Wet Break - Month 3

I wish the Almighty and his hosts of winged assistants would cease tiddling over our isle. I now admit to belated gratitude for Uncle Lucas installing a three-ply titanium & lead "Armageddon" door at the entrance to the mine (admittedly for other reasons) or the pumps would have been going like the clappers for months now.

The cost to us has been barely tolerable as it is; supplying Groida with sackloads of pick & mix, comics, crayons and colouring books. If he were left moping and subject to his own bizarre thoughts, the consequences may well have proven horrendous by now, even by the Ambrose Posse's misunderstood value system.

I have vetoed (i.e.aborted under threat of a frenzied swatting with a pit prop) Big G's daft notion of a ouija seance to "breathe life" into his ventriloquist's dummy, thus creating a modern-day golem. I think he is still pining for his uncontrollable and wandering steam robot Mr Prendergast. The recent intrusion into our midst of the triad android agent Wu didn't help matters. I have since kicked the vile creature's babbling bonce into touch off a cliff and onto unforgiving rocks. I hope that is an end to the matter.

Auntie P has become so disillusioned with morale amongst the crew that she has taken to selling winkles in Penzance. Hard at work with our industrial Dyson, a hose, a funnel and several pairs of fine denier tights to "harvest" the wee creatures, she is a stranger to us at the ranch these days. I've even had to help with the housework!

Despite efforts to coax her home with warnings about EU fishing infringements, she has declared, we believe, "bugger the lot of them" (her exotic outburst may have been in Cornish, Welsh or possibly Dylan Thomas backwards - whatever the lingo it sounded final, impregnable to enterpretation and almost certainly immune to reason).

Even me beloved bro, Mordecai, is considering a stint in the French Foreign Legion, but I don't think they are keen on mantids, except fried in garlic butter for elevenses. What will Cheryl the Frighteningly Large Earwig think of us when she turns up next week for the Olympics with her "everything is bigger in Texas" mentality? Not to mention a set of vicious pincers located at both mouth and bum!

I am getting me antennae down for an early night with a stick of tutti frutti rock, that feller Brahms's German Requiem on the Walkmantis, an H P Lovecraft paperback and a loaded Beretta MK 93 under the pillow!