Fired from a cannon, landed in dung and straw!  Still, we came up smelling of roses, but with a taste of indignation; that was to become our leitmotif.  Hunted by the state, we sought asylum in the pagoda; crossed the bridge of doubt, our legs aged 10 years! Found true western hospitality from an eastern philosopher and learned to jive from a harlot.  Contemplated lobotomies for a quiet life, but then, ready to give up all to the good mistresses' seas, like a lighthouse singing the sweetest angelic tones, we arrived at the foot of the pagoda; eyes rotating faster than a wind dial in rumour town and trying to breathe in all the wonders on offer.  Inside the pagoda there was Deathly Silence.  He let out a scream like a banshee "WELCOME!!!" Deathly looked quite well and proceeded to show us around the ground floor of the pagoda, which aged our legs another 10 years! God I miss that cannon!
An endless phantasmagoria that finished at the tips of our noses.  So,  here we are; 11 rooms, 11 songs, enjoy.........

Read more about Ross' Great Great Grandfather, Frederick Smith.