Folks,

Wildman:

Thank you for continuing to exercise your obvious talent for painting fantastic mind pictures.

Down into the inky depths and onward through the very bowels of mother earth we tramp. Perhaps we shall bump into Old Dux down here? He might well be suffering from a long imposed sobriety and desperately trying to find an exit to the nearest pub through his restored three-holer. If so, he might easily be drawn to the dancing shadows cast by our torch light? With him in mind, let's keep our hand on our wallet and our collective eyes peeled.

Me stay out of the bottle? That would be a soft drink or milk variety of bottle, right? That is an uncanny observation of the first order my Korean based pal. Are you psycho....wait, I meant to say are you psychic, that's the right word. As it happens, it is quite true. Last night whilst stumbling around in the dark I found I was unable to locate the damn bottle so, as I always do at such difficult times, I resorted to drinking from my trusty combination silver hip flask and ass warmer. Hic! Pardon me.

OK, we've been down here quite a while now Wildman, the stalactites hanging from the ceiling and those stalagmites rising from the floor are beginning to resemble teeth to me .... shudder! Isn't it about the time in the story when we catch the scent of something disgustingly noxious or at least hear a few blood-curdling growls and howls or perhaps notice a few hungry grunts coming from within a mysterious shadow or something terrifying like that?