Professor Humperdink III

New Year

2011-12-31T23:40:00.002Z

Wishing everyonea very happy and peaceful New Year.

Andrzej Humperdink III

To the Promenade

2011-12-29T16:21:00.000Z

After inadvertently plunging into theocean, we are rescued by the Agent Rescue Service and transfer to anAgency airship. On board, we head for the control cabin, to thank thecaptain and crew for picking us up. In the cabin, we are delighted tofind that the captain is our old friend, Donald MacInnes, one of ourtop agents. Juan passes out the bottles of VintageGlen Grant, Pulteney, Ardmore, and Talisker Private Reserve,which he keeps for such occasions and we offer toast after toast toDonald and his crew, the Agent Rescue Service, Katie Good Quiver, andall our Blackfeet friends, who helped us so much. Donald says that hecan drop us off near the Moorfoot Hills. Iask Donald to fly at top speed because we are jaudishly behindschedule. Fatty tells Donald that, between lunch and dinner, he wouldlike to have tea and scones on the promenade. Juan says he wants tomeet women. Donald escorts us to the dining room,on the way, he tells Fatty that, knowing he was coming aboard, they are building a promenade, in his honour, it nearly finished,and, Donald informs us, it will be ready after lunch, and, he assuresJuan, there are plenty of women on board.

In the dining room,Juan gets so excited at meeting the hostesses that, although theyreciprocate with equal enthusiasm, I knock Juan out with a chair andapologise for his behaviour, and for breaking the chair, and foraccidentally catching the table-cloth with the chair-leg and pullingall the cutlery on to the floor. The staff are surprised, but verygracious, and they start to put things back on the table, however,Juan regains consciousness and, performing a flying drop-kick, sendsme crashing on to the table, reducing it to pieces. I retaliate byhurling a table-leg at Juan, but he ducks and the heavy wooden leghits Rory in the stomach, making him expel projectile vomit directlyinto Donald's face. Horrified, Donald grabs at a hostesses dress towipe his face, the hostess, disgusted, pushes Donald away, but hetrips over some smashed cutlery and, grabbing at Albert for support,grasps at Albert's most prominent feature, and pulls half of Albert'smoustache off.

Albert is famous forhis moustache, both sides of it, so he is very irritated and,probably, in a good deal of pain, which explains why, although he isa peaceful man, you can see he takes great deal of pleasure injumping up and down on Donald. It not often you see a world famousscientist, with half a moustache, jumping up and down on an airshipcaptain, so, momentarily, we all stop to watch, and laugh. Fattydeclares that he wants lunch. I point out that the hostesses arebecoming hysterical and the dining room is a stinking shambles, Fattysays that the best thing to do is to quickly go to the promenade for tea and scones, and come back for dinner when they have goteverything sorted out. This is a good idea, accordingly, betweenspates of confused brawling, we stumble around in rubble, as fast aswe possible can.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

The big plume

2011-12-28T23:19:00.000Z

Katie Good Quiver told Rory that all heneeded to do was to look out for a big, black, plume, and this is goodadvice, but, because Rory is scared of flying, he is curled up in theback seat with his eyes shut and, even when we tell him that we cansee a really big, black, plume, he doesn't believe us and refuses toopen his eyes.

Looking down at destroyers, sending outplumes of black smoke, George asks me if the ships are on fire. Itell him that they are just deploying a smoke-screen. Albert saysthat it isn't a very good smoke-screen, in fact, it just attractsattention. Juan says that it might be a trick, and, although we cansee the destroyers, the smoke might be concealing important, and big.Fatty tells us that Katie will have told the destroyers that we aresleethishly behind schedule and to send out smoke signals, to tell usthat there's an Agency airship in the vicinity. To celebrate, webreak open our Vintage Glenrothes, Interleven, Auchentoshan, andHighland Park Private Reserve, and fly over the destroyers, offeringtoast after toast to all the crew and wishing them the best of luckwhen, with their vision obscured by the smoke-screen, they all crashinto each other, then, coughing and gasping, befuddled, confused, andblinded by acrid black smoke, we hurtle into the darkness, as fast aswe possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

Leaving Montana

2011-12-24T17:53:00.000Z

Rory is nervous aboutmeeting warriors. I tell him that there is nothing to worry about,the Blackfeet People are fierce in combat, and as dangerous andunpredictable as angry wolves, evil-tempered and trigger-happy, inpeacetime, and that's just the children. Blackfeet braves will launcha deadly attack with no warning and for the slightest reason, againsttheir friends, people they don't like, they attack for absolutely noreason at all. Rory says that he doesn't want to say or do anythingthat would make them angry. I tell him not to worry about making themangry, they are always angry, they only really enjoy themselves inbattle, but they have slaughtered all their enemies, so they attacktrains instead, or random strangers, just for something to do. Rorysays that he is a stranger. It is true that Rory is stranger thanmost people, but I remind Rory that he is with us, which, I admit,won't help, but, I explain, the Blackfeet People will see him as lessthan a dog, a weak, sickly, cowardly, pale-faced, half-witted,pathetic, dog, not worth kicking, certainly not worth slaying, so hewill be perfectly safe from harm. Rory does not seem sure about this.Juan tells Rory that Blackfeet women are the most beautiful women inthe world, so, instead of worrying, he should be excited.

We find our Aamsskáápipikani friends,taking a break between raids. It is very nice to see them. I pass outthe brass objects and ceremonial tobacco-pipes that I have beencarrying. Seeing the pipes, Rory says that, perhaps, we can share apipe of peace. I tell Rory that, these are peace-pipes when smoked aspart of a part of a peace ceremony, by the nicotine-addictedhead-chiefs of Central Cameroon, however, because the BlackfeetPeople are not peacefully inclined and, as they always keepthemselves in top, battle-ready, physical condition, they do notsmoke tobacco, and we don't smoke tobacco because it dulls the tastebuds, and anything that harms the sublime taste of single malt is tobe avoided at all costs. These items, I explain, are specially madeby in Bagam by our Eyāp colleagues as gifts to the Blackfeet People,however the health-conscious Blackfeet don't smoke with them, theyuse them as clubs and daggers, which, after Juan, stupidly, passesaround hip-flasks of Vintage Duff's Defiance Founder's Reserve, theyproceed to enthusiastically demonstrate..

While everyone puts theirpeace-pipes to good use by using them as lethal close-quarterweapons, I introduce Rory to Katie Good Quiver. I tell Rory thatKatie is an expert on feathers, and I tell Katie that Rory is lookingfor a big feather, preferably from the plumage of a giant bird thatdoesn't exist. Katie asks me if Rory is insane. I tell Katie that heis very strange, but he is friendly, and, in some ways he is almost adog,. Katie tickles Rory's ear and says that he is a good boy and, ifhe wants a big plume, she is sure he will find one. Rory says,crossly, that I have got it entirely wrong, he is not interested inbirds that don't exist or big plumes. I tap my my head and whirl myfinger around my temple, silently indicating to Katie that Rory isbarking mad. Katie tells Rory, encouragingly, that a big plume is nothard to find and, she predicts, that if he looks out for one, hemight find the feather of a thunder-bird, and they don't exist, or,at least, there are very few of them. Rory, looking agitated, startsto explain, again, whatever it is that tries to explain, but I don'tcare and Katie doesn't care, so, before he can explain it, I knockhim out with a heavy brass Adamawanese vase, which is ideal for suchpurposes, and Katie and I have a very nice time catching up on thegossip while we watch our friends, with their brains on fire from theeffects of Duff's Defiance, trying to slaughter each other withceremonial peace-pipes.

When everyone has fought themselvesinto a standstill, but before they can refresh themselves with moreDuff's Defiance, and start fighting again, I tell our Blackfeetfriends that, although we would like to stay, we are on an vitallyurgent mission and, owing to Juan's stupidity, we are rimpishlybehind schedule, therefore, unfortunately, we have to leaveimmediately. Fatty says he wants to stay to try out the Blackfootversion of Cherokee preserve; Blackfoot preserve, he informs us, isthe same as Cherokee preserve, except that it's strained through thekidneys of a live wolf, this gives it a salty, tangy, flavour, but wehave to catch a wolf, which may take some time.

Juan says that he wants togo on a train raid, I tell him that we don't want a train, we want anaeroplane. Juan, childishly, says that, if we have to have anaeroplane, he wants a fast aeroplane, one that's exciting to fly.Fatty says that we need a big aeroplane, with a lounge and apromenade and a first class chef. Juan says that we should get a sea-plane because a sea-plane can float, then, when we run out offuel over the sea, we can paddle the rest of the way. Albert saysthat this won't work if we aren't over the sea, but I ignore him and,kicking Rory awake, I tell him that he will be paddling a sea-planearound the world, so he better do some exercises, to warm up.

Katie shows us a map and points outthat we are near Almost-a-Dog Mountain, which is close to anair-shipping lane, and suggests that the best thing to do borrow thefirst aeroplane we find, fly out to sea and catch up with anairship. Fatty says that this is a very good idea because airshipsare famous for their wonderful dining facilities and excellentpromenades. Juan says it's a good idea because the airship will havebars and women. Rory wants to know how we will find an airship.Katie, remembering Rory's bizarre interest in big feathers, pats himon the head and tells him that he shouldn't worry, when we are overthe sea, all he needs to do is look out for a big plume. Rory asks mewhy it is that, when people talk to him, they treat him like a dog,and the only thing they ever talk about is finding a big plume.George shows us his latest picture and asks Katie if she means aplume as big as the white tail-feather of a sea-eagle. Katie saysthat the plume she is talking about is black, and much bigger than asea-eagle's tail-feather. Rory wants to ask Katie something else,but I tell Rory to shut up and stop bothering people with stupidquestions. Juan asks Katie if she would like to keep Rory as a pet.

Beaumont Crazy Lost Bear kindly offers to guide usto the nearest airfield. We leave our Blackfoot friends in a hail offarewell bullets, wishing them the best of luck in the next trainraid, and promising to come back soon. Beaumont leads us throughfreezing, treacherous, mountains for several days before admittingthat he doesn't know where we are. This is irritating, but,fortunately, knowing we were likely to be lost, Katie turns up andleads directly to a small airfield. As a parting gift, I give acompass to Beaumont, Rory gives Katie his painting of an eagle andJuan gives her a set of diamond encrusted throwing-dirks, then,quickly fortifying ourselves with Vintage Glenfarclas, Duftown,Mortlach, and Cardhu Private Reserve, we borrow the first aeroplanewe see and, shouting, cheering, and hitting each other withexcitement, we fly up over the jagged, rocky, peaks, as fast as wepossibly can.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

Cherokee (preserve)

Ingredients. 1 quartof best malt vinegar, 8 tablespoonfuls of walnut ketchup, 4tablespoonfuls of soy, 1 ounce of cayenne, 3 cloves of garlicfinely-minced.

Method. Put theseingredients into a large bottle, cork tightly, and let them remainundisturbed for 1 month. At the end of this time, strain the liquidinto small bottles, keep them well corked, and store in a dry, coolplace.

Recipe by IsabellaBeeton, 1861

Stopping in Montana

2011-12-17T23:09:00.000Z

We run out of fuel, andcrash-land in Montana. We consider our options, to help ourconsiderations, we break open the Glenlivet Private Reserve, which wekeep for such occasions. After much consideration, and Glenlivet, wedecide that, although walking across America is always a lot of fun,if you are in a desperate hurry, as we are, and unable to walk veryfar without falling over, finding another aeroplane and flying overAmerica is a much more sensible idea, so we decide to find anairfield, to borrow another aeroplane.

Fatty says that he hasn'thad a decent meal for several hours, so he has to have a quick snack,to sustain himself. Juan tells Fatty that this is hunting country, soit will be easy to hunt something to eat. Rory says that this area isalso known for several mysterious creatures, including something thatlooks like a porcupine, but with very few quills, and an ape-likecreature called a 'bigfoot' because, Rory explains, unnecessarily, ithas big feet, and, as we are here, Rory declares, we should find one.

Rory is a cryptoid hunterwhich, as far as anyone can understand, involves hunting forcreatures that do not exist. I remind Rory of the urgency of ourmission and tell him that, considering that we just reduced ouraircraft into small pieces of burnt wood and twisted metal, that weare in the wrong country, heading in the wrong direction, andvakandishly behind schedule, so, even though hunting would provide uswith something to eat, like a duck or goose, creatures which reallydo exist, it would still be stupidly irresponsible, but hunting abigfoot, which does not really exist, would be utterly futile. Fattysays that it might not be futile, stewed bigfoot might be very tasty.Rory tells Fatty that we can't eat a bigfoot, it isn't anything likea duck or a goose. I point out that, compared to many other birds,ducks and geese have big feet, so Rory's mythical bigfoot is probablyjust a duck.

Rory, losing his temperfor no reason at all, shouts that bigfoot isn't a duck, and it isn'ta goose, or any other kind of bird, a bigfoot, he informs us, is asavage, hairy, stinking, half human, half ape sort of animal, and itdoesn't have feathers or quills. George says that, if Rory needs aquill, he should definitely find a duck or a goose, because duck andgeese feather make very good quills. Rory yells that we should tryand understand that he doesn't want a duck or a goose, he doesn'twant any feathers and he doesn't need a quill, and we should stoptalking about them.

Albert tells Rory that heshould not underestimate quills, they are very useful, for a example,a sofa or a chair can be stuffed with goose quills, so Rory shouldcollect lots of them. This is good advice and I tell Rory that, whenthe great soft furniture designer, Sir Arthur Quiller-Ouch,discovered that, rather than the porcupine quills he had been usingas sofa and seat-stuffing, which, as well as being needle-sharp, wereleaping with fleas and stank like rotting cat, customers preferredfresh, clean, goose feathers, which made a soft, harmless, stuffing.Acting upon this discovery, Arthur incorporated goose quill stuffinginto his range of soft furniture, and Arthur’s new, 'soft', sofasand chairs were such a great success that he changed his name toQuiller-Couch, to mark the occasion. George tells Rory to ignoreeverything I say, because it's rubbish.

Rory shouts that he knowsthat it's rubbish, and he doesn't care, he is only interested in thebigfoot, and the bigfeet species do not have quills or feathers. Itell Rory that he is getting his feet confused, he doesn't mean'bigfeet species', he means 'Blackfeet People', but the BlackfootPeople do have feathers, at least, they have feathers in their hats,so Rory is wrong. Rory starts banging his fists on the ground andyelling that, obviously, he knows the difference between a bigfootand Blackfoot; a member of the Blackfoot People is a human being, thebigfoot is a savage, hairy, stinking,wild, half-human, half-apecreature, with no quills or feathers.

George says that Roryshould not dismiss feathers so lightly, if Rory catches a bigfoot, hewill the first person to catch a bigfoot, and, in the world ofbigfoot hunters, that will be a big feather in his cap. I think thisis funny, but Rory bangs his fists on the ground and shouts that hedoesn't want a big feather in his hat.

I tell Rory that he mightbe right because putting a feather in your cap might make you lookplucky, but it can make also make you look silly; in fact, I recall,this happened to Kicker, Manuel's horse, Manuel is one of our topagents and, one day, he had to to write an urgent message, but hedidn't have a pen so he stole a feather to make a quill. After he hadwritten the message, he put the quill into his hat and rode away onKicker. But the ink he used for the quill dripped down over Manuel'sface and into his eyes, this caused temporary blindness. When Kickersuddenly stopped at the edge of a cliff, Manuel, taken by surprise,swayed forward, tumbled head-over-heels over the Kicker's head, andfell off the cliff. All that remained was the feather and the hat,which, during Manuel's somersault, had fallen off Manuel's head andlanded, neatly, on to Kicker's head. Rory stares at me, blankly. Ithink it's an amusing tale, Kicker did look silly, but, I realise,you probably had to be there.

Juan solemnly pronounces:“Mata,” ars' Iain, “cha do bhean mise do rud sam bith ach dodh' aon ite: agus rinn mi peann d' i; agus 's e sin a rinn angnothuch so mar tha e.” Albert wants to know what Juan is saying. Itell Albert that Juan isn't saying anything interesting or unusual,its just a Scotsman complaining. Juan is reciting part of a storyabout a man called Iain; Iain came to America and, like Manuel, healso stole a feather to make a quill, but terrible things happenedbecause of this theft and the story consists of Iain incessantlycomplaining about everything, to anyone who will listen to him. It isknown to be the most boring story ever told, but it does act as awarning to Rory that, even if he insists on hunting a duck or goose,he shouldn't steal a feather, it's unlucky.

Rory, looking glazed, says that he can'tunderstand why we don't get it, he wants to hunt a bigfoot, andthat's all he wants to do, has no intention of hunting a duck or agoose, he does not need a quill and he is not going to steal afeather for his hat, in fact, he says, wearing a feather in your hatis vulgar. I tell Rory that no less a person thanMrs. Elizabeth Montagu said “Things homely and vulgar are sometimesmore useful than the elegant, and the feathers of a goose may bebetter adapted to some occasions than the plumes of the phoenix.”

Rory, rather stonily, saysthat he doesn't want a phoenix, he wants a bigfoot. I have to pointout that Rory doesn't have to go on a hunt to find a mythologicalcreature, like a phoenix or a bigfoot, a standard goose will do, andhe can find one in a farm, but, if he does insist on looking for awild, stinking, savage, half-human, half-ape sort of animal, he onlyhas to look at Juan. George says that, perhaps, the bigfoot that Roryis talking about is of a species that is something between a humanand monkey. Albert says that there is no such thing as an in-betweenspecies, something has to be one thing or another. I tell Albertthat, when it comes to creatures that don't exist, these rules do notapply.

George says that he isn'tsure about this, and he shows us his latest painting. I tell Georgethat it's a very nice duck. Juan says it looks like a badly drawngoose. Fatty says that it looks like a very tasty goose, Juan saysthat it looks like a badly painted duck. Albert suggests that, likethe phoenix, it is a fictional bird, a mythological bird that Georgeinvented, something between a duck and a goose, so, Albert advisesRory, if Rory finds such a creature, he should definitely take afeather, because finding a feather from a mythological bird would, asGeorge said, certainly be a big feather in Rory's cap, and probablyworth its weight in gold. I tell Rory that he still might bedisappointed, because, even if they are big, feathers don't weighvery much. Rory screeches he is not interested quills and he doesn'twant a big feather in his hat.

Juan says that we have alot of Blackfoot friends in Montana and, as Rory is so interested inthe subject, he should meet Roselle Long Time Bad, who can dowonderful things with a feather. I tell Rory that he shouldn't meetRoselle, or her over-protective brother, Jim Kills Fast; it would bemuch better, I suggest, if I introduced Rory to Maggie Chief TopFeathers and her husband, Chief Big Feather in Hat. Maggie and herfamily are expert quillworkers, I tell Rory, they make wonderfulquill leggings from the quills they pluck from porcupines, whichaccounts for all the bald porcupines in the area.

Fatty says that this is a good idea, also, they might have somethingto eat and they can tell us where the nearest airfield is, whichwill save a lot of time. Rory doesn't seem able to speak, buteverybody else thinks this is a wonderful idea and, to celebrate, webreak open our flasks of Vintage Jura, Speyburn, Springbank, andCraigellachie Special Reserve. After offering toast after toast tothe great state of Montana, with its wonderful wide-open skies,shining mountains and big feet, saluting the spirit of the hunt and, drinking to the health and longevity of all mythological creatures, we staggeraround in hopeless confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

Racing away

2011-12-09T00:00:00.001Z

I follow Juan's aeroplane; we fly around andaround Mount Assinboine until I realise that Juan doesn't know werewe are going. It is pathetic, out mission is desperately urgent, weare huddrounishly behind schedule, heading in the wrong direction,in the wrong country, and Juan behaves like a stupid child. Tocompound his idiocy, when I try to fly over him to take the lead, hethinks I want a race, and flies up to block me. I can rely on Juan toact like a clown, but it is exasperating that he thinks that he canout-fly me, I feint to the right, dive to the left, invert, spinthrough the gap between his aeroplane and the cliff edges of MountAssinboine, and race in front, yelling with excitement and waving myfists in the air. Fatty shouts that I am about to fly into theground, I release smoke, to act as a smoke-screen, and yell at Fattythat I know what I am doing, I am trying to stop Juan from flyingunder us and taking the lead. As I say this, Juan roars overhead,dives in front of of, releases smoke, to obscure my vision, andspirals upward, giving me rude gestures from the cockpit. I catch upwith Juan's aeroplane, we quickly fortify ourselves with flasks ofVintage Dalmore, Caperdonich, Glenlossie, and Edradour PrivateReserve, then, snarling the Highland War into our radios and yellingwith excitement and fear, we chase each otherthrough the sky, as fast as we possibly can.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

Leaving the train

2011-12-02T01:38:00.001Z

Rory looks chilly andpale, I ask him if anything is wrong. After clearing the crust of icethat has formed in his beard and sealed his mouth shut, Rory shoutsthat he is freezing, terrified and wants to get off the train. Fattysays that Rory probably just needs something to eat and, he pointsout, in the train, there is a warm and comfortable dining car wherewe can sit back and enjoy a good meal. I remind Rory that we had toleap on to the train because it didn't stop; it won't stop until itreaches its destination, we don't want it to stop because we arehinkishly behind schedule and, as Juan has proved time and again,jumping off a speeding train into wild terrain is inevitablydisastrous. Juan offers Rory a hip-flask of Vintage Duff's DefianceFounder's Reserve, which has marvellously warming, heartening,qualities. I tell Rory that he should just relax, enjoy the freshmountain air, and take in the wonderful view. Rory shouts that we areon a warm, comfortable train, but it is only warm and comfortableinside the train, and, he points out, unnecessarily, we are notinside the train, we are on top of the train, so, he yells, as he ishanging on for his life, he can't relax or enjoy the view.

Seeing a small airfield,Juan and Fatty hastily gather our provisions, I kick Rory off thetrain, to give us a soft landing, then, shouting “Geronimo”, weall leap after him. Rory tumbles along the ground like a broken dollbut, fortunately, before he can tumble over a cliff, George, Juan,and I break his forward momentum, and, judging by the snapping,crunching sounds, several other things, by landing on him. Albertmisses Rory but, as he hits the ground, he curls up into a ball androlls off into the distance at high speed, eventually disappearinginto a canyon. Fatty bounces along comfortably until he comes torest, wobbling backwards and forwards, rubbing his stomach and sayingthat he needs some refreshment. Rory makes groaning noises and coughsup blood. Albert says that we should take him to a hospital. Juansays that making groaning noises and coughing up blood is perfectlynormal after a flask of Duff's Defiance, it proves it's a fine malt.

We find Albert in a gorge,looking, with some alarm, at four cowboys. I tell Albert that thereis nothing to worry about, cowboys do have an evil reputation, butthis is a myth, invented in order to make the boring, safe, and easyjob of herding cows sound challenging, tough and dangerous. The truthis, I tell Albert, is that, the word 'coward' comes from 'cow herd'and, true to the name, cowboys are, in fact, extremely timorous andgentle and they always run away at the slightest sign of danger.George tells Albert to ignore this advice because it's wrong. I tellGeorge that the cowboys in this area are particularly peaceful,harmless, God-fearing, religious people, in fact, I point out, theyare so religious, even their horses can walk on water. I think thisis funny, but the cowboys take offence and we spend the morninghaving a shoot-out

Rory receives a couple ofgunshot wounds and Albert falls into the river, but, apart from that,we have a lot of fun and nobody comes to any serious harm, except forthree of the cowboys. Feeling somewhat guilty, I open my coffre-fort,take out a fistful of diamonds, which I keep for such occasions, andgive them to the surviving cowboy. I tell him that I know this won'tin any way make up for the loss of this three friends, but, althoughhe must be saddened by the unfortunate demise of his colleagues, hetakes the diamonds instantly and gallops away, whooping and shoutingwith happiness. This makes me feel a lot better.

Juan quickly lights asmall fire, and thrusts his dirk into the flames. Albert drieshimself out in front of the fire and Fatty suggests that, before wemove on, we have a horse steak, but, I tell him, we don't have timefor a meal, the fire is for Rory. Albert says that Rory doesn't needa fire, he needs a doctor. I remind Albert that Juan is a doctor, andI am a skilled medical assistant,which, when the blade of the dirk isglowing, I demonstrate by knocking Rory unconscious with a bottle ofGlenmorangie. Juan gouges the bullets out of Rory's gut andcauterises the wounds with the red-hot blade and, throwing Rory on toa horse, we head for the airfield, fortify ourselves with VintageGlen Garioch, Miltonduff, and Lochnagar Private Reserve, offer toastafter toast to the valiant cow herders, borrow a couple ofaeroplanes, then, yelling with excitement and singing 'Up amang yonCliffy Rocks' and 'Farewell to the Land', at the top of our voices,we head up and over the Rockies, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink'sDiary

Leaving Cañon City

2011-11-22T20:56:00.001Z

We have a lot of fun in Cañon City,however, after a short time, I have to remind everyone that we aredowfishly behind schedule and that we need to leave, in a hurry, andwe leap on board the first train we see.

Fatty opens one of his coffers, and,saying that, after a busy few hours, we need some sustenance, heproduces bottles of Vintage Glenturret, Talisker, Balvenie, andEdradour Private Reserve, then after saluting the grandeur of themountains and offering toast after toast to the good citizens ofCañon City, we charge up and down the train, yelling and screamingin hysterical excitement, as we rocket through the Rockies, as fastas we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

To Cañon City

2011-11-08T23:56:00.000Z

The last thing Iremember was that Rory was concerned that eating a priceless carpmight upset the person who owned it, which, in this instance was theEmperor of Japan, I tell Rory that we are surrounded by valuablepieces of furniture, a Chippendale commode and lamp-stands, writingdesks that belonged to Marie Antoinette, an incense burner belongedto the Shah of Persia; so Rory should not be concerned aboutsomething that, after all, was only an overgrown goldfish, however,we all agree the Japanese Emperor’s sacred carp tasted wonderful,and we are sorry the Japanese Emperor isn't here to enjoy it. Fattycomplements the chef, saying that very few people could cook a twohundred year old carp and produce something tasting as fresh andtender. The chef, Monsieur François Crétin, says that it is freshbecause, half an hour ago, it was alive and happily living in thegarden pond, and it is tender because the carp's flesh was tenderisedwhen the cooks dragged it from the pond and beat it to death withfrying pans. Rory has a delicate stomach, and a tendency to complainabout the the slightest thing, and, hearing this detail, we expecthim to react negatively, but he surprises us all by agreeing withFatty, adding the fish was delicious, light, delicate, and, alltogether, the meal was perfect.

Monsieur FrançoisCrétin bows his head in acknowledgement of this praise but, noticingthat he appears to be oddly bemused, I remember that, for someincomprehensible reason, in every meal he creates, Crétin alwaysincludes a deliberate mistake. It is puzzling, the meal was, indeed,perfect; so I wonder if, this time, Crétin's deliberate mistake wasto omit the deliberate mistake, in which case, for the meal to beimperfect, it must be perfect, and the other way around. This is toodifficult to think about, especially as it occurs to me that MonsieurFrançois Crétin's deliberate mistake might be that he failed toomit the mistake. But this is too complicated to think about withoutfeeling ill. Fortunately, my thoughts are interrupted by Rory tellingus that, at long last, he has eaten a flavoursome meal of suchdelicacy that it has not upset his stomach at all.

Fatty tells Rory that carpis a very tasty fish and very easy to digest, unless the chef forgetsto remove the carp's gall-bladder, in which case, Fatty says,digestion is not an issue. Rory wants to know what happens if thegall-bladder is not removed, and why it doesn't affect the digestion.Fatty says that the taste of a carp's gall-bladder is so unbelievablyhorrible that diners immediately spit it out before swallowing it, sothey never get to digest it. I remind Fatty that it is easy to tellwhen this happens as, strictly speaking, it is not the gall-bladderitself that tastes vile, it is the bile contained in the gall-bladderthat has a disgusting taste. If the gall-bladder is not punctured,the carp's taste will not be affected, but if, during the cookingprocess, the bladder is punctured and the bile released into theflesh of the carp, the whole fish will be corrupted, therefore, asthe fish tasted delicious, François did not make the mistake ofpuncturing the gall-bladder and polluting the whole fish with thenoxious bile. Fatty suggests that it is possible that François did,in fact, leave the gall-bladder in the carp but that he did notpuncture it, so it is also possible that someone swallowed thegall-bladder without noticing. I tell Fatty that they will not noticeimmediately, but, after a few moments, when their digestive acids eatthrough the gall-bladder and release the stinking, poisonous, acrid,bile directly into their stomach, they will definitely notice it.Rory confirms this by suddenly gasping, grabbing his stomach, turninggreen, uttering a gurgling screech, and spraying the dining room withprojectile vomit. We all dive for cover and, as I hit the ground, Inotice that, far from being alarmed, François has a satisfied smileon his face.

I hold Rory's jaws openand Juan forces medication down his throat, in the form of a bottleof Vintage Dailluaine Private Reserve, which he keeps for suchpurposes. The malt's wonderful efficiency at quickly cleaning out thesystem is unquestioned in Scottish medical circles, and certainly notquestioned by Rory who, within a few minutes has forcefullydischarged a great deal of toxic waste. I tell Albert to clean Roryup, because, as everyone can see, he is rolling around in his ownfilth and, obviously, not in a fit condition to clean himself. Albertprotests, saying that he is a scientist, not a nurse. I tell him thathe is too stupid to be a nurse. Albert says that he is not too stupidto be a nurse because scientists are more intelligent than nurses. Itell him that only a stupid person could think such a thing, so thatproves he is stupid. Albert blusters, but, helpfully, to prove itagain, Fatty challenges Albert to answer a simple children's puzzle.

George tells Albert not totake on the challenge. Albert says that, if it is a problem so easythat a child can solve it, then, certainly he will answer it. Georgereminds Albert that Rory once had a lemming farm and tells him thatFatty is probably going to quote one of the the problems created byour old friend Arthur Mee, who used to try them out on us duringFriday night sessions in the Cheeky Monkey. Arthur's puzzles might bechildish and simple but they caused a lot of violent disagreementswhich ended with bloodshed and mayhem, not only that, as Arthur isresponsible for the mass-suicide of lemmings, the subject might besensitive to Rory. Fatty tells George that it is one of Arthur'sproblems, it's called 'The Problem of the Travellers Dinner', but thesubject has got nothing to do with lemmings, and he recites:

'Two Arabs who weretravelling to Baghdad stopped at a small village for their middaymeal. One of them had five loaves with him and the other only three.As they were about to begin eating, a stranger came up, and sayingthat he had money but no food, asked if he might share their meal. Hepromised to pay for what he had, and the two travellers agreed todivide the loaves equally among the three, and invited him to sitdown.

After the meal was overand all the food had been eaten, the stranger laid down eight coinsof equal value in payment for the food he had eaten, and, bidding hishosts good-bye, went away. The traveller who had five loaves took upfive of the coins as his share, and left three for the man who hadhad three loaves. But his man disputed the division of the money, andinsisted that he should receive half of it.

The men began to quarrelvery bitterly, and as they could not agree, they went before themagistrate, so that he could decide who was right.

The magistrate listenedattentively to the story which the men had to tell, and them to theirastonishment, he said: “Let the man who had five loaves take sevenof the coins and the man who had three take only one; that will be afair division of the money.”

Was he right?'

Rory, flailing around inpuddles of unpleasant eliminations, yells at that he doesn't want tohear anything about, or by, Arthur Mee; over the years, Mr Mee hasbeen solely responsible for the mass-suicide of hundreds of millionsof lemmings, at the annual Åbjørvatnet festival, generations oflemming farmers gather together and throw effigies of Arthur Mee overa cliff. Albert says that Rory seems unwell, I explain Rory is justexhibiting some mild side-effects of the medicinal malt, but, otherthan that, Rory is fighting fit, however, to calm Rory down until hefeels better, I knock him out with the incense burner, unfortunatelyRory's head damages the incense burner and the thing crumples intosomething that isn't an incense-burner any more.

Albert says that themagistrate is right because he is the magistrate and, as themagistrate, whatever he says is the law, so he has to be right.George says that he thinks the magistrate is wrong, obviously, thestranger gave the travellers one coin for every loaf, so the personwith three loaves gets three coins and the person with five loavesgets five coins, that's what the stranger wanted, and it's fair.

Albert says that that isnot the point, what some stranger wants doesn't effect anything andfairness and the law have got nothing to do with each other; themagistrate can divide the money up in any way he wants, it might beunfair, but it's right. George says that he could be a bad magistrate,then he could be wrong, or he might have been bribed, or he might bea stupid magistrate and not understand the problem at all, but themagistrate is still wrong. Albert starts to explain, again, why, inthe eyes of the law, the magistrate was right, but Juan snarls, kicks a commode over Rory, throws Françoisout of a French window, grasps Albert by the neck, and shouts that hecan't stand it any more, we are in America, nobody cares abut thelaw, America is full of cars and trains to go in and roads and railsto go on, and mountains and plains and great horizons to go to;America, he yells, is the most beautiful, wide-open, country in theworld, with the most beautiful, wide-open, women in the world, and heis stuck inside with a bunch of smashed up old furniture and somederanged people and, he adds, shaking Albert until his moustacheflaps like a bat in a wind turbine, if he doesn't get out for somefresh air and women he will go berserk. I agree with Juan, but itisn't right to agree with an out-of-control idiot, so I remind himthat we are hamrelishly behind schedule, and don't have the time togo sightseeing, and I try to hit him over the head with a lamp-stand,to calm him down, but he ducks and I smash one of the writing tablesinto smithereens, Juan grabs another lamp-stand and swings it at me,I avoid it and his lamp-stand crashes into the other writing table,reducing it to splinters. George tells Fatty that we are smashing upthe furniture again and he should do something about it. Fattyresponds by picking us up, throwing us at the wall, and stamping on us until we're unconscious.

When Fatty kicks us awake,we are surprised, and, after such a long time in the club, delighted,to find we are in the great American outdoors, on board a train,heading for Cañon City. Fatty apologises for knocking us out but, tomake up for it, he has procured cases of Vintage Macduff, Linkwood,Tamdhu, and Knockdhu Special Reserve. I tell Fatty that he didexactly the right thing, Juan agrees and, to celebrate, we offertoast after toast to the Agency, and it's extraordinary clubs, drinkto everyone living the American dream, salute the President, then,yelling with excitement, we inflate our bagpipes and, to the rhythmof the engine and the noises Rory makes when we kick him in theshins, we play the 'Pibroch of Douil Dhu', 'The Hills of theHighlands', and 'Tullochgorum' as loudly as possible as we rush up anddown the train in hysterical confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink'sDiary

Carp, baked

Ingredients; 1 carp, Forthe forcemeat; 8 sauce oysters, 3 anchovies boned, 2 tablespoonfulsof breadcrumbs, 1 teaspoonful of finely-chopped parsley, 1 shallotfinely-chopped, yolk of 1 egg, cayenne, salt.

For coating the fish: 1egg and breadcrumbs.

For the sauce: ¾ of apint f good stock, 1 oz. of butter, 1 tablespoonful of flour, half atablespoonful of Worcester Sauce, a tablespoonful of lemon-juice, ateaspoonful of made mustard. Batter for basting.

Method: Clean and scalethe fish; remove the beards f the oysters, and simmer them for 15minutes in a little fish stock or water. Cut the oysters into smallpieces, but do not cook them; also cut the anchovies into very smallpieces. Mix breadcrumbs, oysters, anchovies, parsley, and the stockin which the oyster-beards were simmered. Put the forcemeat insidethe fish, and sew up the opening; brush over with egg, and cover withbreadcrumbs. Place in a baking-dish and cook gently for about 1 hour,basting frequently with hot butter. Melt the butter, stir in theflour, add the stock, and stir until the sauce boils. Simmer for 2 to3 minutes, then add the mustard, lemon-juice, Worcester Sauce, andthe gravy (strained) from the tin in which the fish was cooked.Garnish the fish with cut lemon and parsley, and serve the sauce in atureen.

Time. From 1 ¼ to 1 ½hours.

Sufficient for 4 or 5persons.

Seasonable from Novemberto March.

Note; the fish may also bestuffed with ordinary veal forcemeat.

Carp, Fried

Ingredients. 1 carp ofmedium size, butter or fat for frying, vinegar, salt and pepper,flour.

Method. Soak the fish 1hour in salt and water, then split it open, lay it flat, and REMOVETHE GALL-STONE FROM THE HEAD. Dry well, sprinkle with salt andcayenne, dredge with flour, and fry in hot butter or fat until nicelybrowned. Garnished with cut lemon and the roe, fried, and serve withanchovy sauce.

Time, to cook, from 20- to30 minutes.

Sufficient for 2 to 3persons.

Seasonable from Novemberto March

The Carp

This species of freshwater fish, which forms the special type of the family Cyprinidae towhich the barbels, tenches and breams belong, occurs throughoutEurope, and frequents fresh and quiet waters and slow- runningrivers. It feeds chiefly on worms and aquatic plants. During thewinter it buries in the mud. The mouth of the carp is small, the jawstoothless, the body smooth and of an olive-green and yellowishcolour, and arched and compressed, the scales large; the gils areformed by three flat rays, and there is but one dorsal fin. The carpis one of the earliest known fish in England. It was much preservedin ponds by the monks, for table use. The carp is very prolific andattains to a great age – to 100 years and even longer. The flavour of the carp is influenced by the character of its habitat. Thewell-known gold fish (Cyprinus auratus), supposed to be a native ofChina, is allied to the common carp.

Information and recipes byIsabella Beeton, 1861.

This was the magistrate'sexplanation.

“One of you had fiveloaves,” he said, “and the other had three, making eight loavesin all, and then, when the third traveller came up and joined in, theeight loaves were divided equally between the three of you. Nowsuppose each loaf to be divided into three equal parts, there would,of course, be twenty-four parts, and as you divided equally betweenthree of you, each received what was equal to eight of these parts.But one traveller originally had five loaves, or fifteen parts, andas he only consumed eight parts, he must have given seven to thefoodless traveller. The other man had originally three loaves, ornine parts, and as he consumed eight, he only gave on part to thefoodless traveller, therefore, as you can see, my decision is quitefair; the seven coins go to the man who gave seven parts, and the onecoin to the man who gave one part.”

To the dining room

2011-10-26T23:01:00.001+01:00

George sits down at the piano, flipsopen a music book and says that, as we are in America, he will playan American song. Looking forward to a typically American, happy,up-beat, song, we are disappointed when George plays a sad, slow,dirge, getting slower and sadder until he grinds to a halt, weeping.I point out that, although it is very sad, the instructions on themusic very clearly state that he should keep moving, at least untilhe reaches the end. But George is inconsolable and we drag him fromthe piano and give him a bottle of Vintage Lagavulin, to cheer himup.

Fatty, looking at Albert collapsinginto a pool of whisky, giggling and muttering, says that hedoesn't understand German, and he asks me to translate for him. Itell Fatty that Albert is not speaking in German, he is speaking inHumpermat, the international language of mathematics, created bygreat grand aunt Euphemia Humperdink andRabbie Burns during a heavy Saturday night session in the CheekyMonkey. As musical notes are given solfège syllables, such as'doh-re-mi', and can be spoken in Solresol, so mathematical operatorshave designated phonemes which can be spoken in Humpermat; pi(π), for instance, is 'pi', and the word for infinity (∞) is 'oo', and so forth. So, when Albert says “tuppi divtri putmin tupflooplusix putput”, obviously, he means '(π/∆)-(∞+6))'. Fattysays that it doesn't make any sense. I tell Fatty that he should nottell anyone that Albert doesn't make any sense because Albert is meant tobe a genius, and nobody will buy his theories if it gets out that,actually, he is as dim as a squashed firefly. Juan says that Albertis not speaking in any language, he is just making the appreciativenoises everybody makes after a bottle of Vintage GlendronachSpecial Reserve. Although I object, pointing out that we have stayedfar too long and we don't have time to eat as we are hamrelishlybehind schedule, Fatty insists that what Albert needs, and what weall need, is a good meal, and he leads the way to the dining room.

Inthe dining room, Fatty explains that, as the Aberfeldy salmon that weordered is still on its way, the chef improvised a special dish by bybaking the fish that lives, or used to live, in the club's gardenpond. Fatty explains that it's a famous Japanese fish so, althoughfor taste, texture, and all-round fishy quality, it can never match aScottish fish, it will serve as a filler before the main disharrives. I tell Fatty that this is a very good idea but, when heshows me a picture of the fish in question, I point out that it isthe ancient, revered, carp that belongs, or used to belong, to theJapanese Emperor. Fatty shrugs and says that it isn't his problem.George, looking at the picture, says that he is sure he has seen itbefore, somewhere, but it was in colour. I explain that this is theoriginal picture, but black and white pictures don't sell as well ascoloured pictures so that old scoundrel, Fred Litchfield, made copiesof the original picture, coloured them in, and sold them as colouredprints to decorate dimwitted aristocrat's palaces

Fattytells us that the chef de cuisine, Monsieur François Crétin, onceread an article in a magazine that said that when certain rug-makersmade rugs, they made one deliberate mistake. The page was torn atthat point and François never found out why the rug-makersdeliberately included an error, nonetheless, he was was impressedand, since then, all his meals, which, otherwise, would be perfect,include one deliberate mistake, so, Fatty warns us, if we noticeanything amiss with the meal, it would be impolite to mention it.Rory, who has a sensitive stomach, asks Fatty what kind of mistake weshould expect. Fatty says that it impossible to say because Françoislikes to be spontaneously creative in his choice of mistake, however,as an example, instead of serving tomatoes and eggs to the ChiefRabbi and his wife, François mistakenly served pelican pie withdeep-fried wart-hog warts.

Hearingthis, Rory says that he is feeling unwell and has to be sick. Albertsays that Rory is the sickest person he has ever met. I remind Albertthat Rory is perfectly healthy, but he just spent a long time withhis head stuck in a piano and, after Juan's rendition of aparticularly loud, chaotic, Rachmaninov piece, Rory was reeling andwe had to give him a bottle of Vintage Duff's Defiance Single GrainFounder's Reserve, to steady his nerves, and, sometimes, there areside-effects.

Wewatch Rory stumble around the room, looking for somewhere to be sick.I tell him to use the cellaret under the sideboard, but he trips overone of the carved oak legs of the sideboard, and bangs his head onthe other leg. Because the legs are carved in the shape of birds,Rory, throwing up into the cellaret, moans that he is being attackedby giant eagles. I assure Rory that he is not being attacked, thebirds are support-eagles and they aren't dangerous, unless you fallover them. George says that there's no such thing as support-eagles.I tell George that they are called support-eagles because they areeagles and they support something, and, I point out, his latestpainting is of a grey wagtail, and a grey wagtail is only called agrey wagtail because it's grey and wags its tail. Juan says that adog could be grey, and wag it's tail, but 'Grey Wagtail' would be astupid name for a dog. I tell Juan not to be stupid, we are nottalking about dogs, we are talking about grey wagtails and the bestname for a grey wagtail is grey wagtail and, instead of making stupidcomments, he would be better employed choosing something to drinkwith the carp. Agency club dining rooms are always well stocked andit only takes Juan a moment to find a magnum of 1899, Chateau PapeClément, 1899, for George, and cases of Vintage Glenlossie, Bowmore,Glentauchers, and Glendronach Private Reserve, for us.

Juanmight be an idiot, but, even I have to admit, this is a wonderfulchoice and, to celebrate, we raise our glasses, salute all greatfish, drink to the health of George's wagging grey tail, and,shouting and yelling with excitement, we inflate our bagpipes and, playing 'Willie Waggletail', 'Willie was a Wanton Wag', 'Willie wi'his Wig a-jee', and 'Will ye go to the Indies' at full volume, westamp around in wild befuddlement, as fast as we possiblycan.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

Baked Carp

Ingredients.

1 carp, 3 tablespoonfulsof salad-oil, or clarified butter, 1 tablespoonful of Worcestersauce, 1 tablespoonful of lemon-juice, 1 tablespoonful offinely-chopped parsley, 1 dessertspoonful of finely-chopped onion,salt, cayenne. For the sauce: ¾ of a pint of milk, 1 ½ ozs. offlour 1 ½ ozs. of butter, 2 tablespoonfuls of coarsely-choppedgherkins, salt and pepper.

Method.

Wash, scale, and clean thefish, and pace t in an earthenware baking dish. Mix together thesalad-oil, Worcester sauce, lemon-juice, parsley, onion, season wellwith salt and cayenne, pour this mixture over the fish, and let itremain n it for at least 2 hours, basting at frequent intervals.Cover with a greased paper; bake gently for about 1 hour, and bastewell. When it is nearly done, melt the butter in a stewpan, stir inthe flour, add the milk, bring to the boil, and simmer for 5 or 6minutes. Place the fish on a hot dish, strain the gravy into in thetin into the sauce, add the gherkins, season to taste, and pour overthe fish.

Time, to bake, 1 hour.Sufficient for 4 or 5 persons. Seasonable from November to March.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton,1861

Cultured entertainment

2011-10-07T00:32:00.000+01:00

Weare glipishly behind schedule and I insist that we leave immediately,but Fatty, patting his rumbling belly, tells us that dinner is due tobe served and he can't leave until he eats something, or he won'thave the energy to carry on. Juan says that we can't leave until westock up on supplies, and he starts smashing more furniture, lookingfor concealed bottles of vintage Scotch. George says that we can't gountil he puts the finishing touches to his latest paintings. Albertsays we can't go because Rory has got his head stuck in the piano.

Itell Albert that Rory is not stuck in the piano, he just finished abottle of Vintage Glengarioch Special Reserve, which is normally usedonly as a powerful emollient so, naturally, Rory is being sick intothe piano. Albert says that Rory is being sick into the piano but heis also stuck in the piano because Juan closed the lid on Rory'shead. After watching Rory struggling for some time, Albert says thathe doesn't understand why we are laughing, there's nothingentertaining about seeing a man with his head stuck in a piano. Iremind Albert that he is German and doesn't understand culture orentertainment.

Afterwe release him, Rory complains that it's not fair, he keeps hurtinghimself on furniture he couldn't even afford. I tell him that, ifthat is the case, he should not buy it, it would just beinconvenient, but, I remind Rory, he can buy furniture on his expenseaccount. Rory says that to buy luxurious, expensive, furniture andthen charge it to his expense account would be wrong. This is apuzzling attitude, so I tell him that, if he is worried, a pianoforteis, strictly speaking, a musical instrument, so he doesn't have tocall it furniture. Rory says that that would not be honest. I remindRory that his wife is a woman and, therefore, it is perfectly honestto refer to her as a wife, or as a woman, in the same way, a pianocan be a beautiful instrument or just a piece of furniture, noisyfurniture.

George tells us that, as he hasn't seenany American birds yet, he has painted a spotted fly-catcher instead.I tell him it's very nice fly-catcher, and, with a diet restricted tospotted flies, I am surprised that it isn't extinct. Albert remarksthat, here in America, George could sell his paintings easily. Georgesays that, in Britain, only upper class people buy his paintings but,in America, where everybody is equal, there aren't any upper classes,so nobody would buy them. Juan says that nobody would buy thembecause they're rubbish. If George stopped painting one pointlessbird after another and painted women instead, he could sell millionsof paintings, because it doesn't matter what class you are in, orwhat country you are in, pictures of birds are boring and stupid andnobody wants one, but, in in every class, in every country, peoplebuy pictures of women, and, as George can throw out pictures of birdslike a high-speed mechanical bird-painting machine, he may as wellpaint women instead, if he does that, Juan guarantees, George'spaintings will sell in their millions.

George says that painting can take along time, so, whatever the subject, to paint millions of paintingswould be impossible. I remind Juan and Albert that George is not abusiness man, he is an artist. He is not interested in money or fame;as long as he can pursue his art, George is content to remain anutterly uncelebrated nonentity and spend the rest of his life indesperate, squalid, poverty. George says that this is notentirely true, but I'm not interested in his opinion so I shove Roryhead into the piano again, slam the lid down and bash out Beethoven'spiano concerto no.1 as loudly as possible while yelling at Rory thathe should privileged as, because of his deafness, Beethoven playedlike this all the time, and not many people get to hear a greatpiano concerto as it was meant to heard, from inside the piano. Thisgives Rory a unique opportunity and, furthermore, proves that,despite what Albert says, seeing somebody with their head stuck in apiano can be very entertaining.

Juan smashes his way into an armoire and discovers bottles of VintageMiltonduff, Tamnavulin, Scapa, and Glenburgie Private Reserve. Thisis cause for celebration and, raising our glasses, we offer toastafter toast to loud music and birds, then, singing 'The Pride of theGlen', 'The Wee Wifukie', and 'The Weel-tochere'd Lass', we linkarms and crash around in exultant confusion, as fast as we possiblycan.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

A quick recreational

2011-10-03T03:02:00.000+01:00

Betweenperiods of weeping, Rory rambles on about his fatally damagedreputation and the end of his career. I say that, what Rory needs,is a good woman. Juan cheers, says that that is the only sensiblething I have ever said, and orders Vintage Balvenie, Lagavulin,Longmorn, and Royal Lochnagar Family Reserve, to celebrate. Ashort while later, watching Rory fight a bookcase, Albert says thatRory is behaving strangely, Juan says that Rory'sbehaviour is perfectly normal after a bottle of Royal Lochnagar.Rory, clinging to the bookcase for support, nursing a bent, bleeding,nose and wiping redooze from his beard, slithers down onto the floor, whining that,wherever he goes, there is furniture in his way.

Iremind Rory that there is a perfectly good fireplace in the room, sohe could burn the bookcase. Rory looks horrified and says that, evenif it was in his way, it is a fine piece of furniture and should notbe burned. I tell him he should burn the books first; without books,a bookcase isn't a bookcase, it's just a case, and a case isn'tfurniture, so he can burn it, if it makes him happier. Rory saysthat it wouldn’t make him happier because he doesn't believe inburning books. I respect Rory's beliefs, but, I assure him, books doburn. Rory says that he knows books will burn, he doesn't believethat they should be burnt. I tell Rory that, when books are on fire,they do become burnt, badly burnt, so his belief is, at best,optimistic.

Fattysays that it's good to be optimistic, it gives you hope. For example,he says, patting his growling stomach, he is hopeful that the salmonthat we ordered will arrive soon, and, he tells us, it is thatoptimistic attitude that is keeping him calm, otherwise, if he losthope, he would be in the kitchen, screaming, raging, and throwingboiling water in people's faces, to make them hurry up.

Talking of hurrying up, I remindeverybody of the cataclysmic consequences of further delay and,considering the fact that we are dulbertishly behind schedule, I telleveryone that we have to leave the recreation room immediately. Juanagrees, I think, saying that there is no point in staying because,whatever you call it, and whatever furniture you put in it, a room isnot recreational without women. Notwithstanding this, Georgepersuades us that, out of respect for the recreational theme of theroom, we should play one quick tune before we go. I tell George thatwe should save time by playing after we've gone, but Juan startsplaying the piano, so I inflate my bagpipes, Rory bangs his head onthe bookcase, and we belt out a loud, lively, rendition of 'Mòrag á Dùnbheagain'.

It sounds dreadful. I blame Juanbecause his piano must be out of tune. But he plays 'The Skye BoatSong', and it sounds wonderful, everyone joins in with the chorus andbursts into tears at the end. Juan says that my bagpipes are out oftune, but when I play 'The Day is Ended' and 'The Herding Song', itis so enchanting that everyone starts bleating and falls asleep.

I wake everyone up with a fast, loud,rendition of 'The Pride of Scotland' and declare that my bagpipesare perfectly in tune. Albert reminds us that, because the bagpipesare Scottish, they are tuned to a Scottish scale, but the piano isViennese, so it is tuned to a Viennese scale; because the scales areharmonically incompatible, when the piano and the bagpipes playtogether, they sound horrible. I tell Juan to tune the piano to thebagpipes. Juan says he can't, because he doesn't have a piano tuningwrench. George says that Juan should not tune the piano as tuning apiano is very difficult, especially with an old and valuable piano,and we should get a professional piano-tuner to tune it. Juan saysthat tuning a piano is easy, it is only involves turning little pegswith a special wrench, but he hasn't got that wrench, so he can'ttune the piano anyway.

George says that if the piano isn'ttuned by a professional, it might be damaged and, if Juan touches it,it will certainly be damaged. Juan bangs the piano with bottle ofTennessee Whiskey, and shouts that he can't tune the piano because hedoesn't have the right wrench, and if he did have one, he would notdamage the piano, but he doesn't have one, so it doesn't matter.Albert agrees with George. He says that it takes years to learn theskill of piano tuning, only an expert would attempt to tune such avaluable piano, and Juan can't possibly be an expert anything thatrequires skill. Juan slams a bottle of Southern Comfort on to thepiano keys and yells that it doesn't take an expert to tune a piano,it is easy, all blind people tune pianos all the time, so you don'teven need to see a piano to tune a piano, he could tune a piano withhis eyes closed, but he needs a special tool, a piano-tuning wrench,and he doesn't have one, so he can't tune the piano.

George says that Juan is insultingblind people because he is implying that the things that blind peopledo are easy. Juan says that he is not insulting blind people, infact, he can personally vouch for the fact that 'Bendy' Wendy, fromBootle, is as blind as an eyeless eel, and twice as flexible, so shecan do things that would be difficult for most people, even if theyhad perfect sight. I tell Juan that we don't have time to listen tohis stupid excuses so he should stop babbling and tune the piano.

Albert tellsJuan to stop using a broken bottle to carve his name on the thepiano. I tell Albert that Juan is sulking, so we should ignore him.Juan slams the piano lid up and down, shouting that he isn't sulking.I tell Albert that Juan is just throwing a tantrum because he wantsattention. Juan, pounding the top of the piano with a bottle ofWillett Family Reserve bellows that he is not having a tantrum.George yells at him to stop hitting the piano. I tell Juan that allthis recreation is making me thirsty so a quick recreational would bein order and, if he is not going to tune the piano, he should dosomething useful instead, and find something to drink. In therecreation room of an agency club, this is an easy, mindless, task,perfect for Juan. He tears a panel from the piano, then, blindlyswinging it around his head and howling the Black Watch war cry, hecharges toward a bookcase. George shouts at Juan, telling him to stopsmashing up the furniture.

To the sound of banging andsplintering, I tell George not to worry, the piano is a double,reversible, piano, when the top becomes stained or damaged, all youhave to do is change one or two panels, to keep the engravings theright way up, then turn the piano upside down. The bookcase, I assureGeorge, is, in fact, a cleverly disguised whisky cabinet. The booksare false books, empty wooden boxes, designed to hold rare bottles ofvintage single malt. The priceless bottles are entirely safe, Iexplain, because the boxes are designed to look like poetry books, sonobody ever touches them.

Juan returns, bearing bottles ofVintage Knockando, Dalmore, Teaninich, and Balvenie Private Reserve,we offer toast after toast to international harmony, I play theAberfeldy Waltz, Juan plays the Viennese Fling, and we reel around inexcited, cacophonous, confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

A recreational room

2011-09-22T00:01:00.002+01:00

We fall through thesandalwood door to into a room that, George says, seems to be forrecreational purposes. I remind George that we don't have time forrecreation, any further delay would be catastrophic, we have alreadyspent too long in the club, and we are gunkishly behind schedule. However, noticing a harpsichord, I volunteer to give a recital. Juanshouts that a recital isn't recreational, it's horrible. Everyone, hesays, knows that the only good note in a recital is the last note. Until the last note, everyone just sits, bored out of their wits,trying to look interested, desperate to escape, dehydrated. When itis over everyone claps, from relief, and runs to the bar.

Rory explains thattraditional music only has a limited amount of notes, so during along recital, the same notes get played again and again, which isinevitably tedious, but I tell Juan that, just because he is anuncultured swine, it doesn't mean that everybody loathes culturalevents and traditional social activities. Rory points to thewall-painting and says that it depicts important traditionalactivities, such as baptism, eating and drinking, teaching,harvesting, and pulling people's towels off.

George says that, insuch a room, we should all be inspired to be creative, and, as anexample, he shows his new painting. Because nobody knows whatit is, he tells us it is a nightjar. I tell George that it is a verynice nightjar. Juan says that it's just another bird. Rory says thatit's not even a real bird, there's no such thing, he claims, as anightjar. George, he says, has got the word 'nightjar' confusedwith 'nightcap', which is the jar of whiskyyou have at night. But, George can't paint anything except birds, sohe drew a bird instead of a jar, which is preposterous. George saysthat he's not confused, the nightjar is also called the day-owl, sothe nightjar has nothing to do with jars or night, except that it makesa jarring sound and it's nocturnal. I remind George that it is alsocalled a 'wheel-bird' because of the whirring noise it makes when itgets caught in the spokes of a bicycle wheel. Fatty adds that it isalso known as a 'churn-owl', because it tastes so disgusting it makesyour stomach churn.

George defends himself by saying thatthe nightjar is not preposterous, some people, he informs us, callnightjars 'night-hawks' and hawks aren't preposterous, in fact,they're very noble and courageous. I point out that the nightjar isalso known as the goat-sucker, because it sucks goats' milk, which,because this is unusual behavior for a bird, makes the nightjarpreposterous, noble, brave and weird. Rory says that George's bird isdefinitely an in invention because the goat-sucker is a mythologicalbird. To maintain artistic integrity, declares Rory, George shouldpaint a real bird, like a swan. George says that there is no pointin painting a swan, everybody knows what a swan looks like, andeverybody knows that swans are of the order anseriformes,in the family anatidae, so a painting of a swan would noteven be educational, whereas nobody knows what a nightjar looks likeand the nightjar family is caprimulgidæ which,like the swift or a the woodpecker, doesn'thave a proper taxonomic order.

It is a fact that that famousold bird fancying sot, Arthur Thomson, said that the order in whichthe nightjar is classified doesn't have an English name, so it'scalled by it's scientific name, picarlæ,which, he claims, is impossibleto define, but, I tell George, Arthur spent a great deal of his timeface down in a puddle of whisky, so he couldn't define anything.However, in this instance, woodpeckers are notoriously difficult todefine, because they move their heads up and down so quickly they arehard to see properly, although, in some languages, the woodpecker iscalled the 'bird with the blurred head' and, if you see a birdpecking at wood like an out-of-control steam-hammer, then it probablyis a wood pecker; equally, a swift is hard to define because it fliesso swiftly you can't see it for long enough to define it, andnightjars are impossible to define because they are mythological.However, if something is impossible to define, it isn't veryscientific, so, for the sake of science, I volunteer to define theorder 'picarlæ', as'the order that contains the nightjar family', and,furthermore, I will give it an English name; 'Bert'.

George saysthat 'Bert' is a silly name and, anyway, he tells me, I can't justmake up a name for entire order of birds, I tell him Bert is a verygood name and, if George can make up a nightjar, I can make up thenightjars' taxonomic order, besides, all I have to do to make itofficial, is to write 'Bert' in italics. Feeling I havesatisfactorily answered a profound ornithological question, I orderVintage Mortlach, Inchgower, Blair Athol, and Glen Elgin SpecialReserve, to celebrate.

George tells me that theroom does not have a bar. Juan, in a panic, shouts that, if a roomdoesn't have a bar then it's not recreational, I point to a pedestalcabinet in the corner. Juan always assumes that every cabinet is apotential drinks cabinet; and we have fun watching him fail to openthe cabinet and shouting that it doesn't have any doors, and kickingand clawing at the cabinet. When he starts to bite it, I remind himthat the cabinet was made by André-Charles Boulle. Juan yells thathe doesn't care who made it, the cabinet won't open, so whoever madeit was an idiot. I remind Juan that it was never meant to open, Andréspecialised in fake cabinets.

André, I remind Juan, wasgood at carving but he was a terrible at woodwork; making anythingcomplex was beyond him, so his cabinets don't contain anythingcomplicated, such as doors, shelves or drawers, they are just boxes,for decorative purposes only. As they were hollow, they lacked theweight of a real cabinet, so he always gave his cabinets extra weightwith diamonds, gold, cases of vintage malt and other things that hepicked up around the stately homes and palaces he furnished. He leftthe cabinets for years, eventually, under the pretext that theyneeded repair or maintenance, he took them back to his workshop andcut them open, to retrieve the loot.

Helping Juan knock thecabinet over and, jumping up and down on it, I tell him that the maltwill be safe because, although André's cabinet is useless as acabinet, it is very expensive and belongs to a queen, so nobody intheir right minds would think of harming it. We both jump together,the cabinet smashes apart under our feet and, yelling and cheering,we retrieve handfuls of gold rings, bracelets, necklaces, brooches,and bottles of Vintage Balblair, Glenfiddich, Auchroisk, andTullibardine Founder's Reserve. Juan opens the bottles, then,singing, cheering, offering toast after toast to culture, tradition, and well stocked drinks cabinets, bouncing off cabinets, crushinglutes, head butting wall-paintings, and crashing into harpsichords,we stamp around in traditional high-spirited confusion, as fast aswe possibly can.

Professor Humperdink'sDiary

The fragrant portal

2011-09-14T02:07:00.000+01:00

After dragging Roryfrom underneath the bookcase and reviving him with a bottle ofVintage Caperdonich Private Reserve, he totters backwards andforwards until he crashes into a door and collapses, moaning. Alberttells Juan to stop laughing, I assures Rory that everybody walks intodoors, it's perfectly natural. The next time he wants to go through adoor, I advise, he should note where the hinges are, this often offers a clue which side of the door will swing open. However, inthis particular instance, I inform him, the door has falsehinges, so he should take that into account. Rory, wounded andturning green, shouts that he doesn't care, he is going to be sick,and, so saying, he sprays vomit in all directions. Albert, again,tells Juan to stop laughing, Rory, he declares, is obviously indistress.

Although I may beslurring and, in spite of the fact I don't know what I am talkingabout, I feel that Rory would benefit from a lecture, so I tell himthat he should not worry about having walked into the door, or beingsick, it's perfectly natural, the door it is made from sandalwood so,normally, it would smell of sandalwood, but the smell has beenheavily disguised so it is not recognisable as a sandalwood door,this is because the King of Padmanabhapuram wants his door back, soFred Litchfield disguised it by soaking it in rats' urine for twentyyears. But, irritatingly, I cannot say 'Padmanabhapuram'. After manyattempts, Juan hits me over the head with a bottle of Tennesseewhiskey, to shut me up.

George says that,even though the door doesn't have the beautiful aroma of sandalwoodand, although it stinks of urine and vomit, it is covered withrecognisable carvings, so the king would notice it immediately. Thereis an obvious answer to this but I can't quite think what it is, so,rather than addressing the issue, I punch Juan in the kidneys. Hemight have been right to shut me up, but being right is not an excusefor violence.

After Juan throws meagainst George's easel and, as I shove Juan's head through George'scanvas, George yells that he is trying to paint and he wants us all togo away. I remind everyone that we are on a desperately urgentmission of vital importance, we are jabbishly behind schedule and wedon't have time to be creative. George says that he needs toconcentrate on painting tits. When I object again, Juan shouts at meto shut my stupid mouth, all George ever does is churn out picturesof birds, which are about as interesting as a train-time table, and as useless, ifGeorge wants to paint tits, Juan yells, nobody should stop him, thenhe smashes me in the face with a bottle of Southern Comfort, to shutme up, and orders Vintage Tobermory, Balblair, Glendullan, andCragganmore Special Reserve, to celebrate.

Raising our glassesand saluting George's creative spirit, we offer toast after toast tothe king of Padmanabhapuram, fail to say 'Padmanabhapuram', argueviolently, then, spluttering, holding our noses, gagging and retching,slithering on vomit, we kick Rory out of the way and stagger towardsthe stinking door, as fast as we possibly can.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

The useful bookcase

2011-09-01T21:57:00.002+01:00

Albert is famous physicist, George isan important artist, Fatty is a renowned chef, my own achievementshave not gone unremarked, and, all over the world, women lie in waitfor Juan. Rory, however, is just an academic, so, although weunderstand his constant, desperate, efforts to impress us, listeningto him is similar to being on a long, dull, journey, to somewhere youdon't want to go to, with someone you dislike, but, once Rory starts,it is hard to stop him and his ennui-stunned audience are helplesslytransported to a sad, bleak, place.

Stumbling into the large wooden bookcase, I remark that it is a stupid place to put a bookcase.George says that Mathias Leistler made it from carved lime tree, withpanels of satinwood. Rory says that the bookcase looks impressive,but I tell him that it's a useless waste of tree, as the books thatit contains are mostly academic papers, which are whollyunimpressive, in a better world, I add, they would never be publishedin the first place. This sets Rory off and he drones on and on abouthow nobody would publish his papers, so he turned to writing murdermysteries and thrillers, which, unfortunately, sold lamentably fewcopies. I remind Rory that, in his murder mysteries, because of hisnervousness, he avoided including anything alarming, like a murder,in fact, nobody gets murdered, or even slightly hurt; added to that,although he is an academic, Rory is essentially moral, honest, andstraightforward, so he is unable to contrive a deceitful ormysterious plot, thus, all his characters are transparently shallow,blandly law-abiding, and sickeningly good-natured.

Apart from the fact that Rory's murdermysteries are murderously dull, the only mystery is why the books arecalled a murder mysteries in the first place, and Rory's thrillerswere not as thrilling as they might have been. His latest thriller, Isuggest, would have been more thrilling if something thrillingoccurred, or even something vaguely interesting. However, despitecataclysmic world events occurring all around, Rory fails to mentionany of them, and there is also the disconcerting fact that two ofhis protagonists, Thomas Litchfield and Frederick Litchfield aredescribed as brothers, or unrelated, which results in ridiculoussentences such as: 'Her Serene Highness glanced up at Thomas andFrederick, the hunch-backed, squinting, bow-legged, brothers, or notbrothers, and smiled, graciously.' And why Rory chose to depictThomas and Frederick as looking like gargoyles is beyondcomprehension.

Rory says that the mystery in a murdermystery does not necessarily have to be who the murderer is, and,anyway, murder mysteries aren't really mysteries because thedetective always unmasks the murderer, and says who it is, whichspoils the whole mystery. He adds that, in his research, he found noevidence that Frederick and Thomas weren't both terribly deformed,and he doesn't know if Thomas Litchfield and Frederick Litchfield arebrothers or not, so it wouldn't be right to describe them asbrothers, when they may not be brothers, equally, it would beincorrect to say that they are not brothers, when they might actuallybe brothers; it is all to do, says Rory, with integrity, about which,he says pointedly, I know nothing. This might be true but, I pointout, Rory's books might have great integrity, but nobody reads them.People who write books that nobody reads must be stupid, declaimsFatty, it's the same, he says, as a chef cooking meals that nobodyeats.

After a quick round of Knockando, Speyburn, Brackla, and Glen KeithPrivate Reserve, to refresh ourselves, I remind everyone that we arelumingly behind schedule and have to head off immediately but,because we are covered in soot, blood and filth, we should find ourrooms, wash, and change into clean clothes. Rory says that he doesn'tlike changing into clean clothes, it makes him nervous. George saysthat that is a peculiar quirk. Juan mumbles that this is becauseRory is a peculiar jerk. Rory explains that, when he gave regularlectures to the Royal Society, he always kept a fresh set of clothesavailable, so that, when he arrived, he could quickly change, andwalk on stage looking fresh and smartly dressed. And that, he says,is why he does not like changing into clean clothes. I am sure that,in Rory's muddled mind, this makes sense, so, to humourhim, I tell Rory that any journey can leave you looking crumpled, andI imagine that Rory called into to every public house on the way tothe give his lecture, so, when he arrived, he was probably extremelycrumpled. In that condition, I assure Rory, changing into freshclothes is very sensible and something that Juan should do, becausehe stinks.

Rory tells us that he was a victim ofprofessional rivalry as, at the time, some of his more narrow-mindedcolleagues were irritated by Rory's claim that Darwin was wrong.Humans, Rory professed, are not related to monkeys and, beyond a fewcoincidental similarities, the two species are separate, independent,and distinct. Looking at Juan, who is indistinguishable from agorilla , I observe that Rory's idea was somewhat controversial and,I suggest, stupid. Rory said it was stupid not to lock his locker, asone of Darwin's supporters, or perhaps Darwin himself, put itchingpowder in Rory's clothes. Rory didn't notice immediately and, when hedid notice, he was a few minutes into his lecture; he gamelyattempted to continue his lecture as if nothing had happened,however, it wasn't long before he had to be hauled off the stage,tearing his clothes off and scratching himself like a vermin-infestedbaboon. Darwin's reputation remained unharmed, and, possibly,enhanced, the distinguished guests enjoyed the entertainment butRory, humiliated, was forced to leave his university post and becomea lemming breeder in Norway. Tragically, Rory's lemming farm was neara cliff and, when the lemmings escaped one night, he lost the entireplummet. I tell Rory that the collective noun for lemmings shouldhave warned him against rearing lemmings near a cliff.

Rory starts defending himself withpitiful, whinging, excuses for not being a successful academic,author, or lemming breeder, until Juan decides he has had enough andhurls Rory against the bookcase, breaking the wood, splintering thepanels and shattering the glass, which is unfortunate. Rory staggersto his feet and calls Juan a stinking ape, which, I think, ratherproves my point, but we don't wildly want to hear any more from Roryfor a while. Fortunately, I think of a good use for the bookcase, soFatty and I tip it over, on to Rory, and, compressed, he stops talking. Juanorders Vintage Lagavulin, Bladnoch, Benrinnes, and Teaninich PrivateReserve, to celebrate. We offer toast after toast to the success ofall academics, authors, and lemming breeders, then, singing, cheering, shouting and saluting Mathias Leistler and his wonderful bookcase, wecareen around in noisy, fuzzled, confusion, as fast as we possiblycan.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

A quick recovery

2011-08-28T01:55:00.001+01:00

Rory's was worried about parachuting,but both his parachutes open properly, and we watch with interest ashe safely drifts gently down on to the burning wreckage of myaeroplane and immediately becomes entangled in flaming parachutes.After Fatty and I pull Rory from the wreckage and kick him around inthe dirt, to put the fire out, I point out that there are morewarplanes flying overhead, and more troops approaching, so we shouldhead for the nearest Agency club, as I have better things to do thanhang around, trying to calm down people who are nervous, heavilyarmed, stupid, drunk, and confused.

Fatty says that, just because thesoldiers are American, it doesn't mean they are stupid. Juan saysthat American soldiers aren't stupid, it's their leaders who arestupid, but, after medicating the stunned soldiers with Vintage LochDhu Special Reserve, which Juan keeps for such occasions, and takingtheir guns away, the soldiers aren't nervous and they aren't armed,but, Juan admits, they are drunk and confused.

I tell Juan that I was not referring tothe soldiers, I was talking about us, but not including me. Motivatedwith the promise of a well-stocked Agency bar, and, noting Rory andFatty's reluctance to engage with the approaching troops, we chuckthe soldier's rifles and ammunition on to the burning wreckage of ouraeroplanes and, under cover of the smokefrom the resulting explosions, we run like maniacs, hurling ourcaltrops behind us.

Because we get lost several times and have several more heatedencounters with the American authorities, we arrive at the AgencyClub hot, bothered, and desperate for a drink; we immediately pileinto the bar where we are surprised to see both George and Albert,especially as the last time we saw them, they were falling from anaeroplane with only one parachute between them. Juan orders VintageBladnoch, Scapa, Lochside, Balvenie Special Reserve, to celebrateboth Albert and George's survival. They tell us that, although theyfailed to come to a gentleman's agreement about who should get theparachute, Aodhàn regained control of The Lion, swoopeddown, rescued them before they hit the ground, and dropped them offat the club. I tell George and Albert that they are lucky that Aodhànhas discovered that, when people fall out of an aeroplane, it's isbetter to rescue them before, rather than after, they hit the ground.Albert says, somewhat accusingly, that he and George did not fall outof an aeroplane, they were pushed. I am slurring slightly but I amquite clear in assuring them both that I pushed them out of theaeroplane because I had no choice, it was not malicious, it was themor me, and, if they consider that to be a selfish act, they shouldremember their own primeval instincts in that, while they wereplummeting earthward, they fought over the parachute like rats overover a dead dog's eye, which is hardly, I point out, an example ofmagnanimous behavior towards fellow beings, however, irritatingly,the word magnanimous defeats me.

Albert says that, to thank Aodhàn, hewill dedicate his next theory to him, and George tells us that, as agift for Aodhàn, he is painting a picture of an oyster-catcher.Fatty says that the oyster-catcher is lucky, so it is a good birdchoose as a gift. Albert tells Fatty that he didn't know that theoyster-catcher is meant to be lucky. Fatty explains that, becauseoysters don't have legs, they can't run, so, luckily, any bird cancatch them very easily, but the oyster-catcher is specificallydesigned to catch oysters, so it is particularly fortunate, unless itdoesn't like oysters, and it is also very tasty. Juan says that heknows a woman called Pearl, and she is easy to catch, and very tastyas well. I don't see what this has got to do with anything, so Iremind everybody that we can't sit around wasting time. Fatty saysthat we are not wasting time, we are recovering after being attacked.

I remind Fatty that, in thatcase, we had better recover quickly, and, if we stopped for a drinkevery time we were attacked, we would never get anywhere, besideswhich, I add, we weren't attacked, the American authorities saw agigantic craft materialise over the WhiteHouse and they tried to shoot it down; they were simply defendingthemselves, which is quite reasonable. Then, I explain, when they sawus drop down from the craft they wanted to ask us some questions,which is natural, under the circumstances. Fatty says that he wouldhave answered their questions if they had stopped shooting at us. Iremind Fatty that, in America, the rule is 'shoot first, askquestions afterward', Albert says that, in Germany, they do it theother way around, Rory says that it's best to shoot and ask questionsat the same time. I don't ask questions, because the answers mightconflict with my opinion, and, normally, I only shoot people byaccident, so, with nothing to add to the conversation, my only meansof drawing attention to myself is to fire my blunderbuss into theceiling and yell at everybody that we can't sit around gabbling andwasting time. Our mission, I remind them, is desperately urgent, weare being hunted by the authorities, we are gallivasterishly behindschedule and somebody should do something about it, now.

Everybody ignores me, exceptfor Rory who is rolling around in pain, shouting that I have shothim, but this, I tell him, is patently absurd, I can't possibly havemissed the ceiling, Albert says that he has thought of a good theory,but nobody cares, Fatty says that he will go to the kitchens and helprustle up a quick meal before we go. This is a good idea and Juan andI ask Fatty for salmon, from Aberfeldy Loch. Fatty says that he mightnot be able to find salmon from a specific loch but, if he can't, hewill try and be creative. George says that he wants to be creativeas well and, he tells us, he is going to paint some tits. Juan saythat it's about time George painted something interesting. I tellJuan not to be so stupid, George, I inform Juan, wants to paintsomething like the poecile palustris, from the paridaefamily of birds, which have nothing to do with whatever it was thatJuan's tiny, delinquent, mind was thinking about. Juan looksdisappointed but George, rather foolishly, says that, actually,rather than paint the poecile palustris, he was thinking ofpainting great tits. Juan cheers and orders Vintage Alt-a-Bhainne,Royal Lochnagar, Glenturret and Drumguish Private Reserve, tocelebrate, then, offering toast after toast to America and salutingthe American way, we inflate our bagpipes, play 'America theBeautiful' at maximum volume while, crashing off tables and chairsand bouncing off the walls, we reel around in loud, enthusiastic,confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary

Reception party

2011-07-15T06:18:00.003+01:00

Staggeringaway from the burning wreckage of our aeroplanes,battered, bleeding, dirty, excited, scared, desperate for a drink,and on fire. Fatty beats the last of the flames from his head andshouts that, because his hair has been burnt off, his collection ofnits, lice and rare hair-bugs have been fried to a crisp. I remindhim that, although he might be hairless, he is filthy, hot, angry,and drunk. which is perfectly normal for a master chef, so nothinghas really changed, except that he no longer trails yards of greasy,matted, stinking, parasite-ridden hair, which some people might thinkis an improvement. Fatty says that anyone who thinks that crashingand burning improves anything must be stupid.

Thisis true and I blame Juan for leading us into the ground. But Juansays he wasn’t leading, besides, he adds, following someone whoisn’t leading is as much as a waste of time as leading someone whoisn’t following, and, he reminds me, unnecessarily, just becausesomeone is in front, it doesn’t mean they’re leading, not onlythat, he says, jumping up and down on his flaming bagpipes, it wasn’this fault he crashed; just before his aeroplane was released from TheLion,Fatty clambered aboard, so, when the aircraft was free, they were tooheavy to fly.

After,unwisely, extinguishing my smoulderingsporran by beating it with my Lochaber Axe, I tell Juan, in a highpitched voice, that I was not following him, but, seconds before wewere released from TheLion,Albert, George and Rory jumped on board my aircraft and then, ratherdiscourteously, expressed mistrust in my abilities as a pilot byhurling abuse and screaming at me to get out of the cockpit.Fortunately, when TheLion’s aircraftclamps open, we immediately fall into a spinning tail slide, which,to my satisfaction, gave my passengers something to really screamabout, and they really do scream, but then they attempt to take overthe controls and I have to throw them out of the aeroplane. This isall so distracting that, before I can take control of the aeroplane,my first priority, obviously, is to take control of my nerves, whichI do with the hip-flasks that I keep for such occasions. As allAgents know, in emergency situations, Vintage Glenlossie, Glenlivet,Fettercairn, and Dalmore Special Reserve alleviates unnecessaryconcerns, in fact, I feel so alleviated that, after vomiting over theside of the falling aeroplane, I some time waving my arms above myhead, rocking from side to side, bellowing great grand aunt EuphemiaHumperdink’s famous hymn, ‘Hallelujah, Here I Come’.

Eventhough I'm seeing double and my aeroplane flips upside down, and myvision is obscured by the smoke rising from Juan's wrecked aeroplaneand a certain amount of wind-blown vomit, I would, I assure Juan andFatty, have made a perfect landing, however, as I grab the joystick,I am attacked by Sally, Juan's pet snake, who must have been sleepingunder the seat. Making a perfect landing while being strangled by agiant anaconda is very difficult and explains why my aircraft is nowa crumpled heap of charred metal and why we are being followed byangry, singed, anaconda.

Juansays that he wondered where that snake had got to. I remind Juanthat, when we were in the Sudan, we were meant to rescue Sally, butwe didn't, so the Agent Rescue Service must have rescued her. Fattysays that, if Sally has been hibernating for a long time, she isprobably hungry, so, although it is a pity that Albert, George andRory aren't here, he will give Sally their portions. Juan says thatthat's a good idea and, he adds, it's good that Albert, George andRory have gone because we have spare food to give to Sally, and wedon't have to hear any more of Albert's mad theories, we won't haveto put up with Rory's weird nervousness and, best of all, we don'thave to see any more of George's stupid birds.

Iconcede that Rory's academic reputation is substantially lower thanthat of the mould on old fecal matter deposited by the insect thatconsumes the excretions of the creature who survives on dung-beetledroppings, George can only paint birds, and Albert is actually as dimas a pickled firefly, nonetheless, I remind Juan, George is a famousartist, Albert is an internationally recognisedgenius and Rory is a renowned academic, and Juan should feelprivileged to travel with such august company, in which, I add, Iinclude myself. I think this satisfactorily corrects Fatty and Juan'sopinion but, disappointingly, nobody is listening to me as Americanwarplanes are flying overhead, Sally and Juan are rolling on theground, wrestling, and Fatty is shouting that he will have to get morefood as we have guests. I tell Fatty not to worry, and I explain thatthe soldiers who are approaching us are just the reception party,they won't be staying for dinner.

Whenthe soldiers start shouting at us to put down our weapons, I feelthat I should tell them that Fatty is only carrying a carving knifebecause he is a chef and it is a necessary part of his trade, and hisnecklace of human bones is purely ornamental, and my blunderbuss isnormally clogged with filth, so it is perfectly safe. When Iindicate this by pointing it at the soldiers so they can see down thebarrel, they look nervous and shout louder. To reassure them, I feelI should explain that, generally, I only use the blunderbuss as abaton or for drain clearance, but not necessarily in that order, asthis can cause problems, as I discovered when I last conducted the1812 Overture; when the time came for the cannons to fire, I jumpedin the air and made a particularly exuberant gesture to the artillerycommander to fire the cannons but, annoyingly, nothing happened. Ihad forgotten that, before the cannons can go off, the fuses have tobe lit, and there is a delay while the fuses burn down, however, Ipound my music-stand with my blunderbuss, trying to make up for theabsence of cannons by creating loud, banging, cannony, sounds, butthis causes the blunderbuss to fire.

Althoughlow-grade critics criticisedmy performance, the noise of the music-stand being smashed, togetherwith the sound of the blunderbuss firing, is an appropriately loudand alarming sound, and certainly in sympathy with the theme andspirit of the piece, and, indeed, improved it. Because of Beethoven'sdeafness, I want to remind the approaching soldiers, he could onlyhear loud noises, in fact, in fits of rage at his condition, andjealous of people who could hear well, Beethoven deliberatelycomposed music containing sudden, loud, noises, in an effort todamage the hearing of his audience, so, as far as he was concerned,the noisier, the better.

Unfortunately,immediately before coming on stage, I used the blunderbuss to unblockthe musician's toilet because Oscar, the third bassoonist's petotter, was stuck in the U-bend, as a result, when the blunderbussfires, it discharges a barrel-load of fresh, ottery, sewage into theface of the first violinist, then, in the confusion, I forget thatthe fuses are burning, so when the cannons fired I yell in surprise,fall off the podium, and crush the first violinist's Stradivariusinto very small bits of bent wood, this was also unfortunate, atleast for the first violinist, but I console myself with the thoughtthat, with one less Stradivarius in the world, my own Stradivariusincreases in value, so it's an ill wind that blows nobody any good,as great uncle Albert used to joke, every time he returned fromlooting a hurricane-torn city.

Inmy esteemed opinion, the roar of cannons, pandemonium amongst anorchestra and the screams from a horrified audience blend perfectlywith the startling and unique crunching sound created when aStradivarius is mangled, this, together with the agonised wailing ofthe first violinist, is the perfect accompaniment to the overtureand, I have no doubt, Beethoven would have been both humbled and inawe at my improvements to his work, if he could hear them. However,before I can explain this properly to the soldiers, they startshooting.

Itoccurs to me that the soldiers are scared of Sally, this is perfectlysensible, Juan believes the snake is sweet tempered and docile, butthat is only after she has eaten someone, at all other times she isan evil tempered killer. As I dive for cover, I shout at Juan toknock Sally out, because she is scaring the soldiers, but he can'treply because his head is inside Sally's mouth. In normalcircumstances this would be amusing and we would stay and watch, but,as we are under attack, we don't have time to fool around and I knockthe giant anaconda over the head with a barrel of Vintage KnockdhuPrivate Reserve, this make the snake woozy and she relaxes her jawsenough for Juan to extricate his head from the anaconda's mouth but,as I had to rescue the barrel from Juan's burning wreck of anaeroplane, the barrel was smouldering and the burning embers set fireto Juan's galcoit, Fatty says that it's lucky that he brought a largepiece of cloth, and he proceeds to smother the flames with anAmerican flag, and I am not sure that the soldiers will enjoy seeingtheir national flag being used to put out a dirty foreigner. Fattyassures me that the soldiers won't mind at all because, although theflag is the 'Stars and Stripes', it is not the official nationalflag because it doesn't have the right amount of stripes, and thestars are all wobbly, so it is perfectly legal to burn it. This islucky because, although Juan's galcoit is extinguished, the flagcatches fire.

Fattywaves the burning flag around, but this just makes it burn more. Ican see that the soldiers are getting angry, so they would not getthe wrong idea and think that Fatty was burning their flag out ofdisrespect, I want to explain to the soldiers that Fatty was actuallytreating the flag with as much care and respect as he would treat anaccidentally over-cooked steak. If it was a second-rate steak or fora low grade customer, he would just let it burn. Fatty would onlyattempt to rescue a first-class steak, and, when the soldiers seeFatty throw the smoking flag to the ground and urinate on it, theyshould realisethat Fatty is not insulting their flag, but, in fact, by quicklyputting out the flames, Fatty is actually demonstrating his deeprespect for an honoured, world-class flag, but I don't get theopportunity to explain this to the soldiers because the barrel ofVintage Knockdhu catches alight and explodes.

Ihave the good sense to hide behind Fatty and Juan burrows underSally, but the soldiers all fall over and a lot of them are hurt.Fatty says that we need a doctor and it's a shame that I killed Rorybecause, although Rory was afflicted with strange obsessions andpeculiar fears, he was a good surgeon. I remind Fatty that Juan isalso a surgeon but, in this instance, he won't help because Juanbelieves that anyone stupid enough to get in the way of a bulletdoesn't deserve medical treatment and, anyway, he specialisesin attending to the continued well-being of beautiful, wealthy,healthy, women, he has no interest in tending to ugly, poor, injured,men. But I am hurt that Fatty thinks that I murdered Rory and explainthat there were originally four parachutes on board, I threw mineaway because it was taking up space, and replaced it with a barrel ofVintage Duff's Defiance Founder's Reserve, but when Albert, Georgeand Rory left the aeroplane, I assure Fatty, they each had aparachute, or rather, there were three parachutes, so they would havehad one parachute each, but Rory was nervous and worried that hisparachute wouldn't open, so I let him have two parachutes, just incase. Fatty says that he is not sure this was a good idea. I tellFatty that Albert and George didn't think it was a good idea either.

Feelingthat we should do something, I tell Juan to stop stealing things fromthe wounded soldiers and give them proper medical attention, he doesso, but reluctantly, until I remind him that, in America, people haveto pay for medical help. Juan says that the soldiers are probablypoor because they don't get paid very much, so it isn't worth savingthem. I tell him that, because they are soldiers, the governmentwill pay for their medical care and, in America, doctors get paidhuge amounts of money, so it is worth it. Juan immediately startsworking like a demon barber; to motivate Juan, I can always rely uponhis instinctive greed, Juan's enterprises raise vast sums, hismemoirs sell in their millions and a lot of people pay Juan a greatdeal not to appear in his memoirs, and yet, the prospect of earningmore money energisesthe man like a cattle-prod enlivens a limbo-dancer.

Fattypoints to the sky and says that he can see Rory and Albert, or Roryand George caught in the hot updraft rising from our burningaeroplanes.They appear to be in good condition but they are probably stunned bythe fumes rising rising the steaming whisky.This is an excellent sight, I just hope that they can get downquickly because we are gaivishly behind schedule and we have to carryon as fast as possible. Although we are sorry that Albert, or George,didn't get the parachute, we are happy to see that George, or Albert,did get the parachute; to celebrate, I hand out hip-flasks of VintageGlenkinchie, Auchentoshan, Bruichladdich and Bunnahabhain SpecialReserve, we offer toast after toast to the hospitality of ourAmerican friends, salute the bravery of the armed forces of theUnited States and drink to the health of President Washington. Fattywaves the Washington Cruiser ensign, to show we are friendly, and asan appeal to heaven, Juan and I inflate our bagpipes and, blastingout 'The Stars and Stripes Forever', and old Francis 'Hoppy'Hopkinson's famous lost song, 'Befuddled, I Fall' at full volume,then, remembering the urgency and seriousness of our situation, welink arms and, yelling with excitement and fear, we stumble around interrified confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

ProfessorHumperdink's Diary

Washington

2011-06-28T22:41:00.010+01:00

Looking down at the White House, George says that he hopes that our arrival will not alarm the President. George says that we should hang a flag out of the window, to indicate our peaceful intentions. Personally, I doubt that Juan has peaceful intentions, however, Albert says that this is a good idea, and goes off to find a flag. I tell George that, until Albert finds a flag, he should paint a picture of an American bird and we can hang it out of the window, to show that we appreciate American birds. Juan says that that is a good idea, but Rory says that, flapping, and seen from the ground, any bird that George paints might be mistaken for a British bird, and Americans and the British are at war. Fatty tells Rory that the Americans and British aren’t at war but, to be on the safe side, George should paint a Scottish bird because Americans understand that Britain does not include Scotland. George is not sure that this is true until Fatty explains that Scotland is the ‘Great’ in ‘Great Britain’, without Scotland, he explains, Great Britain loses its greatness, and is simply called Britain, a country that has nothing to do with Scotland.

Rory says that he is worried because, as we arrived unexpectedly, in an unusual aircraft, the authorities will want to question us. I tell Rory that he has nothing to worry about because, when the authorities notice that a giant airship has materialized over the White House, they will be too busy shooting at us to ask questions. Rory says that he doesn’t want to be shot, I tell him that he is not alone, nobody wants to be shot, unless they are seeking work as a human cannon-ball.

Albert returns, dragging a wooden flag-chest marked ‘United States’. Juan shoots the padlock off and kicks open the chest. I tell Juan that he didn’t need to shoot the lock off, the key was in the lock. Juan says that, in America, it is against the law to use a key, when you’ve got a gun. George tells Albert to pick out the American flag, but Albert says that there are a lot of flags, and they’re all different. I tell him not to be stupid, there’s only one American flag. Albert shows us some flags, but George points out that the flags are the Hudson’s Flag and the flag of the Dutch West India Company and they have got letters on them whereas the proper American flag should have stars on it. Albert holds up another flag that only has stars on it. George says that it’s the Confederate Jack and it’s out of date. I tell Albert to find a flag with bars as well as stars. Juan says that this proves that America is an advanced civilization, they put bars on their national flag. Albert holds up the Confederate 'Stars & Bars', but George says that the American flag does not have bars, it has stripes. I can’t believe that the simple action of picking the American flag out of a flag-box full of American flags seems to be an impossible task and I shout at Albert to stop being a complete moron and just find the star-spangled banner, I remind him that we are about to be blown out of the sky, so we don’t have time to sit here while he messes around like a befuddled baboon.

George says that I have got the flag confused with the national anthem, and tells Albert that, as we are over Washington, we should fly the Washington flag. Feeling offended, I tell George that I am not confused, the Star-Spangled Banner is the name of the anthem and the flag. I am not sure if I am right because I don’t know anything about anthems or flags, so, before anyone can challenge me, I challenge them to tell me why the Star-Spangled Banner is unique amongst anthems and flags. George says that it is unique because it is a both a flag and an anthem. I tell George that he’s wrong, in fact, I inform him, smugly, what makes the Star-Spangled Banner special, is that no other flag and anthem contains a hyphen.

I am pleased at myself for making such a insightful observation. However, instead of listening to me, everyone has lost interest in flags in favour of shouting and screaming and banging the bar; loudly participating in a beard-flea wrestling match in which, it seems, Juan’s beard-fleas are making mincemeat out of Rory’s whisker-nits, but there’s a lot of riding on Fatty’s hair-bugs. Fatty says that he picked them up in the Congo, he doesn’t know exactly what they are, but they are ferocious, and they have a vicious bite. Considering that Fatty is a chef, I am not certain that this is entirely hygienic, but Fatty tells us that he always wears a hair-net in the kitchen. George asks if the hair-net stops all the bugs from escaping. Fatty says that some of the bugs do escape, but it doesn’t matter if they fall into the food, as they are very tasty, in fact, he says, none of the bugs are wasted; under the net, he explains, in the heat and the dirt and the sweat, they breed quickly, so every few months, when the hair-net is full, he boils it with oats to make a nutritious bug porridge for the crew. Rory looks horrified, but I explain that Fatty is a master chef whose genius would only be hampered by irrelevant concerns such as hygiene. Fatty says that a chef who has the time to clean things is not giving enough attention to the food. Food produced in a clean kitchen always tastes soapily bland, whereas, claims Fatty, a rancid kitchen and a filthy chef will produce a variety of interesting flavours and unusual odours.

Albert hangs the Washington flag out of the window, hopefully, the incoming American aircraft will see the flag and realise that we are friendly. George says that, as we are in the vicinity, we should land on the White House lawn, but Aodhàn says that we can’t land as we are, temporarily, stuck. I tell Aodhàn that there’s no point in engines that are meant to transport us around the planet at high speed when all that happens when we arrive is that we get stuck. Not only that, I add, we took over a week to get here, so the engines aren’t as powerful as Aodhàn said, now we are trushelishly behind schedule and stuck again. Juan shouts that he is fed up with being stuck, especially over cities full of beautiful women. Aodhàn says that, while we wait to become unstuck, Juan and I should take the slip-coaches, small aircraft carried on the underside of The Lion. Juan asks why Aodhàn didn’t tell us about the slip-coaches before, Aodhàn takes us to the slip-coaches and explains that this is the first time he has flown The Lion, and he only just discovered them.

I tell Aodhàn that it’s a fantastic discovery, Juan agrees and opens a barrel of Special Reserve, to celebrate, while I collect cases of Vintage Glenesk, Longmorn, Edradour, and Glen Elgin Private Reserve, to take with us. We raise our glasses and offer toast after toast to our fellow passengers and crew, then, after wishing them the best of luck against the armed might of the United States, we clamber into the aeroplanes and, shouting with excitement and bellowing with fear, we dive toward Washington, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Suiswijk

2011-06-20T20:13:00.004+01:00

Because Rory has a problem with crows, we should not talk about them at all, unfortunately, we don’t seem to be able talk about anything else. George wonders where the expression ‘stone-the-crows’ comes from. Fatty tells us that a crow can be killed with a stone, then baked on stones, but, first, he warns, it must be moistened, to stop it drying out. Rory twitches, and yells that he doesn’t want to hear about stoned crows or moist crows, or anything to do with crows, and, he shouts, if anybody says one more thing about crows, he will throw himself out of the window. I tell Fatty that, out of respect to Rory’s problem, rather than referring to crows, he could choose a bird that is only vaguely related to the crow, such as the jackdaw. Fatty says that jackdaws have a unique taste, and they can be soaked in whisky and dried to make jackdaw jerky, which is very different from baked crow. Rory starts to panic and shouts that jackdaws and rooks and ravens and crows are all the same sort of bird, and it doesn’t matter whether they are baked or raw, or dry or wet, they are all disgusting, and they make him sick.

Aodhàn tells us that we are not far from the capital, as the crow flies, and, if the wind continues to blow in the right direction, we will arrive very soon. Juan says that, as soon as we get to Washington, we are invited to meet the Chief. I tell Juan that he has misunderstood the meaning of being on the Most Wanted list. Hearing us talk about something other than crows, Rory looks relieved. However, Juan says that he doesn’t mean the Commander in Chief, the President of the United States, he means our old friend, the Stony Tribe chief, Chief Wet Crow. Rory starts gibbering. Fatty says that, to honour the Chief, he will serve stone-baked crow, garnished with rook jerky, decorated with raven feathers, and steeped in jackdaw blood, to keep it moist. I tell Fatty that this sounds wonderful, if a little excessive. George says that, coincidentally, he has just finished a painting of a jackdaw and he turns his canvas around to show us the painting, Juan says that it’s just another stupid bird, Fatty says that it looks flavoursome, which is what matters most. I tell George that it’s a very nice jackdaw, and Rory should not worry as a jackdaw doesn’t look anything like a crow, but, judging by the fact that Rory is shaking and sweating and gasping for breath, Rory is worried. I tell George that the jackdaw’s egg is pretty. Fatty says that jackdaw egg nog is very tasty. Rory turns green and crawls to the window to be sick.

I remind Rory that we are approaching Washington and warn him not to throw up on the White House. Rory says that he can’t see a white house. Rather than try and explain the difference between a white house and the White House, I quickly finish my bottle of Vintage Tullibardine Founder’s Reserve, fall off my stool, and crawl to the window, to see for myself. Looking down, I have to agree with Rory, there are no particularly conspicuous white houses, and I can’t see the White House either. In one way, this is unsurprising, as we are over Suiswijk, but I thought that, at least, we were in America, so am surprised that we are in the Netherlands.

I tell Aodhàn that, when he said we were approaching the capital. I assumed he meant the capital of the United States of America, because that is where we are meant to be going, but, in fact, we are closer to Amsterdam which, I admit, is a capital city, but of the wrong country. Aodhàn says that the airship’s engines will switch on as soon as they warm up, until then, we are drifting with the wind. Juan says we should stop and meet some Netherland women. I tell Juan that the term ‘Netherland woman’ is not correct. Juan says that there are Highland women in the Highlands, and Lowland women in the Lowlands, so there must be Netherland women in the Netherlands.

Fatty looks down at Suiswijk and says that it looks very boring, so the women are probably boring as well. I think this unfair and point out that Suiswijk is famous for many wonderful, exciting, things. There is a long, expectant, silence, but I do not feel obligated to recite a list of Suiswijkian wonders to ignorant people, so I change the subject by reminding everyone that we are plaintuously behind schedule, and demanding that somebody do something about it.

Aodhàn says that when the engines do start, they have automatic speed correction systems, which will make up for the time we were stuck. Albert says that, in the time we were stuck, we could have got to Washington, so we will have to travel to Washington in no time at all, which is impossible. Fatty says that Albert is right, everything takes time, but the time preparing a delicious meal, he reminds us, is time well used. Juan says that, as far as he is concerned, when it comes to food, the quicker the better, unless you have to catch the food, in which case, the slower the better. Rory says that Albert is right, to make up the time, we would have to travel at infinite speed, which is too fast for an airship. George agrees, saying that an airship is designed to drift majestically, with the serenity of an albatross; it is not meant to dart around like a twitchy swift. I defend the swift by reminding George that the swift darts around because it is catching insects, or failing to catch insects, if the insects are swifter than the swift, and, because swifts have little wings, they have to fly quickly, if they fly slowly, they stall; an albatross, on the other hand, has big wings, so it can stay in the air for a long time. It is a well-known fact that a tired albatross can go to sleep and remain in the air safely, unless it crashes into another sleeping albatross.

There is a hum and Aodhàn says that the engines have started and, if they don’t explode or melt down, we will be over Washington in no time at all. This is wonderful news, to celebrate, Juan orders Vintage Balvenie, Mortlach, Linkwood, and Tullibardine Private Reserve, we drink to the wonders of Suiswijk, offer toast after toast to the nether regions of high and low women and, singing 'Het Wilhelmus' and 'The Star-Spangled Banner' at the top of our voices, we crawl around in confused, befuddled, circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperink’s Diary

Unstuck

2011-06-03T21:04:00.011+01:00

We can’t find the laboratory so, irritated and thirsty; we head back to the bar, to refresh ourselves. I remind everyone that we can only stay for one, quick, drink, as we are still stuck, we have thousands of miles to travel and we are knapdarlochishly behind schedule. Juan orders Vintage Duff’s Defiance Founder’s Reserve, which is wonderfully refreshing. Fatty says that he will serve a light lunch. Rory says that he is still feeling queasy after Fatty’s baked snails and hopes that Fatty isn’t thinking about cooking anything slimy or alarming. Fatty tells us that, as we are over Paris, he is working on a new dish, called nouveau galantine, which he will serve with French tarts. Juan cheers and orders Vintage Glenturret, Edradour, Auchentoshan and Dalmore Private Reserve, to celebrate. Rory, who does not speak French, looks slightly worried and says that the tarts sound nice, but he is not sure about the nouveau galantine. I tell Rory that he has nothing to worry about, when Fatty refers to French tarts and nouveau galantine, he doesn’t mean the Nouveau Galantes, Juan’s group of horribly debauched Parisian friends, many of whom are somewhat slimy and all of whom are definitely alarming. In fact, I assure Rory, Fatty is talking about tasty French pastries such as tourte aux prunes de damas, or tartelettes aux avelins.

George tells Fatty that, as a representative of French cooking, tartelettes aux avelins is a more appropriate dish than tourte aux prunes de damas, as damsons come from Damascus, so tourte aux prunes de damas is not entirely French, whereas tartelettes aux avelins celebrate Saint Philibert of Jumièges, the esteemed abbot and chef who, as a novice, working in his monastery’s kitchen, became inspired by a recipe by Saint Basil the Great of Caesarea, and created ‘Ouranophantor’ fudge flan in the great man’s honour. This proved so popular amongst the brethren that Philibert went on to invent Carmelite caramels, Macarius macaroons, and Columbanus crackers. In later life, as an abbot, Philibert opened nunneries and monasteries dedicated to producing Benedictine buns, Trappist tarts and Franciscan fruit-cakes. Rory looks relieved, so, when Fatty says that, on consideration, rather than pastries, he will serve ragoût de grenouilles, which is wholly and undoubtedly Gallic; I think it best not to tell Rory that grenouilles are frogs.

Albert says that he has a theory about why we are stuck. I tell him that inventing theories is no use; we need to do something useful. George says that he has been doing something useful; he has painted a bird. Juan says that painting a picture of a bird isn’t useful, it’s useless. I don’t think this is fair and I tell Juan that paintings are like Lowlanders, generally useless, but can be used for decoration, however, I remind George, Rory is scared of crows, so I hope that he has not painted another picture of a crow. George says that Rory has nothing to worry abut as he is has not painted a crow and he turns his canvas around to show us his painting. Seeing the painting, Rory goes white and starts to gibber. I tell George that, although it is a very nice crow, after saying that he had not painted a picture of a crow, especially to Rory, who is terrified of crows, it is not fair to suddenly present a picture of a crow.

George says that any fool can see it’s not a crow; it’s a rook, so he is surprised by Rory’s reaction. Juan says that Rory’s reaction is normal after a bottle of Vintage Highland Park Private Reserve. Fatty says that the rook looks tastier than a crow. Rory starts yelling and waving his arms around, shouting that we all know that the one subject on earth that he doesn’t want to know about, and that is the subject of eating crows, or the colour of crows or anything else about crows, but the only thing we ever talk about is crows, and he breaks down and starts sobbing into his whisky.

We all fall off our stools as The Lion tilts and lurches to the left. Aodhàn looks in to say that we are unstuck. This is wonderful news, Juan breaks out a barrel of his Special Reserve, which he keeps for such occasions, Fatty presents us with bowls of stewed frogs, then, while Rory has another breakdown, we offer toast after toast to the wonders of French culture, and, giving thanks for delectable French tarts, we inflate our bagpipes, then, cheering and shouting with excitement, playing ‘Froggie Went a-Courting’ at full volume, we stumble around in befuddled confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Frog Stew

Ingredients: 6 or 8 frogs, salad-oil, one quarter of a pint of white whine, 2 tablespoonfuls of truffle liquor, 8 fresh button mushrooms, one quarter of a pint of brown sauce, salt and pepper.

Method: The hind-quarters of the frogs alone are used, and they should be carefully separated from the rest of the body. Cover the bottom of a sauce-pan with a thin layer of salad-oil, and when thoroughly hot place in it the frogs’ legs. Fry quickly for 2 or 3 minutes, turning the legs once during the process, but most carefully so as to avoid tearing the skin and flesh. Drain, place in a casserole, add the truffle liquor, mushrooms, previously well-washed to free them from grit, and season to taste. Stew very gently for about 30 minutes, then transfer carefully to a hot dish, and strain the wine into a small stewpan. Boil quickly until well reduced, and then add the brown sauce. Season to taste, make thoroughly hot, pour over the cooked frog, and serve.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

Nouvelles Galantes

To the laboratory

2011-05-15T03:40:00.013+01:00

Montmarte

Raven, by George Rankin

'But comes, as sure as Christmas comes,

To ca' for her annuity.'

'An’ there she sits upon my back.'

'An' pay me, pay me, evermair.'

Captain Aodhàn Macallister calls in to the bar to tell us that we are stuck because of a problem in one of the on-board laboratories. Albert asks Aodhàn if he can, at least, turn the airship the right way up. Aodhàn explains that although, technically, it is possible, it is not respectful to look down on a sacred site; inverted, we can look up rather than down at the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. I tell Aodhàn that it would not be disrespectful to turn the airship over as, despite appearances, whichever way up we are, the church is below us and we have to look down to see it.

Fatty says that appearances are important, upside down pudding, for example, must be served the right way up. George remarks that, whichever way up we are, the world might be upside down, and we might be at the bottom, in which case we would be looking up at the church. I tell George that, if we were the right way up, we would have to look down to see the church. Rory says that that means we have to look down to look up, which doesn’t make sense. George says that it only doesn’t make sense if you’re stupid. Albert says that the concept of ‘down’ is not as simple as it seems, and even some scientists do not understand it. I tell Albert that it is so simple that any idiot can understand it; down is the direction of gravity, and I offer to prove it by throwing him out of the window.

Juan tells us that, while we are stuck, he will visit some friends in the Quartier Pigalle, then, when we’re unstuck, we can pick him up on the Rue de Douai. Fatty says that Juan is right, we should take advantage of the time and, he reminds us, we are near the best restaurants in the world, and we should visit them all. George says that, as we are in France, as soon as he has finished the painting he is working on, he will take the opportunity to paint some French birds. Juan says that this is a good idea and offers to introduce George to some French birds. I tell Juan to shut up.

Fatty says that he has been thinking about dinner and, as we are in France, he would like to serve a French dish. Juan says that he was thinking exactly the same thing. Fatty says that, as haggis can only be cooked by a Highlander, so certain French dishes can only be cooked by French chefs, thus, rather than risk insulting his French culinary brothers by serving a second rate Navarin de Mouton, or a less than perfect Gigot de Mouton a la Provencale, he will serve a simple, traditional, meal of Escargots rǒtis. Rory says that, because he is feeling sick with terror, he isn’t hungry, but he probably could stomach something that is easy to digest. I tell Rory that snails are easy to catch, and easy to cook, so they are probably easy to digest. Rory looks a little pale and he says that he doesn’t want to eat snails, remembering that Rory doesn’t speak French; I tell him that escargots are French snails, but he shouldn’t worry, they are delightfully chewy and, when they are chewed, they exude a slimy snail-juice, this lubricates the snails which make them easy to swallow and aids digestion.

Juan says that we should just have one more quick drink then head into Paris, and orders Bladnoch, Glenrothes, Springbank, and Glen Moray Special Reserve. Aodhàn reminds everyone that because of the problem in one of the laboratories, we are stuck, so we can’t go anywhere. Juan says that someone should go to the laboratory and fix the problem. George says that Rory should not go, because he is scared of crows. I tell George that there probably aren’t any crows in the laboratory, so Rory would not have anything to be scared about. George says that Rory is scared of crows, which are relatively harmless, so he will definitely be scared of going into laboratory, which is probably overheating, full of toxic gases, and liable to explode. Fatty says that that is how he feels after a good curry and Juan says the conditions in the laboratory can’t be any worse than in the Cheeky Monkey on a Friday night.

Rory explains to George that, just because someone has particular fear of something, it does not mean that they are necessarily scared of anything else. The most heroic soldier might be terrified of turnips, but, in battle, he is fearless; until someone throws a turnip at him. Fatty says that anybody who is scared of turnips must be stupid, turnips are tasty, but crows taste horrible. Rory shouts at us to shut up because we are talking about eating crows again, and he doesn’t want to hear or see anything to do with the stupid, nasty, things. George remarks that he had been thinking of painting a crow, but, as it would have alarmed Rory, it is lucky that he painted a completely different bird instead. With that, George spins his canvas around, Rory takes one look at the painting, shrieks, and beats his arms around shouting, “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

I reassure Rory, telling him that there is nothing to be worried about, it is only a harmless picture of a crow; if it was a real crow, I point out, it could do something nasty and crowish like waiting until he was asleep then fly through his bedroom window and peck out his eyes and rip his face to shreds before he knew what was happening, but a painting of a crow can’t hurt him, unless he eats it. This advice does calm Rory down as, white with terror, he shouts that we must be insane; we all know that he is scared of crows and disgusted by the idea of eating crows, but all we ever do, he yells, is look at pictures of crows and talk about eating crows and, rocking backwards in horror, Rory falls off his stool and knocks himself unconscious.

George says that he is surprised by Rory’s reaction. Juan hurls a bottle of ale at Rory, to wake him up, and says that Rory’s reaction is normal after a bottle of Vintage Bladnoch. I tell George that he should not be surprised by Rory’s reaction; he knows that Rory is scared of crows, but he painted a picture of a large crow, so he should have known that Rory would scared. Fatty says that the crow looks flavoursome, which is the most important thing. I tell Fatty that it probably tastes like a crow, and everyone knows that crows taste horrible. George says that any imbecile can see it is not a crow, it is a raven. I tell George that I knew it was a raven, it’s obvious, it’s just, I explain, that, because Rory thought it was a crow, I didn’t want to confuse him, so I used the word ‘crow’ in general. George says there’s no such thing as a general crow and that I should use the term for the genus, which is easy to remember as they make a sound like ‘“cor” for us’; ‘Corvus. I tell George that they don’t go “cor” for us, they go “cor” for each other, and anyway, most intelligent people know that they don’t go “cor” at all, they go “caw”, and they aren’t called ‘Cawvusii’, so it’s a stupid way to remember the name.

Fatty says that, because the raven is bigger than a crow, it probably makes a lower sounding caw than a crow, and he makes a low crowing sound, to illustrate the point. I say that Fatty is right but, as well as lowering the pitch of the caw, the large size of the raven will also increase the volume, and I caw loudly, to show them what I mean. Rory says that, because of its size, the raven contains more air than a crow, so it can make a longer caw, and he gives out a long, loud, shrieking, caw. Albert says that there may not be a direct relationship between the size of the bird and the sound it makes, the best way to imitate the noise that it makes, he says, is to produce a caw that varies in volume, pitch and length, which he demonstrates. Juan says that the caw isn’t everything, crows and ravens also communicate with movement, and he flaps his arms, hops sideways and makes frightful cawing noises. Everyone thinks that their own version of a raven’s cry is the right one and we flap and crow and caw at each other until Rory starts screaming and Juan has to knock him out with a bottle of stout, to calm him down.

I tell Juan that he is too aggressive. Juan says he’s not aggressive, it is just that he is angry because there are no women in the bar, and a bar without women, he reminds us, is like a cat without fur, it might be good company, but you wouldn’t want to stroke it. George says that, often, men go to bars to get away from women. At this, Juan looks shocked. I tell Juan that, occasionally, some men do have bad experiences with women, and this, I remind him, is a fact that even our dim old friend, George Outram, noticed, and commented on, and, to the air, ‘Duncan Davidson’, while keeping time by kicking Rory in the kidneys, I sing Outram’s ‘The Annuity’ at the top of my lungs:

I gaed to spend a week in Fife -
An unco week it proved to be -
For there I met a waesome wife
Lamentin' her viduity.
Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell,
I thought her heart wad burst the shell;
And - I was sae left to mysel', -
I sell't her an annuity.

The bargain lookit fair eneugh -
She just was turned o' saxty-three -
I couldna guessed she'd prove sae teugh,
By human ingenuity.
But years have come, and years have gane,
And there she's yet as stieve as stane -
The limmer's growin' young again,
Since she got her annuity.

She's crined' awa' to bane and skin,
But that, it seems, is nought to me;
She's like to live - although she's in
The last stage o' tenuity.
She munches wi' her wizen'd gums,
An' stumps about on legs o' thrums;
But comes, as sure as Christmas comes,
To ca' for her annuity.

She jokes her joke, an’ cracks her crack
As spunkie as a growin’ flea -
An’ there she sits upon my back,
A livin’ perpetuity.
She hurkles by her ingle side,
Ann’ toasts an’ tans her wrinkled hide-
Lord kens how lang she yet may bide
To ca’ for her annuity!

I read the tables drawn wi' care
For an insurance company;
Her chance o' life was stated there,
Wi' perfect perspicuity.
But tables here or tables there,
She's lived ten years beyond her share,
An' 's like to live a dizzen mair,
To ca' for her annuity.

I gat the loon that drew the deed-
We spelled it o’er right carefully;-
In vain he yerked his souple head,
To find an ambiguity:
It’s dated-tested-a’complete -
The proper stamp- nae word delete-
And diligence, as on decreet,
May pass for her annuity.

Last Yule she had a fearfu' hoast, -
I thought a kink might set me free: -
I led her out, 'mang snaw and frost,
Wi' constant assiduity.
But deil ma' care - the blast gaed by,
And miss'd the auld anatomy;
It just cost me a tooth, forbye
Discharging her annuity.

I thought that grief might gar her quit-
Her only son was lost at sea-
But aff her wits behuved to flit,
An leave her in fatuity!
She threeps, an’ threeps, he’s livin’ yet,
For a’ the lellin’ she can get:
But catch the doited runt forget
To ca’ for her annuity.

If there's a' sough o' cholera,
Or typhus, - wha sae gleg as she?
She buys up baths, an' drugs, an' a',
In siccan superfluity!
She doesna need - she's fever proof -
The pest gaed o'er her very roof -
She tauld me sae - an' then her loof
Held out for her annuity.

Ae day she fell - her arm she brak -
A compound fracture as could be -
Nae Leech the cure wad undertake,
Whate'er was the gratuity.
It's cured! She handles’t like a flail -
It does as weel in bits as hale -
But I'm a broken man mysel'
Wi' her and her annuity.

Her broozled flesh and broken banes
Are weel as flesh and banes can be.
She beats the taeds that live in stanes,
An' fatten in vacuity!
They die when they're exposed to air -
They canna thole the atmosphere;
But her! - expose her onywhere -
She lives for her annuity.

If mortal means could nick her thread,
Sma' crime it wad appear to me;
Ca't murder - or ca't homicide,
I'd justify’t - an' do it tae.
But how to fell a withered wife
That's carved out o' the tree o' life -
The timmer limmer daurs the knife
To settle her annuity.

I'd try a shot. - But whar's the mark?
Her vital parts are hid frae me;
Her backbane wanders through her sark
In an unkenn'd corkscrewity.
She's palsified – an’ shakes her head
Sae fast about, ye scarce can see;
It's past the power o' steel or lead
To settle her annuity.

She might be drowned; - but go she'll not
Within a mile o' loch or sea; -
Or hanged - if cord could grip a throat
O' siccan exiguity.
It's fitter far to hang the rope -
It draws out like a telescope;
'Twad tak a dreadfu' length o' drop
To settle her annuity.

Will puzion do't? - It has been tried;
But, be't in hash or fricassee,
That's just the dish she can't abide,
Whatever kind o' goût it hae.
It's needless to assail her doubts, -
She gangs by instinct, - like the brutes,
An' only eats an' drinks what suits
Hersel' and her annuity.

The Bible says the age o' man
Threescore and ten, perchance, may be;
She's ninety-four; - let them wha can,
Explain the incongruity.
She should hae lived afore the Flood -
She's come o' Patriarchal blood,
She's some auld Pagan mummified
Alive for her annuity.

She's been embalmed inside and oot -
She's sauted to the last degree -
There's pickle in her very snout
Sae caper-like an' cruetty;
Lot's wife was fresh compared to her;
They've kyanised the useless knir,
She canna decompose - nae mair
Than her accursed annuity.

The water-drop wears out the rock,
As this eternal jaud wears me;
I could withstand the single shock,
But not the continuity.
It's pay me here, an' pay me there,
An' pay me, pay me, evermair -
I'll gang demented wi' despair -
I'm charged for her annuity.

I finish the poem by dramatically pounding the bar with Rory’s head. I expect applause but everyone has fallen asleep through boredom. This is irritating. I order Vintage whisky, to liven everyone up, and I remind Juan that the sooner we fix the problem in the laboratory, the sooner we will be unstuck and, I suggest, after a quick dram, we should all head to the laboratory.

Juan says that this is a good idea and, for courage, he orders Vintage Inchgower, Glenkinchie, Duftown, and Glen Garioch Private Reserve. Fatty produces some snails and, after we salute French cuisine, raise our glasses to French culture, offer toast after toast to French women, and drink to the hope of getting some soon, we play ‘The Process of Wakenin’’ ‘Drinkin’ Drams’, ‘My Wife Has Come to Cure Me’, and ‘The Sign of the Craw’, then enthusiastically heading to the laboratory, we bounce off the first wall we come to, fall in a heap, and crawl around in hopeless, bruised, confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Baked Snails

Ingredients:- 2 dozen snails, 1 ounce of butter, 1 teaspoonful of finely-chopped parsley, 1 shallot finely-chopped, breadcrumbs, salt and pepper.

Method. Soak the snails in salt and water for 12 hours, then drain them well. Sprinkle lightly with salt, pepper, shallot and parsley, cover with breadcrumbs, and add a small piece of butter. Bake in a moderate oven for 20 minutes, and serve hot.

Time, to bake, about 20 minutes.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

'The Annuity' illustrated by Edmund J. Sullivan

Missing Washington

2011-05-01T03:10:00.007+01:00

After several days, we continue to enjoy Fatty’s handsomely provisioned bar. For dinner, Fatty suggests Royal Lochnagar, Bowmore, Caperdonich, Glenfarclas, and Linkwood Private Reserve, I tell Fatty that his selection is inspired; Juan says that it inspires him to meet some women, urgently, and he wants to know where we are. We have been travelling for days and we are dringlingly behind schedule, so I hope we have reached

America

. Albert checks the time and says that, in theory, we should be over Washington. I tell him that his theory is stupid because it is stupid to make up a theory when you can check the facts. Fatty stumbles to the window, to report our position, and says that we are flying over a big white house.

I tell Fatty that it is not a big white house; it is the White House, where the king lives. Rory says that it is the White House, where the president lives,

America

, he reminds me, is not a monarchy, it is a republic, Americans don’t have a king or a queen. Fatty says that, if they don’t have a royal family, meals in

America

must be boring. Juicy gossip about kings, queens, princesses and princes adds spice to a meal, but glaze-inducing tattle about politicians makes the average diner go into a stupor. Fatty adds that, because they are brainless, he always serves calf’s brains to politicians; he says it boosts their intellect to that of the average cow.

Rory says that, after years in the desert, with only a deaf camel to speak to, he misses intellectual conversation, and he asks me for my opinion on Vācaspatimiçra’s Tattvabindu. I don’t know what Rory is talking about, fortunately, Rory did not ask for an informed opinion; we have been talking about calf brains, the name Vācaspatimiçra sounds Indian, Tattvabindu sounds like a curry, and, although I don’t know Vācaspatimiçra personally, I imagine that, like every Indian person, he makes a wonderful curry, so I tell Rory that, in my opinion, Vācaspatimiçra’s curried calf’s brain is a delightful meal, and, when I can get it, I always I enjoy it. Juan says that he enjoys it when he can get it as well, but I know that Juan is not talking about curry. Rory say’s he isn’t talking about curry either. I tell them that, for people who are not talking about curry, we are talking about curry a lot. Fatty says that he when he cooks brains for American diners, he does not curry them, because American’s brains are hot enough already, it would be perilous to make them hotter.

George says that he does not want to think about eating brains, and he crawls to the window, to be sick. Fatty is offended and says that raw sheep’s brains steeped in fermented brain-juice is a great delicacy, Juan suggests that George’s vast consumption of Vintage Caperdonich Founder’s Reserve has made him feel delicate. I tell George not to be sick on the White House, it is not a dignified way to announce one’s arrival, but George reports that the only thing he can see that resembles a large white house is the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. I inform Albert that, evidently, we have missed Washington; in fact, we are over Montmartre, which proves that his theory about being over Washington is stupid.

Albert says that the theory may be wrong, but it is not stupid. In theory, he informs us, a bee might fly very well, whereas, in fact, it might not be able to get off the ground, nevertheless, the theory itself is perfectly reasonable. George points out that a theory that bees can fly is pointless, because bees can fly. Albert says he chose a bad example of a good theory, I tell him that a good example of a bad theory is his theory that we are over Washington when, in fact, we are over Paris.

Rory falls off his stool. Juan says that that is normal after a bottle of Royal Lochnagar Family Reserve, this is true, but, when I fall off my stool as well, I realise that we are tilting. I tell Rory to look out of the window to see what is happening, but Rory says that he is scared of heights. Fatty says that anyone who is scared of heights must be stupid because you can’t avoid heights, they’re everywhere, clouds and mountains are high, trees are high and there are high temperatures, high table, high game, highly appreciated nibbles, and serving boiled pig’s head to the Rabbinical Council, which, he says, sadly, was the height of stupidity.

George says that he is only scared of heights when the ground is below him. I tell George not to worry, as we are turn upside down, the ground will appear above us, and the height will decrease as we descend. George shouts that there is something to worry about, instead of floating over Washington we are crashing on Paris. I tell him that it could be worse, we could be crashing in the sea, or into the middle of a desert, somewhere without anything to eat or drink, but Montmartre, I remind him, is full of wonderful restaurants.

Fatty says that it is lucky we are crashing in France, rather than

America

, because French cuisine makes American cuisine look like cat food. I tell Fatty that this is not fair; at least Americans do not live on slugs and toads. Fatty says that the French do not live on slugs and toads, they eat snails and frogs, I tell Fatty that I can’t see the difference, Fatty says that it is easy to tell the difference, frogs can jump, snails can’t. I know this, but, before I can pursue the subject, George says that, compared to French wine, American wine tastes like swamp water. Juan says he can’t see the problem, in America and France, the women are incomparable; to celebrate, he orders Vintage Glenturret, Tobermory, Benrinnes, and Glendronach Private Reserve, Fatty serves cervelles de veau a la poulette, then, brainless or not, we offer toast after toast to women of all nations, then, to offer due respect, Juan and I inflate our bagpipes and, while I play ‘La Marseillaise’, Juan plays the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’, until, after everyone begs us to stop, we launch in to ‘Scots Wha Hae’; after dancing the Highland Fling until we’re too dizzy to stand, I decide that the captain needs our help, everyone agrees, so, yelling with excitement, we shout ill-informed, contradictory, advice and crawl around in panicky confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Calf’s Brains with Poulette Sauce

Ingredients, 2 calves’ brains. For the sauce: half a pint of stock, one and a half ounces of butter, one ounce of flour, two tablespoonfuls of cream, the juice of one lemon, one shallot, finely-chopped, one teaspoonful f finely-chopped parsley. For the rice border: one pint of white stock, four ounces of rice, the yolk of one egg, salt and pepper, nutmeg.

Method, wash the brains in several waters, put them in a stewpan with as much water as will cover them, add a few drops of lemon-juice and a teaspoonful of salt. Boil up slowly, then remove the brains, drain well, and cut them into thick dice. Wash the rice, blanch and drain it well, and cook in the stock until tender. Melt the butter in a small stewpan, fry the shallot until lightly browned, stir in the flour, cook for a few minutes without browning, pour in the stock, and stir until it boils. Simmer the sauce gently for ten minutes, strain, return to the stewpan, put in the brains, cram, remainder of the lemon-juice, and re-heat gradually. When the rice is tender, season it with salt, pepper, add a pinch of nutmeg and the yolk of egg, cook for a few minutes longer, then turn into a well-buttered border mould. Shake the rice well down, in order that it may fill every part of the mould, then turn it on to a hot dish. Add the parsley to the contents of the stewpan, dish the ragout in the centre of the rice border, and serve hot.

Time, about one hour, sufficient for six or seven persons.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

To Washington

2011-04-16T11:55:00.009+01:00

Fatty says that he was thinking about putting fish on the menu, because everybody likes fish. I tell Fatty that, because of their beliefs, some people do not eat fish. Fatty says, in that case, their beliefs are wrong, so they must be stupid. Albert says a lot of people believe things that are wrong, but that doesn’t mean that they are stupid, just misguided and ignorant. Rory says that his business depends on people believing things that are real, when, in fact, they are just made up. Rory explains that, with his career in tatters, ostracised, and isolated from the scientific community, he earns his living by producing photographs of cryptoids, and selling them to the popular press. Cryptoids, Rory explains, are non-existent creatures, and he passes us a photograph, as evidence.

Looking at the picture, I tell Rory that someone has cut out a picture of a cheetah and stuck it on a picture of a desert. Rory explains that it’s meant to be a picture of a desert cheetah, he took a photograph of the desert, he says, then he cut out a picture of a cheetah from a book about cheetahs, then he stuck the cheetah on the picture of the desert. Juan interrupts to ask Rory if dodos slowly became cryptoids, or did they become cryptoidic on the day they were declared extinct. Rory says that doesn’t know, but, in the instance of dodos, it doesn’t matter. A photograph of a cryptoid dodo would not interest the masses, a dodo isn’t monstrous, successful cryptoids, he tells us, must be frightening, or horrible, like a lake monster.

I tell Rory I know what he means, and show him a photograph of uncle Herbert catching an eel. Fatty says the eel would make very long eel pie, or a high one, but Rory is not impressed and says that it is just a picture of a big eel, but eels are not particularly mysterious or peculiar. I tell him that he is right, the eel is perfectly normal, the lake is stuffed with the creatures, it’s uncle Herbert who is peculiar, but, I add, there’s nothing mysterious about the desert cheetah either, the desert is leaping with cheetahs, they’re pests, it’s just that naturalists can’t be bothered to chase cheetahs around the desert, it’s too hot, the cheetahs are too fast and people are more interested in tigers.

Juan says that his grandfather bred peculiar chickens, Gallus Džugi, swimming chickens, who swam across the Someşul Mic River to escape vampires, unfortunately, vampires can swim better than chickens, and the Gallus Džugi breed is extinct. I remind Juan that his grandfather also bred the Džugi Gallus, a chicken that could only run backwards, so it bumped into things and was easy to catch, and a ‘double’ chicken, the Gallus Gallus Džugi; he claimed it saved space in the chicken shed, it was nearly twice the size of a normal chicken, but only needed one place to sit.

Rory says that we are missing the point; chickens are not cryptoids, they aren’t rare, strange, or dangerous. I tell Rory that desert cheetahs are as common as muck, they aren’t horrible, they aren’t mysterious and, unless you are being chased by one, they are not frightening, but, instead of bothering to photograph a real desert cheetah, Rory produced a fake photograph of a desert cheetah, and claimed it’s a cryptoid, behaviour that, frankly, is verging on the insane. Rory says that the Royal Society said the same thing, but the gutter press paid a lot of money for the picture, so the Royal Society can shove it.

I point out that, behind the fake cheetah, there is a giant desert serpent. Rory says that there is no such thing as a giant desert serpent. I hand him the photograph, but Rory ignores it and says that it must be a fake; the giant desert serpent doesn’t exist, he says, so, obviously, the photographer must be a lying, cheating, greedy, sneaky, scheming, low-down, fraudster. I think this is a little harsh and I remind him that he took the photograph himself and, when he stuck a cut-out picture of a cheetah on it, he probably got carried away and stuck a giant serpent on it as well, for good measure. Rory denies all knowledge of the thing and, when George points directly at it, Rory says that it is just a bush.

Looking at the picture, I can see that Rory is quite right; the monster serpent is no more than a blurred bush, and anyone who says that it is a desert serpent must be a complete idiot. Irritatingly, George says that any fool can see it is a real serpent, and Fatty agrees. As much as I hate to admit it, George and Fatty are not complete idiots, so I examine the picture again, this time I can see the monster clearly, and I declare that there is no doubt at all that Rory has inadvertently captured a genuine picture of the legendary desert serpent.

Albert accuses me of just believing the last thing I heard and not thinking anything through, which means, he says, that my opinion is worthless. I am sure that he is right, but, in my defence, I point out that George and Fatty don’t know anything about cryptoids, deserts, cheetahs, bushes or serpents either, so they are just bleating out unformed, uninformed, theories, and their uneducated opinions only serve to distort the evidence, twist the facts and obscure the truth. However, while George and Fatty might not know anything about the subject, I, on the other hand, have fallen into a lot of bushes, so that does give me the right to offer an authoritative opinion on bushes, bushes that look like cryptoids, cryptoids that look like cheetahs, cheetahs that look like serpents and other unrelated subjects about which I know nothing.

People are twitching with boredom, but I am not responsible for their lack of interest, and, choosing a subject that I think might be something to do with whatever it was I was talking about, I bluster on about Juan’s extraordinary singing and dancing troupe, the unbelievable Squeak Sisters; until Fatty picks me up and hurls me against a wall

Some time later, Juan chucks beer into my face, to wake me up, and informs me that Captain Aodhàn Macallister has received instructions to take over as pilot, and fly us to Washington. Aodhàn is an experienced, highly skilled, pilot, and Juan always claims that Washingtonian women are the most beautiful women in the world, so this is wonderful news, and Juan orders cases of Vintage Dalmore, Lagavulin, Tamdhu, and Miltonduff Founder’s Reserve, to celebrate.

Aodhàn looks in to tell us that we are ready to take off, and we raise our glasses to salute the valour and fortitude of the people we are leaving behind, then, drinking to a wonderful future for their country, and, giving thanks that we are leaving the frightening dump, we soar into the desert sky, cheering, singing, clapping and lurching around in excited confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Eel Pie

Ingredients: one and a half pounds of eels, half a pint of meat stock, one tablespoonful of mushroom ketchup, one dessertspoonful of lemon-juice, pepper and salt, rough puff paste, or puff.

Method: clean and skin the eels, and cut them into pieces abut two inches long. Put the heads, tails, and fins into a stew-pan with the stock, simmer for half an hour, then strain, and skim well. Place the eels in a pie-dish, with a good seasoning of salt and pepper between the layers. Add the lemon-juice and ketchup to the stock, pour about half of it into the pie-dish, cover with paste, and bake in a fairly-hot oven for one hour. Warm the remainder of the stock, and pour it into the pie through a funnel as soon as it is taken from the oven.

One hour to bake, sufficient for four or five persons. Seasonable all year, but best from June to March

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

Eating Crow

2011-04-12T18:29:00.013+01:00

Fatty’s new bar is very accommodating and it is difficult to leave. Nonetheless, I remind my companions, we have to go as we have a huge, urgent, task to complete, but the longer we stay in the bar, the longer we don’t go anywhere, but we aren’t going anywhere, we are in hostile territory and we are glaschandishly behind schedule. Ordering another six bottles of Vintage Glencadam Private Reserve, Juan says that we should stay a little longer as Fatty’s new bar is very good, it reminds him, he says, of a pub called the Crow and Hoop. On hearing the word ‘crow’, Rory MaCullum twitches. I tell Rory to ignore Juan, while it is true Fatty’s new bar is very good, with a wonderful selection of Fine Vintage Malts, but, I tell Rory, Juan is only mentioning crows to be irritating. Juan, however, won’t shut up, and says that that when he is on watch at sea, he spends many happy hours in the crow’s nest, watching the sea, or sleeping, and dreaming about the Crow and Hoop.

For Juan to deliberately annoy Rory is ignorant and unfair, Rory is a brilliant, dedicated, hard working surgeon, operating in difficult and dangerous circumstances, and he became a doctor of medicine in order to heal people, to save people’s lives. However, rather than acknowledging Rory’s inspiring commitment, Juan, who is brutish, lazy and who only joined the medical profession in order to more closely examine women, childishly insists on bringing up the one subject guaranteed to make Rory nervous and upset. I think about shutting Juan up by hitting him on the head with a crowbar, but decide against it in the interests of common courtesy.

Juan ordinarily behaves like a delinquent, but I expect better of George, so I am shocked when George produces a painting of a carrion crow. However, I have to admit that it is a very fine crow, Juan, boorishly, tells George that if he can’t paint a picture of a woman he is just wasting paint and spoiling a good canvas. I tell Juan that the canvas isn’t spoiled because the paint will make the canvas waterproof, which is a good thing, and, I point out, George did not waste much coloured paint, as the crow is mostly black. Fatty says that the painting inspires him to serve minced crow with stuffed pig’s feet. I remind Fatty that pork is not a favourite food in this area and Albert says that, historically, people do not want to eat crow either. Rory shouts that people talking about crows all the time is sending him crazy.

Albert, ignoring Rory, remarks that, at least, George did paint the crow black, which is the proper colour for a crow. George tells Albert that crows come in different colours and, in fact, some people say that the crow’s feathers contain spots of blue. Fatty says that it looks tasty, which is always a good sign. Rory bangs his fists on the bars and yells that we are talking about eating crows again, I say that, strictly speaking, we could be talking about swallowtails, which are often confused with crows, but Rory yells that it doesn’t matter if they are swallowtails or crows, or blue crows or spotted crows or spotted blue crows, he can’t bear to hear about crows or eating crows, or anything about crows at all. With that, Rory slumps onto the bar and starts weeping.

Fatty asks why the subject of crows upsets Rory so much. I explain that when Rory was an internationally recognised lepidopterist, he was asked to identify a particular species of butterfly. However, as Rory had just returned from a vicious drinking session with Juan and Mahalath, his vision was so badly askew that the butterfly was too blurred to identify, sadly, rather than admit that he was too sozzled to see straight, he guessed, and said that the butterfly was a swallowtail, the Great Blue Mime, Papilio paradoxus, but, tragically, he guessed wrong, actually, the butterfly was the Blue Spotted Crow, the deadly Danaid, Euploea midamus.

Needing a snack, and, seeing that Rory is visibly distressed, I change the subject from eating crows to eating chicken by asking Fatty for half a chicken. Fatty says that half chickens are a rare breed, and he doesn’t have any, he was thinking about baking a lark and wren pie, but he is short of wrens; on the other hand, he says, roast swallowtail sounds nice, but he is not sure what kind of bird a swallowtail is, so he doesn’t know how to cook it, however, he adds, if it would be of any help, he would be happy to serve a cold collation dish, such as larks farcie, instead, especially as pigs are off the menu, and Rory doesn’t like crows. I tell Fatty that that is a good idea, but Rory moans, puts his head in his hands, and rocks backwards and forwards in distress.

Seeing that Rory is so disturbed, George says that he is sure that Rory guessing the species of butterfly might have been a tad unprofessional but, ultimately, it cannot be too serious. I tell George that, unfortunately, it was criminally irresponsible. Juan says that Rory is an idiot, everybody knows that the difference between the Great Blue Mime and the Blue Spotted Crow is that you can spend all day stuffing Blue Mimes into your mouth and the only thing that will happen is your tongue will turn blue and your throat will get a bit tickly, but eating the Blue Crow will probably kill you, because it’s poisonous. And this, I explain, was the problem; a picture of Rory’s misidentified butterfly was published in a survival manual; trusting the guide, a Special Services chef inadvertently cooked up a Euploea midamus stew, an entire company of soldiers became too incapacitated to function, failed to stop a local uprising and a massacre ensued. To make matters worse, when the blame for the slaughter fell on Rory, rather than admit he had made a grievous error, he claimed that the butterfly was a Papilio paradoxus, Euploea midamus hybrid; the entire entomological community turned against Rory and, in entomological magazines, there appeared ludicrous pictures of supposed hybrids with names such as Papilio Leuconoe MaCullum. The shame was too much to bear and Rory, his reputation destroyed and his career in ruins, was forced to abandon his studies, leave

Scotland

, and hide out in the desert for ten years.

Juan, to take Rory’s mind off his problems with crows, orders Vintage Lochside, Glen Spey, Tamnavulin, and Dailluaine Special Reserve, Fatty knocks up a plate of lark farcie, we offer toast after toast to Rory and wish him better luck in the future, I inflate my bagpipes and play a wild rendition of the air, ‘Chough and Crow’, Juan bellows a bawdy version of James Macdonald’s ‘The Lark and the Wren’, then, singing and cheering and shouting with excitement, we tumble around in befuddled circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Stuffed Pig’s Feet, (Pieds de Porc, Farcis)

Ingredients – 4 pig’s feet, 1 tablespoonful of four, 1 egg, breadcrumbs.

For the stuffing: 2 tablespoonfuls of cooked and finely-chopped onion. 1 small tablespoonful of breadcrumbs, half a teaspoonful of powdered sage, 1 tablespoonful of oiled butter, half a teaspoonful of made mustard, half a teaspoonful of salt, quarter of a teaspoonful of pepper.

Method, - Put the feet into a stewpan with a teaspoonful of salt, cover with cold water, and boil gently for about 3 hours. When done, split the feet, remove the bones, and press the forcemeat made of the above ingredients into the cavities. Replace the halves together, and press between 2 dishes, with a heavy weight on top, until cold. When read to use, cut the feet into slices about 1 inch in thickness, roll each piece in flour, brush over with egg, coat with breadcrumbs, and fry until nicely browned in hot fat. Or, if preferred, fry them in a little hot butter in a sauté-pan. Garnish with fried parsley before serving.

Time; 5 or 6 hours. Sufficient for 5 or 6 persons.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

Fatty’s new bar

2011-03-31T02:16:00.010+01:00

We stop to pick up Albert and Eric, Albert’s robot, and Doctor Rory MaCullum, to help Juan, and then we race around providing medical services, food, and emergency supplies to disaster stricken areas. After several weeks, we are very aware that the catastrophic conditions that so many people are enduring leave us with no right to complain about anything, nonetheless, we complain about everything.

Fatty complains that, in the Middle East, some of his meals were left untouched. I tell him not to worry, whether they eat it or not, everybody appreciates his wonderful food, for instance, everyone knows that, when Fatty cooks it, pig’s ears and feet in jelly is a superb meal, however, I remind him, many Arabic people do not eat pork. Fatty grumbles that they do not know what they are missing; next time, he says, he will serve boiled crow, garnished with pig snouts and parsley, and they can ignore the snouts if they want, it’s their loss. I tell Fatty that I am not sure if boiled crow will be a welcome meal, with or without snouts, Rory interrupts to ask us not to talk about crows as, he tells us, he had a bad experience with the creatures and the subject upsets him.

George says that he thinks crows are good subjects and, inspired, he paints a crow. Juan says that the picture is rubbish because the subject is stupid, and George should stop painting birds and paint women instead. George says crows aren’t stupid, and, he adds, he wouldn’t paint stupid women either. Albert says that it doesn’t look like a crow, it’s the wrong colour, it should be black. George says that it’s a gray, or grey, crow, because it’s gray, or grey. I point out that it is also called Corvus cornix, the hooded crow, because it looks as if it is hooded, or a ‘Royston’ crow, because it’s ugly and nasty, like the people of Royston, but, I add, they must be tasty because East Prussians collect them in autumn and preserve the hoodies for winter food, and, although everyone believes that East Prussian cuisine consists entirely of raw potato, in fact, it is augmented with rancid crow. Rory tells us to stop talking about crows, because it makes him feel ill.

Juan says that there are more important things to worry about, and complains that we are running low on Highland Park Special Reserve, I point out that it is entirely his fault, we have had to render hundreds of patients unconscious with Highland Park, this is because our supply of morphine was meant to be for injured people, who really need it, but, stupidly, Juan gave it to the crew. Juan says that the crew really needed it because they were too tense.

I remind Juan that the crew of a giant, dangerous, experimental aircraft are not meant to be too relaxed, or, at least, not slumped over the controls, snoring and drooling. George says that, in their defence, the crew were tense because we had crashed and people were shooting at us. I tell him that, with Fatty as the captain, the crew should be used to crashing, and people were shooting at each other anyway, they only shot at us because Albert flew a flag out of a window, but he flew the wrong flag, and it irritated people. Albert says that it wasn’t his fault; Eric chose the flag and, logically, it was the right flag, just in the wrong place. George tells Albert that, with flags, location is very important, but I point out that that it might have been the right flag, in the right place, but at the wrong time, and if Eric does not know to fly the right flag, at the right time, in the right place, he is a useless piece of junk, and I call for a crew member to dispose of the robot, but all the crew are asleep.

Juan complains about the lack of nurses. Albert says that, because Juan and Rory have been working without assistance, on this occasion, he has to agree with Juan, more nurses are needed. I tell Albert that it doesn’t matter what he is doing, Juan always wants more nurses. George complains that, as everyone here seems to speak the same language, share the same history, culture and religion, and live in the same country, he can’t understand why they are shooting at each other. I tell George that I don’t know why people are shooting each other, personally, I add, I only shoot people by accident. Juan says he doesn’t know either, and says that he only shoots people in self-defence. I point out this doesn’t count as Juan believes that attack is the best form of self-defence, and when he’s nervous, he shoots people anyway, just in case.

Fatty says that he wouldn’t shoot anybody or anything, although, he tells us, when he was a young boy, he did shoot a crow with a crossbow, but he immediately regretted it. George says that he understands how upset Fatty would be; the crow is a beautiful bird. Fatty says that he regretted it because it tasted horrible. Rory tells us to stop talking about crows, it’s upsetting. George says that there’s nothing upsetting about crows, but Rory bursts into tears. Albert asks me if the English phrase ‘eating crow’ is the same as ‘having egg on your face’. I tell Albert that ‘eating crow’ is closer to the phrase ‘eating humble pie’. Rory is a good example, I point out, he doesn’t like crows because, before giving a lecture at the Royal Society, he had been on a vicious pub-crawl with Juan and Mahalath, so, when he muddled up some pictures during his presentation, he was too inebriated to realise that the picture he was showing wasn’t a crow, as he claimed, but that it was a completely different creature, and, when challenged, he just got more confused and kept on insisting that it was a crow, then, to make matters worse, he produced a picture of a real crow, and told everyone that it wasn’t a crow and offered to fight everyone who disagreed with him.

Before he could finish his lecture, Rory was dragged from the stage and thrown out of the door, he missed the evening feast, and his academic career came to an abrupt and ignominious end. Albert asks me what this has to do with eating crow. I explain that eating crow is the same as eating humble pie and, rather than enjoy the extravagant pie served by the society; he went home and had a humble pie instead. Fatty says that that is a very sad story, and he can understand why Rory is upset, and, because of it, he pronounces, he will serve a proper, proud, pyramid cream for Rory, to make up for his humble pie, and, instead of boiled crow, he will serve his specialty, blackbird pie, without snouts.

I make vaguely encouraging noises about Fatty’s desnouted blackbirds; but Albert says that blackbirds don’t have snouts, so there’s nothing special about snoutless blackbird pie. I tell Albert that some people think unsnouted blackbirds are very special, but Fatty says that Albert is right; a meal of non-snouted blackbirds is too austere, a rook pie, on the other hand, would be ideal. George says that rooks are like crows, so they probably taste like crows, and crow pie would be horrible. Rory shouts that if he hears one more word about crows he will throw up. I agree with Rory, we have a thousand things to do, all of them desperately urgent, hundreds of operations to perform, tons of food to deliver, we are lost, we have crashed, people are shooting at us, we are gallivasteringly behind schedule, the crew are unconscious, and all we seem able to do is talk about crows, it’s pathetic.

Fatty says that he has been thinking about Albert’s question. I can’t remember Albert asking a question but I tell Fatty that, if Albert wants his questions answered, he should ask Eric, because answering questions is what robots are meant to be good at, but Fatty says that there is a difference between eating crow and having egg on your face, and it is important to know the difference, splashes of egg, milk, cream, and other diary products can be delicately removed from the with the tips of a serviette, if it is folded into the shape of a lily, crow fat, however, is best removed from the chin by vigorous rubbing with a fan shaped serviette, different meals require different serviettes, he reminds us, quickly folding serviettes into a variety of shapes. Noticing that everyone looks bored witless, Fatty says that, because we are all ignorant, we might not see the illuminating inspiration that flows from a properly folded serviette, but, Fatty declares, the design of the new bar on the twenty-second deck was inspired by a neatly folded serviette lily. This is the first time we have heard of the new bar and we rush there immediately, to inspect it.

We inspect it in seconds, then, ordering Vintage Balblair, Tomatin, Miltonduff, and Craigellachie Private Reserve, we tell Fatty that his bar is truly inspired, then, after saluting Fatty, offering toast after toast to the success of the his new bar, and drinking to the swift onset of peace and stability, I order more whisky, Juan inflate his bagpipes and plays wild Highland war dances while, yelling with excitement and brawling about nothing at all, shouting, cheering, kicking a helpless robot, and firing our weapons at random, we crash around in confused, hysterical, circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Pig’s Feet and Ears in Jelly

Ingredients. 4 Pig’s feet, 2 pig's ears, 1 dessertspoonful of finely-chopped parsley, half a dessertspoonful of finely-chopped fresh sage, sat and pepper.

Method. Thoroughly cleanse the feet and ears, cover them with cold water, and simmer gently until the bones can be easily withdrawn. Cut the meat into dice, replace it in the liquor, add the parsley, sage, and salt and pepper to taste. Simmer gently for 15 minutes, then turn into a mould or basin, and put outside until cold.

Time, about 3 hours. Average cost, uncertain; sufficient for 1 medium-sized mould. Seasonable in winter.

Rook Pie

Ingredients. 6 young rooks, three quarters of a pound of rump steak, a quarter of a pound of butter, half a pint of stock, salt and pepper, paste.

Method. Skin the birds without plucking them, by cutting the skin near the thighs, and drawing it over the body and head. Draw the birds in the usual manner, remove the necks and backs, and split the birds down the breast. Arrange them in a deep pie-dish, cover each breast with thing strips of steak, season well with salt and pepper, intersperse small pieces of butter, and add as much stock as will three quarters fill the dish. Cover with veal paste and bake from one and a half hours to two hours, for the first half an hour in a hot oven to make the paste rise, and afterwards more slowly to allow the birds to become thoroughly cooked. When the pie is about three quarters baked, brush it over with yolk of egg to glaze the crust, and, before serving, pour in, through the hole on the top, the remainder of the stock.

Time, to bake, from one and half to two hours. Average cost, uncertain, as they are seldom sold. Sufficient for five or six persons.

The Rooks are wild birds, found abundantly in most parts of Britain and Ireland. They live in communities, and feed on seeds, insects and vermin. Their flesh is tough and coarse-flavoured. Only the young birds are eaten, generally being shot almost before they take to the wing. The backbones and adjoining flesh is always removed, as these parts have a strong, bitter taste, which soon contaminates the rest of the flesh.

Recipes by Isabella Beeton, 1861

We find Sergeant Khan

2011-02-23T13:37:00.013Z

Bahaa very kindly tears himself away from a party and directs us to the Wadi Nafron, where we find Bahaa’s brother, Sergeant Matak Khan, with our camels, Ipy and Kauket. Fatty says that Sergeant Khan has a very boring job, but George says that he probably spends most of his time tracking smugglers across the desert, which must be quite interesting. I tell George and Fatty that the sergeant doesn’t track smugglers, he stays with the camels, and the camels don’t go anywhere.

The Directorate, I explain, consists of four hundred and three men, twenty-five horses, fifty trotting camels, two sitting camels and a blotched cat. The Kainakam, the Lieutenant-Colonel in command, our old friend, Graeme McFinnigan, looks after Paddywhack, the cat, and Sergeant Khan cares for Ipy and Kauket, the sitting camels. Fatty says that it must get lonely; George suggests that, perhaps, people come and visit the sergeant. I tell him that, of Sergeant Khan and his colleagues, Lieutenant Herringham said, “With such men the difficulty is not to get them to fight, but to restrain their natural ardour and lust for blood.” So nobody wants to bother the Sergeant Khan, because he is dangerous.

I don’t want to bother the sergeant either, so I ask Bahaa to thank him for looking after the camels for us, and explain that, as he knows, because they are sitting camels, trained to maintain a low profile on clandestine missions, Ipy and Kauket will only shuffle along on their stomachs, and, as we are scoukishly behind schedule, shuffling across the Gerûd will take too long, also, we have an airship, and don’t need the beasts. Fatty asks what the Gerûd is; Juan says that it’s an inhospitable hell-hole of a desert; nothing for miles except mountainous sand dunes; stinking hot during the day, freezing at night, with no food, nothing to drink and no women. Thanking Bahaa for all his help, and wishing the best for his cause and his country, we take off, madly waving goodbye to the sergeant and our camels, and promising to come back soon.

Fatty hands out serviette folding diagrams, saying how nice it is that things are back to normal and he can concentrate on important things, such as deciding whether flower or vase shaped serviettes would be suitable for a meal of pig’s ears with Tartare sauce. Juan and I look at the diagrams, Juan folds a serviette, but, I tell him, he took too long to fold it, and it looks too ethereal for something as solid as pig’s ears, then I demonstrate how to quickly fold a better, more substantial, serviette, but, while I fight with the stupid thing, eventually creating something that doesn’t look like anything, Fatty swiftly folds a selection of serviettes and places them neatly on the table for our consideration. This is irritating, but I admit that such an interesting variety of serviettes would, at least, distract the diners from the fact that they are eating pig’s ears.

George asks what happens if there are five diners, as pig’s ears come in pairs. Juan says it would be best to prepare three pairs of ears for five guests, that way everybody gets one ear and the spare ear won't be wasted, because a crispy pig’s ear can be used as a weapon. I tell Juan that it wouldn’t be effective, because the Tartare sauce makes it go soft, and, in battle, a soft pig’s ear is not helpful. Fatty says that he read somewhere that a sow’s ear can be made into a purse. George says that he thinks that a fried pig’s ear purse would be horrible, but, as an artist, he knows that the bristles on the ears make fine hog’s hair brushes, in fact, he adds, he must collect some bristles for a new brush for his next painting. Fatty says the bristles would not make a good brush because, when the ears are cooked, the heat makes the bristles too brittle, and they have to be moistened with spittle.

I have never heard such a stupid conversation and I tell everyone to shut up and remind everybody that, while we drift in security and comfort, we should think about the people below, who are going through extraordinary upheavals and facing terrible dangers. Juan says that this is true and, to celebrate being in a safe, luxurious, airship, he breaks out the Vintage Glenordie, Pulteney, Auchentoshan, and Bladnoch Private Reserve, then, saluting freedom, drinking to peace, bellowing encouraging battle cries, singing revolution songs, fighting, yelling with excitement, and falling around in befuddled confusion, we fly with the uprising wind, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

...

Pig’s Ears with Tartare Sauce

Ingredients: Pig’s ears pickled, frying-batter, Tartare sauce, butter or frying fat, salad-oil, finely-chopped shallot and parsley, salt and pepper.

Method: Boil the ears until tender, let them cool, then sprinkle them lightly with shallot and parsley, and liberally with pepper. Pour over them 2 or 3 tablespoonfuls of salad-oil, let them remain for 1 hour, turning 2 or 3 times, and basting frequently. Drain well, dip them into the butter, and fry in hot butter or fat until crisp and brown. Serve the sauce separately.

Time; to fry, 4 or 5 minutes. Average Cost: uncertain, the ears being seldom sold separately.

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861
…................................................

Revolution Song

Waiting for Bahaa

2011-02-11T15:28:00.004Z

We spend a long time searching the desert for Sergeant Khan and our camels, until I remind everyone that we are begowkingly behind schedule and suggest that we drop off to ask the Sergeant’s brother, Bahaa, if he can help. When we find Bahaa, he tells us that he will take us to see his brother but, now, he has to guard The Citadel, as there is a certain amount of civil unrest in the city. I ask Bahaa what the problem is, Bahaa says that there are two groups, one group wants one thing and the other group wants something different, so they all went on to the streets and hurled rocks at each other. Fatty asks Bahaa if he joined in, Bahaa says that he did join in, but he had a problem deciding which group he agreed with, so he joined one group for a while, then he changed sides, but he realised that he was hurting people that he partially agreed with, so, for the sake of fairness, he stood between the warring factions and threw stones at himself.

George says that, as

Egypt

is such an ancient civilisation, they have had plenty of time to work on diplomacy, so he is surprised that, rather than negotiating, they are fighting on the streets like children. I explain that, for most people, arguments have many angles but, although Egypt is very old, paintings indicate that, until comparatively recently, all Egyptians were flat, so they could only walk sideways and can only see two sides of a problem.

While we wait for Bahaa, we take off and float over the pyramids. George, looking down, wonders if there’s any point to such mighty constructions. I tell him that the point is at the top and that they were originally built as tourist attractions, Juan adds that, to encourage far-away people to come to Egypt to enjoy the fabulous cuisine, shafts were built into the pyramids from which, propelled by fire and steam, kebabs could be fired into distant lands. Fatty, inspired by talk of food, says, as we have plenty of sheep, he will prepare his favourite Egyptian meal, Khoresht-e Loobia. This is a wonderful idea and, to celebrate, Juan breaks out Vintage Glendronach, Ardmore, Springbank, and Macduff Private Reserve, we offer toast after toast to non-pointless buildings and the third dimension and stumble in circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Missing Cairo

2011-02-02T13:40:00.005Z

Nowhere near Cairo, grugousingly behind schedule, stuck in a cold, muddy, field, huddled up to a fire. We hear the noise of an aircraft and Beryl, from the Agency Postal Service, flies over, flips upside down, drops a note and vanishes into the distance, waving goodbye. Juan grabs the note, says that it’s from aunt Humperdink, and reads, ‘Dear Andrzej and Juan, sorry that were delayed, we missed you in

India

, and you missed all the fun.’

Juan stops reading and shouts that aunt is quite right, we should be clean and warm and visiting beautiful Indian places and meeting clean, warm, beautiful Indian women, and Indian women, Juan reminds me, are the cleanest, warmest and most beautiful women in the world; instead of doing that, he bawls, wiping his face with a sheep’s ear, he is dirty, cold, sitting in a miserable field, talking to an idiot and surrounded by decapitated sheep, so, he yells, he is definitely missing all the fun. I tell him to stop complaining and point out that it was his fault because he rolled his aeroplane into a vertical circle, followed by a half roll and an inverted stick-back tail slide. Juan says that he was testing the aircraft, and he succeeded in proving that it could not withstand the stress of such a manoeuvre. I tell him that the aircraft held together perfectly well when it was moving forward, the right way up, and in the air, and it only crumpled and burst into flames when he flew it upside down, backwards, into the ground, which, I remind him, it is not designed to do. Juan says that it should be redesigned, and he proved it. I tell him that he did not prove it because he missed out the last part of the sequence, which is to resume normal flight.

Juan says that, considering that my landing reduced my giro-copter to a mangled heap, I am not in a position to criticise. I tell him that my sight was obscured by the smoke of his burning aircraft, and I had to land quickly in order to save the malt he was carrying. Juan admits that this was a priority, but adds that, knowing the giro-copter has long, sharp, whirling, blades, landing in the middle of a flock of sheep was stupid. This is irritating and I don’t want to discuss the matter. So we sit, muttering under our breaths, roasting mutton on the burning wreckage.

Juan complains that we don’t have any thyme, I tell Juan to stop moaning, and think about the visitors to Dudingston who, often, have to do without any bouquet-garni at all. Juan shouts that anyone who visits Dudingston deserves what they get as everyone knows the Dudingstonians are completely mad. I can’t refute this easily so I ignore him, snatch aunt’s message out of Juan’s hand and read:

‘I have sent The Lion to pick you up,

See you soon,

Lots of love, Aunt H. xx’

As I read this, we see the great airship above us and watch as our old friend Captain 'Fatty' Farquhar Cardno, guides The Lion into a disastrous landing. We are not surprised. Farquhar is a master chef, a baker without equal, a gifted biscuit designer, and a renowned serviette folder, but he doesn’t know anything about airships. Fortunately, The Lion is a sturdy craft and, apart from some squashed livestock, no harm is done.

To celebrate, Juan breaks out the Vintage Talisker, Glenburgie, Jura, and Dalmore Special Reserve, we offer toast after toast to Fatty and his valiant crew, inflate our bagpipes, then, playing ‘Up in the Air’ ‘Mary Shearer’ and ‘My Sheep I Neglected’ at full volume, we stumble around in confused circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

---

Sheep’s Head, to dress (Tête de Mouton)

Ingredients: A sheep’s head, 2 tablespoonfuls of pearl barley or rice, 2 onions, 2 small carrots, 1 small turnip, a bouquet-garni (parsley, thyme, bay-leaf), 10 peppercorns, salt and pepper. For the sauce, ¾ pint of liquor the head was cooked in, 1 ½ ozs. of butter, 1 ½ ozs. of flour.

Method: Cut the head in half, remove the brains, wash them and put them into cold water, with a little salt. Wash the head in several waters, carefully remove any splintered bones, and let it soak in salt and water for 1 hour. Cover with cold water, bring to the boil, pour away the water, replace with fresh cold water, add the bouquet-garni, peppercorns and salt, boil up, and skim well. The head must be cooked slowly for about 3 hours; 1½ hours before serving add the vegetables sliced, with the rice or barley, and when the latter is used it must be previously blanched. Remove the skin and fibres from the brains, tie them in muslin, boil them for 10 or 15 minutes in the liquor, and chop them coarsely. Heat the butter in a stew pan, add the flour, stir over the fire for 2 or three minutes, the add ¾ of a pint of liquor from the pot, simmer for 10 minutes, add the brains, season to taste, and keep hot until required. When ready, bone the head, put the meat in the centre of a hot dish, pour the sauce over, and garnish with slices of tongue and the vegetables.

Time, to cook, about 3 hours, sufficient for 2 or 3 persons.

(Singed Sheep’s Head - The village of Dudingston, now a suburb of Edinburgh, was formerly celebrated for this ancient and homely Scottish dish. It was the custom during the summer months for the well-to-do citizens to resort to this place and regale themselves with sheep’s heads, boiled or baked. The sheep pastured on the neighbouring hills were slaughtered at the village, the carcasses were sent to town, but the heads were reserved for consumption by the visitors to Dudingston).

Recipe by Isabella Beeton, 1861

To Cairo

2011-01-27T17:22:00.011Z

Under the command of our old friend, Captain Aodhàn Macallister, from Buchanhavan, the Agent Rescue Service takes us to aunt Humperdink’s Air Station. There, Aodhàn’s team tell us that they will arrange for Fatty to be flown back to The Lion, and say that they’ll drop George and Albert off on the way. Albert says that he does not want to be dropped off, I explain that it is just a figure of speech; it does not mean that Albert will be literally dropped out of an aeroplane. I look to Aodhàn for confirmation and Aodhàn tries to reassure Albert by saying that I am absolutely right, because Albert will be standing on the wing, so, strictly speaking, he won’t actually be inside the aeroplane, this means that he will be dropped ‘from’ an aeroplane rather than ‘out’ of an aeroplane. Albert looks horrified and shouts that he doesn’t want to be dropped from, out, or off an aeroplane, Aodhàn explains that it saves time, especially when there is nowhere to land.

Juan asks why all the clocks in the Air Station are wrong. I tell him that the clocks aren’t wrong, and try to explain the concept of time zones, but I get confused and lose interest. Fatty suggests that the clocks are showing varying times because the flight times vary, George ventures that, perhaps, you have to add all the times up, divide the time by the number of clocks and get an average time, which would be more accurate than just one clock. I tell George that you would need an infinite amount of clocks to be entirely accurate, Albert says that this is nonsense, clocks only provide a measure of time and an infinite amount of clocks would give an average time of six-o-clock. This is too muddling to think about, so we ignore him and head for the bar.

After ordering Vintage Oban, Glen Spey, Clynelish and Glenturret Special Reserve and offering toast after toast to the valiant Agent Rescue Service, I tell Aodhàn that we are gomerally behind schedule and need camels. Aodhàn says that Sergeant Khan is looking after our camels, Ipy and Kauket. This is excellent news as, although Kauket is vicious, and Ipy is nippy, they are wonderful, spirited, camels and all we have to do, Aodhàn says, is to find Sergeant Khan. Juan asks Aodhàn where we can find Sergeant Khan. Aodhàn sketches a map of Egypt and tells us to turn right at Cairo. I take the giro-copter, Juan borrows one of aunt Humperdink’s experimental aircraft, we follow the Agent Rescue Service until they drop Albert off, then, cheering and whooping with excitement, we head to Cairo, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Boars

2011-01-20T20:13:00.012Z

Lost in a forest, gouffishly behind schedule; we smell pigs in the wind. George says the smell comes from Juan, I think this is funny but Juan says that it is the smell is coming from a group of boars. I point out that we are looking for camels, so boars are no good. Fatty says that boar’s head sauce is very good. I remind Fatty that boar’s head sauce doesn’t contain boar, and I tell everyone that a group of boars is called a ‘sounder’ of boar, if they are wild. This is the only thing I know about boars, so I think it’s important and cannot understand why everyone else thinks this information is useless. Juan says that the Boar’s Head pub is wild. Fatty says that roast wild boarlets are tasty. I tell Fatty that we can’t eat any of the boars, as somebody may own them. Fatty says that, in that case, they are not wild. George points to one boar and says that it looks a bit wild. I say that this is probably because it knows Fatty wants to eat its children. Fatty hands me a diagram of a folded serviette and a serviette and says that some people think a serviette folded into the shape of a boar’s head compliments roast boar but, in fact, duplication of the meal is too obvious, and merely demonstrates a want of culture, a lazy attitude, a paltry imagination, a lack of subtlety, and contempt for the aesthetic sensibilities of the refined diner. Far better, expands Fatty, to fold a serviette slipper, it is simple, he says, it’s pleasing, and augments rather than imitates the meal. As we are waiting for a wild boar to charge at us, I think that a lecture on serviette folding entirely inappropriate but, looking at the diagram, I can’t help but remark that it does look simple. George shouts that the boar is charging and we all dive for cover.

After a while, I get bored and, to give myself something to do for a few minutes, I fold the serviette. Nineteen hours later and my slipper looks horrible, I explain at great length that, obviously, the diagram is wrong but Fatty quickly folds a smart looking slipper and says that I need more practise. This is very irritating but, before I can respond by telling Fatty that nobody in the world cares about serviettes, folded or not, our attention is diverted by the sound of an aircraft and, following the sound, we find the Agent Rescue Service has arrived with a giro-copter. This is a wonderful sight and, to celebrate, Juan breaks open barrels of Vintage Cragganmore, Lochnagar, Interleven, and Knockdhu Private Reserve, we offer toast after toast to our rescuers, drink to the wildness of boars, and dance around in circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Boar’s Head Sauce

Ingredients: Half a pint of dissolved red-currant jelly, quarter of a pint of port wine, four oranges, three lumps of sugar, one finely-chopped shallot, one mustardspoonful of mixed mustard, pepper.

Method: Shred the rind of two oranges into very fine strips, ad rub the lumps of sugar over the rinds of the remaining two. Put the rind and sugar into the liquid jelly, add the wine, shallot, mustard, and a liberal seasoning of pepper, and use as required, or the sauce may be put into well-corked bottles and stored for use.

Leaving Gordon

2011-01-11T19:46:00.008Z

We have a wonderful time with Gordon’s Cavalry unit, but, as I explain to Gordon, we are meant to be in

India

and, loorachishly behind schedule, we have to leave immediately. Gordon thanks us for the horses but asks us to take them with us, as they need watering, feeding and cleaning, which is a bother. I tell him that we will be happy to take the horses. Juan breaks out the Balblair, Knockando, Speyburn, and Glenlossie Private Reserve, for a farewell drink, and we offer toast after toast to Gordon and wish him the best of luck in his magazine’s advertising campaigns.

After a few drinks, Fatty starts lecturing us on the importance of a properly folded serviette, the complications that can arise, and the attention and care that should go into every crease. To illustrate some point, Fatty shoves a diagram in front of me, saying that it is the instructions for folding a simple cockscomb. I think that Fatty must have gone completely insane but, to humour him, I tell Fatty that it is a very nice cockscomb, and it does look simple. Fatty says that is simple, that is it’s beauty, but it has hidden complexities, which bring it feeling and life, there’s an internal dynamic to be maintained, he says, too little can result in a collapsing cockscomb, a sorry sight which will bring the diner’s spirits down, too much, there can be unfortunate consequences and, certainly, he tells us, the cockscomb folded with a structural tension such that it suddenly unfolded, sprang across the table, landed in a bowl, flapped like a chicken with fleas and covered the Queen with mulberry jelly was very unfortunate.

I suggest to Fatty that, perhaps, he is making too much of serviette folding, after all, I tell him, it is just an easy, quick, way to make serviettes look nice. To demonstrate this, I pick up a serviette and tell Fatty that it doesn’t take any real skill to fold a cockscomb; in fact, it is such an easy thing to do that it is actually quite relaxing, and it only takes a few seconds. Seventeen hours later and I’m coming apart with fury. Whatever I do to the stupid thing, my serviette will not resemble the picture in the diagram and, although I spend a lot of time complaining that the diagram is wrong, Fatty says that I just need more practise and, glancing at the diagram, he quickly folds a finely formed cockscomb. This is very irritating, so I sulk until I’m bored, then, wanting attention, I fire my blunderbuss at a recruit.

Unfortunately, the noise of the shot and the screaming of the recruit scares the horses and they run away. Gordon tells me that it doesn’t matter, as thirsty, hungry, dirty horses do not reflect well on the Cavalry. Juan says that, as we’ve lost the horses, we had better find an alternative means of transport, preferably something that won’t run away. I suggest that camels would be a good option because camels like deserts and, as we are nowhere near a desert, they won’t have anywhere to run. Fatty, George and Albert aren’t sure about this, but Juan, who loves camels, says this is a wonderful idea and, to celebrate, he breaks open the Vintage Tomintoul, Dalwhinnie, Fettercairn, and Glencadam Special Reserve and, after saluting Gordon and drinking to the bravery of all Cavaliers, we inflate out bagpipes, then, playing ‘Young Jocky’, ‘A Steed, a Steed’, and ‘I had a Horse’, at full volume, we gallop around in circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

We get real horses

2011-01-09T00:30:00.016Z

We have a lot of fun racing about and fighting on the wooden horses, but, when I tell Gordon that real horses would be better, Gordon looks doubtful. Juan asks when the horses are going to arrive; Gordon says that the horses haven’t arrived because he hasn’t ordered any. Albert asks Gordon why he hasn’t ordered the horses. Gordon says that real horses are bothersome and inconvenient; compared to wooden horses, he says, real horses are expensive and need a lot of attention, also, he adds, real horses are high and, if you fell off one, you could hurt yourself, but you can’t fall off a horse that isn’t there. I tell Gordon that this is an unusual attitude for someone in command of a cavalry unit. Gordon tells us that not having horses is actually an advantage, for example, he says, although attending the International Horse Show without horses made the actual events somewhat tedious, the show was very profitable. Juan asks Gordon how he made the horse show profitable, if he didn’t have any horses. Gordon explains that as they didn’t have to waste time looking after horses, they were able to concentrate on modelling the latest range of military and sporting wear, promoting the businesses who advertise in Gordon’s Cavalry magazine.

While admiring Gordon’s business sense, I think that he has underestimated the usefulness of horses to a Cavalry unit. Juan agrees and suggests that we buy some horses to demonstrate to Gordon the effectiveness of lance and sword thrusts from the back of real horses. This is a good idea but, as we are pellishly behind schedule and don’t have time to buy horses, Juan and I borrow some horses from a nearby farm. I tell Gordon to choose some recruits and volunteer them to be targets, then, after quickly fortifying ourselves with Vintage Duftown, Craigellachie, Tamdhu, and Glen Garioch Private Reserve, we jump on the horses and charge around, yelling with excitement, thrusting, lunging, cutting and slashing, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Gordon’s horses

2011-01-04T21:05:00.009Z

Fatty throws beer over me, to wake me up, and tells me to pay attention. Seeing Juan, asleep on the ground beside me, I kick him awake, tell him to pay attention to Fatty, and lapse back into unconsciousness. After only a few seconds, Juan pokes me in the ribs with a broken bottle and tells me that Fatty is talking about serviettes and he can’t stand it. George and Albert are sitting near by, looking glazed. I imagine that this is because they have been listening to Fatty, but George mumbles something about being rescued. I tell him that that is a good idea and that he should contact the Agency Rescue Service. Albert says that we have already been rescued. I missed it, George says, because I knocked myself cold when I fell off a pub roof. I can’t remember any of this so I ask George what I was doing on a roof. Albert says that I fell on the roof from a tree. I ask them what I was doing in a tree. George says that I fell on the tree from a balloon. I ask why I was in a balloon, Albert says that I was trying to get on to the pub roof with a balloon, I consider asking more questions but decide not to bother. However, one thing puzzles me; the last thing I remember was hiding from a giant robot, which has vanished.

Juan, who doesn’t look to be in peak condition, groans and reminds me that, when we saw the robot, we hid behind a thorn bush, then, with nothing else to do, we started the New Year’s celebrations by drinking Vintage Auchroisk, Balmenach, Laphroaig, and Glenlivet Special Reserve, to honour the spirit of the season and to wish everyone a creative and peaceful New Year. Then, invigorated with fine single-malt, we decide to destroy the robot. We rushed wildly toward the monstrosity, but the bush got in the way and, by the time we ripped ourselves free, Albert has discovered that the robot isn’t a robot, it’s just a piece of projecting apparatus. Juan asked what it’s projecting from, Albert say that it’s not projecting from anything, it projects images of stars. Juan asks what use that is, and he wants to know if it will project pictures of women, I tell him that, if it was a cloudy day, and you were lost, you could project stars onto the clouds and use them to navigate, which you couldn’t do with women. Albert explained that this wouldn’t work because, if we were lost, we wouldn’t know what stars we could see, if we could see the stars. George says that this was too complicated for anyone to understand, so we ignored Albert, decided to take the projector with us, to help us navigate to a pub, and, to celebrate a good decision, and not being attacked by a giant robot, Juan broke out the Brackla, Caperdonich, Glen Keith, and Glenfiddich Private Reserve, which he keeps for such occasions, and, with some difficulty, we made our way to a pub.

Juan says that he can’t remember very much about the pub. Fatty says that Juan was knocked unconscious after head-butting a wall, because it wouldn’t get out of his way. They carried us from pub to pub, Albert says, but we only ever woke up long enough to start a brawl and we had to be knocked out again. According to George, the wonderful people that we met and the fantastic fun that we had, more than made up for the fights that got out of control, our firework display, that went terribly wrong, the pubs we burnt to the ground, the fire engine we crashed, the police station that we demolished, the town’s population who we terrified, and having to be rescued by the Agent Rescue Service. This all sounds very memorable but, irritated, I tell everybody that they might have had a lot of fun but, as I was unconscious, I’m not interested in their stupid stories. I also remind them that we are peistishly behind schedule and have to move on immediately. George says that we need transport, but he doesn’t want to fly any more. Albert says that, in one pub, he met our old friend, Captain Gordon McClellan, who said that he is setting up a cavalry unit nearby and, if we want any help, we should call in and see him. George says that we should borrow some horses off Gordon. This is a good idea and we set off immediately.

The projector doesn’t help us navigate, and it's heavy to carry; it takes us days to find Gordon’s unit. When we arrive, Gordon says that he will be happy to lend us some horses. Fatty says that he will need a big horse, but Gordon says that he has a horse that will carry two people so it should be able to carry Fatty. I tell Gordon that we need fast horses; again, Gordon reassures us that his horses are very fast, especially the ones that have wheels. When Gordon shows us his horses I point out that they are wooden horses. Gordon says that we will have to make do as it is a new unit and the real horses haven’t arrived yet. This isn’t a perfect solution to our transport problems but, as George points out, the horses will not need feeding and they won’t get tired. I agree, adding that it would be ungracious to decline Gordon’s generous offer, so, to celebrate, Juan breaks out his Special Reserve, we offer toast after toast to Gordon’s new cavalry unit, then leaping on the horses and, yelling “gee up” and “charge”, we wheel around in circles, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Landing

2010-12-30T22:23:00.009Z

Gordon lands as gracefully as a bird, I crash into a tree. Albert lands relatively safely, Fatty bounces, Juan lands in the river, then, threshing around, snarling, swearing and fighting with the flapping, wet, parachute, he flounders around like a jellyfish on stilts until he is carried away by the current. This is satisfying. However, I cannot fold my parachute up either and fall from the tree into a thorn bush. George says that I would benefit from giving more attention to Fatty’s serviette folding lessons. I remind him that a parachute is not a serviette, any moth-witted, turnip-brained, idiot can fold a serviette, but folding a parachute is nearly impossible. George calmly folds his parachute up and says that, perhaps, I just need more practise. I tell him to mind his own business

I sulk and pick thorns out of my flesh while we wait for Juan to return. Annoyingly, Fatty shows me a diagram of a pyramid shaped serviette and hands me a serviette to fold. Although I might not perfectly fold a parachute every time, I am confident that I can quickly fold something as trivially simple as a serviette. Fifteen hours later, I declare that folding a serviette into a pyramid is impossible and following a diagram that is wrong makes it even more impossible. Fatty says the diagram isn’t wrong and Albert tells me that you can’t have something that is more impossible than something else that is impossible. I tell him that all his theories are more impossible to prove than proving a tiger can fit in a tuba, so he should shut up. Fatty tells us to stop arguing, picks up a serviette, quickly folds it into a neat pyramid shape and says that it is time we found food because a serviette, however beautifully folded, requires a diner to give it its true meaning. For someone who is not a diner, unfolding a beautifully folded serviette could bring about a sense of regret at the loss of the shape. However, at a dinner table, careless destruction of a finely wrought serviette is the order of the day. When the baby has been sick on the Duchess, nobody cares that the serviette used to clean the venerable lady looks like a poodle. People, shouts Fatty, getting excited, don’t hesitate to crumple designs that took years to perfect and wipe the slobber from granny when her teeth fall out and she drools into the archbishop’s lemon meringue. We don’t know what Fatty is talking about, or why, so we nod and make sympathetic noises until, thankfully, Juan appears, pulling barrels of Vintage whisky that he rescued from the crashed aircraft.

Fatty tries to tell Juan that I couldn’t fold the serviette but I interrupt by reminding everyone, loudly, that we are slooshtingly behind schedule and have to leave immediately. Juan points out that we have to fortify ourselves for Hogmanay. Breaking out the Vintage Aberfeldy, Deanston, The Macallan, and Glen Eden Private Reserve, we offer toast after toast to safe landings, with or without a parachute, and salute the passing of a tremendous year. Juan inflates his bagpipes, plays ‘‘Here’s to thy Health’, ‘Why do ye Tarry’, and ‘The Rantin’ Highlandman’, at full volume and we fling each other around in circles until we notice we are being watched by a giant robot and dive for cover, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Down to the pub

2010-12-30T13:18:00.003Z

Upside down, out of control, spinning, about to crash. I remind everybody that we are slouterishly behind schedule, and cannot waste time by destroying aircraft and waiting to be rescued. Albert says that he has to get back to his laboratory in order to test a theory, he tries to tell us what the theory is, but we don’t care, George says that he wants to relax and think about his next painting. Fatty says that he wants to eat. Juan says that he needs a party. I tell Fatty that, if we ditch into the sea, at least there will be plenty of fish. Juan agrees, reminding us of the rule of fish, ‘if it doesn’t eat you, you can eat it’. Albert says that, if we crash on land, we can find a pub and have a fish dinner, George can relax, and Juan can start a party. This is a wonderful idea, but George and Fatty say that they don’t want to ditch or crash. I point out that our choices are limited. Albert says that we should bale out; Juan says that we should bale out and land near a pub. I agree with them both, reminding them of the agency maxim ‘when in doubt, bail out’; nonetheless, we have a stupid fight about the spelling of the word ‘bale’ compared to ‘bail’, and what it means, and which one you should do in an aeroplane full of water.

Juan stops the fight by reminding us that, if we fall into the sea, we will need empty barrels to float on, so we quickly finish our barrels of Vintage Glenmorangie, Glen Scotia, Aultmore, and Tullibardine Special Reserve, which Juan keeps for such occasions. We offer toast after toast to the person who invented the parachute, then, yelling “Geronimo” we leap into the air. Now, shouting with excitement and hysterical with fear, we swing down to the pub, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary

Changing aeroplanes

2010-12-25T23:18:00.005Z

George stayed with us while he completed a painting of a robin, a Christmas present for aunt Humperdink. None of us can think of what a robin has to do with Christmas, but I tell him it is a very nice robin, and a difficult bird to paint, especially while being thrown around the sky in an aeroplane with collapsible wings.

The next time Fatty misses the airship, I point out that we are flying backwards, Fatty tells me that there’s nothing he can do about it, and he continues to demonstrate this with hundreds of failed attempts to land on the airship, all the time complaining that he doesn’t want to fly the aeroplane and, because it is Christmas, he would rather be eating. George agrees, and adds that Christmas day should be for quiet contemplation. I tell Fatty to aim at the airship, and put the brakes on before we hit it. Fatty says the aeroplane doesn’t have brakes, Albert says that he has a theory, we tell him to shut up and, breaking open Vintage Miltonduff, Glenfarclas, Longmorn and Edradour Private Reserve, we salute the solemnity of the day until we are too dizzy to think.

When we spin past the airship for the umpteenth time, I remind Juan that we are plowsterishly behind schedule, and can’t afford to waste any more time being bounced around the sky by a pilot who can’t fly, in an aeroplane with variably sized wings. George tells Fatty that trying to land on a moving object while celebrating the birth of Christ is not respectful. Fatty agrees, kicks the joystick forward, yells “Merry Christmas” throws himself back in his seat; bites open a bottle of stout and demands rum, meat, and cake.

Juan and I fight like stupid children over who should fly the aeroplane until George knocks us both out with a wrench, takes over the controls, lands perfectly, and neatly folds the wings. We are all very impressed, but George says that he knows about birds and birds are like aeroplanes, a bird is not designed to stay up in the air all of the time, it can’t fold its wings for too long when it’s flying, so it’s natural for birds to land and fold their wings, and not the other way around. None of us know what George is talking about so we ignore him and borrow the first two aeroplanes that we find that have wings that do not fold.

Unfortunately, Fatty’s weight is so great that, after taking off, his aeroplane took a long time to gain height and he flies through a tree and knocks a wheel off. Fatty can’t land an aeroplane that has wheels, with a wheel missing he would be even worse, I pick the wheel up, and, with Albert flying, and Juan unconscious because I had to cosh him to stop him from taking the controls, we take off and, when we catch up with Fatty, I tie the wheel to a piece of rope and swing it over to George who is clinging on to the wing. For some reason, George won’t stand up and grab the wheel and, judging by the way we are falling out of the sky; Juan has regained consciousness and has taken over the aeroplane. I give up and return to the cockpit where, to help us collect our wits, we break open barrels of vintage Highland single malt then, clapping and cheering, we offer toast after toast to quiet contemplation and the true meaning of Christmas, which requires wild celebration; now, alternately shrieking with excitement and howling with fear, we sing carols at the top of voice and wheel madly through the sky, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink’s Diary