The fable of how Surfrock came to be...

The year was 1895. I had just finished 3 generous helpings of pie and mash at a Victorian temperance party and feeling quite bloated was making my way home. Whilst removing a particularly stubborn lump of dried potato from my from my cloak and pocket watch I noticed that I had missed the last handsome carriage to Sandyford and would therefore be forced to perambulate via West Jesmond. No matter, the evening was a pleasant one so I set forth humming a tune I had heard at a recent parlour recital.

As I crossed the steps of the Hancock Museum society building I tossed a coin at an urchin who was desirous of ten'pnce to send a telegram. The youth also gesticulated 'giza tab' to which I paid no heed and continued. To this the youth was filled with practical mischief and in a thrice had 'socked me a good'un' sending my monocular spiralling into the firmament never to be seen again. Somewhat aghast by this youth's doings I righted myself to question him on his enterprise. I found that he a pegged it with the remainder of my monies and fags and I was therefore without recourse.

Semi blinded without my ocular aid and fully stewed from the apple juice that had been deftly switched for 9 bottles of whiskey at what turned out to be a temperance clambake, I staggered on. Fortunately, as chance would have It, I had recently been trained in navigation by none other than Lt Cnl Percy Harold Fawcett. This was in anticipation of an upcoming expedition to Bolivia to count frogs. Thus buoyed by my knowledge I felt confident I would be soon sipping a beverage at my accommodations. By making a few simple observations of the lunar surface and guessing at the level of its ascension in relation to the time displayed on my chronograph I soon found myself hopelessly lost on the Town Moor, slipping in cowpats and ruing the day.

In time I reached what I thought was the boundary of the Newcastle Exhibition Park, which I had, weaved pie eyed through mearly hours before. As I scaled the obstruction I became entangled in a particularly stalwart clump of Boothby and Dixons patented razor wire and was soon hanging prostrate and inverted, my finery reduced to ribbons. "Woe am I," I thought as the blood rushed to my head. Shortly afterward I was taken by the darkness of the unconscious mind.

I dreamt of a band of roving eunuch giants who were having high tea with a maharaja atop an elephant of some stature. From my position I could hear their confabulation quite well and with no small amount of serendipity realised they were discussing cutting me down from the neck of an adjacent giraffe. I was indeed blessed as I was attached to one of a ring of giraffes encircling the elephant all adorned with human pendants. We had all been a team scrumping for apples in the maharaja's orchard and had not seen the giraffe's approach, for shame. There was soon an accord that as my apples had fallen from my jerkin there was insufficient evidence to banish me from the province. Without further debate the king drew his magnificent sword and cut my bonds.

Falling.... For what seemed eternity I fell. I was starting to enjoy the sensation but all too suddenly my drop was cut short by a pile of horse apples. The soft and pungent guano had saved my bacon and no mistake for had I landed headfirst on the hard ground I would surely have shuffled off this mortal coil.

Carefully I extracted my noggin from whence it ploughed and noticed the pile shimmered and steamed beautifully in the moonlight creating an eerie mist. I clambered to the edge of the pile and as the murky nebula thinned I noted with horror I had stumbled into the enclosure of a puce dragon some 30ft in diameter and 60ft high. Of course! it was the week of the Hoppings festival and the beast was clearly the property of travelling Romany folk. At that moment an impish thought crossed my mind. I knew it was taboo but the urge was already upon me. I would tip this dragon and damn the carnies eyes!!!.

I feverishly scrambled around the corralled beast for tools. It slept in an upright posture almost as a dog would sit to attention awaiting scraps of Yorkshire pudding from its inattentive master. In no time at all I had a large log as a pivot and had uprooted a fence post. With gleeful memories of my youth I arranged the seesaw with one end under the dragons green posteria. Tears of excitement ran down my face as I launched myself from the highest point of the guano pile onto the opposing end of the seesaw. A sudden jolt and the colossus was unbalanced. Half awake now it spun its stubby be-scaled arm in a vain attempt to right itself but the dreamily slow point of balance was passed and with an impact that rocked the very earth it was royally tipped. 'Not even enough time to unfold a wing' I though to myself with glee.

Once tipped in this manner the dragon will normally take a good 10 minutes to ponder what went wrong which leaves ample time to make good your escape. In my school days I would have already been well down the lane before farmer barber discovered his paddock full of recumbent behemoth. However, something caught my eye. There in the centre of the smooth stone ring, which moments earlier had been populated with two huge green buttocks, was a shiny rock. I immediately recognised it was a surfrock!!!!. Against my better judgement I lunged towards it, full of terror at what a pikey would do to an unlicensed dragon tipper. I scooped it up into the pocket of my waistcoat I hopped through a newly made rent in the enclosure by the dragons dazed upturned head. I was aware of its eye following me as I stealthily picked my way passed a herd of lucky heather sellers. With my wits now half restored I ran pell-mell through the streets of Jesmond and on reaching my lodgings, fell into a restless fitful sleep.

Next morning I resolved immediately to cleanse the surfrock and upload it to the internet for all to see. A monkey in a fez hat by the name of Hortence aided me in the task and when we were done we observed our work over brandy and cigars.

I heard much later on a gramophone recording drum that the dragon had taken a very dim view of the proceedings of that evening but was pleased the surfrock was happy. The carnival folk had been unavailable for comment but I suspect they will tirelessly search an area of the internet the size of Spain until their revenge is realised, or something.