The Adventures of TombMouse

If I were a Web Log Frog where would I begin? I would begin at the begining like any self respecting frog of the web log would. So here we begin, at the begining, in the typical Dylan Thomas-esque way. In the small town of Rhamnam, off the coast of Twerdle, and hundreds of miles from Ghurnut Field, there was a market place where one could purchase a simply marvelous array of gifts, food, memorabilia, sheepskins, hunting rifles and much more besides that. The place was constantly abuzz with tourists and locals alike. A man would buy his lover jewelry if it were to wink and sparkle his way, a lieutenant would stand to attention as a coffee mug played his national anthem, even a tramp would give up his last pennies to get hold of a celebrity endorsed cornish pasty. The place was an alluring bustle of hagglers, swindlers and conmen all looking for a way to part you from your much loved cash. Money would laugh at the customer as it rustled in the hands of these dirty capitalists, scamming the livelyhood from even the smartest men.
Once a young doctor had entered the marketplace: glasses gleaming in the sunlight; lab coat ablaze with white light; and watch's face glimmering as it swayed in stride; all as the summer's sun poured into the town centre and flooded the square with a morning glow. The man strode in with confidence: he had heard the rumors; he knew all the facts; this man refused to be conned. Click, clock, went his shoes as they thundered onto the cobbles; these steps exuded a certain vigour about the man that would surely deter some of the lesser hearted swindlers. Click, clock, they would cry to ward off those who thought they'd try their luck at fooling a postgraduate academic who had the knowledge of four libraries and a documentary on horse pebbles that was on the other night. Click, clock, they said, Click clock... but it was not enough to repel the sights and sounds of the marketplace.

What does this have to do with Tomb Mouse you ask? Shush. Keep reading you impatient swine!

The doctor gave discerning looks from over his glasses, peeking just over the lenses at all the scum who would try and tempt his keen senses towards some of the most worthless junk. He would have none of it! They couldn't fool him! Not this doctor! No sir-ee! Unless... the young man had always needed a black-detail, red-handled, over-polished 1980s toy lazer replica! What would go better in his playroom (that he might build sometime if he had the money) than such an authentic replica of a gun he'd never seen? The glasses cracked in disbelief, the man's coat went a sodden grey in bemusement, and the shoes refused to click, nor clock.

"What's this?" The man asked in astonishment, picking up the gun and gazing down the antenna-shaped barrel. Before the swindler could pull down the kneckerchief from over his mouth, even before he lifted his grizzly, unkempt hand the doctor simply bellowed, "It matters not! I'll take it!" and threw down his money on the counter before running off into the distance making lazer-gun noises as he went.

"Pyoooom! Pyooom! Pyoooom! Pyooom! Pyoooom! Pyooom! Pyoooom! Pyooom! Pyoooom!


But the glasses, the coat and even the shoes were not the only ones infuriated with the aforementioned exchange. No. In the wall of an abandoned perfume shop adjacent to the stall was a hole the exact shape of a size 7 Puma football boot was a mouse who had heard this very transaction and its limited foreplay. Something was wrong with the world when a doctor bought a toy lazer gun and he was going to get to the bottom of it. The mouse crawled out from his hole so irate he swung up onto his hind legs. Unsteady at first, the mouse balanced himself and began to walk upright - so determined was he to solve this mystery of ridiculous influence.

And that is how we begin the tale (or tail... hahaha... ahem...) of TombMouse