Just as I thought I was getting somewhere sorting out the dispute between Wizard Blenkinsop and the coven of witches, events have taken a turn for the worse.
The manager of the Haunted Tower has been on the phone threatening to shut the place on Halloween. It appears that their bookings from tourists, who like a good scare, have all dried up. The Tower has a duck pond that is used for re-enactments of Witch dunking. Hootman has been jumping out of it as guests arrive and scaring them off before they have even crossed the threshold.
The ghosts look on Hootman as partly one of themselves and they detest him so much that not one of them will go near him. This was clearly his way of getting revenge on them.
The ghosts have been forced to drastically reduce their room rates and the only people who have been making bookings are the Badfort Crowd.
This is no fun for the ghosts as, apart from the coward Hitmouse, Beaver and his gang just ignore their hauntings or, worse still, laugh at them.
I decided to solve both problems with one cunning plan. I would book out all the rooms in the tower for a big party at Halloween and employ Wizard Blenkinsop and the witches to provide magical entertainment. News of their feats of prestigitation will soon spread around the world guaranteeing enough jobs for all.
A dispute has arisen between Wizard Blenkinsop and a coven of witches. This means that the traditional Halloween celebrations may have to be called off.
The wizard has complained that his trade has really dropped off recently and is convinced that the witches are undercutting him.
I explained to him that everybody has to face competition in business - but he argues that whilst he is providing a public service (he says he charges no more for fiddly bits of magic like drying out flooded houses than he does for the easier spells) the witches are siphoning off only the more lucrative work such as love potions.
I decided that for the sake of the children of Homeward and Badgertown I would see if I could broker some kind of deal.
The Witch leader argued that they are only herbalists providing medicinal cures. This made the Wizard furious. He accused them of being mere dabblers in unscientific quackery. The Witch retorted that if that wasn't the cauldron calling the kettle black she would burn her broomstick. Then she turned him into a frog. The Wizard responded by turning her into a rabbit.
I fear this dispute may take all night to sort out. I asked the Old Monkey to bring beer and sandwiches...and some lettuce and bugs.
When I was in Hollywood, meeting all those celebrities and film stars, I made the mistake of indulging in the usual pleasantries. With my trademark generosity, I invited people to come and stay at Homeward.
I did not expect, however, for them to all turn up on my doorstep at the same time.
One has to do one's bit for fellow celebrities in times of crisis but, honestly, they are starting to outstay their welcome.
Sting keeps on putting on impromptu musical evenings. Last night he insisted that we all sing along to some dreary song of his about the rainforests. He says that the forest fires have made him feel at one with the people of Amazonia - contemplating the loss of his multi-million pound mansion as helped him to appreciate how it must feel for the hut dwellers to lose their abodes to the burning forests.
As for Jennifer Aniston - she just keeps bursting into tears every time she looks over at Badfort. I think she still thinks of Beaver Hateman as the love of her life, and her bank balance certainly suffered from the way he treated her.
To be honest, I suspect that word has got around that it is open house at Homeward. Johnny Depp turned up yesterday and I know for a fact that he lives in Paris not California. I confronted him about this and he admitted that he had the decorators in and it was cheaper to come here than put up in a hotel!
Now people are accusing me of faking it in my cookery programme for the Badgertown Broadcasting Corporation.
Let me assure you that it really is the actual Kitchen and Great Hall of Homeward that you see me working in. It would require the budget of a Hollywood movie to recreate them in a studio.
Nor do we fake the guests that drop in to see me and sample my fine foods.
Gordon really did throw a bit of a strop when I (perhaps somewhat insensitively) mentioned that I had dined at his restaurant on my trip to New York and had not been terribly impressed.
I did have to tell Jamie to take his feet off the table.
The spat between Simon and Alan was absolutely genuine. Alan made the mistake of saying that Simon's programme was trash and then Simon made some retort about the nodding dogs you see in the back of cars.
When it came to fisticuffs, A.B.Fox really did have to throw them out. There was no fakery.
I have come home only to find a scandal raging over a Badfort TV programme. It appears that the popular Beav and Hit's Saturday Night Takeaway has been hoodwinking it's viewers.
I was shocked to discover that one of the sections of the show included a giant plastic representation of me that spewed out money to contestants as long as they could perch on it's 'heaving bulk'!!!
This 'Jiggy Bank' would visit the homes of people who texted into the show. But, apparently, the elephant never strayed from its moorings at Badfort and the winners were always selected from the inhabitants of that den of iniquity.
This didn't stop Beaver, Hitmouse, their production company and Badfort Television from asking everyone across my domain and Badgertown to take part.
Viewers have been defrauded of vast sums of money but I have very little sympathy for them. After all I have done for them I am deeply offended that the local population should be happy to take part in a game that is such an affront to my dignity.
They should have had enough sense to realise that these "premium rate phone lines" were just another new route to riches for Mister Hateman.
We decided to stop off at Antarctica on the way home from America. Apparently a lot of countries have been trying to lay claim to bits of it recently. Of course, it is all mine. It was discovered by an ancestor of Wizard Blenkinsop back in 1425. When I bought Homeward from the Wizard the deeds included the rights to this continent.
We thought it a good idea to raise my flag, in order to stake my claim.
Unbelievably, Beaver Hateman had turned up to do the very same thing. He insists his ancestor Waldo Hateman discovered the place in 1424 - a likely story. He says he has plans to build a casino and Black Tom distillery for the scientists and mineralogists who live there most of the time - he says he is doing it purely to make their humdrum lives more enjoyable during the long arctic winters.
Seems like just another one of his scams too me. To top it all, as they had crash landed on an ice floe, they wheedled there way into getting me to give them a lift home. Then they spent the whole journey bickering about ownership of the godforsaken place.
Oh well, at least I had a holiday from them for a while.
As it is our last day in America the Old Monkey was very keen to see Las Vegas. I must say this place is the height of bad taste and kitsch. It is full of ersatz culture, tacky glitz, and hustlers. For a cultured elephant like myself it is an anathema.
It is bad enough at home. I am aways having to help the poor unfortunates that are fleeced at Beaver Hateman's casino and bail out those dwarves that make the mistake of betting on his fixed donkey races.
I think even the people who run the rackets here would be shocked at Beaver's methods.
As we were leaving there was an enormous commotion on the strip - a rackety old plane took off, using the road as a runway. It appeared to be being piloted by Elvis Presley. Some dubious characters were giving chase - shooting wildly in the air.
Feeling a lot better now, so we jetted over to Hollywood for a meeting with one of the big studios that is interested in making a biopic of my life.
They have been very keen to get someone called Brad Pitt to play my part. Apparently, he has a lot of kids to support and is usually desperate for any jobs he can get. But it seems he has been booked up to do another job.
Personally, I am rather pleased because I am not convinced an American could pull off my accent - I still much prefer Hugh Grant and I know that he is desperately keen to play the part.
We had some discussion about the sensitive issue of the bicycle incident from my university days. It will be made clear that I was only borrowing it.
We woke up to discover that the Hollywood sign had been vandalised in a most defamatory manner. It seems that Hollywood has not rid itself of it's more radical elements. I suspect Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins may have been responsible.
I must apologise, to you, my readers. I have been laid up in bed, due to catching a cold on the Observation Roof, and so have been unable to post recently.
Matters were exacerbated by the quack doctor that the hotel employed. It was only after he had gone that we realised that he had prescribed Gleamhound's Cold Cure - and I had drunk half the bottle. This, of course, made me feel much worse.
The Old Monkey has been administering to my every need and Goodman has been reading some exciting detective stories to me. It's quite nice to have a rest from my civic duties - so I can't complain really.
As soon as I am feeling better I will resume my tales of our trip to America.
Yesterday we went to the Observation Roof at the Rockefeller Centre. You shoot up the first sixty stories in a non-stop elevator, then change to another and go up the remaining floors and step out on to this roof and see one of the great views of the world. It is not as good as the view across Homeward, of course, but I always feel a sense of pride in the fact that this great city took it's inspiration from my own home.
It is quite a tremendous view, the huge sweep of sky, the sunlight cutting out the buildings like the jagged rocks on a giant's causeway. The Observation Roof itself is beautifully designed for its purpose, like the deck of a ship.
Sadly there was a bit of an incident when we arrived. Two ruffians knocked us flying as we ascended the stairs. They were dressed in costumes to look like us!
On being found out they had made a run for it and the tourists giving chase grabbed hold of us - assuming that they had caught the villains.
Luckily I managed to convince them that I was the real 'Uncle', and in order that my good name would not be besmirched I made sure that they got their money back and then treated them to a slap up meal at the restaurant.
They all toasted me and insisted on a chorus of 'For he's a jolly good elephant, and so say all of us'
As I gazed out across Manhattan in the evening glow of sunset - I could not but feel rather pleased with myself. As always my generosity had turned a crisis into a triumph.
We had a meeting with my New York publishers today. They are very excited about publishing some of my poetry and particularly my plays. They much prefer my version of 'Romeo and Juliet', with the happy ending, to that dreadfully dreary version by Shakespeare.
We got back to the Waldorf Astoria and found it besieged by my fans. Word had obviously got around that I was having a musical evening at the Penthouse Suite.
The evening was a great success until my big set was ruined by some raucous singing from the street below. It was particularly annoying that the NYPD did not move them on - in fact they actually joined in singing 'Galway Bay' and then a rather insulting version of "Fairy Tale of New York City" that had the following lyrics:-
You are fat You are a tyrant Elephant of new york city When you finished playing They howled out thank god Beaver was swinging, All the drunks they were singing We busked on a corner Then danced through the night
I am going to have a word with the Mayor and see if the miscreant supporters of the Badfort Crowd who caused this street concert can be tracked down and suitably punished.
In case you don't know the geography of the city it may help you to know that the Bronx is up and the Battery is down.
Here is a map of manhattan.
The people ride in a hole in the ground. We do have one underground railway in Homeward, from number 1 tower to number 10 tower, but it is only used by the dwarfs. They like to travel in tunnels. Everyone else in Homeward prefers using the switchback railways that run from tower to tower. I am sure that New Yorkers would find a similar system much faster and more efficient.
The famous places to visit are so many, and we had a lovely time at the weekend sight-seeing. The only incident that marred are enjoyment was when some idiots dropped custard pies on us from the top of the Statue of Liberty. There is always someone who has to play the fool.
Ah! Autumn in New York - Why does it seem so inviting?
The gleaming rooftops at sundown, it lifts you up when you are run down.
You'll need no castles in Spain, just a very large one called Homeward.
After our restless night we decided to go for a walk in Central Park and I must say it was a beautiful sight - apart from a forlorn tent that some itinerants must have erected during the night. It rather spoiled the view and there was some noisy snoring coming from it. Still, I am sure that it will not be long before NYPD's finest move them along.
Good news when we got back to the hotel - the Penthouse Suite has become available for us.
There appears to have been some mix up over my accommodation. My usual Penthouse Suite seems to have been booked by the President for a guest. The Old Monkey is distraught - he cannot understand how this debacle has occurred.
I must admit the room they have given us, on the floor below, is rather cramped. I have put on a brave face, however, in order to cheer him up. I told him it was all rather cosy.
I have been somewhat surprised that we have not been besieged by the usual hordes of celebrities demanding an audience with me. Perhaps the message has got through that I want to be left alone to enjoy my sojourn in New York.
I was just saying to Goodman, as we sat by the fire with our buckets of cocoa, how nice it was to have a quiet night in, when an almighty racket started up over our heads. It would seem that the occupants of the Penthouse Suite are having a wild party and our determined to spoil our tranquil evening. We could hear wild raucous laughter and someone was playing the "The Red Flag" incredibly badly on the piano.
We have been unable to sleep, because of the noise, so Goodman popped out and got an early edition of "The New York Times" with yours truly on the cover!
There was also a picture of the President with his new economic advisor - he looked strangely familiar ?...perhaps I have met him at some conference?...
When we arrived at JFK there was the usual scrum of reporters and paparazzi desperate to get pictures of me. The life of an international celebrity can be so demanding.
The President of the United States was there to welcome me. I knew he was looking for a photo opportunity. Apparently he is not very popular at the moment and I suppose he is hoping it will bolster his poll ratings to be seen with the world renowned Uncle.
I know that I should have fulfilled my role in life, and given him the economic advice he so sorely needs at the moment.
Perhaps it was the devil-may-care feeling induced by being in New York. I asked the Old Monkey if he thought it would be very wrong if we just slipped away unnoticed and unrecognized. It would be nice to have some fun and freedom from responsibility for a change.
Goodman always carries a disguise kit for his work with A.B.Fox. In a trice we had changed our appearance and taken advantage of a fracas at Security to sneak out a back way.
I have set off for New York to see the publishers of my autobiography. Ms Sara is very interested in discussing my cookbook and, of course, the many poems and plays written by my own fair hand. I have, somewhat embarrassingly, been dubbed 'the Bard of Homeward' by the cognoscenti.
I am bringing along the Old Monkey and Goodman as P.A. and Secretary respectively. I have warned them that this is a business trip - but of course they are both very excited about visiting the 'Big Apple'.