So, there I was; standing in a moonlit wood with a monster’s cock in my hands, inadvertently working him up into a state of complete arousal.

It is funny how life turns out, sometimes.

Having started to get the beast worked up, I reasoned that it was only polite to finish the job at (or, more precisely, in) hand, and so I set about the rather unpleasant task of bringing about the creature’s climax.

As I bashed away at the beast’s bulging beast, Botter suddenly returned, having abandoned me some time earlier.

“Botter, you wretched little cock-smear! Where the devil have you been?” I asked, as I continued my exertions.

“Um, sorry milord. I went back to the carriage, to er, retrieve your pistol,” Botter replied, waving my pistol in the air triumphantly.

“So you were not just fleeing for your miserable life, then?”

“No, milord! Of course not, milord!”

“For some reason, I find myself not believing you, you cowardly little cockroach.”

“Um…milord…are you…are you administering hand-relief to the beast?” Botter observed.

“Aye, he is that!” Grimes chipped in. “An’ he’s doing a grand job!”

“I am rather, aren’t I?” I concurred, taking some pride in my penis-pounding prowess. “In fact, I would say that the beast is about to blow…I’d stand clear, if I were you…”

Grimes dutifully ducked back down behind some shrubbery, while Botter stood bemused in the open.

“Botter! Stand clear, man!” I repeated, but before Botter could react, the beast let out a bellowing roar and issued forth a jet of bestial baby-butter, which gushed forth from his monstrous manhood like water from a hose. Suffice to say, my unfortunate man-servant found himself directly in the path of the excessive expulsions, and was knocked back by the tremendous force of the creature’s cock-cream, winding up firmly pasted to a nearby tree, dripping with the beast’s considerable discharge.

“Well, that certainly saves me giving you a damned pasting,” I quipped, as Botter spat out mouthfuls of monster mucus.

“Sir!” cried Grimes, rising up from behind his hiding-place. “The beast! Some thing’s happening to the beast!”

I looked around and, sure enough, there was something happening to the beast.

He seemed to be shrinking.

We watched on as the creature got smaller, and as the thick fur covering his body receded, revealing human skin underneath. Slowly but surely, the beast transformed from the ferocious monster we had known, and turned into…

Lord Rydeham-Harde.

“What manner of trickery is this?” I yelled as a very naked Lord Rydeham-Harde sat where the beast had once been. “What in the name of Lord Wellington’s almighty wanger is going on here?”

“Ah, yes,” Rydeham-Harde said meekly. “I think you’ll probably want an explanation.”

It transpired that Lord Rydeham-Harde, in failing to fulfill his husbandly duties in the bedroom, had promised Lady Rydeham-Harde that he would seek medical assistance in getting his gander up, and thus give her the good seeing-to she so desperately desired.

Lord Rydeham-Harde’s search for aid in this department led him to a small apothecary’s shop on the edge of town, where he was sold a bottle of Dr. Ignoble Buttocks’ Incredible Intercourse Elixir, a potion which promised to turn the user into ‘a wild beast’ between the sheets.

“I did not realise it meant it quite so literally,” whined Rydeham-Harde as he regaled the group (now joined by Inspector Spunkleford and Lady Rydeham-Harde) with his sordid tale. “When I started using it, I found myself transforming into this terrible creature whenever I became aroused. At first my wife was delighted, because it also made my…you-know-what…a lot bigger. But she did not take too kindly to being clawed at and bitten, so she kicked me out. I…I don’t remember much beyond that…”

“I imagine that you chanced upon the young maid in the garden, and most probably buggered the poor girl to death with your monster todger,” I surmised.

“Oh…oh God,” wailed the distressed dignitary, as he was comforted by his wife. “What have I done?”

“More to the point,” I added. “What have I done?”

“Pardon me?” said Lord Rydeham-Harde.

“I tossed you off, you little blighter! All that time I thought I was placating a ferocious monster, and it turns out I was actually spanking your lordship, as t’were. I shall not be able to crack one off for months now,” I said, forlornly.

“Well, I am afraid I shall have to take you in for questioning, milord,” said Spunkleford.

“What? It is not illegal to pleasure another man in the grounds of his own home, is it?” I snapped.

“Well, it is actually, milord,” Spunkleford replied. “But it wasn’t actually you I was talking to, milord. It was milord I was addressing,” he said, pointing to Rydeham-Harde.

“Of course, Inspector,” Rydeham-Harde nodded, stepping away from his wife. “I…I quite understand…”

“First degree buggery, eh?” I said, as Rydeham-Harde was cuffed by another policeman. “I dare say you shall be witnessing a great deal more buggery where you are going. In fact, I daresay you’ll be ridden very hard indeed, Rydeham-Harde.”

Lord Rydeham-Harde swallowed noisily, and was led away.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish, eh what? Talking of which, we shall try and make sure this terrible elixir is removed from sale, and arrest those responsible for peddling it,” Spunkleford said to me. “We don’t want the whole country awash with sex-crazed monsters. One is quite enough, eh Likely?”

I chose to ignore the Inspector’s cheap jibe at my sexual antics, and merely watched as Lord Rydeham-Harde was bundled into a police carriage, which then clattered off into the night.

“My poor, dear Hubert,” sniffed Lady Rydeham-Harde, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “And to think, this was all because I wanted a damned good rogering.”

I raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “Really, m’dear?” I said. “I might well be able to help you out on that score…”

With that, I put a comforting arm around her ladyship, and led her back towards her house.

“Botter,” I called over my shoulder to my spaff-sodden servant. “Go and wait in the carriage, will you? I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.” Then, suddenly, Lady Rydeham-Harde bent over to retrieve a door-key from underneath the doormat, giving me a glorious view of her gorgeous, fulsome buttocks.

“Actually, Botter, you had better make that a week and a half,” I grinned, and entered the house, closing the door firmly behind me.

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in the Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: A Startling Announcement of Startling Importance!

Thank you, all! His lordship would like to extend his warmest thank yous to everyone who took part in the inaugural Inter-Active Adventure. Your loyalty, sterling support, excellent suggestions and general all-round wondrousness have helped to make The Beast With Two Backs a roaring success! Many, many thanks indeed!

Now, we only have one question left to ask of you: would you like to do it again?

Would You Like Further Inter-Active Adventures in the Future?
( polls)
Do please let us know!

Congratulations! The final winner to be selected for suggesting the correct course of action in his lordship’s Incredible Interactive Adventure, and thus earns a hyper-link from Lord Likely’s wondrous web-log is:

Congratulations, sir!

“So, you must be Mr. The Beast,” I said calmly, as the slavering beast advanced upon me. “I don’t suppose you would care for a cup of tea, or something?”

“Grrrrrarrrgggh!” said the beast.

“Grrrrarrrgggh?” I repeated. “Good heavens, your diction is really quite awful. Now listen here, old chap, you’ve been rather an awful cad, and I’m afraid that we are going to have to -“

Before I could finish reprimanding the terrible beast, the brute swung at me with his powerful claws, resulting in him tearing my lovely blue suit.

“Well that does it, I’m afraid,” I said. “Murder is bad enough, but I simply cannot abide such terrible manners!” And with that, I launched myself at the beast.

We tussled for a while in among the bushes; the beast swiping at me with his huge paws, while I took to punching the foul creature about the face and snout. After what seemed like an eternity of such grappling, I realised that I was getting precisely nowhere.

As I contemplated my next move, the beast pinned me against the ground, it’s great jaws looming over my face, row upon row of sharp, dagger-like teeth bared at me. Fearing that I might become a rather delicious snack for the monster, I took my knee to the beast’s groin – a cheap shot maybe, but it was highly effective all the same. The creature roared angrily and loosened its grip upon me, then tended to its injured balls.

Once again, I noticed the incredibly humongous size of the creature’s genitals. Of course, they paled in comparison to my own, but they were of a not inconsiderable size nonetheless.

It was while I was contemplating the beast’s cock and balls that I suddenly hit upon a rather marvellous ruse to subdue the creature – I would perform the Venetian Cock Twist upon the furry fiend’s fleshy love-pole. I knew from first-hand experience just how effective the maneuver could be, so I reasoned it would be even more effective on such a titanic todger as the one before me.

With a course of action thus decided, I threw myself back onto the beast, much to its surprise. We wrestled for a bit, until I finally managed to grab a hold of the creature’s cock-shaft, at which point I began to twist upon it with all my might. Much to my chagrin, however, the beast failed to react in the manner which I had expected. In fact, he barely seemed to notice my efforts at all.

“Grimes!” I yelled out to the gormless gardener, who was doing his best to cower behind a shrub that was entirely to small to adequately hide him. “Grimes, get yourself over here, pronto! I fear I shall need an extra pair of hands for this terrible task!”

“I..I think yer doin’ just fine, milord,” Grimes replied. “It looks like the wee beastie is really enjoyin’ that. I mean, really enjoyin’ that.”

“What?” I snapped, and then I noticed that the monster’s member was becoming increasingly stiff in my hands. Rather than causing the beast pain, it seemed I was in fact working the demon up into a state of arousal. I was, in short, wanking the creature off.

“Keep goin’, milord!” cried Grimes. “Yer doin’ a grand job!”

“I can’t sit here all night tossing this bastard off!” I cried.

“Ya might not have a choice, milord. He’ll probably be really angry if you stop at this point.”

So there I was, trapped in the woods, and stuck between a cock and a hard place.

Whatever was I going to do?

– Lord Likely.

What Should Likely Do Next?
( surveys)
You have until 00:30 hours AM(GMT) on Wednesday the Thirtieth of April to cast your vote.

UPDATE! The deadline has now been changed to 12:30 PM (GMT) on Thursday the First of May! So now there is positively NO excuse to not vote in this THRILLING poll!

As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment. But please note – we shall only be able to award said prize if you let us know which action you chose!

The last randomly-selected winner, who has thus earnt a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…

Congratulations to you!

Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.

After some considerable deliberation upon my part, I decided that rather than wait to receive another Venetian Cock Twist from the delectable Lady Rydeham-Harde, my time would be more productively spent venturing into the dark and scary woods, where the so-called beast had last been sighted.

“Are you sure, milord?” Botter asked nervously. “The woods are both dark and scary, after all.”

“Botter, sometimes I think you have a longer yellow streak than an elephant pissing down a cliff.” I said. “We are going to explore the dark and scary woods and find us a beast, my good man, and that is my complete and utter final word on the subject. Except these six words: you really are a terrible twat.”

“Very good, milord,” Botter replied, despondently.

“Now, Mr. Grimes,” I continued, turning to face the gardener who had witnessed the beast’s frenzied attack. “I think it would be most prurient for you to accompany us on this venture; after all, you did not only see the beast, but I’d say you know these woods like the back of your hand.”

“Hand? Hand? What hand? I don’t know nothin’ about no hand, sir!” replied Grimes, fear gripping every fibre of his soul.

“Ruddy Hell,” I sighed. “Am I surrounded by cowards? Am I the only brave, courageous and damnably handsome one among us?”

At that point, a blood-curdling roar filled the night sky.

“Fuck me, what the shit was that?” I gasped.

“‘Twas the beast!” wailed Grimes, his eyes wild with panic. “The beast is near, and he sounds mighty hungry! Surely he will feast upon our flesh, and devour our souls!”

“No-one is devouring my arse-hole,” I replied, grabbing the gas-light from Grimes’ hands. “Now come along, you two. Let us go and introduce ourselves to this beastly fellow.”

“I don’t like this,” moaned Grimes, as we ploughed deeper and deeper into the dark and scary woods. “The air is thick with evil.”

“That’s probably just Botter,” I said, as we pushed on through some densely-packed thickets. “I think he may have soiled himself earlier.”

“Arrrrrgh!” screamed Botter, suddenly. “It’s got me! The beast has got me!”

I let out a heavy sigh and turned around, to see my hapless man-servant tussling with nothing more menacing than some over-hanging branches. I shook my head sadly, and calmly strolled over and disentangled Botter from the grasps of the nefarious tree.

“Please, Botter, do try and retain some sense of decorum. We are British, after all.” I said as I freed the witless oaf.

“Sorry, milord.” Botter apologised. “I think this is just getting to me, y’know? Walking through this dark and scary wood, lookin’ for a murderous beast…it’s put the fear in me, to be honest.”

“Mmm, so it would seem,” I replied.

“It’d help if we had at least some idea of what we’re lookin’ for,” Botter grumbled. “I mean, what’s this beast look like?”

“Botter, it is a beast.” I explained, patiently. “I think we can safely presume it will look rather beast-like. Unless this part of the country is particularly overrun with beasts, I would imagine we shall have no trouble identifying the creature when we stumble upon it.”

“Did it perchance have brown fur, large claws, creepy, glowing red eyes and huge, pointy teeth?” Botter suggested.

“Aye!” cried Grimes. “That’s the beastie! How did ya know that?”

“Because I think that’s it, standing behind you,” Botter answered, pointing a shaky finger.

Grimes and I swung around, and sure enough the beast was indeed standing there, it’s eyes wild and red, drool dribbling forth from it’s fanged teeth.

“Well, well, well,” I said. “Now there is something you don’t see every day. Good day to you, sir!”

The beast let out an almighty roar, and slowly advanced towards us. This proved too much for Botter to cope with, and he let out a feeble scream and then dashed off into the woods. I made a mental note to have him severely thrashed for abandoning me in the midst of action.

“It…it…it’s the beast!” Grimes stuttered, as he stood frozen to the spot.

“Yes, yes. I think we have established that by now, Grimes,” I replied, as I kept a wary eye on the advancing beast. “I must say, it is quite an impressive creature, don’t you think? Why, look at the size of his todger. That thing is a monstrosity in itself, I must say.”

“The…the beast!” Grimes repeated. Clearly the man had lost his mind, and would be of no further use to me at this point.

Once again, it would have to be up to me to save everybody, and win the day. But what to do?

– Lord Likely.

How Should Likely Tackle The Beast?
( polls)
You have until 10:30 hours AM(GMT) on Monday the Twenty-Eighth of April to cast your vote.

As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment. But please note – we shall only be able to award said prize if you let us know which action you chose!

The last randomly-selected winner, who has thus earnt a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…

Congratulations to you, m’dear!

Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.

“Well, come on then! What is that in your trousers, sir?” Lady Rydeham-Harde repeated.

I looked down at the considerable bulge in my pocket, then looked up at the lady, then to Inspector Spunkleford, who was frantically nodding his head in the negative as if to suggest that I should definitely not whip out my proud Lord Palmerston in front of her ladyship.

“Come on, man! Out with it!” shrieked Lady Rydeham-Harde. I did not need to be asked twice.

“Well, since you ask, m’dear, I shall show you,” I said calmly, and then I unzipped my flies, and liberated my throbbing organ from within my trousers.

“What on Earth is that?” gasped Lady Rydeham-Harde as she beheld my enormous erection.

“Oh, come, m’dear. You must have seen a penis before.” I replied. “This is my mighty Lord Palmerston…please, feel free to touch him, if you like. He will not bite, although I cannot promise that he will not be sick upon you.”

Her ladyship gently put out a hand towards my stiffened member, and then suddenly she grabbed it firmly in her hand, and began to twist it with all her force.

“You are a filthy and disgusting individual, Mr. Likely,” she hissed, as she applied further pressure to my poor love-pump, causing my eyes to water. “I want you off my property immediately, else I shall be forced to have you shot where you stand. Do you understand?”

“But I thought we – ” I squeaked.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” she repeated, tightening her grip.

“Ruddy Hell!” I wheezed. “Yes, yes. Very well, whatever you say, m’dear.”

“I am not your dear, and nor shall I ever be your dear. Now, you have five minutes to remove yourself from my estate, or else next time I shall be removing this,” said Lady Rydeham-Harde, giving one final twist on my johnson. With her point clearly made, and my point clearly mauled, she released me and headed off back inside her house.

“Jesus cocking Christ!” I gasped. “What a woman! Did you see that, Spunkleford? That was the Venetian Cock Twist! Not many females know that particular maneuver, you know! Incredible…just incredible!”

“I am very happy for you, Likely, but you have seriously jeopardized our investigation now! I knew you would balls it up…I just knew it!”

“Calm yourself, Spunkleford! I am not going anywhere. Botter and I shall merely keep out of her ladyship’s way, and we will continue to investigate the murder of this poor, poor maid. I will not rest until we have solved the case – who knows, maybe her ladyship will reward me with another Venetian Cock Twist…”

“Do you ever think with anything other than your penis, Likely?” sighed Spunkleford.

“Well, it is my largest organ,” I explained.

“‘Twas a beast,” another voice added.

“Well, quite,” I said.

“‘Twas a beast that killed this poor lass,” the voice continued, and then a rather scruffy-looking gent with a big, ginger beard appeared beside us, holding a lantern above the dead maid’s body. “No man did this, I tell you. ‘Twas a beast. A terrible beast!”

“Well, thank you for your invaluable contribution, Mr…?”

“Grimes. I’m Grimes, the gardener,” said Grimes, the gardener.

“Ah, yes. You found the body!” Spunkleford said.

“What? You mean to say you lost it again? I already found it once.”

“No, I mean you were the man who discovered the body first, yes?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Grimes replied, his eyes widening with horror as he recalled the incident. “I was jus’ doin’ my rounds, like, and then I heard an awful commotion over here. I came to see what all the hoo-ha was about, and lo and behold – I saw it.”

“Saw what?” I asked.

“It. The thing. The beast. A big, hairy, lumbering great creature, it was. An’ he was crouched over the maid, tearin’ at her flesh. I yelled and shouted at ‘im, and waved my pitch-fork about, then the creature ran off into the dark and scary woods, over there,” Grimes explained, pointing to a wood which did indeed look dark and scary.

“I…see.” I said, feeling increasingly unsure as to Grimes’ mental stability.

“Listen, Likely,” Spunkleford said. “Her ladyship will be back soon, so you’d better make yourself scarce, lest you lose your manhood.”

Spunkleford was right. But where to go?

– Lord Likely.

Where Should Lord Likely Go?
( surveys)
You have until 22:00 hours PM(GMT) on Wednesday the Twenty-Second of April to cast your vote.

As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment. But please note – we shall only be able to award said prize if you let us know which action you chose!

The last randomly-selected winner, who has thus earnt a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…

Congratulations to you, m’dear!

Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

Writing these very journals is usually an exceedingly simple task. Being so incredibly gifted and ridiculously talented, I find that writing is almost second-nature to me, like breathing, or love-making, or crapping into my man-servant’s bed.

However, as my last entry proves, I was having great difficulty in penning an article worthy of my gifts, and after a solid twelve minutes of furious scribbling I had still yet to craft a suitably thrilling and enticing piece of prose.

It seemed that I had been stricken with the dreaded writer’s block; and for that there was only one remedy – a good, hard wank. That should ‘unblock’ me and return me to my verbose and eloquent self, I reasoned.

So, with my Lord Palmerston in one hand, and a copy of Victorian Housewives in the other, I set about pleasuring myself to the point of climax. As I viewed the stimulating images of ladies washing dishes, sweeping carpets and cooking roast dinners, I felt my mighty rod swell with my gentlemanly fluids, and before too long I was ready to release my lordly load.

However, at that precise moment, my man-servant, Botter, entered the room, along with Inspector Albert Spunkleford of Scotland Yard. As I was too close to concluding my bishop-bashing business, I was unable to control myself, and as I turned to face the newcomers I shot forth a glistening globule of my frothy cock-broth, which whizzed through the air like a spunk-encrusted bullet.

Had Mr. Spunkleford not had the presence of mind and quick reflexes to dodge my dignitary discharge, then he may well have wound up with a rather unexpected welcome indeed.

“Good heavens, Likely!” Spunkleford exclaimed as my man-batter missile came to a squelchy halt on the wall behind him. “You should be careful where you aim that damned thing! You could have somebody’s eye out with it, I should not wonder!”

“I am flattered, sir,” I replied, as I calmly wiped myself down after my furious bout of onanism. “But we shall have to leave the skull-fuckery to a later date, I fear. Pray tell, what brings you to my glorious home at such an hour?”

“Well, Likely, I have a most unusual mystery on my hands, which I thought would be right up your street.”

“There is a crime afoot on my very street?” I said, aghast.

“Um, no, milord,” Spunkleford said. “I was referring to a metaphorical street.”

“Metaphorical Street, eh?” I mused. “Is that not near Rhetorical Lane, just off of Hypothetical Avenue?”

“Um…right,” Spunkleford mumbled. “Listen, Likely, there has been a terrible incident at Rydeham-Harde House.“

“Ah! Rydeham-Harde House! I know it well. It’s owned by that rather rich couple, is it not? Lord and Lady something or other. Gah! Confound it! What is their blasted name?”

“Lord and Lady Rydeham-Harde?” ventured Spunkleford.

“That’s it! Yes, of course! Lord and Lady Rydham-Harde. Lovely people. So, what is this terrible incident of which you speak?”

“Well, it appears that one of Lord and Lady Rydeham-Harde’s maids was found dead in their garden this morning. The poor woman had been brutally slaughtered, and furthermore, she had been horrifically mauled, by a creature unknown…”

“Egads!” I cried. “Tell me, was this maid attractive?”

“I…I am not in possession of that particular fact, Likely,” Spunkleford replied. “Is it really important?”

“Everything is important, Spunkleford! No detail is too trivial in a case such as this one!” I leant in closer to the Inspector, and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Besides which, I should like to know what the chances are of me getting…excited when I see the corpse. People can be rather funny when a gentleman becomes aroused around a dead body, you know. Polite society tends to disapprove of stiffs near the stiffs, if you like. So it is preferable that I know in advance, so I can prepare myself by thinking completely un-erotic thoughts when I visit the crime scene, and thereby spare myself any involuntary embarrassment.”

“Likely! Please! She was viciously savaged by a blood-thirsty beast, for Christ’s sake!”

“Hmmm. Yes, you are probably right,” I concluded. “Still, if you have that photograph of your wife handy, it might be worth bringing it along just in case…”

“So…you will take the case, then?” Spunkleford asked, choosing to ignore my barbed comment about the odious Mrs. Spunkleford.

I sat back down in my arm-chair. I had not really decided if I was going to take the case or not. It did sound most intriguing, but then again I did have an entire library stocked full of pornography, and a cellar full to the rafters with wine.

Maybe this time, I would sit this one out…

– Lord Likely.

Should Lord Likely Take the Case?
( surveys)

You have until 18:00 hours (GMT) on Monday the Fourteenth of April to cast your vote. As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment.

The first randomly-selected winner, who rightfully suggested that his lordship should have a wank, and thus garners a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…

Congratulations to you, sir!

Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.

Other places of interest:
The Clay Pigeon

It was a dark and stormy night.

I know that is a terribly clichéd way to commence a tale, but it also happens to be fact in this instance. It was a dark and stormy night. There was darkness, there was a storm and it was the night-time; thus all three of the crucial elements of a dark and stormy night were indeed present.

What else could I say in these circumstances? I suppose I could deploy rather more florid terms, and claim that the night was ‘bereft of light’ and that the ‘wind howled like a dog with its knackers trapped in a door’, but I fear that is rather too much. We are all busy people, and therefore our story-telling needs to be succinct and to the point, so we can move on through the tale quickly and resume our day-to-day business of rutting and stuffing our faces with processed meats.

Bugger me! I have already wasted two perfectly good paragraphs on my opening line. This is getting none of us anywhere, you know.

So: it was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, now I think about it, it was not really that stormy. There were strong winds bellowing through the tress, that is for certain. But I do not recall them being particularly vigourous. Maybe they had enough force to knock a gentle-man’s hat from atop his head, but I do not think they were in any danger of lifting the roofs from houses, or upturning carriages, or throwing livestock about the place as if they were rag-dolls.

So: it was a dark and rather windy (but not too windy) night.

Of course, when I say ‘dark’ I do not mean to infer that it was pitch-black outside. It was dark, of that I am certain, but I distinctly remember the moon shining full and bright, and besides which the Likely Estate is well-equipped with many outside light fittings, which were all working perfectly. That fact alone only serves to reinforce the point that it could not have been a very stormy night, else they’d have probably been blown out, or torn free from their fixtures.

So: it was a slightly dark but well-lit and rather windy (but not too windy) night.

Was it night time? Or would it be more accurate to state that it was late-evening? Where does one draw the line between evening and full-on night-time, I wonder? Is there a specific hour where evening becomes night-time, and if so what hour is it?

Hmm. This is rather more problematic than I had imagined…

– Lord Likely.

1. Get on with the ruddy story, man!
2. Please, do tell us more about this dark and stormy night.
3. His lordship should have a wank immediately, to help clear (both) his heads.

Once you have decided which course of action his lordship should embark upon, either leave a comment stating which choice you favour, OR if you are too lazy and bloody bone-idle to use words to convey your decision, you may like to simply use this handy-dandy voting device to indicate your preference:

What Should His Lordship Do Next?
( polls)

You have until midnight on the Eleventh of April to cast your vote. And as an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment.

Choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.