[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.
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