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On the Exploration of ‘Reluctant Crevice’ Hole of the Mendip Hills in the County of Somersetshire.

BEING A TRANSCRIPTION OF A RECENTLY UNEARTHED SECTION OF CATCOTT’S RARE MANUSCRIPT  “I LOVE HOLES”, The sequel to “I Like Holes” (The two are often confused. Alan Lowland-Gorilla does this in his 1974 book Catcott – The Hole Story)

 

Probably not a picture of Catcott at all.

 (Some words being hard to decipher have been left blank.)

“I took myself of my own personal avail to return onto the hills of Mendip where in recent years I had stumbled innumerable times in a discordant manner out over the threshold of the Derbyshire Gibbon, a fine Inn somewhere within in a ten mile radius of Frampton Camcorder, to explore the subterraneous vestibules of those fine embonpointed upwellings of moundalur limestonic strata. This village had taken upon itself to move on various occasions from said county of Somersetshire and I last heard that it had settled lately in fine resplendent visage outside the hamlet of Two Horns near Farleyford Wind. So on this occasion I facilitated myself of an easy egress from the promptostical salutations of the heavily wainscoted lavatories of the Deliberate Monster, my new Inn of choice on that particular day from which to begin my rustic peregrinations. 

Being of stout amplitude and of vigorous verisimilitudinal countenance and indeed having polished my whethers, I reasoned that in light of my recent wholesome cessation of suspended and rudimentary opines that I disencumber myself with previously held fragulations of a colestomical nature.  In that such sensibilities held, within the confines of a needless rousing, enable one to forego certain frumptotic stalations of the mind and regale the thoughts with tremulous mental aberrational singularities.      

In conversational ejaculation with certain dyspeptic and frightfully ruddy gentlemen of whom one may say that in their stature they were seldom of an upright nature due in part to the consumation of lurid quantities of heavily brewed drinkables and also in part due to their inability to remove themselves, unless to engage in the rough sport of face-aching, from the damp boudoirs of the underground, I was sorely regaled with intrigues and machinational impromptitudes as to warrant my near evacuation. Such men, I warranted were of disproportionately ignoble infamy and were known to frighten certain vaporous ladies of the parish of Wells, disporting and derobing themselves in a frockular nature beyond that which was deemed wholesome and necessarily emblematic of the county.   

Therein, within the gambrelled nook of a sturdy port of call named The Mistimed Thrutch in which I sought some solace, a certain squalidinous gentlemen (of whom, in passing I had failed to repel with such vivid fistular manipulations), awash I might say in clouds of tobacconistic cumulus, disembogued himself of certain populastic inoctitudes. I took him to be nothing more than a mountebank and rustic pettifogger, perhaps a Shipham lightweight such were his glossetings. His accidental disportments had left him with crude manifestations of his previous wayward indignities but his frasmotic emollients were nevertheless forthcoming and I purchased for him, in serried ranks a great multitude of aleous beverages of which was comprised, in the most part, of a salacious inoculent called Colonic Bedevilment.       

Soon my conversational rectitudes were not dissimilar to that of a man of lesser standing, due in part to the festitudes of the drink, and I demanded of him news of the cave in question upon which our longitudinal meanderings had happened upon and of which my return to Mendip activities had brought me. With immodest peripatetic disectitudes he uttered a deleterious barrage of dispompic gloatings but vowed thereon to disport me to the opening of this wondrous series of cavernational squintings.

Bedecking myself with certain kittage, including a Pentland Thunderer, a wig new to my horizons, he and I left the Inn, myself adopting the Gentleman’s mince and he a kind of malodorous limp, and crossed numerous yardages in a frondocular manner through certain fields belonging to volatile man of the earth. A bellicose individual who saw to it that my companion and I had to run in vigorous rombosity when he espied our perambulations.   At one point I had to point my ---- at his ---- whereupon he retorted by thrusting his ---- at my ----. Never was such a sight to be seen upon the werries of Somerset in this time or since.”

[Catcott then goes on for the following 20 pages describing a prolonged encounter with the farmer in which there appears to have been something much akin to numerous bouts of a ‘vigorous engagement of ferocious ineptitude’ and a few hours playing nude deck quoits in a vicarage in Wells. Catcott also quotes, in a seemingly random fashion, from the works of Thermos of Tee, the Greek philosopher who gave his lectures swinging from a trapeze in the gardens of his house just outside Thermopylae. Quite why Catcott does this is beyond current understanding as Thermos was a vigorous and frequent layabout. Retiring from his teaching role at the age of 26 he spent the next sixty years doing absolutely nothing to the extent that when he died, rigor-vigorous set in.]

The Geological Reverend and his guide then proceeded onto an area not far from Wookey Hole but his ‘glandulous skerrige’, assumed to be some nervous complaint, forced Catcott to rest overnight at the house of a friend. Who that friend was is lost to history.  The following morning Catcott and his guide set off to the opening of Reluctant Crevice Hole.]  

“We, that is my resplendently rugose bombostulous guide and myself, arrived full hard upon the desperately early hour not much passed nine of the morning clock and lashing my chin (ed: a kind of caver’s blinky) with its populastic amendments, to the nearest tree we descended in discanframjular fashion.”

[At this point the text becomes somewhat difficult to read as the MS was left in a gutter behind Park Street, not far from the Colston Hall, after a dire and filthy encounter with a - person or persons of low moral fibre who extracted from the caving Rev, ‘a certain number of worried dentes’.]

It seems for a while at least that Catcott was in dire trouble for the first fifty odd feet of this cave. Indeed descending into an unknown swallet would be enough trouble for the most hardened and stouthearted members of the clergy yet he braved the path before him (See Simeon Fak’s The Clergy in Difficulty, The History of Religious Men in Perilous Situations, book 15.). With a thick rope lashed around his midriff he became wedged in ‘a tremolent narrowing’ upon which, ‘Much varied cursing was levelled at Beelzebub and all his grubby minions who disported themselves like intoxicated peasants near my stockings.’  Fortunately for Catcott his companion had had the foresight to bring along a hogshead of gooselard and used the substance in great liberal hosings all over the subterraneous swot.

Catcott then descended into the void where for several hours he swung in lazy arcs above the floor of a large chamber. From this vantage point he was able to comment on what he saw while busy quilling into his notebook. ]

“The very surface of the rock was a kind of monopostic and babalacious mammalate of the kind I had observed during a pole-vaulting weekend near Rome and twas here where I had happened upon a orificular opening in an asunderous hillside, around which swarthy rude mechanicals, lacking any curtitudes, ate innoculous and emjamulated meats of an speciferous and indelicate nature.”  

At this point the MS runs out and much of what followed is lost to history as indeed is Reluctant Crevice Hole.   The last readable word in the report of Reluctant Crevice is ‘…git…’

Probably just as well…Ed.