A Spiritual Bloomer

It never ceases to amaze me how even an innocent night out can turn into a farce. Last Tuesday Bro and I dutifully turned up at the Padstow Assembly Rooms for a peek into the hereafter courtesy of the local Spiritualists. We were not looking for trouble, had parked the harmonium off-road and were determined to scoff our refreshments with the minimum amount of racket. We were going to be good boys that evening.

I thought it was a bit odd that the medium seemed to be worshipping at an altar of roses, carnations and chrysanthemums but naturally assumed this was some local Druid offshoot cult.  However, as the strangely didactic monologue continued, it began to dawn on me that we may have mistakenly wandered into a flower arranging class.

Quietly securing a snoozing Mordecai in a head lock I began a stealthy but awkward retreat towards the exit. That was when some daft bint began screaming and we were subjected to a frenzy of hysterical swatting as if we were wasps invading a Portaloo. No doubt some twisted unfortunates would derive unwholesome satisfaction from being thrashed with gladioli but I can assure you it is not nice at all.

Luckily, with cries of woe and limping worthy of Olivier I managed to effect a truce and earned us a reprieve from a vicious towsing. In fact the atmosphere warmed considerably after I complimented them on their displays and once I had explained my interest in preserved fruit I was asked to return later in the year to judge the harvest jam and pickle competition.

I can't really demand payment for that gig but I'll wear my Octomac (see "Also Ran" in The Ambrose Files # 7) with its multitude of deep pockets. I won't be leaving without a hefty stash of tasty and nutritious perks. Ambrose comes up smelling of strawberries in light syrup yet again, he he!

So it's holding hands with ghosties next Monday at the St Austell Old Mackerel Sheds & Community Centre at 7.30 sharp. If it all goes nipples-skyward I'll give Mordecai such a clump. Not that it will be his fault, but in Groida's absence ...

Mantis of the Moment

What an odd couple of days! I guessed things would get a bit more frantic here in Cornwall as the wee ones broke up from school, but I never imagined that I would find myself the centre of their attention. Wherever we go, Bro and I keep getting stopped and asked if we will pose for photos with the cheeky mites. It would have become something of a nuisance had we not twigged that a fee could be extracted from their already careworn parents and now the two of us are doing very nicely, thank you very much.


We have been spreading a rumour that our appearances are part of a promotion for a new 3-D Pixar epic called "Ambrose C P Mantis and the Harmonium of Doom" (coming to a fleapit near you). We may even have some tickets fabricated for a lucrative "charity" raffle. 


On a sadder note, one of our favourite venues, the Krazy Kurnow tea rooms has been closed down after a raid. Apparently there is a law against their Happy Scones. Bloody bureaucracy.


Anyway, must nip off to wash me neck. Almost time to saunter down to the Spiritualist meeting. Got plenty of samosas and Supermalt to fuel a few unearthly noises and odours from beyond the grave ...

Products That Have Come My Way # 18

R is for Rice. Creamed Rice.
A fine product wisely given a noble name.

Products That have Come My Way # 17

Q is for Quince Jelly.
Serving suggestion: Try sucking it through a thin straw until you faint.

Products That Have Come My Way # 16

P is for Prunes. Marvellous little buggers for unclogging gluttons like my brother Mordecai.
 Note the explanation of what a prune is, presumably for idiots like Groida.

Back in Action

Whizzo! The harmonium is up and running again. The correct FDIDA (Failsafe Disengage Iconic Disco Anthem) came to me as I lifted me sleepy head this morning. It is "Feels Like I'm In Love" by Kelly Marie. No wonder I was flummoxed. The song got nowhere until its UK re-release in 1980. Me bonce was in the wrong decade.

With some trepidation I tapped out the correct code sequence based on the melody and as I wasn't suddenly being transported down a long tunnel towards a light, I realised all was well. Thereafter it was just a case of attacking a few bolts and a bit of moderate swearing as I tangled with some wiring before I'd improvised a temporary ignition plate. Okay, it's just the guts from a pocket torch sellotaped inside a Golden Virginia tin, but I'd challenge anyone to do better at dawn with a rumbling tummy.

Anyway, she's ticking over nicely. I've bashed out a few standards to get back into practice and I'm surprisingly not that rusty. I did hit a couple of bum notes on "Underneath the Arches" and accidentally launched a Sidewinder which truncated the church spire somewhat, but nobody was seriously injured.

I shall treat Bro to some days out in the country now I've got wheels again, but as I also need to thoroughly test the half-track, skidoos and hovercraft skirt I think I'll stay down here for a few more weeks. I have also decided to go the the Spiritualist meeting for a bit of fun, as we are still banned from the local cinema.

A certain pestilent numpty will have to await my wrath a little longer. I have received an email purporting to come from the Chinese embassy regarding outstanding parking fines, courtesy of "Comlade Gloida".  Bro has a roll of carpet he doesn't want. It will make an impressive cosh.

Memory Mantis

Funny how things stick in your mind. I can clearly recall the time and place of the first bet I won against Groida (to see if he could keep a Jaffa cake on his sting if I flicked lighted matches at it) yet for the life of me  I can't remember what I've done with the harmonium's ignition keys.


True, I can always fly short haul to the Co-op or a takeaway in an emergency and it does give me an excuse to stay here in Cornwall with Bro for a bit longer, but that is not the point. I need the mobility, freedom and fearsome weaponry which Y Nauci 14 affords me.


Now, I am fairly nifty when it comes to hot-wiring vehicles but I know better than to tinker with this baby. I built it to go bang. If any sod tries to fiddle with the controls, an automatic self-destruct programme is initiated and the miscreant gets an express trip to his ancestors on a pillar of fire.


I would be able to override the booby trap by hitting every third note of a certain iconic disco hit of the 1970's, except the song in question has slipped my memory. Donna Summer's "I Feel Love" is playing dimly in the back of my swede but I don't want to kiss goodbye to half a million quid's worth of ex-military hardware and an antique ivory keyboard merely on a hunch.


In my desperation I even rang Groida. Although his Auntie Pamela answered and called him to the phone, he insisted I had the wrong number, claiming to be one Evan Phetau and tried to sell me double glazing in a ludicrous Caribbean accent. He has gone too far this time.


There is a Spiritualist meeting in the town next week, so I will pop along and enquire beyond the veil as to the whereabouts of the keys. Failing that I'll try the hypnotist in the end-of-the-pier show or the Royal Engineers.


In the mean time I shall meditate on how to exact a truly awful revenge on that pea-brained jackanapes for his impertinent tomfoolery.

Products That Have Come My Way # 15

O is for Opal Fruits. Manufactured to assist the production of saliva.This wasn't my idea.
Mordecai thinks it is highly amusing. Sometimes he's as daft as Groida.

Products That Have Come My Way # 14

N is for Nectarine. An innocent-looking but effective projectile.
Makes a satisfying noise and mess on impact if sufficiently ripe.

The Twilight World of a Sleeping Mantis

Had a seriously loopy dream last night. I was serving tea at the Dorchester to the Aznavour quins, Groida was the Maitre D (unaccountably wearing an eyepatch) and the cabaret was provided by the resurrected Mr Prendergast in a nurse's uniform, blowing furiously on a digeridoo with "Y Nauci 14" inscribed along its length.

A hole opened up in the floor and Janet Radcliffe Richards, in a gown bejewelled with Spangles and Jelly Tots, rose up on a hydraulic plinth and declared she was the Ghost of August Bank Holiday Monday Yet To Come and arrested me for being naughty, painted the wrong shade of green and over the regulation mantis height.

I'd set fire to that bloody book of hers if it wasn't being used to shore up a dodgy prop in Mordecai's tin mine.

Words and Music

Strewth! This Janet Radcliffe Richards book is heavy going. Funny peculiar but not very amusing. In fact it could have been written by Groida's mad cousin Vernon. Green paint, falling off ladders and predatory females! Now, as a he-mantis, that equates with being eaten, so I'm not exactly going to hoot with laughter over the subject.

It doesn't help that there are questions at the end of each chapter, as if to check if I've been paying attention. Janet, I hang on yer every word but give us a break, love. It's worse than homework. I'll do it as it's you, but how about a signed photo as a reward? I've asked often enough.

Anyway, I'll persevere but if there isn't a murder or at least a decent gag soon I'm going to take the book back to Oxfam and demand a refund. I'm hoping it won't come to that as the shop assistant befouled himself when I tried to pay for the thing, so heaven alone knows what reaction I'll get if I complain.

Sunday's brass band concert was a let-down too. Mordecai and I arrived after hoovering up the buffet at the Mysore Ass Indian nosherie but we'd no sooner settled ourselves in the park when there was a prolonged clatter of emptying deck chairs.  Admittedly we were a tad flatulent but there was no need for a mass evacuation (if you'll pardon the expression).

Even the band seemed paralysed by stage fright and the conductor kept turning round to look at us, which was hardly professional. Bro asked if they did requests and I enquired if they would consider selling their instruments and opening a whelk stall instead. I think it must have been about then that some sour toad phoned the polis.

The Dead Loss Orchestra decided to make a run for it and Bro came up with the bright idea of living things up with a bit of impromptu karaoke. We had hardly launched into a wicked rendition of White Horses when the bandstand collapsed under our combined weight and that's when the rapid response unit turned up.

I want to make it clear that at no time did I become hysterical. It was merely the effects of the tear gas and I am having a notice put in the local rag to that effect. And possibly getting some T shirts printed.

Some Holiday Reading

Browsing through the local Oxfam shop for a bit of light reading during me extended vacation here in Cornwall, I happened upon a well-thumbed copy of  an Open University book by the wonderful Janet Radcliffe Richards. It is called "Human Nature After Darwin" and although it doesn't have any pictures I am hoping there are at least a few jokes. I bet she likes a good laugh, even if her photo suggests she has just sat in something and is pretending otherwise.

Bro is looking after me wonderfully and we are going to a brass band concert tomorrow afternoon. May pick up a few ideas for some new harmonium arrangements. God alone knows what Groida is up to, but I am sure news will filter down to me if he has been up to any foolish shenanigans.

Anyway, must get cracking on the book. That Darwin would have thrown a fit if he'd seen me, eh? A lifetime's theorising down the pan!