On This Night Of All Nights
A rare moment in which that foulest of upper-echelon fiends, The Gentleman Mummy, is caught taking the air - hatless, jacketless, amuletless and without safety pins for his bandages.
There’s a good reason or two for this; firstly, the Gentleman Mummy’s sketchblog, as poor and dog-eared as it may be, has lasted for an entire YEAR without being destroyed.
Yes, that’s right - it is the Gentleman Mummy’s BIRTHDAY, a whole year (give or take) since the application of a selection of tea-stained bandages and a smart bowler hat to an impressionable young lad in Kent brought his glory unto this wholly undeserving world.
Secondly, in that time he has managed to amass a (modest) amount of followers, which while numbering in hundreds is certainly not a fitting tribute to one of his lustre. But in this day and age, where master pyramid-building craftsmen have gone the way of the Tasmanian Tiger, one must make do with what can get. Welcome, Tumblights old and new. Watch attentively and from time to time, artistic endeavours shall appear…
Thirdly: the Gentleman Mummy simply ADORES speaking in the third person. It reminds him of the glory of his older life, and of the lives to come.
(For Those Who Wish To Know)
- Why is the Gentleman Mummy’s pipe on fire?
Because, of course, when tobacco is not to be had, phosphorus and a pinch of gunpowder tickles a 2500-year-old lung pleasantly.
- Where is the Gentleman Mummy’s hat?
In the hands of a selection of Sinister Little Teddy Bear Things. Who knows where the buggers have taken it.
- What would a Gentleman Mummy wear bright crimson braces FOR?
Because his trousers keep falling down. Take THAT, hypothetical person-question-asker-being.
A Happy Halloween To Yez All.
STAND BY FOR MAGIC.