in ci-i-i-ir-r-r-rc-c-c-cles!"

We Attempt to Make a Bucking/Frigging Coracle

Bucking or frigging, take your frigging pick. (You can guess which is MY fave?!!)
Yes, 'scuse the language, but you'll understand why I'm just a bit tetchy when you learn that Geoffrey and I have been busy trying to make another coracle, ours having been torn to pieces by the propellor of a Calmac ferry last week, somewhere in the Minch - as readers will of course remember.
It isn't easy, finding willow wands, never mind weaving them into a coracle. We managed it, but I'm still picking out splinters.
"Why do you need a coracle, uncle Tuppy? why not have a modern boat - something made out of plastic, or fibre glass?" Tuppence sneered.
"If you have to ask, there's no point explaining," said Geoffrey.
"Don't get priggish with ME, Geoffrey," Tuppence retorted. Else I'll tell Erchie McPheasant-Blaster ALL about your exploits at the Fulmars' BBQ at the weekend."
"Since when did you get so uppity, calling Geoffrey Geoffrey, and not UNCLE Geoffrey?" I said, springing to Geoffrey's defence.
"Ever since I got THIS," said Tuppence, waving a digital camera in a horribly triumphant fashion. "And anyway - he's not my uncle. I've known that for YEARS."

False Frigging Alarm

What a frigging liberty. For frig's sake. As the photo below shows only too well, the craft spotted by Ranald and Sandy was defo. NOT the frigging coracle. As if! no - what they spotted is a rusting old hulk, whereas our coracle was beautifully woven out of willow wands, following the traditional method used by monks.
We'll just have to make another one. Sigh. That's if we can find any frigging willow trees.
BTW - we're off round the Fulmars' shortly, for one of Apsley and Cherry's famous BBQs. The medical chest is well-stocked-up with Bisodal etc., just in case - they do say that charcoal is very good for the digestion but there are limits...and I do hope that Apsley won't be parading around starkers beneath that horrible plastic apron with the hilarious (not) naked fulmar on the front, waving his fish slice before all and sundry.

A Miracle - the Coracle has been found

Word arrived via Ranald and Sandy (Wand'ring Albatrosse - Geoffrey's cousin and his civil partner) that the coracle was spotted, aground, in some "godforsaken hell-hole" as they put it none too politely. Joy! we could swear that we saw it being chopped up by the blades of a Calmac ferry just last week. Somehow, it managed to escape, or reconstitute itself. Geoffrey and I are off in a mo to try to retrieve it before the wreckers get it.

By the way - readers might be wondering - and I can't blame anyone who isn't - what happened to young Sir Erchie McPheasant-Blaster's newspaper, featuring yours truly and the full unexpurgated story as to how I got wedged in the crack then blasted free by a humungous, forensically-aimed anal emission from Spockfingers. Well, so am I...but wonder no more, because just recently, Geoffrey admitted that he has heard titters coming from the direction of just about everywhere Hereabouts, along with the words "crack" and "wedged". I'm sure it won't be too long before a well-wisher pushes a copy of the abominable thing through our letterbox. Probably under cover of darkness - not that it gets dark at the moment, Hereabouts. I'm going to stay up late, and watch.

By the Way

In case you're wondering - Tuppence swam back to shore. He's still on his health and fitness drive, and was determined to show off his prowess.
"For pity's sake," we shouted, as he prepared to jump overboard just as the "Hebridean Princess" bore down upon the coracle, "Don't be foolish, Tuppence. Nobody could care less about your prowess."
But our words were drowned out by the ear-splitting honking of the boat's fog horn, and the horrified screams of the passengers as the coracle was sucked into the wake and chopped into a million pieces by the whirling propellors.
He returned late last night, none the worse and unbearably full of himself. And amazingly, his wool was bone dry.
"See, uncle Tuppy? I'm in terrific shape. A quick five mile swim in the icy waters of the Minch is just the ticket. Dr Wilson..." (at this point, Geoffrey and I sighed loudly, and spat into the fire)"...Dr Wilson has started up compulsory body pumping classes, followed by a glass of black carrot juice, colonic irrigation and a ten mile hi-energy jog along the cliffs. I'm all for it. Besides, he sez anyone who doesn't take part, will..."
At this juncture, a familiar face, or rather, hooded head, appeared at the open window. It was the freakin' Reaper - again.
"Why bother with all that rubbish? You might as well relax, put your feet up and eat chips. After all, you're all going to die anyway!" and he laughed his horrible, hollow, echoing laugh as he glided off.
"I think a quick snifter's in order," I murmured, reaching for the madeira. "By the way, Tuppence - why isn't your wool soaking wet, after your five mile swim? it's not acrylic, by any chance?" I sniggered in an unpleasant, snide kind of way.
"Don't snigger like that," scolded Geoffrey. "You're lowering yourself to his standards. There's absolutely no need. Besides, you're right. It IS acrylic. Look!"
Tuppence was unzipping his "wool" which, it turns out, is actually an acrylic fleece-style zip-up jacket. Beneath that, he was wearing a "dry suit" and a jet-propelled life jacket.
"You didn't think I'd go out in that holey old coracle unprepared, did you, uncle Tuppy?"

Disaster

What a disaster. Me and Geoffrey ended up going slightly "off piste" due to "someone" stopping rowing (he blames me, but he's completely wrong - as usual!! he nodded off due to the "intense heat"/over-ingestion of madeira (we'd found a loose barrel floating in the Bay, and tied it on to the painter), but he'll never admit it. Of course, I would NEVER let HIM down by doing such a thing.) and us ending up going round in circles.
Upshot was, we ended up "Overthere" for pity's sake, and barged into the path of an oncoming Calmac ferry. We were then dragged on board by the scruffs of our necks by the over-zealous crew - to prevent us being sucked into the propellors, apparently.
Once on board, we hoped for a triple brandy snifter AT LEAST, but instead we were offered a strange brew which they referred to as "koffy" - the most disgusting concoction I have EVER tasted. It was "served" in a cardboard-style cup, and came spurting out of a "Jackson"-style boiler/machine, and tasted like...well, what I would imagine (not that I want to) whatever revolting sludge lurks at the arse end of the Fulmar's septic tank. Regular passengers are charged the princely sum of £1.55 for it! (£ = munny BTW)
Anyway - after the utter indignity of being placed in the hold as "livestock", we managed to jump ship and make our way back to the Rocky Outcrop, where we are now sitting toasting out feet by a roaring driftwood fire and sipping mugs of boiling madeira (not actually boiling as such - we wouldn't want to boil off the alcohol - quite the reverse...)

We Dust Off the Coracle (again)

"Come on, Uncle Tuppy! get some of that fat off!"
It was Tuppence, shouting in the window at some ungodly hour. He threw open the curtain - releasing a cloud of moths as he did so - and clambered in.
"What was that? Speak up uncle Tuppy!"
I cleared my throat and decided not to repeat it. After all, why risk a serious "doing" when you don't have to?
"We're only on our fourth cup of tea, for pity's sake Tuppence!" complained Geoffrey.
Anyway - the upshot of it all is that the three of us have dragged the old coracle out of the attic and we're off for a scull round the Bay.
I can only hope that the weather remains calm, and that Baby Orca is still somewhere off the Orkneys...

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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!"