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Authors: Spike Milligan
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I wished to view
again mountains and streams. I packed ip my chemical instruments and bits of
body. I’d finish miy labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of
Scodand. To blend with the natives around I wore a kilt and, following
tradition, under it I wore nothing. Every morning, to make sure, I stood on a
mirror. We saw a quantity of game and herds of stately deer, which tasted
delicious.
We
visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the field on which that patriot
fell — he tripped over a stone.
To
my horror I discovered the monster had followed me and he said, ‘Have you
finished her yet? Hurry up, I want a shag.’
To
keep out the wind, I wore an ankle length kilt.
On
an island there were three miserable huts, and eighteen miserable tenants. One
of these tenants was vacant. One of the tenancies was also vacant. It contained
two rooms and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable penury.
The thatch had fallen in, the neighbours had fallen out; I ordered it to be
repaired. The walls were unplastered and the door was off its hinges. The
cottagers had been benumbed by want and squalid poverty. When they spoke their
brains hurt and they fainted to the floor.
It
was a monotonous yet ever-changing scene. Its hills are covered with veins, as
were the legs of the islanders. Starting my experiments, my mind fixed on the
consuni' mation of my labour and my eyes shut to the horror of my proceedings.
Thus, I kept walking into the walls. I looked towards the completion of my work
with tremendous hope which I dared not trust myself to question but which was
intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken in my
bosom. [What a lot of bollocks! Ed.]
CHAPTER III
One
evening the moon was just rising from the sea, dripping wet. I trembled, and my
heart failed within me. [Where else? Ed.] Looking up I saw by the light of the
moon the daemon at the casement with his ghastly grin. He had followed me in my
travels; he had swum the English Channel. He had swum up the Thames to
Scotland. He stubbed his cigarette out on the roof. His wife-to-be was in bits
— her boobs were on the cases, her legs on the floor and her bum on the table.
Several
hours passed, and three buses, while I remained at the window gazing out to
sea. A fisherman called out. ‘Och ter mukty.’ ‘Fuck you too,’ I replied. I was
hardly conscious of extreme profundity, until my ear was suddenly arrested by
the sound of the local police. They took my ear to the police station where it
was questioned and finally released.
Back
home, I heard footsteps along the passage, the door opened and the wretch
appeared.
‘You
have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend?’
‘I
intend to sweep it up in the morning,’ I replied.
‘Don’t
you dare break your promise to me, he said. I have endured toil and misery. I
left Switzerland with you and crept along the shores of the Rhine. I swam the
English Channel and I’ve swum the stinking Thames.’ ‘Begone! I do break my
promise; never will I create another like yourself. I gave you cigarettes; what
more do you want?’
The
monster saw my determination and knashed his teeth at speed; they sounded like
castanets. To make a living, he’d been on exhibition in the circus as the
ugliest man in the world.
‘I
have journeyed the Sandy McNab desert,’ he said. ‘It was small compared with
the Sahara. How in heavens I survived it I do not know; it was a miracle of
survival.’ ‘Leave me, I am inexorable.’
‘It
is well I go, but remember — I shall be with you on your wedding night.’
In
a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters at a 100
miles per hour with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the waves.
All
was again silent, but his words rang in my ears; ‘ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling’
they went. I burned with rage; smoke billowed from my shirt. The trouble was, I
could not swim at a 100
again mountains and streams. I packed ip my chemical instruments and bits of
body. I’d finish miy labours in some obscure nook in the northern highlands of
Scodand. To blend with the natives around I wore a kilt and, following
tradition, under it I wore nothing. Every morning, to make sure, I stood on a
mirror. We saw a quantity of game and herds of stately deer, which tasted
delicious.
We
visited the tomb of the illustrious Hampden and the field on which that patriot
fell — he tripped over a stone.
To
my horror I discovered the monster had followed me and he said, ‘Have you
finished her yet? Hurry up, I want a shag.’
To
keep out the wind, I wore an ankle length kilt.
On
an island there were three miserable huts, and eighteen miserable tenants. One
of these tenants was vacant. One of the tenancies was also vacant. It contained
two rooms and these exhibited all the squalidness of the most miserable penury.
The thatch had fallen in, the neighbours had fallen out; I ordered it to be
repaired. The walls were unplastered and the door was off its hinges. The
cottagers had been benumbed by want and squalid poverty. When they spoke their
brains hurt and they fainted to the floor.
It
was a monotonous yet ever-changing scene. Its hills are covered with veins, as
were the legs of the islanders. Starting my experiments, my mind fixed on the
consuni' mation of my labour and my eyes shut to the horror of my proceedings.
Thus, I kept walking into the walls. I looked towards the completion of my work
with tremendous hope which I dared not trust myself to question but which was
intermixed with obscure forebodings of evil that made my heart sicken in my
bosom. [What a lot of bollocks! Ed.]
CHAPTER III
One
evening the moon was just rising from the sea, dripping wet. I trembled, and my
heart failed within me. [Where else? Ed.] Looking up I saw by the light of the
moon the daemon at the casement with his ghastly grin. He had followed me in my
travels; he had swum the English Channel. He had swum up the Thames to
Scotland. He stubbed his cigarette out on the roof. His wife-to-be was in bits
— her boobs were on the cases, her legs on the floor and her bum on the table.
Several
hours passed, and three buses, while I remained at the window gazing out to
sea. A fisherman called out. ‘Och ter mukty.’ ‘Fuck you too,’ I replied. I was
hardly conscious of extreme profundity, until my ear was suddenly arrested by
the sound of the local police. They took my ear to the police station where it
was questioned and finally released.
Back
home, I heard footsteps along the passage, the door opened and the wretch
appeared.
‘You
have destroyed the work which you began; what is it that you intend?’
‘I
intend to sweep it up in the morning,’ I replied.
‘Don’t
you dare break your promise to me, he said. I have endured toil and misery. I
left Switzerland with you and crept along the shores of the Rhine. I swam the
English Channel and I’ve swum the stinking Thames.’ ‘Begone! I do break my
promise; never will I create another like yourself. I gave you cigarettes; what
more do you want?’
The
monster saw my determination and knashed his teeth at speed; they sounded like
castanets. To make a living, he’d been on exhibition in the circus as the
ugliest man in the world.
‘I
have journeyed the Sandy McNab desert,’ he said. ‘It was small compared with
the Sahara. How in heavens I survived it I do not know; it was a miracle of
survival.’ ‘Leave me, I am inexorable.’
‘It
is well I go, but remember — I shall be with you on your wedding night.’
In
a few moments I saw him in his boat, which shot across the waters at a 100
miles per hour with an arrowy swiftness and was soon lost amidst the waves.
All
was again silent, but his words rang in my ears; ‘ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling’
they went. I burned with rage; smoke billowed from my shirt. The trouble was, I
could not swim at a 100
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