I bet that startled you, eh? Groida. A name that strikes ridicule into the consciousness of all right-thinking citizens. It also brings to mind the dreadful sounds of someone struggling to relieve themself of faecal concretion. Okay, that's him sorted out. Now onto his wonderful Uncle Lucas.
You may recall we were promised a weapon of mysterious development earlier this month when the harmonium was re-launched under an inky sky. Apparently the inbred locals would be weeing themselves in terror at the sight of this fearsome Behemoth and leave us to our nocturnal maritime salvaging activities forevermore. Stealth Nessie. I ask you. I have seen more convincing things with a horsey head stuck on, playfully nudging the local May queen in her upholstery. Even our pantomime "Ambrose and the Beanstalk" managed a cow with a head that didn't threaten to fall off. Okay, the wheels were a mistake and we don't discuss the riot any more. We have moved on from that.
Auntie P has also managed to disgrace the team. In addition to her role as Gauleiter of the Krazy Kernow Tearooms and Empress Pamela's Chinese Chippie, she has been submitting cookery articles to the local paper under the nom de chaos of "Ellen Hydroflob" and has at the time of writing infringed over a hundred health and safety regulations with her admittedly adventurous, exotic and potentially lethal recipes. The polis are after our hides and she proudly declares there is a book in the pipeline. Strewth.
If all these blows to our posse weren't enough, Groida's croup is back, Mordecai is seeing visions again and according to those "Mythbusters" on the box, Tesla's miniature earthquake device is a load of nonsense. Bugger. I could weep. Civil mayhem denied. I'm getting under me beloved candlewick bedspread and only emerging when I need a tinkle.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Saturday, March 15, 2014
It's That Time of Year Again
[Originally posted on Facebook 05/03/14]
Happy Ambrose Day, one and all! Be sure to wiggle your antennae at the neighbours (or fingers in imitation of, if human) and eat plenty of canned fruit.
Celebrations started early here at the tin mine. Mordecai and Groida have been riding on the ghost train since sunrise, pelting the rest of us with mini cream eggs. They sting like sodding bullets! I will have to insist they both have a nap during the day or they will be overtired come the evening's events.
Uncle Lucas will be unveiling the new, spruced-up Y Nauci 14 at the harbour tonight, hopefully putting the wind up the locals once and for all, allowing for uninterrupted nocturnal salvaging in future. I originally thought our night on the town was going to be something low-key, such as demolishing the Council Chambers, but now I can hardly contain my excitement. I'll just blame Groida for the smell, as usual.
Auntie Pamela is in her best black ninja pinny and already hauling the first of many trays from the furnace, laden with examples of her signature ERFWYLA (a Welsh acronym for "yummy if odd") regional terrorist folk recipes. She's hung a "closed for refurbishment" sign on the Chinese chippie's door, which should allay suspicions for a while. We've plenty of time to re-stock the freezers with roadkill later on.
Anyway folks, I have to away and smarten myself up for the coming proceedings. Despite Auntie P's assertions that I only wash all me feet when there's a z in the month, I am off to find the hosepipe right now.
Don't forget, manifest your Ambrosian leanings with pride!
Happy Ambrose Day, one and all! Be sure to wiggle your antennae at the neighbours (or fingers in imitation of, if human) and eat plenty of canned fruit.
Celebrations started early here at the tin mine. Mordecai and Groida have been riding on the ghost train since sunrise, pelting the rest of us with mini cream eggs. They sting like sodding bullets! I will have to insist they both have a nap during the day or they will be overtired come the evening's events.
Uncle Lucas will be unveiling the new, spruced-up Y Nauci 14 at the harbour tonight, hopefully putting the wind up the locals once and for all, allowing for uninterrupted nocturnal salvaging in future. I originally thought our night on the town was going to be something low-key, such as demolishing the Council Chambers, but now I can hardly contain my excitement. I'll just blame Groida for the smell, as usual.
Auntie Pamela is in her best black ninja pinny and already hauling the first of many trays from the furnace, laden with examples of her signature ERFWYLA (a Welsh acronym for "yummy if odd") regional terrorist folk recipes. She's hung a "closed for refurbishment" sign on the Chinese chippie's door, which should allay suspicions for a while. We've plenty of time to re-stock the freezers with roadkill later on.
Anyway folks, I have to away and smarten myself up for the coming proceedings. Despite Auntie P's assertions that I only wash all me feet when there's a z in the month, I am off to find the hosepipe right now.
Don't forget, manifest your Ambrosian leanings with pride!
If You Are Interested
[Originally Posted on Facebook 27/02/14]
Kindly excuse my tardiness (not an aquatic Scottish time machine, o humorists) in following up my last missive. Team Ambrose has been feverishly monitoring reports from across the globe of earthquakes, ground subsidence and rumblings from the bowels of Hades, in desperate pursuit of Mr Prendergast during his blind odyssey beneath the Earth's crust.
Even bro Mordecai has sacrificed his viewings of "In the Night Garden" in order to peddal furiously on our seismograph's dynamo. Auntie P has threatened that unless we strive together as a focused unit, she won't lift a spatula or blow torch to provide us with sustenance.
Groida is particularly concerned at the prospect of no fox fritters and seaweed cheese for brekkers and has been tearfully imploring us to "operate as a concerted force". Always thinking of his belly.
If all this wasn't enough, Uncle Lucas has started tinkering with the harmonium again, which has put us further on edge. After his last "overhaul", when Y Nauci 14 was employed in a performance of Rossini's Petite Messe Solennelle at Truro Cathedral, a few bum keystrokes led to the .50 Ma Deuces taking out a dozen rows of pews and after an innocently misadjusted diapason, Agent Orange was sprayed all over the rafters in the nave.
I notice the workshop has "acquired" a merry-go-round horse, marine lamps, lorry tyres sawn in half and several rolls of heavy duty Neoprene sheeting. Me tum is somewhere close to what pass for toes and I don't feel much like tea or supper, let alone breakfast, fretting about what misguided venture Uncle Lucas has in mind.
Kindly excuse my tardiness (not an aquatic Scottish time machine, o humorists) in following up my last missive. Team Ambrose has been feverishly monitoring reports from across the globe of earthquakes, ground subsidence and rumblings from the bowels of Hades, in desperate pursuit of Mr Prendergast during his blind odyssey beneath the Earth's crust.
Even bro Mordecai has sacrificed his viewings of "In the Night Garden" in order to peddal furiously on our seismograph's dynamo. Auntie P has threatened that unless we strive together as a focused unit, she won't lift a spatula or blow torch to provide us with sustenance.
Groida is particularly concerned at the prospect of no fox fritters and seaweed cheese for brekkers and has been tearfully imploring us to "operate as a concerted force". Always thinking of his belly.
If all this wasn't enough, Uncle Lucas has started tinkering with the harmonium again, which has put us further on edge. After his last "overhaul", when Y Nauci 14 was employed in a performance of Rossini's Petite Messe Solennelle at Truro Cathedral, a few bum keystrokes led to the .50 Ma Deuces taking out a dozen rows of pews and after an innocently misadjusted diapason, Agent Orange was sprayed all over the rafters in the nave.
I notice the workshop has "acquired" a merry-go-round horse, marine lamps, lorry tyres sawn in half and several rolls of heavy duty Neoprene sheeting. Me tum is somewhere close to what pass for toes and I don't feel much like tea or supper, let alone breakfast, fretting about what misguided venture Uncle Lucas has in mind.
Oh, Wet and Windy Coast
[Originally posted on Facebook 12/02/14]
The noble and fearless Team Ambrose has rallied to the cause of allieviating suffering and loss, following the flooding in local communities. We have managed to get hold of lots of stuff just left floating with nobody claiming a bean of it. Honest. It's all in me notebook, aided by a Polaroid camera, a big torch that does red, white and green signals and a watch that even shows seconds. All kosher. You can't fault us on technicalities. Nobody has asked for the return of goods. Go on, take us to court and see what bloody happens.
We are astounded by how much valuable flotsam survived the storms and came our way, miraculously protected by fate, bobbing about on a river of diluted plops and wee, in flimsy cardboard boxes with open lids. As our Technical Director, perhaps I should have paid more attention to tales of Archimedes and his Multi-Coloured Ark at Sunday School instead of concocting various formulae for explosive devices, but I still managed to figure it out. Actually, all we needed was a big net.
Our gallant crew has taken into protective custody an estimated 500 packs of toilet tissue. Time is of the essence. They will need swift dispatch from Shaft 6 if they are to avoid spoiling in the the damp conditions. The home fixture between Padstow Rovers and Blairgowrie Winkies is set for Saturday and one could hardly disappoint frenzied fans determined to bombard the opposition with streamers by supplying something more akin to a sleet of papier mache, the vile mess clogging up players and pitch alike. Hardly sporting, eh?
If the game is called off, we'll keep the bog rolls for Ambrose Day (March 5th, don't forget) and if dry enough, start a conflagration not seen since Nero went into one. Y Nauci 14 remains throbbing and guffing in hovercraft mode (how else are we to ferry in essential supplies of chews, lollies and big boxes of Jaffa cakes from Poundland?), but Uncle Lucas may have other ideas, judging by his disturbing expression and indecipherable mutterings ...
You think I sleep easily? Ha!
The noble and fearless Team Ambrose has rallied to the cause of allieviating suffering and loss, following the flooding in local communities. We have managed to get hold of lots of stuff just left floating with nobody claiming a bean of it. Honest. It's all in me notebook, aided by a Polaroid camera, a big torch that does red, white and green signals and a watch that even shows seconds. All kosher. You can't fault us on technicalities. Nobody has asked for the return of goods. Go on, take us to court and see what bloody happens.
We are astounded by how much valuable flotsam survived the storms and came our way, miraculously protected by fate, bobbing about on a river of diluted plops and wee, in flimsy cardboard boxes with open lids. As our Technical Director, perhaps I should have paid more attention to tales of Archimedes and his Multi-Coloured Ark at Sunday School instead of concocting various formulae for explosive devices, but I still managed to figure it out. Actually, all we needed was a big net.
Our gallant crew has taken into protective custody an estimated 500 packs of toilet tissue. Time is of the essence. They will need swift dispatch from Shaft 6 if they are to avoid spoiling in the the damp conditions. The home fixture between Padstow Rovers and Blairgowrie Winkies is set for Saturday and one could hardly disappoint frenzied fans determined to bombard the opposition with streamers by supplying something more akin to a sleet of papier mache, the vile mess clogging up players and pitch alike. Hardly sporting, eh?
If the game is called off, we'll keep the bog rolls for Ambrose Day (March 5th, don't forget) and if dry enough, start a conflagration not seen since Nero went into one. Y Nauci 14 remains throbbing and guffing in hovercraft mode (how else are we to ferry in essential supplies of chews, lollies and big boxes of Jaffa cakes from Poundland?), but Uncle Lucas may have other ideas, judging by his disturbing expression and indecipherable mutterings ...
You think I sleep easily? Ha!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)