Well, it seems you did! If you have been wondering where I have been these last couple of moths, yours truly was wandering abroad amongst you, seriously incognito thanks me extraordinary ingenuity and the dressing-up box.
Following exhaustive enquiries across hill, dale and shopping centre I now know the sorry state of canned fruit sales across the Queendom. I believe they could be radically improved with a few shrewd deals with ACP Mantis Trading.
Tarvin Netto, for example. Didn't you twig that Monseigneur Aneurin Poe wasn't just engaged in blessing the fresh fish counter but also doing a sneaky audit of your mandarin segments in light syrup amongst other sundry comestibles?
The good people of Blairgowrie were most welcoming to Luther Stygle from across the border when he came to examine the drains under the Londis store, but you fell for it all the same. £1.20 for a small tin of lychees? Do me a favour. More to the point, I can do you one on reasonable terms.
Detective Inspector Tosh Battenburg of the Canadian Bicycle Polis encountered a less friendly reception as he toured the many convenience stores in Walsall. Bunch of surly buggers. More than thirty per cent of your fruit cocktails and cherry pie fillings were perilously close to their sell-by dates and some had signs of rust. I am honour bound to point these things out and there was no need to be abusive.
Norwich, oh Norwich! Professor Garth Sternum was merely drilling into Tesco Express to evaluate your stock of grapefruit in natural juice. I was never at any time close to the bank vault and there was no need to alert the authorities. I wouldn't have got away in time if it hadn't been for the harmonium's new supercharger.
I shall shortly be publishing the results of me survey and hopefully the scandal will shame the nation. Preserved fruit should be an important part of a healthy diet (I've also got a limited stock of Toast Toppers, Irish Stew and jars of winkles in vinegar). So let's get fit and I can proceed with shifting 500-plus crates currently clogging up the mineshafts.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Saturday, April 26, 2014
Diminished Responsibility
Have you ever had sand kicked in your face? I don't mean literally, but something akin to a grumpy confrontation just when you have convinced yourself everything is right and sunny with the world?
Xmas dinner may seem a long time ago now. It was a classic example of family unity, complete with fisticuffs and bad language but Team A hoped that the Easter festivities wou...ld turn out to be a more positive experience in the light of spring.
Well. that worked. Our wounds are only now healing and our collective motto is "Never Again".
Three Mega-Scorpions acting in counsel, to be specific. What a farce! Groida (that should tell you a lot before I continue) along with his Auntie Pamela and Uncle Lucas has decided that the current Bourbon Presidium overrides all previous rulings. Biscuits from Poundland swayed the decision. So that's okay then. We leave all those cans of fruit bobbing about on the waves off the Cornish coast. Words fail me and I feel like doing a tantrum tiddle.
In an era when the issue of food waste is at the forefront of public discussion, I feel that the sheer irresponsibility of those sad, twisted buggers contributes to the problem and highlights the debate. You know the type. They only get up of a morning determined to ruin some smiling bod's day.
Y Nauci 14 can blow away a platoon before you can say "harmomium". I have a spare set of keys and I am not in a forgiving mood. I am going to get myself hyper on bags of strawberry laces and cola bottles before I exact my revenge.
Xmas dinner may seem a long time ago now. It was a classic example of family unity, complete with fisticuffs and bad language but Team A hoped that the Easter festivities wou...ld turn out to be a more positive experience in the light of spring.
Well. that worked. Our wounds are only now healing and our collective motto is "Never Again".
Three Mega-Scorpions acting in counsel, to be specific. What a farce! Groida (that should tell you a lot before I continue) along with his Auntie Pamela and Uncle Lucas has decided that the current Bourbon Presidium overrides all previous rulings. Biscuits from Poundland swayed the decision. So that's okay then. We leave all those cans of fruit bobbing about on the waves off the Cornish coast. Words fail me and I feel like doing a tantrum tiddle.
In an era when the issue of food waste is at the forefront of public discussion, I feel that the sheer irresponsibility of those sad, twisted buggers contributes to the problem and highlights the debate. You know the type. They only get up of a morning determined to ruin some smiling bod's day.
Y Nauci 14 can blow away a platoon before you can say "harmomium". I have a spare set of keys and I am not in a forgiving mood. I am going to get myself hyper on bags of strawberry laces and cola bottles before I exact my revenge.
Thursday, April 3, 2014
IM4Ambrose
Have you seen the latest poo sack of those ghastly, common Freeview channels we are being encouraged to re-tune to at present? Sod the lot, drop into "Ambrose TV" and get busy and smart, you hippies and swingers!
Groida has a Zumba class on "Daytime Mega-Scorpion Ladies" (when he can be bothered to shift his lazy carcass after the crack of noon). No injury claims accepted.
Auntie Pamela's "Big Burp-Off" is similarly exempt from damage to gullet, anus and all points inbetween. Tell the polis nothing, even under torture.
Uncle Lucas's "Do It Yourself Before Others Have a Go" has been suppressed by the authorities.
Bro Mordecai is making a spectacle of himself, with his one-mantis tribute to US TV from the ancient of days (Lucille Bark, The Lone Amoeba, Dragplankton, The Beverley Carbonised-Teabillies).
It is rare that I can sit back, doze and experience such a fiasco without getting involved. Pass me a sherbet fountain, someone!
Groida has a Zumba class on "Daytime Mega-Scorpion Ladies" (when he can be bothered to shift his lazy carcass after the crack of noon). No injury claims accepted.
Auntie Pamela's "Big Burp-Off" is similarly exempt from damage to gullet, anus and all points inbetween. Tell the polis nothing, even under torture.
Uncle Lucas's "Do It Yourself Before Others Have a Go" has been suppressed by the authorities.
Bro Mordecai is making a spectacle of himself, with his one-mantis tribute to US TV from the ancient of days (Lucille Bark, The Lone Amoeba, Dragplankton, The Beverley Carbonised-Teabillies).
It is rare that I can sit back, doze and experience such a fiasco without getting involved. Pass me a sherbet fountain, someone!
Saturday, March 29, 2014
GROIDA!
I bet that startled you, eh? Groida. A name that strikes ridicule into the consciousness of all right-thinking citizens. It also brings to mind the dreadful sounds of someone struggling to relieve themself of faecal concretion. Okay, that's him sorted out. Now onto his wonderful Uncle Lucas.
You may recall we were promised a weapon of mysterious development earlier this month when the harmonium was re-launched under an inky sky. Apparently the inbred locals would be weeing themselves in terror at the sight of this fearsome Behemoth and leave us to our nocturnal maritime salvaging activities forevermore. Stealth Nessie. I ask you. I have seen more convincing things with a horsey head stuck on, playfully nudging the local May queen in her upholstery. Even our pantomime "Ambrose and the Beanstalk" managed a cow with a head that didn't threaten to fall off. Okay, the wheels were a mistake and we don't discuss the riot any more. We have moved on from that.
Auntie P has also managed to disgrace the team. In addition to her role as Gauleiter of the Krazy Kernow Tearooms and Empress Pamela's Chinese Chippie, she has been submitting cookery articles to the local paper under the nom de chaos of "Ellen Hydroflob" and has at the time of writing infringed over a hundred health and safety regulations with her admittedly adventurous, exotic and potentially lethal recipes. The polis are after our hides and she proudly declares there is a book in the pipeline. Strewth.
If all these blows to our posse weren't enough, Groida's croup is back, Mordecai is seeing visions again and according to those "Mythbusters" on the box, Tesla's miniature earthquake device is a load of nonsense. Bugger. I could weep. Civil mayhem denied. I'm getting under me beloved candlewick bedspread and only emerging when I need a tinkle.
You may recall we were promised a weapon of mysterious development earlier this month when the harmonium was re-launched under an inky sky. Apparently the inbred locals would be weeing themselves in terror at the sight of this fearsome Behemoth and leave us to our nocturnal maritime salvaging activities forevermore. Stealth Nessie. I ask you. I have seen more convincing things with a horsey head stuck on, playfully nudging the local May queen in her upholstery. Even our pantomime "Ambrose and the Beanstalk" managed a cow with a head that didn't threaten to fall off. Okay, the wheels were a mistake and we don't discuss the riot any more. We have moved on from that.
Auntie P has also managed to disgrace the team. In addition to her role as Gauleiter of the Krazy Kernow Tearooms and Empress Pamela's Chinese Chippie, she has been submitting cookery articles to the local paper under the nom de chaos of "Ellen Hydroflob" and has at the time of writing infringed over a hundred health and safety regulations with her admittedly adventurous, exotic and potentially lethal recipes. The polis are after our hides and she proudly declares there is a book in the pipeline. Strewth.
If all these blows to our posse weren't enough, Groida's croup is back, Mordecai is seeing visions again and according to those "Mythbusters" on the box, Tesla's miniature earthquake device is a load of nonsense. Bugger. I could weep. Civil mayhem denied. I'm getting under me beloved candlewick bedspread and only emerging when I need a tinkle.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
It's That Time of Year Again
[Originally posted on Facebook 05/03/14]
Happy Ambrose Day, one and all! Be sure to wiggle your antennae at the neighbours (or fingers in imitation of, if human) and eat plenty of canned fruit.
Celebrations started early here at the tin mine. Mordecai and Groida have been riding on the ghost train since sunrise, pelting the rest of us with mini cream eggs. They sting like sodding bullets! I will have to insist they both have a nap during the day or they will be overtired come the evening's events.
Uncle Lucas will be unveiling the new, spruced-up Y Nauci 14 at the harbour tonight, hopefully putting the wind up the locals once and for all, allowing for uninterrupted nocturnal salvaging in future. I originally thought our night on the town was going to be something low-key, such as demolishing the Council Chambers, but now I can hardly contain my excitement. I'll just blame Groida for the smell, as usual.
Auntie Pamela is in her best black ninja pinny and already hauling the first of many trays from the furnace, laden with examples of her signature ERFWYLA (a Welsh acronym for "yummy if odd") regional terrorist folk recipes. She's hung a "closed for refurbishment" sign on the Chinese chippie's door, which should allay suspicions for a while. We've plenty of time to re-stock the freezers with roadkill later on.
Anyway folks, I have to away and smarten myself up for the coming proceedings. Despite Auntie P's assertions that I only wash all me feet when there's a z in the month, I am off to find the hosepipe right now.
Don't forget, manifest your Ambrosian leanings with pride!
Happy Ambrose Day, one and all! Be sure to wiggle your antennae at the neighbours (or fingers in imitation of, if human) and eat plenty of canned fruit.
Celebrations started early here at the tin mine. Mordecai and Groida have been riding on the ghost train since sunrise, pelting the rest of us with mini cream eggs. They sting like sodding bullets! I will have to insist they both have a nap during the day or they will be overtired come the evening's events.
Uncle Lucas will be unveiling the new, spruced-up Y Nauci 14 at the harbour tonight, hopefully putting the wind up the locals once and for all, allowing for uninterrupted nocturnal salvaging in future. I originally thought our night on the town was going to be something low-key, such as demolishing the Council Chambers, but now I can hardly contain my excitement. I'll just blame Groida for the smell, as usual.
Auntie Pamela is in her best black ninja pinny and already hauling the first of many trays from the furnace, laden with examples of her signature ERFWYLA (a Welsh acronym for "yummy if odd") regional terrorist folk recipes. She's hung a "closed for refurbishment" sign on the Chinese chippie's door, which should allay suspicions for a while. We've plenty of time to re-stock the freezers with roadkill later on.
Anyway folks, I have to away and smarten myself up for the coming proceedings. Despite Auntie P's assertions that I only wash all me feet when there's a z in the month, I am off to find the hosepipe right now.
Don't forget, manifest your Ambrosian leanings with pride!
If You Are Interested
[Originally Posted on Facebook 27/02/14]
Kindly excuse my tardiness (not an aquatic Scottish time machine, o humorists) in following up my last missive. Team Ambrose has been feverishly monitoring reports from across the globe of earthquakes, ground subsidence and rumblings from the bowels of Hades, in desperate pursuit of Mr Prendergast during his blind odyssey beneath the Earth's crust.
Even bro Mordecai has sacrificed his viewings of "In the Night Garden" in order to peddal furiously on our seismograph's dynamo. Auntie P has threatened that unless we strive together as a focused unit, she won't lift a spatula or blow torch to provide us with sustenance.
Groida is particularly concerned at the prospect of no fox fritters and seaweed cheese for brekkers and has been tearfully imploring us to "operate as a concerted force". Always thinking of his belly.
If all this wasn't enough, Uncle Lucas has started tinkering with the harmonium again, which has put us further on edge. After his last "overhaul", when Y Nauci 14 was employed in a performance of Rossini's Petite Messe Solennelle at Truro Cathedral, a few bum keystrokes led to the .50 Ma Deuces taking out a dozen rows of pews and after an innocently misadjusted diapason, Agent Orange was sprayed all over the rafters in the nave.
I notice the workshop has "acquired" a merry-go-round horse, marine lamps, lorry tyres sawn in half and several rolls of heavy duty Neoprene sheeting. Me tum is somewhere close to what pass for toes and I don't feel much like tea or supper, let alone breakfast, fretting about what misguided venture Uncle Lucas has in mind.
Kindly excuse my tardiness (not an aquatic Scottish time machine, o humorists) in following up my last missive. Team Ambrose has been feverishly monitoring reports from across the globe of earthquakes, ground subsidence and rumblings from the bowels of Hades, in desperate pursuit of Mr Prendergast during his blind odyssey beneath the Earth's crust.
Even bro Mordecai has sacrificed his viewings of "In the Night Garden" in order to peddal furiously on our seismograph's dynamo. Auntie P has threatened that unless we strive together as a focused unit, she won't lift a spatula or blow torch to provide us with sustenance.
Groida is particularly concerned at the prospect of no fox fritters and seaweed cheese for brekkers and has been tearfully imploring us to "operate as a concerted force". Always thinking of his belly.
If all this wasn't enough, Uncle Lucas has started tinkering with the harmonium again, which has put us further on edge. After his last "overhaul", when Y Nauci 14 was employed in a performance of Rossini's Petite Messe Solennelle at Truro Cathedral, a few bum keystrokes led to the .50 Ma Deuces taking out a dozen rows of pews and after an innocently misadjusted diapason, Agent Orange was sprayed all over the rafters in the nave.
I notice the workshop has "acquired" a merry-go-round horse, marine lamps, lorry tyres sawn in half and several rolls of heavy duty Neoprene sheeting. Me tum is somewhere close to what pass for toes and I don't feel much like tea or supper, let alone breakfast, fretting about what misguided venture Uncle Lucas has in mind.
Oh, Wet and Windy Coast
[Originally posted on Facebook 12/02/14]
The noble and fearless Team Ambrose has rallied to the cause of allieviating suffering and loss, following the flooding in local communities. We have managed to get hold of lots of stuff just left floating with nobody claiming a bean of it. Honest. It's all in me notebook, aided by a Polaroid camera, a big torch that does red, white and green signals and a watch that even shows seconds. All kosher. You can't fault us on technicalities. Nobody has asked for the return of goods. Go on, take us to court and see what bloody happens.
We are astounded by how much valuable flotsam survived the storms and came our way, miraculously protected by fate, bobbing about on a river of diluted plops and wee, in flimsy cardboard boxes with open lids. As our Technical Director, perhaps I should have paid more attention to tales of Archimedes and his Multi-Coloured Ark at Sunday School instead of concocting various formulae for explosive devices, but I still managed to figure it out. Actually, all we needed was a big net.
Our gallant crew has taken into protective custody an estimated 500 packs of toilet tissue. Time is of the essence. They will need swift dispatch from Shaft 6 if they are to avoid spoiling in the the damp conditions. The home fixture between Padstow Rovers and Blairgowrie Winkies is set for Saturday and one could hardly disappoint frenzied fans determined to bombard the opposition with streamers by supplying something more akin to a sleet of papier mache, the vile mess clogging up players and pitch alike. Hardly sporting, eh?
If the game is called off, we'll keep the bog rolls for Ambrose Day (March 5th, don't forget) and if dry enough, start a conflagration not seen since Nero went into one. Y Nauci 14 remains throbbing and guffing in hovercraft mode (how else are we to ferry in essential supplies of chews, lollies and big boxes of Jaffa cakes from Poundland?), but Uncle Lucas may have other ideas, judging by his disturbing expression and indecipherable mutterings ...
You think I sleep easily? Ha!
The noble and fearless Team Ambrose has rallied to the cause of allieviating suffering and loss, following the flooding in local communities. We have managed to get hold of lots of stuff just left floating with nobody claiming a bean of it. Honest. It's all in me notebook, aided by a Polaroid camera, a big torch that does red, white and green signals and a watch that even shows seconds. All kosher. You can't fault us on technicalities. Nobody has asked for the return of goods. Go on, take us to court and see what bloody happens.
We are astounded by how much valuable flotsam survived the storms and came our way, miraculously protected by fate, bobbing about on a river of diluted plops and wee, in flimsy cardboard boxes with open lids. As our Technical Director, perhaps I should have paid more attention to tales of Archimedes and his Multi-Coloured Ark at Sunday School instead of concocting various formulae for explosive devices, but I still managed to figure it out. Actually, all we needed was a big net.
Our gallant crew has taken into protective custody an estimated 500 packs of toilet tissue. Time is of the essence. They will need swift dispatch from Shaft 6 if they are to avoid spoiling in the the damp conditions. The home fixture between Padstow Rovers and Blairgowrie Winkies is set for Saturday and one could hardly disappoint frenzied fans determined to bombard the opposition with streamers by supplying something more akin to a sleet of papier mache, the vile mess clogging up players and pitch alike. Hardly sporting, eh?
If the game is called off, we'll keep the bog rolls for Ambrose Day (March 5th, don't forget) and if dry enough, start a conflagration not seen since Nero went into one. Y Nauci 14 remains throbbing and guffing in hovercraft mode (how else are we to ferry in essential supplies of chews, lollies and big boxes of Jaffa cakes from Poundland?), but Uncle Lucas may have other ideas, judging by his disturbing expression and indecipherable mutterings ...
You think I sleep easily? Ha!
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