Walter’s Diary Pt.7 – Unexpected Events

We met Mary on time, and we caught our plane home with no problems.

We arrived in London, sped to Lord Hellthwaites private club, he and daughter were tearfully reunited (well, we interupted an informal meeting and Lord Hellthwaites accountant was there … he took one look at the money-grabbing Mary and promptly began to sob like a baby).

Lord Hellthwaite took Deadfast aside for a moment, and when he came back he had a big Cheshire-cat grin on his face, and was clutching what looked like a pair of tickets and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a folded piece of paper. Had he recieved a letter?

“Walter, the bet is off…” he declared, putting an arm around me and steering me outside. “However, the week has been prosperous for us!”
“Would you care to elaborate?”

It turns out that Deadfast wouldn’t be getting a holiday home in Hawaii after all.
He did, however, get two tickets for an around-the-world cruise.
I couldn’t see why he was so happy about this, but he WAS happy and, oddly, he hadn’t had a drink for at least two hours.

It didn’t take us long to get home, get changed, grab clothing, and we were off … all a bit hurried if you ask me, but a free holiday is a free holiday. One can’t complain.
Well, Deadfast did a little, but only because he couldn’t find his bucket and spade.

So, I’m typing this whilst sitting on the deck of the boat (ship, ocean liner, glorified dingy, whatever you wish to refer to it as), and I have a Strawberry Daquiri by my side, a straw hat on my head, a pair of bermuda shorts on, and a charming young man has just winked at me from across the pool.

There is, without any shadow of a doubt, something decidedly fishy going on here.
Oh well … Deadfast is off somewhere trying to get us invited to the Captain’s table for dinner, so I’ve some time to myself.
Now, where did that young man go…?

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The Cave of Dreams pt.4

Galloping through the undergrowth, charging towards the unknown adventure that the Hopeless Waterfall would bring, the three little monkeys were excited.
So excited, it seems, that they charged straight past the QuietCanyon and on towards the Elephant’s Mound.

The QuietCanyon, of course, is where the monkeys should have turned left and headed on through the SilentForest until they heard the crashing roar of despair emminating from the Waterfall… but, in their excitement, they went too far and missed their turning and instead stumbled upon the Elephant’s Mound.

 

As everyone knows, the Elephant’s Mound is where the old and feeble elephants would go to die.
For generations, they would quietly slip away from the herd and make their slow, plodding way to the Mound where, in the soft moonlight of a quiet evening, the Sombre Spirit of Salados would whisk them away to the Elephant’s Playground.  That was, of course, where all elephants of any age and standing would all be equal and live in peace for eternity.

The animals all knew that nobody went to the Elephant’s Mound unless, well, you were an elephant.
The three little monkeys were not elephants…

 

“Ook?”  Samala whispered, coming to a halt with the other monkeys.  “Ook.”

“Ook?” Kawanga whispered, looking around the clearing.  “Ook.”
”Ook,” Nimbala said, pointing towards the far side of the clearing.
There, in the shadows of a big tree, stood a lone elephant.

It was Jumbala, the oldest and wisest of the elephants.
She had grown tired and weary and, as the rest of her herd were distracted, she had slowly plodded away and made her way hear.  She new her time with Salados was upon her.

She stared at the three little monkeys, not knowing what to do.  She knew that they knew the rules but, as usual, they seemed to be a law unto themselves in the jungle and were here.  Bold as brass.  Monkeys on a mission.  She was intrigued.

She raised her trunk slowly, and trumpeted across the clearing.

“Ook!” screeched Samala and Nimbala. “Ook!”
They wanted to turn tail and run home but, being a little braver, Kawanga careful edged his way forward. 
”OOK!” the two other monkeys screeched again.  “OOK!”
Kawanga dismissed them with a wave of his paw and continured forward.
Jumbala, both baffled and bemused in equal measure, slowly approached him from the other side of the clearing.
The Mound, tall and glistening with dew-wet grass, stood between them.

 

To be continued…

Posted by Norton

The Cave of Dreams, pt.3

The next morning, when the sun was high in the sky, the three little monkeys awoke and had a little play fight.  Monkeys, much like young boys, like to fight with one another. Nothing serious, of couse, just the odd poke and bite and banana-stabbing.
Anyway, after they had calmed down, they set off for the day.  They all knew it was going to be a long trek through the jungle to reach the Hopeless Waterfall and, with luck, the Cave of Dreams.
The Cave of Dreams was a magical place and, it was said, you could find all of your hopes and desires inside.
Now, monkeys are quite hopeful little creatures so they were not looking for that.
Oh no.
They were looking for their biggest, deepest desire…

 

Do you know what that was?
That’s right… bananas.

”Bananas?” you may cry, looking puzzled and scratching your head (a bit like a monkey). “The three little monkeys live in the jungle and have lots of bananas!”
Why, yes.
Yes they do.

However, they do not want some bananas.
They do not want lots of bananas.

“OOK!”

Ok, Nimbala, ok!  No need to shout, I’m getting to it.
Sheesh.  Have you ever tried telling a story about monkeys?
They get very impatient.

*sigh*

 

What the three little monkeys desired more than anything was an unlimited supply of bananas.
They wanted to be able to get as many bananas as their little bellies could handle, and then be safe in the knowledge there would be more the next day.

They were, when all is said and done, very greedy little monkeys.

 

So, with the sun high in the sky, they set off.

 

To be continued…

 

Posted by Norton

The Cave of Dreams pt.1 (A Three Little Monkeys adventure)

One bright, sunny jungle day, three little monkeys were chatting away in a tree.
“Ook,” said the first, who was called Nimbala.
“Ook?” asked the second, who was called Kawanga.
“Ook!” the third, named Samala, said excitedly.

They excitedly jumped around, chasing one another, as they decided what to do about the scheme Kawanga had suggested.

“Ook ook?” Samala asked, pointing towards the Cave of Dreams.
The Cave of Dreams was situated on the far side of the jungle, past the tiger’s lair, and towards the Hopeless Waterfall.
“Ook?” Nimbala wondered, scratching his bottom. “Ook!”
“Ook.” Samala confirmed and, with a nod from Kawanga, they galloped off into the dense foliage.

An hour or two later (with several stops for banana eating and butterfly chasing) the three little monkeys cautiously approached the tiger’s lair.
The tiger, Sarikin Bakka, was sleeping outside his cave.
The sun was bright and causing patterns to dance through the leaves as the wind blew, making the ground seem as if it were moving.
The three little monkeys were nervous.

“Ack?” whispered Kawanga, trembling.
“Ook.”
“Ack?”
“Ook.”
“Ook!”
With all three monkeys agreed, they began to quietly crawl across the clearing and past the sleeping tiger.
They were almost past, and were preparing to charge off into the thick jungle once more, when Sarikin Bakka suddenly opened his eyes…

To be continued.

Posted by Norton

Walter’s Diary: Pt.5 – Mary

Mary, it turns out, didn’t want to be found.

“Fuck off, you weirdo!” were, if memory serves, her exact words when I approached her in a bar. “I’m a lesbian.”

I’d tracked her down to Greenwich Village on Saturday night, and Deadfast and I spent alot of dollars and most of our energy trawling bars until I recognised her.
Deadfast, of course, wouldn’t recognise himself in a mirror unless prompted, so these things are always left to me.
I pointed her out, and he sent me over;
“Walter, lad, we don’t want to spook her. She’ll recognise me,of course… so you go. I’ll just sit here and have a drink. Could I borrow some money?”

I had got within five feet of her, and was about to ask if I knew her (well, I wasn’t stupid enough to actually tell her why we were there), when she’d spun around, made eye contact, and growled her above response. Then, with a flourish, she’d grabbed the nearest young lady to herself and proceeded to give her a long and lengthy kiss.

I was enjoying the moment, actually, but it was ruined by the crashing of a table behind me and Deadfast approaching at speed, and with a big dopey grin on his face.

“Ladies,” he annoucned, but I managed to wheel him away before Mary decided to kick either of us in the unmentionables. “Don’t go anywhere!” he yelled over his shoulder at them.

“I think it’s best if we…”
“Oh, tish and pish, Walter… I know what to do!”
“Have a drink?”
“Exactly.”
And, with that, he wandered off to the bar.

I figured it would be best if we followed her as she left, and approached her in a less-public place.

So, for the next two hours, we sat about and drank (water for me, with a slice of lemon, and alochol for Deadfast… he isn’t fussy which type).
I was keeping a close eye on Mary and her friends (most of whom, as far as I could work out, were friendly with one another, if you know what I mean… they exchanged saliva an awful lot, and I’m sure that kind of thing isn’t sanitary), but, as is his way, Deadfast got bored of not having my attention and so declared he was going to dance.
He then proceeded to try to start a conga-line.
This didn’t work, of course, but provided enough of a distraction for me to lose sight of the young Miss Hellthwaite for a moment and, when I looked back, she and her entourage were nowhere to be seen.

The evening ended with me running out of there with Deadfast over my shoulder, and an irrate bar patron and his friends giving chase after his wife had been the unwilling victim of Deadfast and his rising libido.

He is still asleep, now, and I’m trying to figure out what to do next.

I’ve a friend who works in a video store (believe it or not, some still exist) down the road who says Mary is a frequent customer.
I’m thinking of sitting in one of the booths there all day on the off-chance that she comes in.

It’s going to be a long, hard day…

Posted by Walter

Walter’s Diary: Pt.4 – A Bet Is Made

“Walter, pack your things, we are going to the Americas!”This was the phrase that Deadfast greeted me with this morning as he stumbled into the kitchen.
I handed him his dressing gown (even though we were an “open” house, I didn’t want the maid seeing him in all his morning glory…) and a bowl of cereal, and sat him down at the table.”Why is this?”

“A-ha, lad!” he exclaimed, toppling backwards off of his chair and flinging cornflakes everywhere. “Lord Hellthwaite has set us a challenge!”

“A challenge?”

“Yes, in the shape of a bet!”

“Wonderful.” The last bet that these two had made had ended with Hellthwaite riding upon one of the stone lions at Trafalgar Square, naked except for a bowler hat. “I’ll get the bribe money out now, shall I?”

“Oh no,” he grinned, plonking himself on a chair. “This is a good one… we’re on a search to find his daughter!”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh yes!”

“Oh, great.”
Lord Hellthwaite was a man born into money, but he had doubled his family fortunes with a shrewd property deal in the early 60s.
His daughter, Mary, was born at the end of the 70s (for a while, Lord and Lady Hellthwaite had dabbled with punk fashion… a disaster that ended up with safety-pin sin their condom drawer. Don’t ask!), and had, for want of a better word, wasted her life.
She was, I guess, what you’d call an “IT” girl… you know the type; always attending parties, getting drunk and doing very little else except spending the family fortune.
Well, I’d heard recently that she’d hooked-up with some musician wannabe, and this hadn’t gone down too well with her father.
“What the hell do you think you are doing, woman?!” was, I think, the phrase he most used when the two conversed.
Anyway, after one-too-many arguments, young Mary had stuck two-fingers up at her father and the establishment, and had fled the family home.
This was, of course, an embarrassment to the Hellthwaite name, and so… we were roped in to find her thanks to Deadfast and a bottle of Tequilla.

“Get your things, lad, we’ve work to do!” he yelled, and leapt out of his seat and ran off to his room. I heard him shout over his shoulder; “Get on the phone and find her for me!”

So, I spent the most part of last night making frantic phonecalls to the few contacts I have.
It turns out, according to the editor of a top-shelf magazine, that she was seen boarding a plane to New York.
A few minutes later, I had booked us a flight and a hotel.

That’s why I’m sitting here typing this in the departures lounge of Heathrow airport.
Deadfast, for his part, is downstairs in the hotel bar, playing the piano and trying to get some rich socialite to buy him a drink. I don’t think it’s working; I’ve recieved two text messages already, both of which said “Walter, it’s your round”.
For the record, I’ve never seen him buy a drink, and I’ve known him for ten years.

I’m off downstairs now; I’ve arranged a meeting with a friend of Mary. Hopefully, he’ll push us in the right direction.
I’ll fill you all in later on.

-Walter

PS.
“How is this a bet?” you ask?
Well, it turns out that Deadfast somehow managed to persuade Lord Hellthwaite to give him a holiday home in Hawaii if we find his daughter.
The Lord has more property than he knows what to do with, so I don’t think he’ll miss one.
And, for his part, if he loses, Deadfast must walk naked down New Oxford Street in nothing but a bow tie.
I think it’s a private school thing.
I find it best not to ask.

Adieu.

Walter’s Diary: Pt.3 – An Unexpected Bet

Well, that was a surprise.

As I mentioned earlier, Deadfast was indeed coming up the drive way.
I wish he wouldn’t do that… it’s hell on the paving out there. The amount of scrubbing I’ve had to do of late is UNBELIEVABLE.

Anyway.
I digress.

When he got into the mansion, I met him in the hallway and he had a grin on his face.

“Walter,” he slurred. “I’ve made a bet.”

This, trust me, was not going to lead to good things.
The last bet he made involved a male dance troupe from Berlin, an ostrich, and a small frozen turkey.
It wasn’t pretty, and I didn’t sit down for a week…

os
“What kind of bet?” I asked, guiding him to his favourite chair.
“One that I am sure we can win!” he laughed gleefully, wriggling out of my grasp and doing a little jig on the carpet. “Whoo-hoo!”
“Ok, is there any chance you can describe this bet in a little more detail?”
“No.”
“Oh.”

He then collapsed, and is still asleep there on the floor.

I should, really carry him up to his bedroom and put him into his bedtime clothes.
To be honest, though, I can smell his faeces from here and the maid is in a little later.
I’ll leave it to her to find him.

I wonder what this bet could be?
I’ve only just settled back into being in England.
I was hoping to catch the football this weekend. Oh well. No doubt I’ll soon be plunged into peril yet again…

Posted by Walter