That's it, I'm off!

Vladimir was very insistent that Oi went along to see his troupe perform, so Oi agreed to go with him. When we got to the "King George Bar" it wasn't a pub at all but a large room in a building that was full of electronic equipment. Vladimir put a tape in a machine and played some traditional Russian music. I must admit that he dances very well, and Oi clapped along with the music happily for a while. But the Oi got to thinking about a few things:
1. Where were all the other "Folk dancers? One bear doesn't make a troupe in my view. 2. Do you really need such a huge satellite dish "to get good reception on Radio 4"? and 3. Why were there so many photographs of secret installations pinned to the wall? Oi decided it was time to leave and as soon as Vladimir turned to find a new tape, Oi was off as fast as me little legs could take Oi.

Oi have decided that it's time to leave Oxford for a whoile. Fortunately, The Boy is going for the holidays, so I'm going to tag along for a bit. Oi'm not froightened you understand, it's just what us molers call "Discretion". See you next term!

An old friend??

So there was Oi, stranded in the middle of the High Street, quite uncertain of where to go, but with money in moi paw. Oi decided to take a walk down the High Street and see if there are any shops selling tasty invertebrates, or objects of a shoiny nature. Oi hadn't got far when Oi felt a tap on moi shoulder. Oi turned round to see a large, furry and not very friendly face staring down at me. Oi looked at him for a few moments, unable to believe moi eyes. But there he was large as loife and twice as ugly - Vladimir the Russian Bear. (We have had a number of unpleasant exchanges in the past. As a former employee of the Soviet Union, Vladimir resorted to somewhat unusual business methods, many of which resulted in narrow escapes for yours truly).

For a few moments Oi didn't know whether to run or talk moi way out of the situation with moi legendary charm. As Oi was laden down with this gurt heavy Russian Banjo, Oi decided on the latter. "Well, what a pleasure to see 'ee after all these years", Oi said, smiling winningly. "Never mind that, Tovarich Mole", said Vladimir, "I think you know what I have come for".
"Not for poor little me?", Oi gibbered.
"No, you foolish insectivore", he replied, " You took my instrument from my courier. Now you must return it".
"What instrument", Oi said, hiding the suspiciously shaped case behind my back. But it was too late, and I had to hand it over. It turned out that Vladimir is now a member of a Russian Folk Music and Dance Ensemble and had arranged for the group's instruments to be sent on ahead. As I had returned without too much of a struggle, he invited me to witness an impromptu performance. All I had to do was meet him at the King George Bar later that night.

I suppose those initials should have been a warning...

A Mole must earn his keep

Well, Oi didn't fancy walking all the way back to The Boy's College. As Moi close friends will know, Oi am not built for long distance trundlin'.

So Oi decided that Oi must raise some money. Oi was just cogitating on how to do this, when along came a shifty looking man in a furry hat with a strange guitar case. He looked at me and said "The squirrels of winter have left for the coast". "Weird" Oi thought, but thought it's polite to answer a stranger, and so Oi said back to him "Yes, and Cyril's gone off to the park with his mates". The man looked at me strange, and then shrugged, gave me the guitar case and ran off. What an odd man Oi thought, and then had a brain wave. Oi'm a musical mole, Oi could busk for a few pounds! Oi opened the case and found the strangest looking instrument Oi'd ever seen. It was triangular, but best of all it had exactly the right number of strings for a Mole - three! Oi picked it up and started to play. It must have been sweet music because almost immediately a man came over and offered me a fiver if Oi would play in Cowley. The strange thing was that he said he lived in Abingdon. He'd never hear me from there silly man!

After a few minutes, Oi'd earned enough to get Moiself a taxi home, and packed away the Balalaika (that's what somebody said it was) in its case. Oi hailed a cab, and told the driver to take me home by the quickest route, stopping only at the fudge shop for a little treat. We set off and Oi was enjoying the view out of the windows when Oi became sure that we were being followed. Strange - who'd want to follow a Mole and his mysterious Russian folk instrument?