Boardania - Tales From The Shed part V

The Pit

I got some more badger-poo ink made. It's finding somewhere to keep the stuff that's a problem. And being able to create just the right thickness of spit to mix with it. I've found that the best way to mix it is in my mouth. This sounds dreadful, and it took me a long time to convince myself it was ok, but it really isn't too bad. The poo is very dry when I use it and it has a taste slightly like American chocolate. Actually the more I think of it the more I'm becoming convinced that Hershey Bars have a certain 'badgerness' about them. A good mouthful of badger ink will usually be enough to write one of these entries, as long as I don't ramble on too long.

Now then - The Pit! I must admit that I was terrified after the meeting wondering what unknown horrors there were in store for me. I was taken down into the cellar of the scouser's house by him and three other young men. These four seemed to take their orders directly from the Scotsman and they often referred to him as "Boss." The odd thing about them was what they were all wearing. I'll try and describe their 'uniform.' Each of them were wearing a khaki jumpsuit and black wellington boots. The really odd things were the overlarge fly zippers on the jumpsuits and the night-vision goggles they were all wearing on the tops of their heads. The Scouser was an enormously tall and skinny guy. He had canine teeth that looked extremely odd. They were almost walrus-like. That's the best way I can describe them. Next was the short Irish tramp like man. Oddly, the jumpsuit and wellies were the tidiest clothes I'd seen him wear. Even so, he somehow managed to look scruffier than the others. That horrible monkey was nowhere in sight, I'm happy to say. Next was an American guy. He had the sort of accent that said: 'hog farmer' to me for some reason and there was always a distinct smell of alcohol about him. I got the feeling that he probably cleaned his teeth with Jack Daniels. I once saw a film with a guy playing a guitar and a strange looking kid playing a banjo. They were having a sort of competition or duel, against each other. I'm not sure why that comes to mind. Last was a very strange Mediterranean looking guy. I think he might have been Spanish, but that can't be right, because I remember him getting very angry when one of the other gang members called him Spanish. He was wearing a monocle and a very smart, but out of place opera hat. Oh yes! How could I forget? He had a squirrel sitting on top of the hat.

Hang on; I need to make some more ink.
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Phew! That was close. I just had a visit from one of the Australian girls. She keeps asking me to put more horses into the stories. It seems to be a sort of obsession with her. The trouble is, when I have in the past, she nags me that I've got the facts all wrong. Anyway, I had to swallow the mouthful of ink and sit on this page. The ink didn't taste too bad, but I'm feeling a little queasy. I made some more once she eventually went.

Now, where was I? Oh yes, The Pit. The four 'guards' took me into the cellar where a deep pit had been dug into the floor. They lowered me down and then left after switching off the lights. It was very dark and extremely quiet. I sat there. There was nothing else to do. A short while later I felt a spray of water on me. It seemed to come from just about every direction above me and it felt oddly warm. Not really unpleasant, except that I was totally unaware of where it was coming from. This warm rain happened every few hours or so. I began to look forward to it, as it broke the monotony. And it was very monotonous in there. I totally lost track of time. I could have been in there for days or weeks. The boredom was the worst. I'm not sure if I'm putting across just how tedious it was. I was very quickly desperate to get back to the shed. I longed to clean up after the badgers. Anything was better than being stuck in the Pit. Mind you, at least I had plenty of time to think. One thing that got me through the ordeal was the thought of hitting that Welshman with the shovel. The noise his head made as it hit. It makes me chuckle every time I think of it. I've decided that my next book will be named after that noise. Oh I'll give them some story that it means something else altogether, but every time someone mentions the name of the book - I'll know.