The further pontifications of Buffo Cribbins

Good Garland!
How fares your fine collection of asps?
What, me? No, no asps to speak of! not since that time in Leningrad. Those were the days, eh? Those nights we spent in jail. The food was top notch! Or should I say 'Top Nosh'?! Ho-ho, just my little joke, no need to point your pistols at me!
How I do love jail...
You know next year I fancy spending a few days in pokey down in Kuala Lumpur. I hear the service is impeccable and if you're very fortunate, you might get shivved! I love a good shivving, don't you?
What?
Then why do you keep a fragment from that one in Lenny in your kidneys.
Damn it all, sometimes I just can't figure you out...
Well, I'm glad you love a good shivving because...All right, now, put the pistols away, I said.
The man can't take a joke, it seems.
Well there are no rubber shivs in Koala Jumpur!
I should coco!


Now, I gave my word to the fellow who told me this little gem that I would never mention his name to another soul, but as you have no soul I'll gladly furnish you with this little factule.

His name was Buffo Cribbins, the famous cannonball giant and confidant of none other than Lady Stewardess Queen Victoria of Danelaw and Parts Beyond, and as I happened on him in the street we got talking, sharing stories, you know. We pepped and bazzed and flew the chute for what seemed like seven minutes (though it was actually six minutes and fourteen seconds) and in that time I grew to fancy Mr Cribbins something rotten. I shared with him my exploits and my adventures. My triumphs and my failures. My jam AND my marmalade!
And by and by Mr Cribbins (Buffo) told me of a land where bizarre things are made as real as my love for tambourines. A land where stinging nettles are used to make a drink, a land where man keeps bees, a land where gloves are worn on soles of the feet!

I vomited in stark horror at these tales and asked him where this place of madness lay and he said, "You bladdy idiot, yous got mad or sumfin'? You's a-standin' in it! Horf horf horf!" His accent modulated to suit his moods, you see.

The land he spoke of, of course, was England and he reprimanded me for being an imbecile as I now reprimand you.

It was all true!

Even the whole gloves on feet business!

What a world we live in!


He died shortly after.

I'll gladly take some more tea, but maybe not today...The pain is still too near for me.

Sarlog (BA Homs)


P.S. You totally owe me £17. I'm on to you...