We talk about climbing the town walls but, as Juan says, tripping over his feet and falling down a hole, horizontal movement is difficult enough, vertical movement should be avoided, Jock, blundering into a cactus, agrees. I say that, after drinking Juan’s Special Reserve, Jehoshaphat could leap extremely high, in fact, I add, we couldn’t keep him down. Juan says that Jehoshaphat always landed on his head and, as we are on a secret mission, arriving in town, headfirst, from a great height, will attract unwanted attention.
Jock thinks that, if we play our bagpipes loudly enough, the walls will crumble, I am not sure about this, as we don’t want to destroy perfectly good walls. But, as Juan points out, we aren’t archaeologists, we are fustilugishly behind schedule, and Mahalath needs rescuing in the near, rather than far, future. Stopping only long enough to refresh ourselves with Vintage Highland Park, Tamnavulin, Craigellachie, and Glen Moray Private Reserve, one of Jock Black‘s favourites, we march erratically around the town, bouncing off the walls, playing Lilliburlero; for, as we have ruined many parties, wakes, and wedding receptions with dreadful renditions of this song, we expect it will damage the walls. Fortunately, all the inhabitants seem to have left the city as the mindlessly repeated screeching of the hateful chorus ‘Lilliburlero bullen a la. Lilliburlero, Lilliburlero, bullen a la’ splinters the stone, collapses the wall and everything else, and reduces the town to ruins.
Jock, looking around, says that they probably don’t have any single malt available, so, pausing only long enough to open a cask of Juan’s Special Reserve we offer toast after toast to the health and happiness of everyone who once lived in this heap, and hope that they prove more resilient than their city. Now, singing, shouting, and brawling with excitement, we stumble around in frenzied, shatterpated circles, as fast as we possibly can.
Professor Humperdink’s Diary