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Authors: Spike Milligan
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threatening, I am
content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Not only
that, I am gasping for a fag and a fuck. If you consent, neither you nor any
other human being shall ever see us again: I will go to the vast wilds of South
America. My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to
glut my appetite; trees, acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. I
am a vegetarian. My companion will be of the same nature as myself, and will be
content with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will
shine on us as on man, and it will ripen our food while we are screwing on the
leaves.
‘I
consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever.’
‘I
swear,’ he cried, ‘by the sun and the blue sky of Heaven, and by the fire of
love that burns in my heart [that only left the moon], if you grant my wish you
will never behold me again. I shall go to Bexhill-on-Sea; anybody who goes
there is never seen again.’
Suddenly,
he quitted me, fearful perhaps of any change in my sentiments. I saw him
descend the mountain — with greater speed than the flight of an eagle — at 100
miles per hour, and quickly lost sight of him among the undulations of the sea
of ice.
The
labour of winding among the little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet
firmly as I advanced perplexed me; still I kept going arse over tip. By the
time I had gone 250 arse over tips, night was far advanced. I came to the
halfway resting place and seated myself beside the fountain. The wind blew it
all over me and I got soaked. The stars shone at intervals, the dark pines rose
before me and here and there a broken tree lay on the ground — and I did arse
over tips over them. Clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, ‘Oh! stars and
clouds and winds, and four Dispirins, do take the pain away.’
I
cannot describe to you how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me,
so I won’t. I listened to every blast of wind — blast! blast! it went as it
blew the fountains all over me again.
Morning
dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamonix soaking wet and with
hyperthermia. I took no rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my
own head I could give no expression to my sensations " they weighed
on me with a mountain’s weight, and the result was I had to walk bent double.
Thus, I returned home, and entering the house presented myself to my family
bent double with mountains. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm.
They called the fire brigade; I would answer no questions from the fire
brigade. ‘Are you on fire?’ they said. ‘No,’ I said. With pulleys they removed
the mountains off my back; I was able to stand straight for the first time in
three days.
VOLUME THREE
CHAPTER I
Day
after day, week after week passed away, as did my Granny. On my return to
Geneva I could not collect the courage to re-commence my work. I feared the
vengeance of the disappointed fiend and his grieving for a wife and cigarettes.
I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound
study and laborious disquisition. My father saw the improvement in me and
turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my
melancholy: he recommended an audience with the Pope but he was too busy and
sent a bottle of Holy Water which I drank — it gave me typhoid.
It
was after this that my father called me aside and thus addressed me: ‘Victor
Frankenstein, 10 Le Grande Rue, Geneva, Switzerland.’ I wonder if I ever got
that. It was marked ‘Return to Sender, Not Known Here.’
‘I
am happy to remark, my dear son, that apart from your typhoid you have resumed
your former pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. Where from I do not
know, but you seem to be returning. My son, you seem still unhappy; like
yesterday, you never finished up your spotted dick. You know how ideal spotted
dick is for people with
content to reason with you. I am malicious because I am miserable. Not only
that, I am gasping for a fag and a fuck. If you consent, neither you nor any
other human being shall ever see us again: I will go to the vast wilds of South
America. My food is not that of man; I do not destroy the lamb and the kid to
glut my appetite; trees, acorns and berries afford me sufficient nourishment. I
am a vegetarian. My companion will be of the same nature as myself, and will be
content with the same fare. We shall make our bed of dried leaves; the sun will
shine on us as on man, and it will ripen our food while we are screwing on the
leaves.
‘I
consent to your demand, on your solemn oath to quit Europe forever.’
‘I
swear,’ he cried, ‘by the sun and the blue sky of Heaven, and by the fire of
love that burns in my heart [that only left the moon], if you grant my wish you
will never behold me again. I shall go to Bexhill-on-Sea; anybody who goes
there is never seen again.’
Suddenly,
he quitted me, fearful perhaps of any change in my sentiments. I saw him
descend the mountain — with greater speed than the flight of an eagle — at 100
miles per hour, and quickly lost sight of him among the undulations of the sea
of ice.
The
labour of winding among the little paths of the mountain and fixing my feet
firmly as I advanced perplexed me; still I kept going arse over tip. By the
time I had gone 250 arse over tips, night was far advanced. I came to the
halfway resting place and seated myself beside the fountain. The wind blew it
all over me and I got soaked. The stars shone at intervals, the dark pines rose
before me and here and there a broken tree lay on the ground — and I did arse
over tips over them. Clasping my hands in agony, I exclaimed, ‘Oh! stars and
clouds and winds, and four Dispirins, do take the pain away.’
I
cannot describe to you how the eternal twinkling of the stars weighed upon me,
so I won’t. I listened to every blast of wind — blast! blast! it went as it
blew the fountains all over me again.
Morning
dawned before I arrived at the village of Chamonix soaking wet and with
hyperthermia. I took no rest, but returned immediately to Geneva. Even in my
own head I could give no expression to my sensations " they weighed
on me with a mountain’s weight, and the result was I had to walk bent double.
Thus, I returned home, and entering the house presented myself to my family
bent double with mountains. My haggard and wild appearance awoke intense alarm.
They called the fire brigade; I would answer no questions from the fire
brigade. ‘Are you on fire?’ they said. ‘No,’ I said. With pulleys they removed
the mountains off my back; I was able to stand straight for the first time in
three days.
VOLUME THREE
CHAPTER I
Day
after day, week after week passed away, as did my Granny. On my return to
Geneva I could not collect the courage to re-commence my work. I feared the
vengeance of the disappointed fiend and his grieving for a wife and cigarettes.
I could not compose a female without again devoting several months to profound
study and laborious disquisition. My father saw the improvement in me and
turned his thoughts towards the best method of eradicating the remains of my
melancholy: he recommended an audience with the Pope but he was too busy and
sent a bottle of Holy Water which I drank — it gave me typhoid.
It
was after this that my father called me aside and thus addressed me: ‘Victor
Frankenstein, 10 Le Grande Rue, Geneva, Switzerland.’ I wonder if I ever got
that. It was marked ‘Return to Sender, Not Known Here.’
‘I
am happy to remark, my dear son, that apart from your typhoid you have resumed
your former pleasures and seem to be returning to yourself. Where from I do not
know, but you seem to be returning. My son, you seem still unhappy; like
yesterday, you never finished up your spotted dick. You know how ideal spotted
dick is for people with
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