Beaver Hateman has set up a radio station to extol the virtues of the 'get rich quick' culture that he is promulgating for the village.
There is a daily show hosted by two dwarfs called Russ Band and Johnny Woss who fill the airways with Badfort propaganda.
I must say I do not like their cocky attitude. Mister Woss regularly laughs at his own jokes, and interviews himself instead of the guests. Beaver is paying them a fortune (£5 4s 6d every week!) and Mister Woss has claimed that his salary means that he is "worth 1,000 Uncles".
I was supposed to be a guest on their radio programme - an opportunity, I hoped, to bring the village to its senses - but I realised that they intended to turn me into a figure of fun and so decided to go for a long walk along the esplanade instead.
When I came back I was horrified to discover that they had left a message, on my answerphone, that had gone out on air.
"Hi Fatty - stolen any bicycles wecently? How does it feel to be made wedundant? Thank Gawd we got someone sensible in charge now - the gwate Mister Hateman...."
It went on in a similarly insulting way for sometime.
The Old Monkey rang in to complain.
"What is funny about humiliating a lovely old elephant who has never harmed anyone in his life? I can't tell you how much it hurts to know you were so unkind to such a sweet, charitable and benevolent figure."
Beaver Hateman is attempting to transform the economy of the village.
He has already registered 'Badsea' as an Internet top-level domain - generally used or reserved for a country.
He has started licensing the 'TLD' .bc for worldwide commercial use. Apparently in some idioms 'bad' means 'good' and so many companies are interested in using .bc to sell their goods. They market 'bad crap' which means that their goods are perceived as being highly desirable. I think that this is called an auto-antonym or contronym.
Beaver has also redefined the village as an Offshore Tax Haven. He has even set up a website extolling its virtues.
It would seem that money is pouring in from the wealthy people and bankers of the world as they seek somewhere new to invest their money away from prying eyes.
Mister Hateman is already being feted by world leaders - it appears that the money he is willing to lend governments dwarfs even my own efforts to shore up the international financial system.
I tried to remonstrate with the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom about this "You do realise that you are borrowing money from a complete anarchist?" I demanded. "Sorry, Unc - can I talk to you later I have Mister Hateman on the other line" he said, and put the phone down. He never called back. Thats the thanks you get for providing financial aid in a time of crisis.
The cottages and terraced houses of the village are not large, but the sounds of joinery can be heard all over the place as the inhabitants divide their abodes into ever smaller rooms. Each tiny space represents the head office of yet another international financial operation incorporated on the 'island'. The villagers are making extraordinary amounts of rental income as the village has become the most expensive place to rent an office in the world.
Beaver has even more money making ideas. He has begun setting up numerous companies with the most extraordinary statements of purpose. He has one "For the bottling of the mineral waters of Badsea". In reality, it would seem that he is desalinating sea water - of which there is an abundance. He has another "For buying and selling Black Tom and lending money at interest".
As we are moving further South he argues that there will soon be enormous business for a company set up "For the extraction of bubbles from the South Seas".
The strangest of all is "A company for carrying on an undertaking of great advantage, but nobody knows what it is".
Unbelievably, there are no shortage of investors - it would seem that people are desperate to believe in something.
The Badfort Crowd have moved into the Town Hall and put up a banner declaring that Homesea is now 'The Peoples Republic of Badsea".
The villagers do not seem to care about the name change. Our floating village has moved further south into a region of warm breezes, blue skies and sparkling clear water. It seems to have taken on a new life as if in a dream.
Everyday, cruise liners come alongside and disgorge hoards of rich tourists who pour along the cobbled streets buying trinkets from the antique shops and gorging themselves on cream teas.
In between the visits of the ships the village folk just seem to be basking in the sunshine and enjoying a life of new found wealth.
For the village is awash with dollars and other strange money, and the people have discovered 'retail therapy'. There is no shortage of goods for them to buy. Refrigerator ships full of food, cargo vessels filled with consumer goods - all stop by and sell their wares. Providing tax free goods for the shops, and every luxury the inhabitants can now afford.
Upmarket cars fill the streets, and with oil tankers passing us daily there is no shortage of fuel for these gas guzzlers.
Today, Beaver and his gang put tables, chairs and bright umbrellas outside the Town Hall and organised a parade to celebrate the 'glorious' republic.
As for me - well for the first time in my life I do not know what to do with myself.
I have taken legal advice - Beaver seems to have a cast iron case. I am no longer the owner of the village (I cannot bring myself to call it Badsea). When I do venture out onto the streets the villagers look away, sheepishly and clearly embarrassed at having deposed me.
I am a virtual exile in my tower - there is no longer, apparently, a requirement for a rich philanthropic elephant when everyone is a millionaire. No one wishing to heed my words of caution. No desire for the paternalistic advice, the wisdom of many years of governance.
In short - it seems I am redundant.
Who can blame them for their actions? It must feel like they have won the lottery. But, do they understand, like myself, the terrible burden that wealth carries?, do they understand where this careless and inappropriate spending might lead them?...and what further idiocies is Beaver planning?
Perhaps, as the Old Monkey keeps telling me, it is time to leave - to return to Homeward.
I began by appealing to the villagers better instincts.
"Citizens of Homesea, I know that some of you have had you heads turned by Homesea's new celebrity status. This 'floating village' has become world renowned and this change in circumstances has brought with it fame and fortune - but it has also led to greediness. You have indulged in a starry-eyed celebration of your perceived freedom from the norms of Homeward society. But what does this amount to but an indulgence in excess? After hours drinking, failure to pay taxes, charging tourists exorbitant prices for cream teas - you are taking advantage of the situation for your own gain.
This is a distraction from the reality that is Homeward today - by ignoring rules and regulations you are throwing caution to the wind....'
"Oh be quiet! We're fed up with your rules and regulations!" shouted one of the fishermen.
"Enough!" I retorted "Homesea shall return to it's rightful place both geographically and as part of the social structures and institutions of Homeward!"
"Who put you in charge?" shouted Beaver.
"As the owner of Homesea..."
"No your not!" retorted Beaver.
"Must I remind Mister Hateman that when I bought Homeward it included the village of Homesea and..."
Before I could finish Beaver climbed onto the stage and pointing an accusatory finger at me declared "No! Hootman has checked a copy of your deeds lodged at Homesea library...Hootman tell him what it says!"
At this point the spectral figure of Hootman levitated onto the stage. I should have guessed that he would be behind this plot. He is the arch schemer of the Badfort Crowd.
In his wavering voice he began to read "I, Wizard Blenkinsop hereby acknowledge, for and in consideration of the sums set out, and give grant, sell, convey and confirm the parcel of land known as Homeward, Homeward Marshes and the coastal area from Maynards Cliffs to Flittings Point to Uncle..."
"Yes!..." I interrupted "...and that includes the village of Homesea!"
"But clearly it does not!" retorted Beaver "Homesea is no longer part of the coast of Homeward!"
I was dumbfounded. I could not fault his logic. It appears that I am no longer the owner of Homesea.
"Right!" said Beaver triumphantly "Lets put it to a vote, who wants the fat elephant to be in charge with all his boring old rules and rents and taxes!"
A few loyal villagers put up their hands.
"O.K. and who wants me in charge? - me whats brought in loads of lovely stuff - all tax free?" smirked Beaver.
Most of the hands shot up.
"Thats what I like to see - democracy in action!" laughed Beaver.
I cannot believe it. I have been deposed. Beaver is in charge. Has the world gone mad?
My attempt to rescue Homesea and tow it back to it's rightful place, on the coast of Homeward, has been sabotaged!
All was proceeding well, strong chains had been attached at strategic locations and ships of both the British Royal Navy and the United States Navy had managed to tow it clear of the French coast.
Crowds of local people had gathered on the beach to bade us a fond farewell. With tears in their eyes they waved us off. Crocodile tears in my opinion - they were just sad to see their new source of income going West.
At first, the French Government cut up a bit rough about it - threatening not to allow the ships into their territorial waters. "Mais Homesea est plus grand que Disneyland Paris - vous ne pouvez pas l'avoir !" Mister Sarcozy complained.
Then I reminded him of the bail out package I had arranged for his banks and he finally acquiesced - with somewhat bad grace.
As evening fell we were traveling at good speed back towards Homeward.
The following morning, however, we awoke to find all the chains attaching us to the ships cut through!
A.B.Fox blames himself - he feels that he should have been more alert and pre-empted this action.
But as I pointed out to him - who could have guessed that the villagers might not want to enjoy the patronage of Homeward again? It is clear to me that Beaver Hateman has been fermenting unrest.
I have decided to call another meeting at the Town Hall - this kind of unlawful behaviour cannot be tolerated.
This morning I gathered all the village folk in the Town Hall to hear my rescue plans for Homesea.
"Good citizens of Homesea," I began "Today, I can reveal to you the plans I have put in place to return Homesea to it's rightful place on the coast of Homeward. Tomorrow, ships of both the Navy of the United States and the United Kingdom will be placed at my disposal. As I pointed out, to there respective governments, it is the very least that they can do considering the fact that my loans have saved both their financial systems.
Cowgill is, at this very moment, locating secure points around the village to which steel cables can be attached. The village will be towed home!"
I paused here for cheers - but none were forthcoming!
"I realise that these have been troubled times..."
"No they've not! we've been having a great time!" interrupted Beaver.
"I appreciate that some of the residents may have been enjoying the fame and fortune that has come to the village due to it's unique status as a floating..."
"Too right we have - we've been making money hand over fist from these tourists!" shouted Mrs Turncoat, proprietess of the Toby Jug Tea Rooms.
"Yes, but as the owner of Homesea I cannot allow these flagrant breeches of economic regulations to continue - the tax evasion going on amounts to grand larceny!"
"Oooooh Unc's all in a tiz cos he's not getting his share of the dosh!" laughed Hitmouse.
"I would remind you all that I have been a great benefactor to this village over the years, and that I have not been charging any rents in this time of crisis. I am sure that all law-abiding inhabitants wish to see a return to legality and order and the normal status quo - without which life will descend into a free-for-all...."
At this point someone threw a tomato at me!
The meeting turned into a bedlam of raucous, shouting and babbling voices.
I have not posted for sometime because I have had a very serious problem to deal with.
The villagers seemed to have regressed in their behaviour and are getting up to the deplorable antics of their ancestors.
In the 18th century, Homesea was reportedly the busiest smuggling community on the Homeward coast. Its natural isolation, protected by marshy moorland, offered a natural aid to this well-organised business which at one point led to 80% of the tea drunk in Homeward being untaxed.
This smuggling at sea was backed up by many on land who were willing to finance and transport contraband. Notably, Beaver Hateman's forebears.
As now, the villagers were a tight knit community. Fierce battles ensued between smugglers and excise men, both at sea and on land, and the villagers were known to pour treacle over excise men from bedroom windows in the narrow alleyways.
Hiding places, bolt holes and secret passages abounded. It is said that a barrel of Black Tom could pass from the bottom of the village to the top without leaving the houses.
Undercover of darkness, smugglers would creep up the beach into a secret tunnel that led to a further labyrinth of routes deep beneath the village.
My suspicions were aroused when I spotted Beaver plotting with some of the local french fishermen. I arranged for my detective, A.B.Fox, to be secretly parachuted into the village to conduct investigations.
It appears that Beaver has been smuggling Black Tom into France and bringing in untaxed goods to the village. At first I thought it was just the Badfort Crowd up to their usual tricks, but it seems pretty much everyone in the village had their hands dirty. The pubs were full of villagers consuming cheap whiskey. The shops abounded with tax free spirits, tobacco and perfumes - drawing in even more tourists looking for bargains.
I could not, of course, allow the Homeward Exchequer to be robbed in this way and ordered the Homesea Guard to put a stop to these activities.
Last night, fisticuffs ensued as they chased the Badfort Crowd out of the tunnels. Noddy Ninety declared that Hitmouse certainly did not enjoy having a marlinspike up him.
The tunnels are sealed. I may not be so popular with the villagers - but law and order must prevail.
Perhaps they will be happier tomorrow, after I unveil my plans for Homesea's return, at the Town Hall meeting.
It is quite extraordinary - Homesea has become a top tourist destination!
The French can't get enough of our traditional cream teas and the proprietors have even started putting tables and chairs out on the pavements!
I was a bit shocked at first but have now got used to the idea. The Old Monkey and I like to sit outside under the awning - working on our plans for returning Homesea to the coast of Homeward.
We now have more visitors than Disneyland Paris, apparently - and it is not just the French who are flocking here.
All the world now know of my floating village and rich tourists are pouring into the cobbled streets, eager to buy anything with the label, 'Made in Homesea, the Sea-Borne village'.
Beaver and his gang have been selling some very dubious old tat that they are claiming as genuine Homesea antiques. I spotted Hitmouse extolling the pedigree of a rusty old bucket to some naive Americans.
I am a little concerned that Beaver appears to hold court at the Jolly Smuggler tavern every evening - I have noticed the comings and goings of some rather rough looking characters.
To maintain order, I have tasked the Homesea Guard with setting up a border post where Homesea is conjoined with France at the railway level crossing.
Noddy Ninety immediately volunteered to man the barricades - he brings boundless enthusiasm to everything he does and woe betide anyone who tries to get past his marlinspike.
I have also issued all the citizens of Homesea with a special passport.
We, Uncle, Owner of Homeward Requests and requires in the Name of Elephancy all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance, and to afford the bearer such assistance, protection and bananas as may be necessary.
With all these comings and goings we need to avoid a descent into anarchy.
What an extraordinary turn in events. I had a delightful culinary treat today - lunch in a real French restaurant.
It was Goodman who discovered that Homesea was once more conjoined with a land mass. On one of his early morning jaunts, he got into an altercation with some of the local farm cats.
Yes, we have struck land - the Atlantic coast of France in the Vendée to be precise.
At first I thought that the locals were going to cut up rough - a bunch of gendarmerie turned up in their funny little peaked caps, wearing cloaks...and toting machine guns.
For a while there was a bit of a stand off between the Homesea Guard and the forces of the French Republic - we were greatly concerned that they had ideas of annexation in mind. It would only have needed some hot headed individual to let off a shot and all hell could have broken loose. Thank goodness the Old Monkey managed to jump on Beaver just as he was about to launch a duck bomb at the Maire.
I tried to assure them that we had come in peace and, luckily, one of them recognised me.
"Son Oncle, ce gros éléphant qui a sauvé le système financier international!" he cried and they all started cheering.
I must say the French really now how to throw a slap up celebration and we have had a grand reception.
It is good to be on firm ground again and it will be a lot easier to put my rescue plan into operation from a stationary position.
It is important in a time of crisis to restore order and maintain law.
I therefore organised a meeting at the Church Hall in order to form the Homesea Guard. This will mostly consist of the village sea cadets, and any other willing volunteers.
This group of stalwart men and animals are essential for my plans to rescue and repatriate Homesea.
Captain Walrus will be my second-in-command, so I have taken the rank of Admiral.
After individually interviewing the volunteers, to make sure they were suitable for the job, I decided that we should adjourn to the Churchyard to practice our knots and splices.
Unfortunately, the Badfort Crowd were all sitting on the low wall, surrounding the yard, and insisted on interrupting proceedings with their continuous jibes.
"Look - it's Admiral Uncle and his balmy army!" shouted Beaver.
I thought it best to try and ignore him and decided to end the evening with a rousing speech.
"Right men - and boys - It's up to us now! We shall steer this ship..."
"Hey Unc, you might not have noticed but there's no rudder on this village!"guffawed Beaver.
"as I was saying before being rudely interrupted," I continued "we will in due course need to steer this 'village' and we will need a foc'c'sle party in case we need to come to anchor..."
"You'll need a blooming big anchor, mate!" screeched Beaver.
I could take these taunts no longer. "Listen to me Mister Hateman - you are not privy to my plans, but let me assure you that when I reveal them you will eat your words - Homesea will be saved!" I shouted.
"Oh yeah! - and wants it gonna cost the rent and tax payers of Homesea? hey?" screamed Beaver "Just so you can get your village back!"
I can see that Beaver and his gang are out to spread disaffection.
Yesterday, Cowgill found us - here on the floating village of Homesea.
He flew over and dropped a large crate containing a satellite link up telecommunication device.
Over the last few days the inhabitants of Homesea have had to adjust to being all at sea. To be the only village saved from the flood was one thing; to be the only village that ever floated away to sea was too much for their stomachs. The chemists soon ran out of seasick pills and shut their doors. The Mayor has taken to his bed and Noddy Ninety is running around telling people not to panic. This has only made them more anxious.
At one point a ship of the British Royal Navy actually passed alongside but failed to stop when I demanded to speak to the Queen of that country. Next time I see her I will have something to say to her about the manners of her Senior Service.
As usual, it fell to me to get the place organised. I demanded that the tradespeople of Homesea attend the Town Hall and it was soon buzzing with excitement as they came and went with plans for feeding and clothing the village from the stocks in the shops.
We were still able to pick up radio programmes from the outside world and we had some limited success in making a transmitter so that a message could be sent out.
I was gratified to hear that the whole world has been desperately searching for me.
The concern for my well-being has been overwhelming. I have already had the President of the United States and the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom on the phone.
They were extremely pleased to have found me as, apparently, there has been some concern over the collapse of the international financial system. I was able to reassure them that I would not allow this to happen. My brother Rudolph, quite rightly, had told them that he would not release funds without my permission.
I will inject capital, but my terms are strict - I will be in charge of any banks that I lend money to and anyone who has been very naughty and lent money unwisely will be sacked.
I will, of course, expect assistance with my masterplan to get Homesea back to its rightful place alongside Homeward.
Readers of this blog will be as distressed as the citizens of Homeward over the recent disappearance of the village of Homesea.
Over the last two days we received two messages from Uncle, the beloved owner of our fair city, by carrier pigeon. However, no further communications have arrived.
The last known location of the village is believed to be in the Atlantic Ocean approaching the Bay of Biscay. A garbled report has come in from a British Royal Navy frigate, HMS Troutbridge, describing a dangerous piece of floating wreckage seen in a sea mist. The Second Mate was locked up in the brig - his sanity having been brought into question after swearing that he had seen an elephant jumping up and down, and demanding to speak to the Queen, on the quayside of a floating village complete with a church and church bells, gasworks and a railway station!
This appears to be the first news that the rest of the world has had of Homesea being sighted at sea.
Cowgill has been scanning satellite imagery, and reconnoitring the area with a spotter plane, using a grid pattern, to try and pinpoint it's exact location.
In order to ensure stability, in these troubled times, I, his brother Rudolph, have assumed command here at Homeward.
We need your help - if you are a member of the fishing fraternity, please look out for this village. If you are a Radio Ham, then we ask you to listen out across all wavelengths for any communications from Homesea. If you live by the sea, or are a regular beachcomber, please be vigilant for any messages washed up in bottles.
(The content of the following blog has been received by carrier pigeon)
We had barely taken in the fact that floods had engulfed the whole of the surrounding area, including Homeward, when the phone began to ring urgently.
It was Noddy Ninety calling from the station. “Hello, Sir, I thought I had better ring you. I am afraid there may be some delay in the delivery of your morning copy of the Homeward Gazette, it’s a bit wet here – the platform looks more like a landing stage actually. It’s got waves lapping against it. I’m trying to make a call up the line to find out what’s occurring but I can’t get through.”
“This is no time to worry about papers, you fool, we have a disaster on our hands!” I shouted down the phone. “Report to the church at once – we must ring the bells and summon the citizens!”
The Old Monkey and I raced to the church, up to the dusty belfry and pulled on all the bell ropes. A crowd soon gathered led by Police Constable Dibley. “What’s up? You may own the place, Sir, but that does not give you carte blanche to wake everyone up with this infernal racket, you know. It really is very early to be practising your bell ringing!” he declared angrily.
“You fool – just look out from the tower!” I shouted back at him.
He looked out and his face went white as a sheet.
I decided that it was time that I took charge of the situation – perilous times call for an elephant of action.
“Rouse the village! I am calling a meeting of the whole community at the Town Hall!” I cried.
Soon, the people of Homesea were gathered in front of the Town Hall – at least the people who mattered: the Mayor, the councillors and aldermen, the Fire Brigade, and the Town Band. Noddy Ninety was in a very excited state. Captain Walrus and his man, Joe Weasel, were also there as they were on holiday in the village. Many were still in their pyjamas. There were also the usual trouble-makers – I could see the Badfort Crowd lurking at the back.
I was somewhat perturbed that, in this time of dire emergency, the cat Goodman seemed more concerned about finding a nice spot to sun himself!
As I pushed my way to the front of the Town Hall steps the band immediately struck up “Glorious Uncle”. I think that they thought that they had all been invited for the announcement of some big donation to the village that I was expected to make.
“Stop that noise! We have an emergency to deal with!” I declared.
“It would appear that the whole of the surrounding area has become flooded - in storms that are possibly the worst the world has ever known. One can only hope that the citizens of Homeward have escaped to the higher ground of Badfort..."
As this point Beaver interjected "Where they will be charged a fair rent, I assure you!" he laughed.
I ignored him and continued "By some good fortune we have been saved – however we are cut off from the mainland and as my treasury has become immersed in water I can offer no immediate financial help.”
At this there were groans from the crowd and guffaws from the Badfort Crowd. Beaver shouted “Hah! Uncles lost his lolly!” with merciless glee.
I began again “I propose that our immediate action should be to attempt a salvage operation to recover the gold from my Treasury….”
“You’ll be lucky!” screamed Hitmouse “who wants to risk their life so old moneybags can get his paws on his loot again!”
I attempted to argue my case, for without the funds from the treasury we would soon reach a parlous state.
At this point I noticed Goodman clawing at my purple dressing gown desperately trying to gain my attention.
“What is it Goodman! Can’t you see that important events are transpiring?” I scolded him.
“Well, yes, Sir…it’s just I have noticed something that I think could be of grave significance…the sun seems to be loose!” he replied.
We all looked up at the sun. It had always risen over the Homeward in the East and done its daily journey to set over the sea in the West.
It now seemed to be making a steady tour right around the sky above the tiled roofs and brick chimney-stacks.
At that point Captain Walrus’s man, Joe Weasel, piped up.
“Swingin’ a bit ain’t she Cap’n Walrus, sir?”
“Uncle, Sir,” said Captain Walrus firmly and clearly. "In my opinion we’re afloat."
There was a gasp from the crowd and I admit to being somewhat taken aback myself.
Then the Old Monkey shouted down from the top of the Church steeple.
“Sir, we are not just afloat but moving through the sea! I can see from here, there is a gentle bow wave up at the foot of the cliff and the water is flowing northwards along the sides of the Strand Quay and Fishmarket Road, on opposite sides of the town, and beyond the railway station and the gas-works there is a gently boiling wake!”
Remarkable! Homeward survives! Rather than the whole area being flooded, the village of Homesea has somehow come adrift. An undersea current is driving the floating rock that the village sits upon. The tempestuous storms that engulfed us, are sending us on a voyage to who knows where!
(The content of the following blog has been received by carrier pigeon)
When I awoke this morning I knew that something was different – but I could not place my finger on it. There was a different smell in the air.
The Old Monkey scampered into the room – “Do you feel it too, Sir? It feels like something is not quite right?”
We decided to climb up the rickety wooden staircase to the top of my tower to survey any damage caused by last night’s storm.
As I looked out from the roof, in the weak dawn light, I could not believe my eyes. I blinked a number of times and pinched myself in the hope that it was all a dream.
We scanned the 360 degree view from the top of the tower with our binoculars. Instead of flat marshland, the great walls of Homeward, the wooded hills to the North and the cliffs to the West there was nothing but low grey clouds and a grey-green sea ending in a pencil straight line all around the horizon.
“The whole of Homeward gone!’ cried the Old Monkey.
Homesea is a small village and whilst having a cream tea in Mrs Hardaker's Teashop we heard the gossip on the Badfort Crowd's latest activities.
It appears that, having been banned by the Mayor from fleecing the tourists with their 'donkey' rides, they have now set up a 'Punch and Judy' Show.
As we walked down Mermaid Street I could here gales of laughter coming from the Strand Quay.
The Old Monkey tried to hurry me home "Come on, let's get back to the tower - you know it will just be the usual scurrilous nonsense, that Beaver is so fond of." he urged.
But, I must admit, my curiousity got the better of me - I could not resist the temptation to see what the crowd found so amusing in Beaver's antics.
The show was an absolute disgrace - pandering to the lowest common denominator in satire.
It featured Mister Punch extolling me to lend the paupered President of America more money. This hapless soul was depicted as a cowboy begging at my feet. Beaver put on a supercilious voice, apparently intended to mimic myself, and cried out "$200 billion and not a penny more!"
At this point Mister Punch called me an old miser and hit me around the head with a stick.
Further misadventures consisted of me being attacked by Judy, with a rolling pin, for selling her baby.
This was followed by an uprising of the people against my 'tyrannical rule'!
Typical of the kind of feverish imaginings of Beaver's warped mind.
I shall have another word in the Mayor's ear - this kind of unlicensed propaganda cannot be allowed to continue.
We were having a wonderful holiday here at Homesea, but, my troubles always seem to follow me.
The Old Monkey and I had just had an enjoyable cream tea at the teashop in Mermaid Street, and were wandering around looking at some of the Antique shops, when we were assailed by raucous laughter and singing coming from the environs of the Jolly Smuggler tavern.
I recognised one dreadful voice immediately, wailing a particular vicious shanty.
“Uncle on his holidays Splashing around in the sea He is so fat the fishermen mistake him for a whale Poor old Uncle caught in the net!”
It transpires that he and his gang have brought the Wooden-legged Donkey here and are offering rides on the beach to unsuspecting tourists.
Once they are on his back he rushes into the sea and refuses to bring them back until they have handed over the contents of their wallets or purses.
I will not let this spoil my holiday – I shall just have a quiet word with the Mayor of Homesea and have their activities monitored.
Homesea is a little seaside village just outside the walls of Homeward on the coastal side.
It was included in the deeds of Homeward, and I have erected a tower which serves as a holiday home.
If you click on the map below you can see a larger version which details various locations within this pretty village.
Homesea is surrounded by flat marshlands that stretch as far as the steep walls of Homeward. Hundreds of years ago, before the sea had gone away from it and left the marshes and flat fields for sheep to graze on, the village had been nearly an island.
It is full of little cobbled streets and oak-beamed whitewashed cottages.
Every morning the fishermen depart from the Strand Quay. A little further down, past the oldest gasworks in Homeward, is Homesea's windmill.
The village has it's own railway station. Noddy Ninety has taken a holiday job as station master. There is nothing he likes more than railways - so for him it is the perfect vacation.
There are teashops and souvenir shops dotted all around the village to cater for the tourists - I am very fond of a cream tea.
We have arrived on a very blustery, rainy Autumn day but at least, at this time of year,it is a lovely quiet spot - a perfect place for me to forget all the cares and woes of running a great metropolis. Moreover, it provides a welcome shelter from the financial storms raging around the world.