The Trumpton Chronicles - Signs Of Life

evening all,

The jungle heat and humidity had sapped our ebbing reserves of vitality and energy, making even the simplest tasks almost unbearably difficult. 

Even the effort needed to raise a glass to signal "another gin and tonic needed here",was almost beyond us, and pressing the button to make the jacuzzi bath do its thing was a torture beyond measure 
(as indeed was the peculiar placement of one of the bath nozzles, providing a three way service of massage, colonic irrigation and falsetto singing all in one.)

 Indeed one of our crew was almost mad with dehydration, however we suggested she took more water with her Scotch which seemed to calm her down a bit.

Just as hope was running away from us faster than Paula Radcliffe needing the toilet, through the trees we saw signs of life and headed toward salvation.

It was a small village, a combination of wood and stone buildings, with a small inn at the centre, the "George and Dragon".....

we dragged our weary bodies to the door, and with our final reserves of strength, knocked haltingly on the door.

The door opened, and a hard bitten woman looked down at us with bite marks still evident on her flesh.

"Whayddya want?" she snarled.
we cleared our voices and said in unison........
"Is George in?"

No room at this particular inn.

night all