Jazz-Hands

Still it rains, but the locals like it.

Rice milk? I’m more a strawberry or chocolate soya type.  If we had Rice Krispies for hailstones, that would be cool.

Kevin made me an offer as mayor I couldn’t refuse.

Even if I did want to run away screaming!

Why his home is made to look like a construction site is anyone’s guess.

He was impressed with the way I managed to whip a flea off him.  Like all other insects, you need to be sneaking for this to work.

I’m beginning to wonder if this bridge is a common factor? Kevin and Bones both having one after crossing it. Maybe there is some sort of troll under the bridge who throws fleas on anyone crossing.

Memo to myself: Find three Billy Goats to eradicate problem. Preferably gruff.

Never, ever, hit a villager with the net if they do not have a flea on them. Not only is it a good way to get on their wrong side, but any witnesses or friends of theirs too – bang down goes your citizen satisfaction points. Being mean to villagers (even if you don’t like them) is pretty douchy anyway.

Part and parcel of being mayor is learning to be tolerant – putting up with others you may not like.

Animal Crossing: New Leaf is like those old cartoons with the moral lesson at the end, like when the head Thundercat, Batman or whoever would wag his finger at the screen and say ‘Now remember kids, violence never solved anything’ after spending the previous half hour of punching the f**k out of everything that crossed his path.

Maybe that wasn’t the best comparison. I’ll shut up now.

Try it out Cookie? What else can I do when I spend all my time making money for Tom Nook!

At the museum, a historic moment (alright, a museum is a collection of historic moments but you know what I mean!). Our first completed dinosaur display.

You really do not want to read what he said next. Right when I thought he could not get any weirder.

Let’s have a look at this Archelon anyway.

It made Camofrog happy at any rate.

Blathers thinks of them as something else entirely, Camofrog, but you really don’t want me to elaborate on it.

Sylvia has a robust cicada fetish. Must be the pheremones they give off.

Okay, have it, leave me alone you sick weirdo.

Memo to myself: never have robust cicadas about my person when Sylvia is around.

As if there wasn’t enough weirdness in Dalby…

Em, was it good for you? Did the earth move?

At least Cookie’s request was more normal.

Of course I will. I always do.

No matter how few Bells or whatever other crap you proffer.

Yes, I think the Able Sisters would make a fortune selling these.

Today’s be careful what you wish for moment. Remember yesterday I said about Sylvia being a purple kangaroo and asked ‘what next, a yellow hippo?’

Oh gods Of Animal Crossing: New Leaf, why do you mock me so? Although I do love his wallpaper and carpet so much, I cannot wait for him to unpack and find out what his home looks like.

There’s also another little mystery to solve, Scooby Doo.

Builders are banging and hammering away behind blue tarpurlin covered scaffording between Nookling Junction and the Able Sisters. What is going on? As mayor, shouldn’t I be kept informed?

The plot thickens.

A new day, same Dr Freud casebook from Blathers.

I was sorely tempted to tell Maelle to change her catchphrase to ‘Fuckface’. She’d be murdered by the rest of the villagers before the following nightfall for sure.

Damn my soft heart I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not this time.

A lot of the Dalby villagers wanted their catchphrases changed. Someone must have been telling them all theirs were lame, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a certain frogspawn breath was behind it.

I’m keeping Fauna on the deer puns for now.

Villagers sometimes get hyper over something you have caught and plead with you to swap it or buy it. No matter what the value, I always do so.

I never say no, I never play hardball with the price. Any loss on the transaction is made up by making them happy – what you are there to do as mayor.

I’d never make a politician – I’m too nice.

Dalby Post Office is not an Equal Opportunities Employer (pelicans only it seems), but Phyllis does her best to disguist this by acting like a total cow.

Very surprised at Bones – all the other villagers houses appear the same size inside. It could be his home has more space taking up junk in it.

More rain today, so maybe I can get some more gyroids and some good fish? Sylvia’s enjoying it at any rate.

I have acknowledged for the first time that Sylvia is a purple kangaroo. If this is the sort of villagers I can expect, no wonder Blathers is nutty as walnut cake – it would be enough to send anyone mad. What next, a yellow hippo?

No, a gypsy hog.

A Stalk Market, in which everyone invests in Turnip Futures, selling onto Reece who dictates the daily price. It almost makes Ginko Financial look legit.

Another piece fits into the jigsaw puzzle in how the Nooklings and the Lambchops have this village totally under their control by swindling them out of their hard earned Bells.

That weird fella standing at the end of the commercial district…

So this is the brother Isabelle has talked about?

I want the last five minutes of my life back.

What the Bells is this Happy Home Academy anyway?

I know one thieving raccoon that ought to be able to explain.

Lyle looks mental. The sort that collects fast food plastic containers as a hobby.

I want my mummy.

Have I ever stepped into Tom Nook’s office once without somehow ending up out of pocket to the little skeet?

Pocket change alright – all my change ends up in his bloody pocket! Urgh!

Life trapping and fishing carries on apace, and so does the bad punning in the process.

As does the getting stung by bees – you can see from the shut left eye again – I took my revenge on this one that was flying around innocently. Sold to Re-Tail, although what they want them for is anyone’s guess. I think Reece must sell them onto slave hive owners who make them honey for them or they get smoked.

On the subject of bugs, Blathers has issues. He freaks out when he’s given bugs, before blathering on after about how they remind him of when he was a child in his mother’s nest. Was his mum a sort of psycho owl that covered him in bugs as punishment if he didn’t do his chores properly? He never mentions his father either. There could be a connection, but I’m frightened of getting in too deep.

Fauna is still a sweetie, and the only one I’ve met in the commerce part of town who doesn’t start talking about shopping immediately. Maybe they aren’t all in league with the Nooks to get me to spend every Bell earned on crap to keep them rolling in it.

Isabelle has been giving me extra advice on running the village, and now I own a house I can start doing Public Works and enacting ordinances to make it better.

You have to love her cynicism in the second frame – very Sir Humphrey!

We have a new member about to arrive in the next day or two called Sylvia. Hope she’s better than the frog has proved so far.

I also caught a moth that was near to impossible not to spot on the tree.

But the bigger they are, the more stealthy you have to be, and the proximity you can get before it flies off even on sneak isn’t as good. These fellows carry big bells (1200), so good to get, but rare.

Breaking the fourth wall for a moment, parents will approve of the way after about an hour of playing the game, the characters will advise the player to take a rest from the game.

As Animal Crossing: New Leaf is aimed at young children (sales survey figures however say most players are females in their late 20s!), it’s nice to see a company showing a bit of responsibility towards their younger players, even if they will in all likelyhood ignore it.

Sarcastic but diplomatic smiley face response to bad jokes from Cookie. Isabelle would give nodding approval were she here.

I think I’m going to like Dalby after all.

Against my better judgement, tried the clothes shop again run by Sonic The Hedgehog’s sisters.

I think I have anger issues. I want to smash Sable’s head into that sewing machine so much. Lucky Fauna turned up. It’s impossible to feel mad if she’s around.

For once I didn’t march back out again with a head steaming full of various potential ways the Ables would meet their untimely demises, but tried a few items on and – cue drum roll – bought two.

The Twallan look – always gives the air of reassurance you know what you’re doing.

It could also be construed however as the Steve Dallas look however. Dilemma.

This looks rather mayorish, mayorial or whatever the right adjective is.  I’m sure it will come in useful when the weather gets colder. As now, it is far too hot for anything except a t-shirt.

As mayor, I suppose I ought to be setting an example of confidence in local small business enterprises by spending, even if I do think the Nooks are crooks and have Dalby’s economy stitched up around recycling and petty trading to force everyone to flock to the Lambchop duo (see what I did there?).

Now I have a house to fill with tasteless junk, at least I have an excuse.

There appears to be some evidence pointing towards a drug culture in Dalby, judging from comments by Bones.

Oh what? Spacing out? Could this be what causes that Cyrus to be sleeping all day in Re-tail?

Maybe that’s why Reece is so defensive about him. Poor Reece. Stuck with a worthless bum of a husband she’s having to run a bric-a-brac shop in order to pay for that scrag’s skag.

it would also explain Blathers.

Do you know the number of times I’ve gone to him to look at fossils or to donate fish and bugs, only for him to stand there looking at me blankly, opening his beak like he’s about to say something, only for there to be…

… nothing?

He looks so doped out half the time, jumpy the rest, has memory problems, wants to sleep all day, and only comes awake late at night which would be roundabout when his fix of whatever he’s getting punted wears off and his body starts craving to score.

It would also explain his fear of bugs. He’s probably seeing spiders crawling up the walls all the time in his state.

He came close to confessing to me today, but broke off.

Don’t worry, I understand. Admitting you have a problem is half the battle.

I think as well I’ve discovered who is behind it.

You suck at the Wordy Rappinghood, Katrina.

The Rieklings of Solstheim are much better at it.

At least the goora goora part sounds kinda right.

Okay, what was that supposed to be instead? Psychonaut ?

Is that it? That your best shot?

WHAT THE…

Okay I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m incredibly sorry I’m incredibly soggy pants sorry please don’t cast me into your evil pit of tentacles of everlasting doom and horribleness!

Em, I don’t think this cat’s got anything to do with drugs stronger than catnip if she’s making prophecies involving the police.

What? The best my fortune is ever going to be is nothing but pants?

WELL THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT!

Thank you Forrest Gump’s mum, that makes me feel a whole lot better.

Mmmm, don’t think she’s behind the local drug problem. I’ll need to investigate further.

On the bright side, I was heading for home after and ran into Camofrog, who was a lot friendlier this time.

I won’t be taking any of his advice though. He’s still to discover about the bees it seems.

There’s another cool way to get some goodies that doesn’t involve worrying about nasty stingers.

Almost forgot.

A proper roof over my head instead of canvas and a bright red post box. Yay!

Guess who turned up the second I was in the door?

Aw bless her little jangly footsteps wherever she goes.

It ain’t much…

…but it’s home!

At the top of the shopping district is a big blocked up area with spotlights illuminating a sign. If I cared enough, I’d find out what it’s all about, Alfie.

I’ve been busy fishing away, coining in the Bells and giving first refusal to Blather the owl. The aquariums at any rate should be starting to show something for themselves.

(Oh, and the puns after every catch are sometimes good)

Best catch so far has been the hammerhead shark, which looks real impressive when it turns as it swims around the big tank of the aquarium.

I have also discovered however that it is possible to catch rubbish like empty cans. Pink Lambchop will ‘kindly’ dispose of these for a fee that cuts into what money I make from selling to her.

I wouldn’t be half surprised if muttonhead’s dumping it all back in the sea late at night for everyone to catch again. Give me proof, and I’ll give her and quiffboy an appointment with the nearest oven and jar of mint sauce.

Why did the wording change?

There is a new torment around Dalby, but this time I have taken the war to them. Sometimes (in particular at bridges) you can get two, and you need to quickly net one before the other flies in to bite you while you are enjoying a well-earned gloat.

Once spotted they have next to no chance of escaping your net and sell for an easy 130 bells. Not much, but still more than most of the common shells (sand dollars, sea-snail shells and cowries) and  on the beach will get.

Is this the Dalby version of the Butterfly of Doom?

Bug hunting requires more stealth in comparison to fishing. Too often when moving from North to South the first you know there was a promising bug resting on a tree is when it flies away, unless it is one of the cicadas. They make a real racket, so you know to make a wide bearth around, down, and back up to make your catch.

The puns for the bugs are every bit as cringeworthy enjoyable.

Locusts hop around the place rather than resting on trees, and if you don’t get them first time, it can result in a helter-skelter chase.

If you’re not careful, all your efforts will result in nothing more than you demolishing what flowers you had (if you run through flowers or hit them with the net, there is a chance of destroying them) before the little bugger decides to swim for it or vanish into solid rock (this is Dalby, remember?).

Mystery to be solved: why is there a basket or lobster pot on a small pier, yet there are no fisherfolk in Dalby?

In fact, I have not saw one of the locals go anywhere near the beaches.

Made a point of going to say hello to the new arrival in town, Camofrog, only for he/she/it to tell me I’d already done so. Em, what?

Confused, I went back to the Town Hall (which is right next door to where Camofrog built his/her/its home), where I decided to find out a bit more about what changes I can make to the place. The town tune I didn’t alter other than removing the random second last note so it has a predictable downward progression on the last three notes.

For the curious, the Dalby tune goes like this on the QR Crossing Town Melody Generator:

Isabelle also gave me an option to complain about any of the locals’ behaviour, but it’s early days, so I declined.

Just as well, since she’s a bit of a blouse!

I’m looking so me today? Why, what did I look like yesterday instead?

On second thoughts, don’t ask. Maybe this town has turned me into a shape shifter and I’ve not noticed without access to a mirror. Another worry to keep me awake at night.

Yeah, yeah, Cookie, I get the hint – spend Dalby into prosperity by paying Tom Nook the money for the house and giving his obsequious little brother the rest of my shinies for his tat.

Hope it chokes you, you money grabbing little skeet!

The Nookings: the Illuminati of Dalby.

It’s a start.

Moments later, I ran into Kevin.

Allowance? What allowance! You skeets don’t pay me a single Bell to be mayor and I’m even having to scavenge to be able to buy my own house, you swine.

Why, are you expecting the big bad wolf to come to huff and puff and blow your house in?

Ow! Why do I keep falling over for no reason when I run? At least this time it was on the grass, not the cobblestones.

Call it sad, but I really love it when the level crossing works for a train to go by.

I want to see if I can time it so I am stopped on the other side of the barrier onetime as well. Don’t ask me why, but I always seem to get my best ideas when standing waiting at the level crossing.

Although Bones also helped me to come up with a good one. Remember Isabelle telling me everyone wanted more plants in the town? What about some more trees?

More orange trees could also get rid of the Pitfall infestation about the place, maybe. Dig a hole, drop an orange in, one more tree in a few days time, three more oranges a few more days later.

I also have a perfect orange I was given, which I will keep for now but plant later once I am sure I have the hang of it.

What it would certainly mean is more greenery, and a revenue generator if I can get enough of them planted. Much better than shaking trees hoping for coins and hoping even more there’s no beehives in them!

That however is for tomorrow.

Tonight I spend my last in a tent, hoping that the good weather lasts until the morn.

I’ve come to a bit of a junction with my dealings with Dalby.

Have got used to the officialdom around the place: Isabelle – my Sir Humphrey – isn’t as neurotic as I first thought, Blathers at the museum is sweet enough, especially as I’m bringing him lots of goodies for display, and Pelly at the Post Office directed me into getting a free palm tree lamp (I may even find a use for it one day).

What a pity that Blathers is such a blouse over bugs that I need to give them to him as a job lot or with fish or fossils so he doesn’t freak out. Not sure how to give mouth to mouth to an owl if he faints.

As Kevin has reminded me for the hundreth time, there aren’t enough fossils in the musuem.

Or at least what I’m getting is lots of bits of completely different skeletons, but nothing to make a set. When you can only get a maximum of four fossils a day – and there’s the possibility of getting duplicates – I fear this is going to take a while before I get anywhere near a big dinosaur skeleton, so I’m going to have Kevin (and a few others) with a bone to pick for a while.

Does anyone know what this butt lazy lambchop with the ten foot long duck ass quiff does except for sleep at his desk all day? Pink Lambchop blew a fuse when I tried to wake him, saying something about him resting after working so hard.

Working so hard doing what? Digging an escape tunnel out of town in the twilight hours? Is that what those plans he’s got all over the place are about?

I think that must be the ultimate dread for the outside world – one day there will be an mass outbreak from Dalby.

Meh, maybe I should let them escape. Ungrateful skeets!

Em, she’s not going to start talking about burning things again at this point…

Isabelle has told me one thing solid which I can also do to improve the town, and that is to increase the number of plants.

Okay smarty pooch, where do I get more plants from?

One improvement I could do, send all the residents in town a ‘hello’ letter.

Letter writing is a big deal around here, even though everyone lives on top of one another. A regular letter writing habit to all can make the difference between building good relationships with the villagers or not from the outset.

When in Rome, or rather when in Dalby…

In the meantime:

I think I’d best leave giving this one to Blathers until I find something else tomorrow, don’t you?!

Yes, it’s official. On the noticeboard and stuffs.

Why is it a town hall, but the citizens are villagers.

If this is making a ticking noise, I am going to be very unhappy.

Time I mentioned some of the local yokels. You’ve already saw Cookie and Maelle, here’s Bones – the other dog in Dalby.

According to the Animal Crossing: New Leaf game guide, he is lazy. That explains why he spends all day wandering about with a watering can, net or shovel and never sits on his bum for a minute.

Fauna is as sweet as they come.

Then there is Kevin…

Or to be more to the mark…

If Kevin was a bacon buttie, he’s eat himself.

But it’s good to have some townies with a bit of self-assurance. It makes up for Isabelle’s over-dedication to the job to the point of neurosis.

Lucky there’s no smoking in this game. She’d be demolishing a pack of Luckys behind the Town Hall four times a day, if not something stronger.

Mayorial Memo To Myself: get everyone in Dalby to chill-the-Bell-out!

You really want me to answer that obvious feedline? This isn’t Morecombe and Wise.

With someone call Camofrog due to move in, getting some sort of plan thought up for this place is an idea.

One of which will be getting a Health and Safety Executive formed to deal with these pitfall seeds. They’re everywhere!

Start humming ‘Land Of Hope And Glory’ to get the full effect for the next bit.

I know I have the body but of a weak and feeble ladybro; but I have the heart and stomach of a, em, mayor, and of a mayor of Dalby too, and think foul scorn that cicadas or zebra turkeyfish, or any frogs of the pond, should dare to invade the borders of my realm.

To which rather than any dishonour shall grow by me, I myself will take up the net and rod.

I will catch them on the beeches. I will catch in the rivers. I will catch them trilling noisely on the trees or lurking in silence. I will catch them flying in the air or scuttling along the ground, or indeed skating on the pond. 

I will donate them to the musuem, and the surplus sell for Bells for public works, whatever the cost may be.

I will never surrender – except if the battery on the Nintendo 3DS gets too low and I have to let it recharge.

I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat – and being repeatedly stung by those bloody bees. 

Yeah, as if you didn’t know, lambchop.

Nookling Junction? Hold the phone, are you and your brother the oily little skeets that run the Nookling Discount Rail Fares website which got me into this mess?

Coming straight over, I’ve a bone to pick.

Sure, I might only nail one of each of your bollocks to the table for fitting me up like a toff, you shifty little furbag.

I’m Mayor of this lump of scrub, and I’m not even entitled to a credit account at the shops.

Thanks for the warning you and Lambchop are in cahoots. First rule of survival, know your enemies allies.

It’s the ‘I know who you are’ that says most in this one-sided conversation. Never trust a duck. Especially a French, Quebecquoi or Walloon duck. She’s probably in charge of the local secret police keeping tabs on outsiders like me.

This place was a complete waste of time. The one on the sewing machine was about as friendly as a redneck’s rottweiler, and that Labelle would have said ‘that’s not a bad choice’ if I’d tried on a used panty shield for a hat.

Think I’m going to give these Able Sisters a berth for now. Besides, a new outfit’s not going to get me out of here. Unless it’s one I can pretend to be a station porter and sneak on board after shoving that monkey bound and gagged into the storage lockers after coshing him a few times – plus one for luck.

That sounds like the beginnings of a cunning plan. I must make notes.

In the meantime, I need my space. When’s this house of mine going to be ready, you shifty little skeet?

DOWN PAYMENT OF 10 000 BELLS?

Hold the phone, I’m mayor around here!

Come to it, what wage am I getting anyway for running this hovel?!

Oh, I get it now – the sneaky little furry f**kers!

This entire place is set up so everyone else works in service industries and they kidnap some poor sucker off the train and con them into doing all the hard manual work they run off.

Even the local museum is expecting me to provide them with insects, fish, fossils and artwork. Sure bud, stick a broom handle up my butt and I’ll sweep the floor at the same time.

Mayor? Mule more like it, or ass to be even more accurate.

Is this all some sort of Pierre Boule scenario I’ve found myself trapped in? A land where the animals get the humans to be beasts of burden while pretending that they are in fact elevated higher than themselves?

I’m even having to pay for the tools in order to make some cash to make all these little skeets rich. Is there no end to this?

This bobber you’re talking about had better be to do with the rod, because if it’s anything to do with my person you’re getting slapped.

See this half-shut face? I do it a lot.

Shaking the trees gets you oranges to sell on, occasional coins or a piece of furniture (I have yet to find out why the locals go shoving furniture up the trees, unless it’s another of their sick jokes to torment me with – having a good laugh watching me dodge another table speeding towards my head.

But too often it means getting bees in the face, no matter how fast I run or swoop the net at them. I get the hive to sell, but it means walking around with one eye shut in pain the rest of the day.

Fishing however, got that one licked. It’s easy big money when you know how.

Wait until the fish (a dark tadpole shaped shadow of varying size) starts bumping the bobber – the second it goes down with a loud ‘plop’, hit the (A) and keep hold as the fish spins like a whirlpool.

Don’t wait for fish to appear. Walk up and down the sea shore or river banks (never run – it scares the fish away) and cast when you see one. Try to get the bobber as near as possible to the fish without hitting it. If there’s no fish around, go to another area and come back later.

I gave that first fish I caught to the museum. Decided a bit of public spiritedness first might improve my standing around here, seeing as they had a museum with nothing inside it.

It didn’t take me too long to have a whole treasure trove (for them) of items to stock – bugs, fish, fossils (you can find four of the latter a day, think the place is in some sort of fault line that forces fossils to the near surface with X marking the spot conveniently. Maybe it’s something to do with the power from that tree I planted for them?

A turkeyfish and a crawfish. It’s a start. Off to bed.

I even got some sympathy for my bee stung face from Cookie. Maybe she’s not a secret murderous psychotic like the rest? Maybe.

But when I was about to camp down for the night, guess who burst in without so much as a knock (yes, I know you can’t knock the flaps of a tent, but she could have banged sticks or rocks together to make a knocking sound).

Notice how the conversation quickly turns to roasting and burning yet again? I’ve got your number, sunshine. First thing tomorrow, get a stone to sharpen that spade’s edges. If I’m for an appointment with the wicker man, there’s one or two of these furry psychos that will be meeting their Trickster first.

Oh? You’ve given me a night light.

That was, em, kind.

Thanks… I guess…

Thrown off the train because the guard said I didn’t have a valid ticket. I should have known that the Nookling Discount Rail Fares site online wasn’t legit!

Today can’t get any worse.

Wait? What? I never signed up to be mayor of anywhere!

Great – get me a ticket right back out of here. I’m close to having a major freak out from being thrown off the train into a town full of clothes wearing animals that speak like they breathe helium instead of oxygen, and have announced I’m now their mayor.

Nothing personal, but I’m bailing before Gef the Talking Mongoose shows up.

I’m sure you’re all very nice too (please don’t eat me) but it’s all those flowers, trees and the sea, you see.  They’ll play havoc with my asthma, they will.

Health reasons – the never fails Get Out Of Jail Free card for all occasions.

Except this one. Rats.

Years of the James Bond franchise have proven beyond all reasonable doubt that being told by a complete stranger that another complete stranger has told them to expect you is Not Good.

This is Not Good.

If I’m mayor, am I not entitled to a sumptious mayorial residence with the job?

What? All I get is a plot of land, and you’re billing me for it?

Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?

I am underwhelmed by your generosity.

I take it the mailbox is so the Dalby Chamber of Commerce can start billing me for existing as soon as possible?

Where’s that Isabelle? Back at Town Hall? Listen fleabag, I’ve been here five minutes and the first people you take me to results in a shakedown. Isn’t being mayor meant to mean I get to shakedown everyone else? What sort of screwed up sort of politics do you people practice around this joint?

What’s this? My ticket out?

Uh oh, like Big Brother Is Watching You round here is it?

Best play along, in case the locals try using non-possession of the Town Pass Card on demand as an excuse to have you shot behind the Town Hall and this Isabelle gets to eat the carcasses as a perk of her job.

Someone acting this nicey-nice has got to be an evil psychopath on the QT.

Ceremony? Special events? I’m not liking the sound of this.

Now I think about it, how did they all know my name anyway when I came out of the train station earlier?

I’d better play along. One sign I know they have some sinister scheme going on here, and they may decide to have one of their special events right away…

I was right! They are Folk o’ the Woodsie who want me to plant this tree for their Trickster god. I’d better do what they want for their Woodsie Lord and hope part of this ceremony doesn’t involve my deadings.

Smile and wave, the longer they think that I think they’re on my side the better my chances of getting out of here alive.

Let me guess, the tree is a magical lodestone for how well the town is doing.

I don’t need to guess what happens to me if it doesn’t grown strong and lively: water, moss and blood, and I’ll be supplying the blood.

It wouldn’t surprise me if these whackjobs have manipulated me into driving the sapling unknowingly into the charred decaying corpse of the last mayor, shallow buried in this spot to fertilise that which replaced the old tree which failed and died.

Look so cool did I? Yeah, I get it, and I’ll look so hot inside a big Wicker Man if I mess up. All this ‘cool’ talk – must be some water based pagan cult around here. I’ve got your number, Cookie!

I could jump into the waterfall and swim for it out to sea and escape before they knew what was happening. But in that sea there’s creatures with more teeth than a double-glazing salesman, and I’m not going to avoid being toasted by this lot only to end up a shark’s version of a sushi snack.

Could always try bluffing my way out…

… but why push my luck? Softly, softly, no catchy by monkey.

In case I don’t make it out of here alive, I’ll sneak a note onto this disused noticeboard for any who should follow me.

But just in case it isn’t as unused as I think, let’s keep it vague.

Like I said, no point pushing my luck before my first day trapped here is over.