Marvellous, isn't it? After a fortnight subjecting myself to the indignity of wearing a tzigane headscarf and earrings in order to relieve tourists of their readies, me bro has decided to muscle in on the scam.
It just isn't right. The windiest bugger in Team Ambrose when it comes to anything supernatural now claims he was visited in a dream by a bunch of incandescent wraiths called the "Secret Chefs", who have granted him a "psychic gift voucher" (valid until August Bank Holiday Monday, ha!), which permits him a dozen goes at spooky stunts as long as they involve foodstuffs.
What a carton of tosh! He's just jealous of my alter ego "Gypsy Ambrose Li" and wants to destabilise the whole setup. Okay, I'll challenge him to test his new powers by, say, replenishing my stock of fruit cocktail chews and pear drops with a wave of his hanky, or turning Groida into an arthropod version of Bertie Bassett. Mark my words, I'll have the cheeky sod wailing "I didn't mean it" before sundown.
Talking of the holiday weekend to come, readers may wish to take advantage of a special offer at the Krazy Kernow Tearooms. Punters will be able to ask for a second pot of tea and an extra plate of scones at half price (clotted cream and jam negotiable). Auntie Pamela may choose to ignore you or use bad language, but she has been given clear instructions not to strike out with her extendable baton.
Bloody hell, Mordecai has begun to levitate and his wings aren't whirring. He can cut that out for a start! Sorry, o public, but I am required to attend to a delicate situation once again. I'll try to bring him down with a thick rope.
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