Greetings for the New Year!

This Christmas has seen exceptionalisely cold weather and snow, seemingly harking back to the Dickensian age, 5 years ago. Record-breaking cold temperatures plunged Britain into an icy madness, which I was fortunate enough to be able to avoid by wearing extra socks and sitting next to a blazing hearth in my study. Fuel did run precariously short at one point and I was forced to burn most of my manservant's meagre possessions.
But, upon drawing the curtains this morning I saw the ice has melted and so took Wortha out for an enjoyable brisk constitutional along the canal. The dull wintry light and last remnants of fog lent the murky water an ethereal, dreamlike quality which made my wife's witterings seem almost bearable and as we marched along I was struck with the hope and inspiration the New Year can sometimes bring. Suddenly, though, we heard a stirring in the shrubbery to our left. A peculiar scratching and scrabbling noise, accompanied by high-pitched swearing. Drat! The street-urchins were thawing out and after several weeks of being buried in the snow were anxious to get back up to their usual mischief so that they might be able to afford a crust to eat. The vicious little scamps.
Wortha and I immediately upped our briskness and made our escape. Fortunately most of the Urchin's toes had been lost due to severe frostbite and so they were unable to follow us for any distance.
After such a traumatic experience we stopped in a local eatery and had ourselves a nice steaming hot cup of tea and full english breakfast.
And so on that note, I hope you had a Merry Christmas and wish you all a happy and prosperous New Year!

Joseph Merrick, PI

Just spent a wonderful morning with my dear old friend the Elephantman. He is such a witty companion with a very dry sense of humour. He does tend to dribble, though, so Wortha won't allow him to sit on the good sofa.
After brunch, which consisted mainly of currant buns and french fancies, Mr. Elephantman told me of his latest business venture. it would seem he has heard of a new fashion from the east called T-shirts and he has had his own image reproduced on thirty of them. "only thirty?!" I exclaimed. "Yesssshhhh," said he. "A very sshhlimited amountchhhhsss. But I asssschhure you, they are ofchhh the highessshhhtt quaility. Shhhhfffpppp." He spat crumbs all over the furniture.
So, to recap. He has 30 top quality T-shirts for sale at the the fabulous price of £20. Available from the Spabbyland Shop.
Now, to try and get those stains off the carpet...
oh, and I forgot to mention each order comes with its very own Elephantman ink drawing. Nice and tidy.

A little tinkerage.

Wortha has gone to visit an old family friend, Lord Adonis, at his country estate this weekend so I have been at rather a loose end. I've re-alphabetised my curio collection, buffed up my artefacts so you could see your face on them and cooked a Shepherd's Pie. And she's only been gone an hour.
She forbade me from going out on any fanciful expeditions this weekend as a man is coming round to fix the washing machinator so I'm just going to do a bit of tinkering in my lab and concoct a few potions from some left overs and then perhaps go out for a stroll in the woods and pick some mushrooms to make tea with. It's Hallowe'en weekend, I know, but I don't believe in all that superstitious mumbo-jumbo-hokery-pokery and I'm sure nothing of any interest at all will happen.

Old Photographs

Female Red-faced Dumple
Giant Drudge

I'm preparing to embark on a brand new adventure soon, so have been rather occupied recently. This morning, as I was contemplating which jacket to take i found these old photos in the upper-inside-left-down-a-bit pocket. They were taken whilst I was on my unexpected expedition in Lunkumshire. Ahhh, frightful memories.

Uno adventurio, por favore.

Last week I went on a relaxing family holiday to the Costa Brava with my wife, Wortha, and Gavin, my faithful manservant cyclops. The hotel was adequate and the foreign food bearable, but by the end of the second evening the lack of adventure was growing tiresome. Fired up by a jug of sangria Gavin and I ventured out into the mountains to seek some excitement. It seemed like our foray was destined to end fruitlessly when a piercing shriek broke the silence of the cool night air. It was me. My foot had fallen down a pothole. On closer inspection, though, this was no ordinary pothole. It seemed to me to be the doorway to a magical kingdom. So I instructed Gavin to get out his trusty shovel and dig. Soon he had broken through to a vast cavern stretching for as far as our eyes could see. We made our way, gingerly, along the intricate maze of pathways hewn into the rock, by hands immeasurably older than ours. Indeed, the whole cavern was permeated with a sense of ancient mysticalityness. As we passed further and further into that dark place we both knew that something very special was about to happen...
Anyway, to cut a long story short, we found a lost race of Spanish Elfdings, were worshipped as gods due to our appearance fulfilling some ancient prophecy or what-not, got caught trying to steal their sacred crystals and had to flee for our lives. We made it back in time for the buffet on Wednesday evening and Wortha hadn't even noticed we'd been gone. Said something about Jordi, the Hotel's resident musician entertaining her all night long. I saw his show on the thursday night but must admit to not thinking it that effective.

A thoroughly nice Echinoderm

I fancied a trip down to the Earth's Core again the other day to top up my Magma supplies and was told, by an acquaintance, to look up Ga'arth, one of the intelligent race of Holothurians that inhabit that strange land. He really was a very nice, well-spoken young blob. It makes such a change these days to encounter a gelatinous being with such impeccable manners. He took me on a brief tour of his city and we spent a very pleasant afternoon discussing all matter of facts. It was cut somewhat short, though, when a Giant Squid startled him and caused him to extrude his internal organs. He assured me he would be ok, but had to return to his lodgings to grow a new set.
I extracted my Magma and returned to the surface, where I was promptly mugged. Typical.

Deep In the Murk

As an intrepid I've plunged some depths in my time, but recently I got the chance to try out my new rubberised suit at the the bottom of a very murky trench. The pressure was so great down there that sometimes I felt like my helmet was going to be squeezed flat. I didn't find the treasure I had been hoping for but did discover some new species of very ugly fish.
Along with this squelchy excursion I have been attempting to raise funds for my next Bewildering Adventure. As yet I haven't two brass farthings to rub together, but I'm hoping a trip to an Adventurers Convention may prove fruitful.

Journey to the Centre of the Earth

Popped down to the centre of the Earth again this afternoon as I had a few hours spare. Forgot it was sunday though and by the time we got there everything was already shut. Drat it!

T'Twitter Factory

Since joining twitter I have become increasingly interested in how this technology works. It is truly fantastical, is it not? A short, timely message of less, not more, than 140 characters can be uploaded into thin air from a "mobile-device" and yet be seen by other people on their computing-boxes and such like. Simply astounding!
So, donning my detective hat (and coat, as it was rather chilly) I set off to track down just how all this magic happens. I started by typing a witty message and tieing a piece of string to it. Then I got Gavin to prepare the carriage and keep the horses engines running. As soon as I pressed "send" we were off, chasing the message as fast as we could. The pursuit took several days leading us out of London and up North to England's industrial heartland. We nearly lost track of it as we passed through Northampton, but with some persistence we arrived at the huge, looming Twitter Factory in deepest, darkest Yorkshire. We parked the carriage round the back and made our way inside the vast, windowless building. What a sight greeted our eyes! Row upon row of tiny children working the clanking machinery. The noise was deafening and thick black smoke belched from the engines as the mighty text-looms uploaded messages about what people ate for breakfast or thought of last night's X-factor onto the World-Wide-Webbing.
The poor children scurried back and forth trying not to get crushed by the huge cogs which kept turning and grinding out the letters. At this point we felt a hand on our collars as we were accosted by the factory security. Six burly guards surrounded us. They had the bodies of normal humans, but their heads were that of gigantic blue birds! "Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!" they ordered and we had no option but to obey. We were led into the office of the Twitter Queen, a monstrous bird-headed lady with tentacles that spread out all around us. I had a feeling things might turn nasty. Did you know birds don't blink? It is very unnerving. However, she was very nice and offered us a cup of tea and explained in great detail how Twitter is benefitting society by empowering the common man and giving him a chance to voice his thoughts. Her arguement was quite compelling, but I still had my doubts about all the child-labour involved. The Twitter Queen assured me they were well looked after and not made to work more than 24 hours a day. Then she offered me some shares and promised an exceptionally high dividend. This eased my worries somewhat and Gavin and I returned home... but, I shall be keeping an eye on Twitter and other social networking sites. I have a feeling we have not heard the last of the Twitter Queen.

Great Scott! It's a Great Auk

Thought to have been hunted to extinction in 1844, the Great Auk was a large flightless bird found on coastal regions and islands throughout the Northern Hemisphere. Standing up to 50ft tall, these majestic birds were easy targets for hungry sailors.
Just recently I discovered a small breeding colony on my travels...and these ones look particularly plump and juicy. I shall return tomorrow with my small cannon and proceed to bag a few of the tasty blighters. mmmm, I do love a good Auk pie!

Blasted woman!

Confound it all! Wortha has been meddling with my potions and tinctures... all I required was a little indigestion relief and look what happened! Oh! Where is my anti-serum?

I get the feeling I am being followed...

I have, after much persistence from Wortha, signed up to Twitter. I really can't see the point. Surely if you want to tell somebody about your day you just send them a telegram?
https://twitter.com/BertramFiddle

Dr. Jupitron's Invigoratative Liquor

I have been suffering one of my frequent bouts of lethargy and Gavin recommended I take a dose of Dr. Jupitron's Invigoratative Liquor. It claims to be a cure for melancholy, lethargy, consumption, effluence, irregularity, small-pox, big-pox, vox-pox, lice and the vapors and to give unbounded enthusiasm. I don't feel that enthusiastic but must admit I haven't sat down for the last 48 hours. I also have a funny sensation in my undergarments and have been trying repress strange urges towards my wife which are most ungentlemanly.
Nnnnnggggggg. I would go out for a brisk walk to ease my tension, but lately all the walls seem to have faces.

The Lost City of Atlantis

Oh dear, Oh dear. I am feeling most unwell today.
Yesterday was a Bank Holiday and, as is usual on such occassions, I decided to have a little expedition. I took down my 101 Adventures To Do Before You Die book and flicked through the pages to find something exciting. There aren't many in there that I haven't already done, but one entry in particular took my fancy. Rediscover Atlantis! Yes, I thought... that looks like a fun little jaunt.
Gavin and I hastily prepared the necessary equipment and made some sandwiches and set off towards the coast. There was one only one thing that weighed heavy on my mind and was causing me some concern. No-one knew where the Lost City of Atlantis was! With only a single day set aside for this trip I was worried we might not find it...
So, with some trepidation we set off on a little submaricycle we had chartered, heading due West. After some time we took a right and then the next left and Lo! There it was! Atlantis! We got off the submaricycle and wandered around a little. It was staggeringly beautiful... unfortunately, in the hurry to leave I had omitted to pack my camera so don't have any pictures to show you. (Perhaps I shall draw some from memory at a later date)
We sat on the steps of the Grand Hall in the main forum and took lunch (through specially constructed eating hatches on our underwater helmets, before you get all nit-pickily) and marveled at the sheer splendour of it all whilst strange little fish swam around us. After that we got up and shoved as much treasure and trinkets as we could manage into our rucksacks and headed home. It was the best day I've had for a long time.
However, my good fortune was not to last. As we reached shore and began unpacking our finds into my carriage who should pass by but the infamously debauched Lord Arthwipe. I could see him eyeing my jewels and knew he was up to something.
"One is having a little get-together at my mansion this evening and would be most grateful if you could attend." He slurred.
I tried to think of an excuse, but found myself unable to do so. "Er, yes. Ok, then." I replied. Drat! Drat! Drat! I knew I was getting myself into trouble.
Lord Arthwipe suggested we all go round there straight away and soon we found ourselves at his sprawling estate. As the huge black doors slammed behind us Lord Arthwipe turned and said the words I had been dreading.
"Perhaps a little dab of Laudanum before the other guests arrive?"
Next thing I knew it was 4am and I was in Lord Arthwipe's barn massaging a pig. I also have some recollection of losing all my Atlantan treasure in a game of Gin-rummy. And I still can't find Gavin.
oooh, never again.

Mother's visit

I have been unable to attend to any of my adventurising this week as my dear old Mother has been down to visit from her country estate. She really doesn't like London and its inhabitants, or "Scumbags" as she calls them. Fortunately it was only a brief stay and I am now able to concentrate on more pressing matters.
However, I thought maybe I could take this opportunity to talk a little about my family as it may give you, the reader, an insight into why I became an Explorer.
My Mother, Consternita Durkin is heir to the Durkin Gherkin dynasty and when younger was viewed as a very desirable prospect for young society gentlemen. She, however, did not care for the limp suitors that were on offer and decided instead to travel around Europe, thus avoiding the subject of marriage. It was on these travels she met my late Father, Albert Fschniddle. As a Swiss pilchard fisherman he had very few prospects but was extremely handsome and soon my Mother and he began a relationship. Unlike many couple of the time they decided not to follow society's rules and marry as a business union or for social climbing, but for love. Unfortunately it turned out that it was a love of money on my Father's behalf and a love of pilchards from my Mother. The marriage was short-lived and disasterous. Almost as disasterous as their Pilchard and Gherkin Jam business venture. (I'm so glad that Wortha and I's relationship is built of stronger stuff. Wortha never complains when I go away on my expeditions, in fact she seems to really look forward to them..)

My Father left not long after I was born, but would always return on full moons to take me out on fishing excursions. He regaled me with tales of adventure and spoke of monsters from the deep, pirates, pilchards as big as a cow etc. etc. It was on one of these trips I decided to become an adventurer and explorator myself and as I walked back from the canal, waving goodbye to my Father, I vowed that I would never rest until I had become the greatest Explorator and Adventurist of all time. I never saw my Father after that night. Some say he died wrestling with a monster, others that he was swallowed by a giant pilchard. The papers say he was drunk and slipped on some dog shit and fell into the river, but those hacks will believe anything.

So, dear reader, that is a little glimpse into who I am. I hope it was illuminating. Now I must go and prepare my packed lunch, for who knows what exciting adventurisms tomorrow holds?

A walk in t'jungle... in glorious technicolour!

Using the latest filmographic techniques we have managed to capture a little stroll through the jungle. Prepare to be amazed as the pictures move, just like real life.

Stabbsy Fletcher

Here is one of my more shadowy acquaintances. A young jive-talking cockney urchin by the name of Stabbsy whose services I sometimes have need to call upon. Stabbsy and his crew (the Eastside Ragamuffin Massive) are my eyes and ears on the streets. Although only 3 feet tall he has quite literally carved out a very profitable business in the mean streets and alleyways around Soho. All those fancy media types go to see Stabbsy if they want anything. Women, drugs, stabbing. You name it Stabbsy can sort it. But he has to be home in time for tea or his Mum will go nuts.
He also spins a mean tune on the old Gramaphone and his parties are extraordinarily wicked.

Sir Arthur Biggleswade, I presume

Whilst out on my morning stroll who should I stumble across but my dear old friend Sir Arthur Biggleswade. I'd not seen him since March when he'd left for Bolivia with a Treasure Map he'd bought off Chinese Bob. Imagine my surprise when I found his half-eaten remains in the park at Clerkenwell. Poor old Artie, he always did have the most unfortunate bad luck.

Don't know what on Earth this is, but I found one nesting in my ear on Tuesday. It was the size of a tennis ball so quite tricky to dislodge. I think it must have crawled in there as a larvae whilst I was on some foreign trip. I just hope it hasn't laid any eggs in there.

Antarctical Adventurising

Have just regained the use of my fingertips after a nasty case of the old frostbite picked up on a recent expedition to the South Pole. It all came about after a few too many ginger beers at the Gentlemen's club where I had the grave misfortune of bumping into that infuriatingly successful Dunk Smurdellturd. We exchanged witty put-downs, of which I do believe I was the victor, and began our customary wagering. Next thing I know I was in Antarctica, without a coat and abso-bloody-lutely freezing. I never did make it to the South Pole, but stumbled across an Ice-kingdom ruled by a wicked Snow Queen who had enthralled a race of midgets. I managed to otherthrow the Ice Queen and break her evil spell bringing back peace and harmony to the land. It was quite the adventure, I can tell you. But my fingers are hurting from all this typing, so I'll have to tell you some other time as I am about to retire for the evening and shall have to put my fingers back in the special recuperative serum.

I've attached a photo Gavin took of me just before the Penguins attacked.

Rather a long time since the last post again. (Note to self, must post more frequently) Been off in the Jungle. v. hot and lots of trees.

New look

There was a surgeon touting his wares on the corner of Fartsby lane the other day so I had a bit of a makeover. I got a new nose, slightly different moustache and a new outline. All for 6 farthings.

Quiet contemplation

Sometimes its nice just to sit and have a think.

New Boots

Just got some new adventurising boots from TK Maxx today. Only £24. Bargain! They didn't have them in my size, so I had to get a pair 2 sizes too small. But I'm sure that won't lead to any problems in the future...

A distinct lack of Adventurising

Its been nearly 2 months since I had any real Adventuring work. I am considering getting a part-time job to help pay the bills. Wortha has suggested I take some of my priceless relics down to Chinese Bob at the cash converter until my next job comes in... I am rather loathe to do so. But if I get another telegram bill like the last one, I will have little choice.
If anyone knows of any adventures coming up, please let me know.

Professor Nefarious

My next door neighbour. And thoroughly nice chap... although he did once borrow my hedge-clippers and returned them in a frightful state.

Mad-Dog McGraw

Proprietor of London's finest florist

A Lucky Escape

Last weekend I didn't have any adventures planned so decided to make the most of some cheap Hot Air Balloon flights to Europe I had seen at EasyBalloon.com. As a romantic treat I booked 2 seats for Wortha and myself to Transylvania and thought it would be nice to do a bit of hiking in the mountains. Wortha seemed less than impressed when I informed her and said if I wanted to spend a weekend with her I needed to book at least 3 weeks in advance. She really is a very busy lady. Wortha suggested that rather than waste the tickets I should go with my Man-servant, Gavin and seemed genuinely pleased when I agreed, though I am sure she was disappointed not to be going with me.
The flight was uneventful and we arrived early on Saturday morning. After a light breakfast of pickled scabbage and cornmeal we found a guide, a strapping young fellow named Bogdan, and set off to explore the mountains. The weather was pleasant and we made good progress until the afternoon, when the terrain became more difficult. We had to make use of all our rock-climbing experiences and more than once we were forced to get on all fours and try our hand at uphill tunneling. Once we reached the pinnacle, though, the views made up for all our efforts. We sat down to regain our strength for the descent. Gavin lit up his Peruvian pipe and smoked some of his special tobacco he gets imported from South America while Bogdan offered me his salami. Which was delicious. I wanted to stay longer, but Bogdan was anxious we should return before dark. When I questioned him upon why, he became most serious, crossed himself several times and whispered "Spatula". I think.
On the descent from the summit the weather became rather inclement. The wind gusted from the East and West and it started to drizzle. As our progress slowed we realised we would be unable to make it all the way down the mountain before nightfall. I was carrying a small tent and was quite prepared to camp out with Gavin and Bogdan, but the young Guide was having none of it... urging us to go down faster.
It was almost dark when he brought us to a ramshackle Tavern perched on the edge of a dark ravine. We went in and glad of the warmth and comfort we afforded ourselves the luxury of some of the local ale. Upon sitting down we were approached by a grizzled old gentleman who, judging by his complexion, must have been at least 120 years old.
He introduced himself as Lozrick and we struck up a conversation. He seemed like an affable kind of soul. However, when I mentioned that I was thinking of going back out that night his countenance changed and he fixed me with a desperate stare. Clutching my hand he made me promise not to go and proceeded to tell me how an evil spirit roamed the mountain at night sucking out the eyes of those unfortunate enough to find themselves without shelter after dark. It was, indeed, a scary story and I could see the old man believed it, but I am Bertram Fiddle, World's Leading Explorator, and trifling ghost stories do not worry me. It was a bit cold out, though, so Gavin and I decided to stay the night. I began to recount some of the many adventures I have had and soon found myself to have attracted an audience of men around me, all murmuring their interest.
Yet as the evening passed a growing sense of unease kept nagging at me. More and more men were arriving at the bar, despite the sun having set several hours ago. And as I looked around the bar I also noticed that instead of the usual serving wenches this tavern employed young bartenders whose uniform consisted of no shirt and lederhosen with a bit missing at the rear. How queer, I thought to myself. The music was also surprisingly uptempo. I decided to inspect my new companions more closely and it was then I began to panic. Several of the men sat around me were drinking cocktails and Lozrick, the old gentleman I had been talking to earlier was wearing ladies make-up. I realised that this tavern must be haunted and was infested by the very spirits I thought I was sheltering from. I looked around for Gavin, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was considering making a run for it when Gavin came out of the toilets chatting merrily with a stout, broad-shouldered fellow sporting a fine handlebar moustache. At least he seemed normal. I made my way over and told Gavin we were leaving immediately. The gentleman with the moustache asked why and I told him of my fears and urged him to leave too. He laughed heartily and slapped me manfully on my rear in a sporting fashion. "I have nothing to fear here," he said, but said perhaps I should run along before the spirits started getting mischievous. I agreed and Gavin and I slipped out the tradesman's entrance and down the back alley before anyone noticed.
We made it back to the town without further incident and boarded the next available flight back to London. I can't tell you how relieved I was to be back in good, old England where up is up and down is down. To celebrate our lucky escape we immediately went to my favourite drinking establishment, the Pink Sausage in Soho, and spent the night drinking with some Sailors. Ah, you can have so much fun with British Seamen.

Dunk Smerdelltord

Dunk is listed as World's Favourite Explorator in The Guardian's Top Ten Explorators and Adventurisers for last year. I only came 28th. Apparently his "fearlessness, rugged good looks and pleasant nature have endeared him to the public". Well, I think he is a prick.

Heed my warning!

Once again, my most humble apologies for not having written anything since September. A rather funny story, actually. I'd been tinkering around with my time machine in the parlour when suddenly I found myself 10,000 years in the future. The human race had split in two over many centuries of evolution. A beautiful race that lived above land and only ate vegetables, called the Lentileloi and a race of ugly, mishapen meat-eaters that lived underground, known as the McNuggets.
I spent most of my time with the McNuggets and formed quite a bond with them. One in particular, her name was Dollop, was keen to tell me what had happened . Apparently the divide had begun around the beginning of the 21st century when eating meat was frowned upon and new healthy "O-granic" diets were being peddled by "O-granic" shops and cafes. Gradually, over the years the meat-eaters were forced underground by an increasingly militant and vicious group of vegetarians. The pudgy, overweight carnivores were no match for the lean, wholesome Vegetablists who hunted them down mercilessly and shut their eating places so that buckets of chicken were almost impossible to come by. By the year 11898 when I arrived,the meat-eaters had devolved into pale, shuffling blobs that had to eek out an existence deep under the earth and only come out at night, while the Lentiloi swanned around in Hemp trousers enjoying their bean-curd and foccacia sandwiches at fancy cafe-bars.
It was a most revealing couple of days, but I was very glad when I managed to re-lubricate my flux capacitor with some lard from Dollop's underarm glands. There was a slight glitch though and I didn't get back until this January, a whole 3 months after I left. Which explains my lack of blogging recently.