'Leave this to me!' says Geoffrey, pushing ahead of you. 'That puny monster's no match for Gentle Geoffrey, machete wielding maniac of the Crazy Place!'
Geoffrey's leather jacket seems to contain a whole armoury. From it he selects a particularly vicious looking serrated dagger. He then squares up to the monster and icites it to 'have a go.'
It is amazing how quickly this show of bravado degenerates into pure farce. One minute Geoffrey is standing before the monster, waist deep in semolina, waving his weapon and shouting threats. The next minute his legs are sticking out of the monster's mouth, muffled threats still emanating from within its cavernous jaws. In another minute Geoffrey is gone, and the threats are replaced by a strangulated choking noise from deep within the monster's throat. Then, the monster too is dead, and there is silence.
'Must have gone down the wrong way,' says Donald, which words must serve for Geoffrey's epitaph.
'Still, it could have been worse,' you reply after a while. 'It could have been us.' Together you make your way across the sea of semolina and leave the chamber.