It has recently emerged that Colonsay is in the grip of
fear. An escapee is on the run and has evaded capture for several weeks now.
All visitors and islanders are warned:
DO NOT APPROACH IF SIGHTED AND DO NOT TRY TO APPREHEND THE VILLAIN.
A call came in this morning. It was Miss Biggles all of a
fluster. She had encountered a horned apparition, the beast as she called it, at close quarters and had only been
saved by the heroic deeds of Diogenes – yes him with the rather unusual habit.
We immediately ran
out to the Landrover, gathering some bits and pieces together on the way and we
were off, down the road towards Kiloran as fast as we could. Alas, there was no
sight of The Beast, none at all, it had vanished into thin air, shrouded in a
cloak of mist and mystery.
After talking further at length with Miss Biggles we managed
to get a good description and it became clear to us that this dastardly demon
was trying to pass itself off as one of our flock.
A quick head count of the sheep and all were present, so it had to be an
imposter….but where from we wondered. After detailed analysis there was only possible explanation..... no not the foul air that shrouded the mysterious dead fox incident on our wee fox-less island, no, this time the finger pointed, without doubt, to that even wee-er place of mystery and intrigue, across the shifting sands, past hangman's rock. ORANSAY.
So, on the phone it was to Reginald Sigmund Peacock Brodie
on Oransay, who admitted that one of his had slipped out from under him a
couple of weeks ago (in the Kiloran yard while he was adjusting his Horner
(shears to you and me)) and had proceeded to run at speed towards the farmhouse,
jumped the wall and ended up in Lovejoy’s
garden – his pride and joy. After lying low until darkness and gorging on his
prize begonias and nibbling his tender sprouts, thus endangering Lovejoy's normally
outstanding performance at the Colonsay Root & Produce Show,The Beast moved on, heading west to the Township, the
bright lights of Kilchattan (aka Tinseltown now that the visitors are here and
the lights burn bright into the night, so very different from the nights that burn bright when the locals have anything to do with it, details of which can be found elsewhere in this blog).
The Beast – the impostor (courtesy of Mr.R.S.P.Brodie) A
real Kilchattan Hebridean.
Can EWE tell the difference?
A striking similarity indeed, which just goes to show the
fiendishness and lengths to which The Beast will go. Let me reiterate. This is
not one of the Kilchattan Hebrideans (right). It is an impostor from Oransay (left) and is
very, very dangerous indeed.
We think ewe will recognise the impostor immediately. Yes
folks, it’s a her and not a him. Whilst both have dastardly horns and can attack
at any moment, unprovoked and without mercy, the him’s tend to have really,
really, big horns as can be seen below, and if viewed from the derrière you
will notice a protuberance hanging between the back legs, swaying from side to
side. This is usually about 16 inches in diameter and may appear to be
contained within a fleece sporran of some kind (we did have to censor the picture of course for those of you of delicate disposition, but I can confirm, first hand, that such proportions are not uncommon in these parts of the Hebrides).
 |
| Ewan-san - a Him |
Now that we have established that it’s a ewe then we have
decided that if all else fails then we shall send in Ewan-san our prize samurai tup who we are sure will be able to sniff her out within our wee 16
square miles and lead us to The Beast. He's a fine lad but we’ll have to keep
him on a leash because if he were to get too close, he’ll curl his top lip and
goodness knows what would happen next.
But first, there is talk of a posse being assembled to hunt
down The Beast. Lovejoy has already volunteered to ride shotgun – at least I
think that ‘s who what he said. He assures us he has a trick or three up his sleeve from his days riding the range and kneading his dough around the Jermyn Street camp-fires, that he can deploy from the back of his trusty steed, Honda. All of the
other fit men of the island have been called to arms and are due to assemble at
Clearance House tomorrow, where they will be offered sustenance in the form of a slice of Mrs Beeton’s No. 2 home-made chocolate
cake, before they head out into the wilderness of the reserve.
With Danger Mouse the Lonely Shepherd away on a mission overseas on Nopub Island, Diogenes has been appointed guide and will lead from the front as usual. It is not clear at this time who will be following up the rear.
Go forth brave men and capture this Beast before it ravages
and nibbles its way through all fine gardens and allotments on this wee island and, heaven forbid, gains access to hallowed ground of GC-HQ (the HQ of Colonsay's very own Gated Community).
Remember: until The Beast is caught and Mr R.S.P. Brodie is
reunited with it and has caged it once more in a secure compound, calmed with a
rendition of Ode To A Corncrake, then NO ONE is safe, NO ONE.
BE CAREFULL OUT THERE.
