Well, we can’t go much further this way, can we Senor? Unfortunately no answers to be seen - just sea, rain and a foul smelling old Scotsman trying to sell us dodgy haggis. Seems that no one else has come this far, but the sheep are telling me there is a strange American with a flashy car parked just down the road. Off to have a look. Erasmus.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any odder... After I last wrote we had a spot of bother when the faeries came and tried to take Billy Bob away (Lord alone knows why!). He drove them off with fluent frontier gibberish (and bourbon) but they managed to grab the caber, which exploded with ducks and frogs. I think they did some switching as I’ve never seen frogs with pointy ears before. Oh and one little faerie is still following BB around, They really are a rum lot. Erasmus.

You meet the oddest people, Senor. I mean, why would someone leave when a man with his sheep-pipes, his caber-tossing sheep (with a quacking, croaking caber) and his pet wildcat stroll into town? We went and looked in the library and it said these stones were a place of mystery. Just seems a place of stones to me. Ah. Oh dear. I’ll get back to you... Erasmus.

We had to abandon the Rolls, Senor - no money for petrol! We sidled onto a train instead and it brought us here. The sheep are very worried that they might meet their own ancestors, but we’ve still no idea why we’re in 1976. I think we should pop over to Anglesea and look for druids, but the ducks appear to be off collecting black plaster cats. Yours in confusion, Erasmus.

Well, Senor, the expedition is going well so far. We’ve managed to get Billy Bob out of his Elvis disguise and he’s now nice and inconspicuous as a banjo-playing vicar can be. We’ve decided that this is 1976 - the sheep are having trouble with ladybird infestations and look a bit red. What’s  worrying is me though is that the frogs reckon someone is following us... Erasmus.

A slight hitch today Senor - we were passing by when Billy Bob was mistaken for the local vicar and dragged in to carry out a wedding. All lapsed into chaos when he blessed them in the name of Elvis and kissed the bride. In the following brawl the frogs stole the wedding cake, we think the ring may be in a sheep’s afro and we’ve acquired a Rolls to travel on in. Erasmus.

Definitely something odd going on, Senor. We sailed round the coast back to our start point and it’s not quite right... Mind you. the crew seem to be enjoying a return to the days of disco - the sheep have some serious afros going and you should see the flares on those frogs! We will investigate further... Erasmus.

Aha, Senor - I am so cunning I amaze myself sometimes. Here you see my latest disguise to enable me to infiltrate  Scotland unnoticed (well, not all of it, I’ll admit). The frogs have built themselves a cunning caber disguise and Billy Bob is wandering around with a sheep painted tartan with its legs over his shoulder. Now onward to the highland games. Och Aye, Erasmus.

Ha! Ha! Here you see Senor, what you were not expecting. This is the cunning disguise I have assumed to go forth and see what is going on. Good, eh? Sadly, my anonymity may be compromised by the fact that Billy Bob has produced a cunning Elvis disguise and the frogs are all standing on each other’s shoulders in a trenchcoat... Sigh. Erasmus.

Here we see the twinkling lights of Adelaide, sparkling like stars... Shortly afterwards we caught a cable in the figure head, pulled down a flagpole, made a car swerve into a tanker, which overturned and filled a power station with treacle... Um, we may have to leave in a hurry... Erasmus.

Hmmm, Senor, this bridge seems a little similar - I do hope it’s not really the one that caused all the trouble back in New York... We had to stop here for some foam - the kangaroos keep banging their heads on the ceilings. Erasmus.

OK, Senor, made landfall down on the south coast. The sheep have gone off in search of a top-notch shearer they heard lives round here and the rest of us are just strolling around. Had a nasty moment with a Tasmanian devil but it turns out they’re afraid of a banjo music. Or chewing tobacco. Or maybe just Billy Bob... Erasmus.

G’day Senor! Thought we’d send you some photos of the new crew members and some of their family. Those pouches do come in very handy for hiding cards when playing poker! We’re at sea at the moment and the sub’s full of smoke again... Erasmus.

Amazing, Senor! No one was chasing us as we left New Guinea - so unusual it’s made the sheep quite paranoid and they’re all hiding under bunks. Saw this big train as we neared Oz, have picked up two kangaroos to act as guides and the frogs are planning a barbie. Erasmus.

Now this idyllic scene hides a tragedy, Senor. We’d been sailing high speed north-east, playing snooker in the torpedo tunes and snacking on garlic and jerk beef when we heard a big clang. Turns out a chappie like this one in the photo had just caught our figurehead and was screaming blue murder. We brought him on board, but he seems a tad jumpy. Can’t think why. Erasmus.

Hey Senor! They have over a thousand languages on this island, but according to Billy Bob, no one here can speak Redneck! Seem like nice chaps and only interesting in eating humans, so Billy Bob was safe. Tried to do some trade with strings of beads but they held out for DVD recorders. Anyway, off to a feast now. Erasmus.

Hey Senor, these islands are really good - if you crank a nuclear sub up to speed you can do some serious slaloming around them. Well, until we misjudged a turn and sort of, well, ended up sitting on this very nice beach. What’s more, there are a couple of palm trees jammed in the torpedo tubes. But we’re all enjoying the coconuts. Erasmus.