…hath claimed many a kinky rambler. The Precumia, an unforgiving and hostile range of sheer drops and glens of pain and shame lay ahead of me like a big hassle.
I was in the midst of a snow storm, the coldness of which, piercing my uncovered neck soon became a warmth. I was slipping into delirium.
I fancied that I saw a giant pineapple and Max Bygraves.
I had to get out of the Precumia quickly or soon I would be nothing more than a frozen rambler – never to be found.
Naturally I had heard tale of the abominable creature which roamed the mountain pass near the four fingered gulley. The direction I had to take to get homeward. The terror of the Precumia monster had to be faced. I had no option. I pushed on.
