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‘GADZOOKS!’ was my first word. The shock was so great I nearly fainted.
As I passed yet another comer, I waltzed straight into an enormous wolfy thing, spurring and gleeping and running with great power. With nowhere to turn, I drew my letter opener in a pathetic last stand. An Englishman should go down fighting. I did too.
l cascaded across the undergrowth, I half expected to see Terry Wogan descending from the trees, releasing upon the foul creature the wrath of ten thousand mutant space invaders. To the contrary, however, he just laughed and commented to the effect that I was incompetent. What a liberty! I shall never listen to his program again! Sabre Wulf indeed!
When I had got over that minor trauma, I meebled off again and eventually reached a forbidding mountain range. How I managed to reach there, I don't know – the Jungle is more confusing than the barbican.
After obtaining another potion thingy, I clambered along the side of the mountains, hoping for a way out. Sure enough, there was one, but before I took it, I ran into another triffidy thing, this time a blue one.
Whizzo! – I became super fast and invulnerable! Double Whizzo!
I sped off at double speed, all over the place, and presently arrived at a nasties hut. The door was open, but on trying, it appeared I could not get in! I decided to wait for tea time, when I was sure they would return. However, none appeared, so I thought it better to depart.

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IT is now along time since I wrote last. Since then I have obtained a further two parts of the Amulet.
Each time I get a new piece, Terry Wogan cuts in with his tune and piece of insane poetry. I never knew he had it in him. Come to think of it, I wish I’d never found out.
I’ve found plenty of things around here. Little ponds are all over the place, but I don’t have any swimming shorts, so am unable to bathe. Objects of all sorts are in abundance.
As regards food, I've been really disappointed by the lack of exotic fruits, and women are in short supply too. On that account I wouldn’t wish this place to my mother-in-law. For some (Percy Throwup) this place is paradise. Being an avid watcher of his spot on Blue Peter, I’ve been able to identify many plants.
I have discovered three different triffid variants. One, a vile mauve, causes wholesale de-orientation. It takes a real mental effort to do anything in this state. There are red ones too, which slow one down and make one invulnerable for a short time. This is all very well but, as a matter of patriotism, I’d rather be dead than red.
The final triffid plant is the most boring. It returns one to one’s normal useless mode, In my opinion that’s not on. It never happened to Tarzan.
My Present position is in a corner bordered on one side by a stone wall. Perhaps it is the lair of Wogan. If I get there with all four pieces of his wotsit, perhaps he will lend me his air freshener.

EUREKA! – I’ve found it! The final quarter of the Amul-whatsit!
Now to find the keeper chappie – the final chapter, the end, finis etc. I’ll soon be free to go back to my modest flat in Islington and read the Financial Times with my slippers on! Spiffing - what?
I’m nigh certain that Terry is situated in the cave to my left. I can see it now – the front page of the Duly Telegraph – Islington Business Man Escapes Stench Filled Jungle of ACG.
Perhaps an O.B. E. is in order. Me - an O. B. E. – perhaps even a Kinghtlorehood. Here it is. the cave. The Guardian’s lair! Nearly there. Oooh.
‘Who are you?'
'I’m the Guardian of the air freshener of the gate. ’
'You’re not Terry Wogan?’
'Terry who? I see you have the whole of the Amulet. Good. You may advance. ’
‘Does this mean I can go home to my wife, overdraft and O. B. E. ?'
'Certainly not. ’
'I say, that’s not cricket - I'm a British citizen, I command certain rights. I – '
'Shut up you posh twerp. I don’t care it you’re the Queen’s uncle'.
You’re going on. ’
'Where to?’
‘The Undewurlde. ’
‘Is Terry Wogan there?’
‘English cretin. What’s he got against the Irish?’

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And so ended the last page of the Charles P Cohen diaries, which were found lying outside the cave of the Guardian by another poor fool had had passed through the Jungle on his way to the Underwurlde. He managed to Data Post it to us before so going.
Where are they now, these heroes? Hopping around in their suits of armour, no doubt, mapping books and diaries in hand...