If you see one fillum this year, make it HitchHiker’s Guide To The Galaxy. No, really! Just been out to see it tonight, and I was most certainly not disappointed. I’m not going to tell you anything that happens, of course; that would be jolly unfair. Suffice it to say, as the radio series, the books and the TV series were all different in certain ways, so too is the fillum. Which is a Good Thing, because no-one can sit there muttering darkly to themselves , to whit: “That wasn’t in the book” or “Huh! I can’t believe they missed that bit out!”. Each version of the story is different and each version of the story is excellent in its own way.
Just watch out for the odd cameo here and th..*mmph mpph mphhhh!*
Sorry ’bout that. It sort of slipped out.

‹Sips delicately at a Pan Galactic Gargle-Blaster›

Tchoh. Bloody amatuer reporters. I dunno, want a job doing, do it yourself.

*wipes blood off sword, enscabbardifies it and kicks rubbish reporter’s head under a laurel bush*

Right. Settle down you lot.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: There’s nothing so good as messing, simply messing about on the River. True fact. Especially when you get to go onto the Thames for a bit of a muck-about. P’raps (given the piratey adventures I’ve been fortunate enough to go on with Henners and Trouty) I’ve got used to the Wey and its cosiness, but the Thames is bloody big! Bloody lovely too, mind, especially on the best boat in the whole world ever.
Henners picked up a lovely old book for me when he went to Brighton: 3 Men In A Boat by Jerome K. Jerome. Apparantly Jerome rowed up the very same bit of water that we chugged along on Saturday, and the book is an 1889 first edition! Can’t wait to read it, but I certainly won’t be treating it to the same bath-time read as I do with many other books. Oooh dear me no: kid-gloves for this baby. Thanks Henry!

What’s that? What do you mean, ‘Stop rambling and show us some canal pictures’?
Tchoh. OK then, here ya go:

*cues up some lovely-floaty-Tony-Hart-stylee music on the wheels of steel*

Thames Lock. Virgin waters for Capn Grace Omally.

Is that facial hair or slime off the lock wall? You decide…

Proof, if e’er ’twas needed. Look! No lumpy water!

A suitably odd house…

…and another. Well, I wouldn’t want to use their car-port, that’s for certain.

Miniature Pirates! Deadliest combatants known to man! I must have been stabbed at least 20 times when they boarded us.

I’ve been past Newark Priory a number of times with Henners and Trouty, always wanted to have a proper look at it, so that’s just what we did. Didn’t get rumbled by an irate farmer, thankfully. *ahem*

It’s a magnificent old building or, rather, it was clearly magnificent at some stage but is now sad, almost foreboding.

The sky seemd a bit foreboding too, which just goes to prove Henry’s theory about rain starting when he goes out of his front door.

Here’s some Deadly Nightshade that Henners picked at Newark Priory. Leastways, we think that’s what it is. Henners thought it might be Hairy Violet at first until he remembered that was someone he went to school with.

Here’s a fine example of a Wild Pantomime Horse. You can tell it’s wild because it hasn’t been trained to cross it’s front legs.

The first Canada Goslings of the year! Mmmmm. Hungry. They look like fluffy Chicken McNuggets.

Loads of these buggers all over the shop too, making the place look untidy. I bet Her Maj the Queen of Englandshire wouldn’t mind if Sweden helped tidy up a bit.

Upon my return from far-off lands, I decided to shave off my honourary beard. Well, bits of it.
Don’t panic, I shaved the rest off too.

‹Slyly adds superb new piccies to The Gallery›

By our Royal Correspondant Dirk Flurdygurdy-Hoodehar.

‘Utterly’ and ‘Fab’ are two words (accompanied, of course, by a ‘!’ or three) that sum up this weekend.
The King of Sweden graciously accepted an invite from Captain H. T. Thirst and Lady Trouty to inspect the Swedish Royal Navy’s flagship, Charlotte Rose, and he was not disappointed. In fact, His Majesty even allowed some sort of strange hairy fungal growth to spread over his chinny-chin-chin in honour of the occasion.
Part of the inspection involved a cruise along the Thames, where the Royal Party were followed by strange algae-collectors, boarded by miniature pirates and rained on a bit.
There were also numerous breaks for a spot of ‘wildlife’ photography* whilst the evenings were spent imbibing freely of the well-stocked cellars** of the Charlotte Rose, engaging in political discussion and and giving Lady Trouty a sound thrashing***.
His Majesty was even allowed to take the tiller occasionally but, like a good king, he always brought it back.

Stay tuned for a more coherent, picture-laden write-up any day now. Don’t touch that dial. Well, you can if you want. I mean, you might want to do some heavy Googling, or take a look at B3TA or something.

*Samples appearing at a gallery near you, real soon.
**All Swedish Naval vessels have cellars, so ner.
*** At Trivial Pursuit, you filthy people.

‹*singing* 13 men on a dead man’s chest, Yo Ho Ho and a Rottle of Bum!›