Groida is refusing to communicate in anything except Ohara, which I suspect he is making up as he goes along. For example, I can see nothing Celtic or indeed Oriental in him describing me as a "steel rake", which is clearly an insult as it is accompanied by him covering his nostrils and pulling an imaginary toilet chain.
The madness seems to be infectious. Bro has become enchanted with Big G's idea of developing a computer game based on our exploits. If I do relent and agree to developing such a foolhardy project, it will be conducted under my strict supervision. I detect the intent of mischief, even at this early stage and by you-know-who.
I have tried to divert interest by suggesting the arthrosod creates his own toy for Xmas. Groida's Brittle Biscuit Bakery Bagatelle would allow kiddies to make their own flour and water figures of him from a mould and then destroy them with ball bearings. I thought it was an inspired notion - if a little cruel - but Auntie Pamela has told me to leave him alone or I won't get any tea.
I wish her loopy nephew would reciprocate and allow me a bit of peace. I am still trying to iron out a few glitches with the Wee Ambrose dolly. The head has stayed attached for nearly 48 hours now, but the arms have fallen off. I shall persevere, but it isn't easy with that deranged buffoon jabbering away in the background like a parliament of exotic fowl.
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