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Selecting a stone

As we can't find Archie, we assume that he has gone to India, to wish him a good journey, we raise flasks of Juan's Special Reserve, which we keep for such occasions, and offer toast after toast to Archie, his wonderful pub-signs, and his beautiful birds. Juan reminds me that, although we still haven't found a train station and we are lost, fuzzled and feuilletonishly behind schedule, before we follow Archie, we should head inland to choose a stone for aunt's temple.

Cornwall is stuffed with rock and we quickly find a suitable stone. I suggest that we carve it into a column, so we can roll it to India. Juan says it would be easier to break it into small pieces, and send the pieces by train. I say that that would spoil the stone. Juan says that there's nothing wrong with small, broken, things, the Cornish, he says, are a small, stunted, race, but that doesn't diminish their capacity to drink ale. This is true, and we lift our flasks of Vintage Longmorn, Benrinnes, Craigellachie and Bunnahabhainn Private Reserve, salute our dwarfish, Cornish, cousins, bellow the fourth verse of 'Canborne Hill' at the top of our voices and, tripping over stones and bouncing off boulders, we stamp out a wild Penryn Fling, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary