Groida is off his cake, and I don't mean he has lost his appetite at tea time. I harboured doubts from the outset about him shoving a primitive computer into the swede of his mammoth tunnelling device, Mr Prendergast. What a foolish thing to initiate; the mad leading the mad.
As Executive Officer of Team Ambrose, I accept limited responsibility. In other words it is really all Groida's fault and he will pay dearly if things pan out as I fear. Final monitoring has been conducted prior to unleashing the iron monster on its first trial against solid rock.
Initial tests do not bode well. I subjected Mr Prendergast to psychological profiling, the results of which concern me greatly.
Q: "How do you get to Rhyl?"
A: "Duck tape across the shoulders, but you may develop a rash, Your Grace."
Q: "Who wrote Beethoven's Fifth Symphony?"
A: "Porridge, with plenty of Carnation and golden syrup please."
Stone the crows (or leap about, going "shoo" if the RSPCA are watching)!
The baleful leviathan is fired up in readiness and is currently struggling to release itself from a cocoon of anchor chains. I am almost hoarse from bellowing "it is very important that you calm down now" in what is proving to be a futile attempt to engage with its rudimentary intelligence.
Zero Hour approaches and you could cut the atmosphere with one of those nice cake slices with engraved handles you occasionally see in charity shops. Uncle Lucas is strangely quiet, staring fixedly into space. Groida is whistling a medley from "South Pacific" as he makes adjustment to the controls. Mordecai is hiding in the toilet.
Auntie Pamela has made us a hamper of Marmite sarnies, "cold cuts" (I didn't enquire) and some greasy fried things which smell like fish to sustain us as we keep vigil over the awesome lump's uncertain progress. I have augmented these with a secret supply of coconut ice, Love Hearts and Fry's Five Centre bars in order to keep up me energy levels, but don't tell the other greedy sods.
Well, sphincters clenched, here we go. If Big G dares to utter "it's alive" or "I am become the destroyer of worlds" I'll ram a bog roll down his windpipe!
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