The Spectral Court

Daringly Poking the Octopus of Wit with the Pointy Stick of Wryness.

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Location: Caerffili, Wales, Antarctica

Currently blogging at The Fractal Hall Journal and contributing to the Toybox of Solitude.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

They Call Me the Hunter

Hello, my friends. I have returned from my sojourn.

I have had a fine, rodent-free week in deepest Cornwall in the arms of my lady-love and the grip of fine clotted-cream fudge. We observed much extraordinary scenery before walking over most of it. It is with a heavy heart I return to find out if my stuff has more holes in it now than when I left.

Halfway through the week I received a phone call from the incorrigible Mr T, flatmate, gentleman and raconteur.

Me: Anymore mouse encounters?

Mr T: Nah, nothing on the traps. But...

Me: Yes, yes?

Mr T: I can hear something scrabbling around at the back door.

Me: Well, not much I can do here.

Mr T: I know. I just had to tell someone.

I haven't seen him yet. I can only hope I haven't overlooked his chewed-up corpse hunkered down in his wardrobe. But anyway, no sign of the meeces inside, though one seems to have chewed through the plastic bin on the fire escape. It must have been lurking in a bin bag when last we disposed of the rubbish, and then had to gnaw it's way out. I pray this is the last time I have to report such things.

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