Quote of the Day - from Scott's Journals

Extract from Robert Falcon Scott's Journals -  'Sunday, October 8. - ....Troubles rarely come singly, and it occurred to me after Clissold had been brought in that Taylor, who had been bicycling to the Turk's Head, was overdue.  We were relieved to hear that with glasses two figures could be seen approaching in South Bay, but at supper Wright appeared very hot and said that Taylor was exhausted in South Bay - he wanted brandy and hot drink.  I thought it best to despatch another relief party,  but before they were well round the point Taylor was seen coming over the land.  He was fearfully done.  He must have pressed on towards his objective long after his reason should have warned him that it was time to turn;  with this and a good deal of anxiety about Clissold, the day terminates very unpleasantly.'

a surprise meeting on Flannan Isle

Well we're still on the Flannan Isles and a wild and windy spot it is. We're quite sheltered in the old lighthouse, but it's terribly creepy (to put it mildly). The door was swinging open on its rusty old hinges when we arrived, and inside all was dank and dark. Geoffrey struck a match and revealed the cobwebby remains of the lighthouse keepers' final meal - a bit of stale bread and the dregs of some ale. Which I polished off - no point wasting it - and I have to say it was a damn sight tastier than Scott's last biscuit (see previous posts - some while ago, I got into a lot of trouble after scoffing that).

We got the fire lit and were toasting ourselves by its flickering light when we heard ghostly footsteps in the stairwell which spirals upwards to the light itself. At first we blamed it on the wind, which was beginning to howl abominably, and the pattering of rain on the tiny leaded window, but the volume intensified, the footsteps thundered downwards towards us, and eventually we huddled together behind the door in terror for our lives...

Suddenly the door burst open, and a voice piped, "Better move the coracle further up the beach uncle Tuppy!"

It was Tuppence, my incorrigible nephew - but what on earth was he doing, on Flannan Isle?

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?

what an insult

It gets worse and worse. I'm starting to feel paranoid and defensive again, and not without good reason. Readers will remember that I was voted "most unpopular" in the solstice poll - though I managed to survive the resulting solstice seige unscathed - physically unscathed, that is, as it will take aeons for the mental scars to heal, if ever - well, I was only just managing to sleep nights after that debacle, when I was informed that baby orca has put a bounty on my head - as mentioned in my last post. I assumed that "bounty" meant "price" or "reward" i.e. a very large sum of money for my head on a plate. But no. Apparently he really is offering a Bounty, as in bar. I can only hope it's the full double bar, not just the half, and that it's a real Bounty, not the supermarket own brand coconut-style bar. Though if he was offering a multi-pack I might be tempted myself.
I'm now attempting to do a review of the year. It's been fairly eventful. Highlights include: time travelling to "over there"; setting sail in my old coracle; being swallowed up by a whale, and escaping by being belched out; being swallowed up again by same whale, and escaping by blowing whale up by setting light to anal emission from Highland cow; wandering as an outcast through the mist; being locked in the dungeon of the chateau d'If with the man in the iron mask; being attacked in my own home by Dr "I hate him" Wilson and my own nephew, Tuppence; seeeing my own home being blown to smithereens; being voted least popular; and now, I've got a bounty on my head.
On the up side, Geoffrey has been a staunch friend most of the time - although his loyalty was sorely tested after I ate Captain Scott's last biscuit - as has the Tupfinder general, and we have enjoyed the Fulmar's hospitality/BBQs/Xmas fare more often than we deserve, given how much we slag them off behind their backs. I also salvaged my wooly socks and non-slip soled slippers after Tuppence robbed Sanity Claws. So, I must be thankful for small mercies.
Some snowdrops are beginning to raise their little heads in the outcrop garden - what will the coming Springtime bring, and will I last that long?

geoffrey saves my bacon, and a party is on the cards

You'll never guess - Geoffrey's back! I can barely contain my emotion - and why bother? I'm not ashamed! Geoffrey's been my closest friend for many years, and our recent falling-out distressed me terribly. I'm more than relieved that he has managed to put the episode of Captain Scott' s last biscuit well and truly behind him.
He arrived at the rocky outcrop last evening, at a very opportune moment might I add - just as the Tupfinder was getting a bit over-heated about the Meerschaum pipe, and I could practically smell the lighter fuel. Next thing he'd have been tying me to one of the kitchen chairs and dipping me in the nearest pond - not that we've got a pond hereabouts - it would need to be the sea - and I've been dipped in there more than enough, in recent weeks (see previous posts ad infinitum) - ANYWAY - just as he was fingering his lighter and casting an eye around for brushwood, there was a tippity-tap at the window, and there was Geoffrey, my old mate!
He really saved my bacon - or should that be, mutton? because he immediately explained to the Tupfinder that the person responsible for raiding the secret room (see previous posts again I'm afraid - far too complicated as usual) and removing the service revolver, the skeleton keys, AND the Meerschaum pipe, was Tuppence, not me. The Tupfinder was happy to accept this explanation and we all sat together round the fire, relieved, and enjoyed another glass or two of madeira.
Since I last saw him, Geoffrey has been in between Hereabouts and...Over there, keeping a weather eye on Tuppence. Tuppence has apparently got in with a bad lot and has been hanging about the Infra Inn, which as readers will know (if not, see previous posts and gazetteer on right) is half way between Hereabouts and... Over there. Right slap bang in the middle of the dodgy time zone, in fact. He's been indulging in the Purple Peril, a notorious beverage which is now banned from our local hostelry the Puff Inn for health and safety reasons- or so mine host Stormy Petrel maintains - mind you that kind of thing doesn't usually trouble him, and some say they just ran out of meths - ANYWAY, word about Tuppence is that he's generally going to the dogs. Which is not a good thing, for a lamb.

Our next task is to rescue Tuppence from himself. Meanwhile, we've been invited to yet another soiree at the Fulmars - it's the X factor final tonight, and we've all been invited along to watch it on their 62 inch telly - I might have to find some sunglasses not to mention earplugs, but I'm sure a glass or two of madeira will blur the edges nicely.