Monday, August 17, 2009

G'day me darlin's! And I hope this Monday finds you all bright eyed and bushy tailed, as (apart from a couple of bruises and aching muscles) I almost am!

I had a brilliant weekend which involved lots of scampering around and 'killing people' on Dartmoor with Mr Pointy, taking shedloads of Clickage which I am intending to sort and upload during the course of today, invading Tavistock, tasting some scrummy local ales (and relaxing with an Otter) scoffing excellent food at the Saturday night banquet, munching through even more delicious nosh in the form of a full-on Sunday roast in a pub in the middle of the moors, being as close as I could get to an emergency helicopter as I could while it landed and took off again, and finding some lizards and my first Amethyst Deceiver.
All in all, a most excellent couple of days, and once again I was sad to leave the peace and quiet of the proper countryside.

And I do hope you all had a good time as well and are going to reveal all while you're down in the comments box placing your choice for tomorrow's tale of whatever the tale might involve, your options for which are -

  • On Display
  • Lump
Yep, only the two options this week, but I can assure you they are both scintillating, captivating, interesting, and above all contain plenty of woe, and possibly some 'ick' as well.

And lastly, afore I sign off for today, I have a joke for you thanks to me mate, Nigle.

A man decides to go on a walking holiday on Dartmoor and armed with his OS map, hiking gear and packed lunch sets off to get back to nature. He walks steadily uphill with the aim of viewing one of the biggest tors in the area, passing sheep, ponies and the occasional fellow rambler as he goes.
Suddenly, his reverie is broken by a little voice shouting 'F*ck off, you w&*$er!'
Startled, the man looks all around to see who was swearing at him, but apart from a couple of sheep there's no one to be seen.
He carries on walking and is very soon lost once more in the tranquility.
Once again, he hears a voice, this time deeper and louder, shouting 'You tosser! Just f*ck off will ya, ya f*cking tosser!' and once again he looks all around but can't see anybody there!
This carries on for quite some time and after half an hour the poor chap's in a right state of panic.
At last the man espies another rambler and runs up to him shouting for help.
When he reaches the rambler he explains what's been happening and can he please call the police or something, and is somewhat upset when the rambler simply tells him to gently calm down.
'Why should I calm down?' the man exclaims, 'For all we know there could be a nutter escaped from the prison out there following me!'
'No there isn't mate' replies the rambler, 'It's just the rocks'.
'Rocks? What do you mean, it's the rocks?' asks the man.
'Yeah, the rocks' the rambler says, 'It's a common problem round here. You see they suffer from 'Tor rettes syndrome'.