The Man With A Long Chin's Diary


Giant Clam


6 August 1997 - GIANT CLAM

It's awful - I've been made to live with my wicked uncles Celestine and Winston. All I'm given to eat at nights is a lump of germ culture from a petri dish.

My uncles are so wicked - they make me sleep in a large oil drum filled with polecat skins and molasses. They awaken me in the morning by heating the drum and banging on it with a tennis racket. But I have a dream - a dream of travelling far from here in a giant motorised electric clam.

7 August 1997 - GIANT CLAM

My wicked uncles Celestine and Winston made me clean out the drainage channels in the courtyard of their polecat skinnery last night.

While I was out there I found the most incredible thing: a giant motorised electric clam like the one in my dreams. I climbed inside, and was confronted with an amazing sight a grey/pink mass of organic matter and a faint fishy smell. I'm going to use this giant clam to go on an adventure.

8 August 1997 - GIANT CLAM

I've discovered a giant clam which I intend to use to escape my wicked uncles. It would appear that the clam is inhabited.

In here with me is a jellyfish called Clark Davis, a seahorse called Ginger, a couple of blennies called Horace Webb and Den Spicer, and a winkle called Travis. We fitted a steering wheel to the inside of the clam, and Den Spicer reckons he knows someone who'll be able to give us a push-start.

11 August 1997 - GIANT CLAM

We've managed to get the giant motorised clam up and running again, but my crew no longer trust me. They view me as some sort of maverick, a rogue agent risking their lives for my own selfish enjoyment of the giant clam.

It's true that I don't let anyone else steer and that I have taken one or two questionable short-cuts, but that's what life's all about. If we don't take a few risks in a giant clam, then we aren't fit to be classed as human.

12 August 1997 - GIANT CLAM

I'm fed up with driving around in a giant clam. I think it's a mixture of the smell, and a crew who hated me which has led to my decision to quit.

I've left the clam in the hands of Ginger, who I'm sure will be an able pilot once he's seen a doctor about his crippling addiction to yeast. Horace Webb has volunteered to be chief engineer, and I don't doubt he'll do a good job of it, providing he doesn't succumb to his psychotic rage.

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