What a hectic few days they have been!
As anyone who noticed the mutterings of my assistant will have seen, I more or less ran into a plate glass door over the whole thing about my Cold Fusion notes.
I still maintain he should, at least, have checked what they were before....
Not to worry - water under the bridge, no use crying over spilled milk, worse things happen at sea 1
Yesterday, with some assistance from Cuthbert and Ernst, I was trying to recall as much as possible about the experiment.
So far all we can remember is that it was vaguely along the lines of the Fleischmann–Pons Experiment - but not as screamingly unsuccessful.
Ernst insists that somewhere in the apparatus there was a turnip, and (surprisingly) Cuthbert concurs.
Personally I suspect they are confusing this with a potato clock I made for one of our grandchildren, but I remain worryingly unsure.
A further fly in the ointment presented itself when I was informed by one of the servants that Fluffy had a fur ball lodged somewhere in her innards.
After much heavy hinting, and a complete disappearance of most of the staff, the delectable Xxxxxxxx (known on this interwebcybertubeboard as Ghost Plane) offered to arm herself with the Fluffy Pole (the hooked one) and enter the Moat to sort things out.
Cuthbert quickly snatched up an adjacent pair of binoculars and rushed up to his lofty lookout spot in the Scriptorium.
For some unknown reason he always does this when she mentions wet suit.
My own opinion is that at 97 years of age, he would do better to take up knitting, but who am I to interfere?
Where was I??
Fluffy sorted and fed, we returned to the job in hand, and it is with some relief I can inform you that we have just about solved the conundrum.
It was the turnip after all.
Nothing much else to report Dear Reader, other than that Father O'Houlihan Flaherty Doyle called around last evening to discuss the results of the Easter Long Distance Egg and Spoon Race (an annual event we hold for the village children).
Having been reliably informed that young Padraic Fintan O'Rourke-Sullivan, had won the under 8 race (having been seen 63 miles away, with bloodied feet, but still clutching spoon and egg), we awarded him the prize for that category - a handsome potato of his very own!
Thanks to a confidential informant of Father O'Houlihan Flaherty Doyle's we now believe the little cheat hopped on a bus!!
This needs investigating.
As you can see nothing unusual at all here - I don't know why I bothered writing!
1 These and other banal sayings are from my latest publication"1001 Things You Should Not Say When Granny Falls Down the Stairs" MT Press 2011, €35 in all good bookshops now.