Oh dear oh dear - I haven't got a soul

When I finally emerged from the kitchen, I was confronted by an awful sight.

Tuppence, Peter Edant, the T-G and Geoffrey had all been turned to stone. Their faces were fixed in a collective ghastly rictus grin, and their eyes were bulging and starting from their sockets.

Suddenly I heard a strange humming, chugging engine-style sound, and then a horrible metallic grinding and scraping. I spun round and saw the Ghastly Wilson laughing his head off as he gleefully turned the crank handle on the T-G's soul extracting device.

"What on earth are you doing with THAT?" I snapped. "Turn it off immediately. And DON'T point it in my direction - !!"

Quick as lightning I seized the tartan knee rug (Tupwatch tartan of course - contact seapenguin for full details of colour ways and items available such as kilts, bum bags, toorie hats, pants etc.) which was still lying across Geoffrey's fossilised knees and flung it over the soul extractor's lens. At once, the machine started to overheat and toxic fumes belched from its rear end.

Or perhaps that was me.

"Turn it off, Wilson, for goodness sake, before we choke to death."

I fetched a bucket of water from the kitchen and threw it over the machine.

"What are you playing at, Wilson? You've extracted the souls of my two best friends, and Tuppence as well."

To be continued...

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.

Geoffrey has his soul partially extracted.

Blimey. What a week it's been. It all started with the planned meeting at Tupfinder Towers, to discuss ways of sabotaging the new road which is being built across the moors, to transport the wind farm turbines to goodness only knows where along the cliffs. The Tupfinder side-tracked things by insisting we first have a shot of his new soul extractor machine, and once he got the thing fired up there was no stopping him.
Luckily one of the poo foo valves over-heated and only a partial extraction/capturing of the essence was possible. And at first, there seemed no way of telling who it was that had been affected.
However, once the machine had cooled down and the meeting was convened, all became clear.
Mrs T-G came in with a platter of sausage rolls, and I'm sorry to say Geoffrey devoured the lot willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave. Due to the machine going off "half cock", his face had not been turned to stone, as such, but his expression definitely was "stoney". Not to mention his personality. He actually became quite aggressive if anyone (i.e. me) so much as sniffed a sausage roll. He even told me to "bog off", which I will not forget in a hurry I can tell you.
Currently the soul extractor does not have a reverse gear, but the Tupfinder feels confident he will remedy that soon.
I hope so. This carry on is doing my nerves no good at all. Geoffrey's snapping at me for the least thing - slippers not warm enough, tea not brewed to his liking, knee rug not positioned in exactly the right way. He's driving me up the flaming wall.
re. new road prevention solutions by the way - only idea that emerged from what - apart from Geoffrey's antics - was a VERY dull meeting was from the Tupfinder - he suggested digging a very large trench along the boundary of "Hereabouts", into which any alien/unwanted machinery would topple. I think that's a very poor idea. For one thing, who's to do the digging of this massive hole? I've got a dicky knee, and Geoffrey's got a "glass back". No, we'll have to think "outside the box"...

our breakfast

Geoffrey's sandwich is the top one, garnished with red sauce (he's still on the healthy eating thing), and mine is the lower one, garnished with brown. Either is good, to be honest, and just the very dab after a night at Stormy's lock-in. More of that later, plus more on the wind farm/soul extractor meeting.

the Tupfinder General reveals a new invention

"But why is the face twisted in that horrible, repulsive way?" whispered Geoffrey. "And is it REALLY the ghastly Wilson?"
"Yes!" boomed the T-G, as he opened the vast oaken, iron-clad door, releasing a cloud of smoke from his pipe and the wonderful aroma of a freshly opened packet of sausage rolls. "Yes!" he continued. "It IS Wilson. Captured in stone. Just shows you what can happen when the wind changes."
"But it's not really him, surely? after all, we only saw him the other day. Surely it's just his...er...likeness? not his real head?" quavered Geoffrey.
"It's his soul, Goeffrey," replied the T-G, proudly. " An exact likeness, as you put it, of his inner essence. I've got a machine that does it. I call it the soul extractor. Made it myself out of bits and pieces. Come on in and I'll give you a shot on it before we get down to business."
"Great!" we chorused. I heard two muffled "clicks" as Tuppence removed the safety catch on his pistols.