Because of this I found myself in India hunting the mythical "Big Ron". I had found myself a guide through the jungle, as well as a fully functional 19th-century blunderbuss and a large, bushy, "Stalin-ish" moustache (or mustache).
We had with us a newt that would turn blue at the scent of Big Ron's vile, subliminal odour, which has been known to have an effect on seismographs.
We were eight days trek into the jungle when all of a sudden the newt turned blue. It was then that I knew it was too late. He was watching us. I started to back away, but from the expression on my guide's face I knew this was not a good idea. I turned round just as Big Ron's arms shot out from the bush behind me, grabbing me round the neck. His hideous visage came through the bush towards me with a look of anger in his eyes as his bulbous besuited stomach knocked my blunderbuss out of my hands and his repugnant subliminal odour caused me to retch.
I kicked him in the "groin" and ran for my life through the woods. For several days the newt would turn blue at times until I finally escaped from the jungle, wild and unkempt, but with Big Ron's hat which would later fetch £630 at auction.
