'Dark skies over yonder, Unkle Funkle. Hoist the main-brace and crank up the -'
'Thar she blows! The Great Whale of the West!'
'That's not the Great Whale of the West, you blind fool. That's Mrs T-G, sunbathing on the Fulmars' decking.'
It was half past ten on a Tuesday morning, and already Tuppence was raving. His Unkle Funkle obsession was well out of hand.
He'd stormed in at eight, demanding rum, and wearing a patch over his left eye and a fake 'peg leg'. Receiving the reply that we hadn't got rum, we'd only Madeira, and precious little of that due to 'austerity cuts', he'd stormed out again till ten, spitting over his shoulder as he went, and cursing horribly.
'Best ignored,' I said to Geoffrey, 'Like most things in life these days.'
We then had our usual 'triple bacon' sandwich, accompanied by five cups of tea and an argument about pigs, and why it was OK to eat them and cows, but not OK to eat sheep or horses.
'It's because we don't know any pigs personally,' explained Geoffrey, wiping some red sauce from his snowy white breast feathers. 'I'd never eat a sheep, because I know one, i.e. YOU, personally. Just as you'd never eat a gull, because you know one, i.e. ME, personally.'
'True. We don't know any cows - oh! Except Mr Spockfingers. But he was a Highland cow and perhaps - '
'PerHAPS you should enlarge your circle of acquaintances,' snapped Tuppence, who by then had reappeared.
'And perhaps YOU should keep a civil tongue in your head and lay off the rum.'
'Why on earth should I listen to a pair of old bores like you? You're not experts in anything. You've no moral fibre. You're fat and lazy. You're failures in every possible respect.'
Geoffrey began to sob. I knew Tuppence had hit a nerve; Geoffrey lacks my capacity for denial.
'It's true Tuppy! We ARE fail - '
I interrupted, shaking my head and gesturing for him to be silent. 'Easy to criticise from the dizzy heights of youth Tuppence. What are you an expert in, then, other than catapults, bed-wetting, and raspberry chews?'
'I was not criticising, merely suggesting. You brainless pair of oafs.'
'Well! Unkle Funkle must be turning in his grave. He'd be shocked to his marrow if he heard your cheek.'
'Two problems with that last statement Uncle Tuppy.'
'Oh really? Do pray continue. I'm all agog.' I yawned in a faux-theatrical manner.
'I fully intend to continue. If you'd stop interrupting and yawning in that pathetic faux-theatrical manner. Firstly, Unkle Funkle was unshockable. Secondly, he was stone deaf, so even if he had been shockable, which as I've already said he was not, he could not have heard you. Or indeed me. Thirdly - '
'TWO problems you said. Now it's three all of a sudden...'
'Is it? Oh. I can only count to two. Being young and all that. Anyway - as I was saying - '
'Oh DO hurry up. I've sausages to fry.'
'All right. Thirdly - he's not dead. Ergo, he is incapable of turning in his grave.'
'WHAAAATT???????'
more later.
Here's a link to my Amazon page and more Tall Tales
'Thar she blows! The Great Whale of the West!'
'That's not the Great Whale of the West, you blind fool. That's Mrs T-G, sunbathing on the Fulmars' decking.'
It was half past ten on a Tuesday morning, and already Tuppence was raving. His Unkle Funkle obsession was well out of hand.
He'd stormed in at eight, demanding rum, and wearing a patch over his left eye and a fake 'peg leg'. Receiving the reply that we hadn't got rum, we'd only Madeira, and precious little of that due to 'austerity cuts', he'd stormed out again till ten, spitting over his shoulder as he went, and cursing horribly.
'Best ignored,' I said to Geoffrey, 'Like most things in life these days.'
We then had our usual 'triple bacon' sandwich, accompanied by five cups of tea and an argument about pigs, and why it was OK to eat them and cows, but not OK to eat sheep or horses.
'It's because we don't know any pigs personally,' explained Geoffrey, wiping some red sauce from his snowy white breast feathers. 'I'd never eat a sheep, because I know one, i.e. YOU, personally. Just as you'd never eat a gull, because you know one, i.e. ME, personally.'
'True. We don't know any cows - oh! Except Mr Spockfingers. But he was a Highland cow and perhaps - '
'PerHAPS you should enlarge your circle of acquaintances,' snapped Tuppence, who by then had reappeared.
'And perhaps YOU should keep a civil tongue in your head and lay off the rum.'
'Why on earth should I listen to a pair of old bores like you? You're not experts in anything. You've no moral fibre. You're fat and lazy. You're failures in every possible respect.'
Geoffrey began to sob. I knew Tuppence had hit a nerve; Geoffrey lacks my capacity for denial.
'It's true Tuppy! We ARE fail - '
I interrupted, shaking my head and gesturing for him to be silent. 'Easy to criticise from the dizzy heights of youth Tuppence. What are you an expert in, then, other than catapults, bed-wetting, and raspberry chews?'
'I was not criticising, merely suggesting. You brainless pair of oafs.'
'Well! Unkle Funkle must be turning in his grave. He'd be shocked to his marrow if he heard your cheek.'
'Two problems with that last statement Uncle Tuppy.'
'Oh really? Do pray continue. I'm all agog.' I yawned in a faux-theatrical manner.
'I fully intend to continue. If you'd stop interrupting and yawning in that pathetic faux-theatrical manner. Firstly, Unkle Funkle was unshockable. Secondly, he was stone deaf, so even if he had been shockable, which as I've already said he was not, he could not have heard you. Or indeed me. Thirdly - '
'TWO problems you said. Now it's three all of a sudden...'
'Is it? Oh. I can only count to two. Being young and all that. Anyway - as I was saying - '
'Oh DO hurry up. I've sausages to fry.'
'All right. Thirdly - he's not dead. Ergo, he is incapable of turning in his grave.'
'WHAAAATT???????'
more later.
Here's a link to my Amazon page and more Tall Tales
