I wan't going to post this here as it's, well, sort of embarassing.
But I thought it might be cathartic to ******* this forum with my problem and see if the Arsylumites (or as Moebius calls them, "we") can offer their usual supportive and well thought-out suggestions.
See, I've accidentally (I promise it wasn't intentional) destabilised the quantum of the space-time continuum.
It was a typical Friday evening. An Antelope had materialised in my bath (annoying enough, you might think) and it had this strange Bolivian accent, and a cleft palate so all the S's were Sh's. You know the sort of thing. Both of the servants were away (I'd given them the night off to go see the Allakhazam v Hilary Clinton Fight in Zimbabwe) so the house felt pretty empty.
So I'm trying to watch TV (A documentary about documentaries about Reality TV animations) and all the time there's this constant "Grashiash por el baño Sheñor" vibe from the bathroom. Each commercial break I'd saunter over to the bath and insert more dampened toilet paper into the Antelope's mouth to gag it. I know what you're going to say. "Go for the nostrils". Yep - on the 6th attempt I had the idea to insert several sheets of Charmain into this stupid Antelope's nasal cavities.
It worked for a while, but of course, I was then faced with a wheezing and sniffling.
In Bolivian.
With a speech impediment.
By this time I was getting seriously annoyed. Even the Philipino Serving Boy I keep under the coffee table provided no solace. I knew it was time to take the bull by the horns. (Metaphor - yes, it was an antelope not a bull. Don't be so Literal!)
I decided that the only solution was Darren Kensington's patented Antelope Remote Control (v6.3 with the mute button).
Sadly, Darren won't be born for another 13 years, and it won't be until shortly after his 24th birthday that he'll invent the ARC ( and a further 2 years before he gets the 'mute' function sorted).
"Oh Crap" I thought. Time to dust off Nobby's time machine again for the first time.
Having made the decision, I decided it needed to be done without delay. I strolled from the West Tower, dropped by the lower kitchen to make a pot of tea, ironed a few shirts, read a couple of Charles ******* Novels, and before you could say 'gbaji' I was in the cellar.
There, outlined in gleaming mahogany, onyx and melted pepsi bottles was my beloved time machine. I set the controls for the heart of the sun, pulled down the thermal visor on my bobble-hat and clenched my buttocks.
Within 4 yards I was happily arriving in 2045.
I'm going to will have tracked down Mr Kensington and borrowingeds the Anelope Remote Control.
Quick as a flash, I am have will leapt back into the Time Machine (bear with me on the grammatical tenses - Time Travel buggers up the language, don't you find?) and returninged to 2006.
I carefully made my way into the bathroom and aimed the remote control at the Antelope, which by now was busily trying to hide my shower gel and shaving foam into the pockets of its combat trousers. Both of the Zebras and all of the Centipedes in the bidet looked on in anticipation.
But this is my dilemma.
Now it has been muted, should I use the Antelope as a convenient writing pad (felt marker is perfectly legible on it's pelt, as it's quite a short-haired Antelope), or shave it and use it to clear a path for me at supermarket check-outs?
All advice appreciated.