Day 5 - The boys and girls do St. Moritz

With the last 4 days committed to tinternet Big Jock headed back to SRS in the pishing rain with only his Clingfilm umbrella for protection. Trying desperately to avoid lightning strikes, Big Jock looked like a slightly plumper version of Gene Kelly doing his “singing in the rain” performance.

On arrival at SRS, Mouldy was spring-cleaning Thunderbird 2, again! He was also dripping about having to trim his facial hair with scissors because the phantom phlan phlinger had run off with his beard trimmer. So keeping his distance from “Mouldy Todd, the murderous barber” Big Jock questioned the whereabouts of the other renegades. He was told that Bomber was racked and had been since flaming out at 8am. Minxie and the MILFS were in the health spa and Benger had taken No1 son and Jan P to Hotel Castell for a small aperitif.

Big Jock decided that at some point skin would cease to remain waterproof and therefore declined the offer of a half hour trip up the hill with Bomber. Yes, Bomber had finally risen from the dead! 5 minutes later Bomber was back at the Spit Roast Special, mouthing obscenities about “Feckin moontans, feckin pishin rain, day ah look like a feckin Billy Goat?” Big Jock thought, “Well you’ve made a start with that feckin old mans grey beard, oh drunken hairy one!”

The MILFS, who had made a very brief appearance and the Castill 3 arrived back at Thunderbird 2 about 5pm. Benger and James questioned Bomber about the appearance of his bare arse, again, and Benger is convinced that Bomber’s arse only gets bared when he is in the vicinity! Big Jock and James both walked off muttering about Heemasexers under their breath, and James began to question his conception having now convinced himself that his dad was Heemasexering with Bomber.

At 6pm there was a flurry of activity around the Murtahurms and suddenly the area was awash with Special Agents in dinner suits. Dr No (Big Jock) continued to insist that he wasn’t going to the meal in St. Moritz because he had caught repetitive strain injury from his Tinternet session. This was quickly dismissed as a ploy to avoid spending money and 001, 002, 003, 004 and 005 did not believe a word of it. Dr No then feigned illness, weather, AIDS, MRSA in fact anything to avoid spending his hard earned cash, which he liked to hoard and then count when no one was around. The Special Agents had sussed out his real motive for declining the offer of posh nosh in playboy heaven – after all, they were Special Agents.

So the boys and girls went to St. Moritz, gobbled and quaffed to the tune of £550 plus a £70 round trip in a fast black, and by all accounts the meal was delightful, as was the booze and of course the company doesn’t need mentioning.

Big Jock had a cheese and ham sandwich but don’t have any sympathy for that tight fucker.

Bomber arrived back at SRS around 2.30am, Jan P was slightly later at 7pm. James had been abusing him again; “you’re reliving your youth again aren’t you Jan?”

The MILFS kept texting Bomber until nearly 4am with Big Jock being awoken with every beep fuckin beep! Bomber’s 2nd phone is now keeping his first one company in the pile of logs next to the railway line!

PS. As usual it pished down again all night, beginning at 7.30pm and it is still pishing down now as I write this at 8.40am.

Big Jock can only conclude that Switzerland is as wet as an elephant’s orgasm, so you can keep your fackin toblerones you caannts!