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.