It took the party several hours by giant dormouse to reach the castle along the overgrown islands roads. Wee Jimmy sweated profusely, unused to the near tropical climate of 22° “Dr Jones are we nearly there, this mouse is starting to smell almost as bad as me”
Jones, twice winner of the special services to the knickers industry award, turned to their guide Trevor who pointed into the distance.
Through the vegetation they saw the tower of the castle, a flag depicting an upright lizard could be seen fluttering in the afternoon breeze.
A figure loomed out of the bushes ahead, meeting the travellers head on “Greetings, and welcome to Carisbrooke Castle, My name is Alan Titchmarsh, but you may call me Mr Alan Titchmarch”.
Trevor screamed and reigning in his mouse, escaped as fast as he could, leaving Tom and Wee Jimmy alone with Mr Alan Titchmarsh.
Titchmarsh smiled greasily “I was out picking flowers for the castle; I am the masters head gardener. If you would follow me I will escort you to the castle and you will be made welcome. There is to be a feast tonight”. He bowed low and it was only then that they noticed his strange garb. He wore only fishing waders and a bowler hat, his privates being covered in a hunk of mud.
Wee Jimmy made to say something but was silenced with a look from Jones who answered the insane gardener. “That would be lovely, please lead the way”.
After a few moments they reached the castle grounds, it was not the ruin Tom had been expecting, everywhere hippies were at work rebuilding walls or toiling in the gardens.
They were shown to rooms in one of the guest wings of the castle and given fresh clothes, though pleasant Dr Jones and Jimmy couldn’t help but feel a shadow of malevolence over the entire castle. At six o clock they were invited to the great feast, Tom strode down the castle corridors like a man at home, however Wee Jimmy shuffled with great trepidation.
As they sat down in the great hall, Wee Jimmy took note of the assembled diners; it was a demonic guest list. Mr Alan Titchmarsh sat at one end then down from him were, The Osbournes, Mark King of Level 42, Jeremy Irons, Phill Jupitus and Ellen MacArthur. On the other side were people he didn’t recognise, they may have been politicians as they had an air of corruption about them. Somewhere a tubular bell tolled and the assembled sycophants rose to greet the new Lord of Carisbrooke Castle, David Icke.
Icke’s deranged eyes went round the table taking in the faces, momentarily stopping on Jones though he showed no reaction. Then he smiled seating himself at the head of the table and indicating everyone else should sit too.
Phill Jupitus rubbed his hands together his bearded face shining with unconcealed glee “This will be a real treat” he proclaimed as hippie servants entered carrying covered silver platters. Despite his fears Wee Jimmy’s stomach begins to rumble and he decided that eating whatever delicacies were offered should be his first priority.
The servant removed the lid; it was a platter of square sausages, turkey twizzlers and chicken nuggets with clear pus leaking from them.
Wee Jimmy gagged, even in his most depraved Scottish moments of deep frying boiled eggs he would never touch a turkey twizzler. Jupitus had no such qualms and quickly demolished the whole portion, belching loudly much to the amusement of Ellen MacArthur.
Jones ignored the food and engaged their host in conversation “We came from a village, they said a sacred album had been stolen, and their weed taken”. A cold silence engulfed the table as eyes searched around the guests. Mark King quickly piped up “Rumours Dr Jones, nothing more. These Hippies are little more than animals they…”
Jones quickly cut him off “They said a new evil had come to Carisbrooke Castle, that the Carisbrooke cult was again growing powerful.”
The next plate of food arrived, Wee Jimmy was hopeful for something edible, but his request was soon dashed as the cover was removed to reveal, Dr Brains Faggots in gravy.
Icke turned his solemn eyes on Jones. “I too have heard these rumours of an ancient cult and such, I though they were told to frighten celebrities, then later I found out that they were true. Let me assure you Dr Jones, and everyone here, that whilst I am Lord of Carisbrooke such things can never happen again.” With that he returned to his meal leaving Jones no option but to do likewise.
“Ahh dessert!” exclaimed Jupitus, gravy smothered over his face.
“What is it” asked Wee Jimmy carefully.
“Sarah Lee chocolate cake, it has been out for an hour and is still frozen in the middle, mmn delicious”.
After the meal Dr Jones and Jimmy returned to their rooms to discuss what they had each found out. Jones the Welsh Legend was sure something stank, and it wasn’t just Wee Jimmy.
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