I. Good morning.
II. Kate and I would like to bid you glad tidings from our combined realms, in this, the beginning of the time of our visitation to The Domain Of The Cucumber.
III. Verily, Kate did say unto me, “Stuart! What shall we do?”
IV. And I did not answer. For I knew not.
V. “Even worrying about what you’re going to do has already been done, we’re being unoriginal even in this, the time of our deepest panic!”
VI. She spaketh the truth, and it did vex me.
VII. In this time we spoke of wit. We spoke of point and counterpoint. We spoke of argument and schism, of opposition and unity. Yet none was forthcoming.
VIII. In the wilderness of Hatfield I did wander, for forty minutes and forty seconds, pondering our predicament. And then, the clouds parted and the way ahead did become clear.
IX. Stall for time in a way that might pick up and become a theme.
X. So I say unto thee, the Uborkites of the World; do not wear slices of Uborka over your eyes, do not blinker yourselves so. Instead, brandish your allegiance in the form of a full Uborka, you will be seen to be a force to be reckoned with by people afeared of minor bruising and/or cucumber allergies, and thou shalt be able to see where you are going.
XI. Let It Be.