Who is this who bicycles doggedly through the driving rain, lank hair plastered over his pale brow and useless wind cheater clamped in sodden folds to his shivering frame? Why, it is none other than Philip the Anxious Homunculus once again dispatched by that grim faced Gaelic termagant Mrs O’Flaherty unto drizzly Cronkleton on a mission of great importance with a purse lipped prohibition against dallying in Ellson’s Models and Crafts or worse, nervously nursing a nourishing half by the fire in the Pony and Trap. Down the lane from the Grymoire Observatory, with Mrs O’s stern admonition ringing in his ears, he pedals through lake like puddles until he comes at last to Cronkleton High Street and its familiar shops. Locking his bicycle under the great oak by the war memorial he carefully extracts a bundle of damp hand bills from a greasy tartan duffle bag and with chapped fingers peels one off and sheltering from the deluge as best he can, soundlessly mouths the words printed there:
“Messrs Shillaker and Scott, the two gentlemen comprising that entertaining and peculiar association specialising in hand crafted parlour nonsense and more commonly referred to as:
The Curious World of the Grymoire
Humbly submit to any interested parties that it may well constitute a most entertaining and worthwhile evening, were they (the above named gentlemen) to visit in person the living rooms and parlours of ordinary townsfolk in order to practice their renowned art for the entertainment, edification, erudition and delight of same. Furthermore; that said visits might include three quarters of an hour of their finest and most rib tickling whimsicality for no more reward than the hospitality and conviviality of their hosts and perhaps a nominal consideration to cover the unavoidable combustion of certain rare ethers incurred by the act of travelling to any such engagements by infernal engine.
If any person or persons reading this legend find themselves subsequently or indeed instantaneously enticed they should without delay make every effort to contact The Grymoire Observatory so that appropriate arrangements might be made and disappointment thus duly avoided”
Solemnly, Philip retrieves Mr Chives’ enormous brass staple gun from his bag and with sudden uncharacteristic deftness places four great steel staples, one in each corner of the bill, fixing it to the hulking tree. An hour later, after the rest are delivered and fixed in various shop windows, church notice boards and community centre doors, a soggy and rebellious Philip buys a packet of Extra Strong Mints, ten Craven A and a Morning Star and sets off squelching and defiant for the Pony and Trap.
