Atlantic Walrus - Photo Gallery
The most amazing photographs - really worth a look.
Thursday, 26 December 2013
Wednesday, 25 December 2013
Home for Christmas...
We're not sure if we're really home, or if we're hallucinating due to lack of food and drink. At the moment, we don't much care.
We seem to remember being pushed shore-wards at alarming speed by the Great 'Fat' Whale of Norway. Both of us remember that, so it must be true, surely. We reached land at about 5 o'clock this morning - Christmas morning - and managed to leap ashore and throw the painter round a rock to secure Fancy, before she could escape.
It wasn't easy, weak with hunger as we were, and we wouldn't have managed it but for the assistance of the forward momentum provided by the Whale.
"Thank you, Whale!" we cried.
"Don't forget me lads! Throw me some food as soon as you get the chance." The Whale circled slowly in the deep water of the Bay.
Not too far behind him, circled the other coracle - the Big One. When we got back to the Outcrop, I found my most powerful spyglass and had a look at it from the livingroom window while Geoffrey set to in the kitchen, lighting the fire and getting some breakfast on the go.
"Sausages, egg, bacon, fried bread, tattie scones, beans....yes, that should do. Brown sauce. Mustn't forget that. Toast and marmalade for afters, and a large pot of tea," I heard him murmur, amidst the clattering of pans, and the spattering of hot fat. Comforting, homely sounds.
"That coracle's carrying a ragged black flag at half-mast," I said. "What do you make of that, Geoffrey?"
The kettle whistled.
"Same as you, I imagine, Tuppy. She's a Death ship, come to claim her own during the Dark Days of Winter. Let's chuck a sausage sandwich down to the Whale and then light the signal fire. We'd better warn the others."
"What others?"
"You know. Our neighbours. The Fulmars. Stormy Petrel. The Narks. Doctor Wilson."
"Wilson? The Narks? You must be kidding."
"Well, the Tupfinder-Generals then. Although, I'm quite certain he'll already be aware."
"Oh I can't be bothered Geoffrey. At least, not until I've had my breakfast and a serious nap. Surely nothing bad will happen today. After all, it's Christmas. Goodwill to all. A time of joy and starlight and happy faces crowded round a homely fire over glasses of hot punch. Everyone will be busy with their Christmas dinners and stockings and presents and stuff."
"Not everybody, Tuppy. Think of that poor Whale, circling round and round all alone in the cold and the dark. All he has to eat is what we throw down to him."
"But that's his natural environment Geoffrey. He's a Whale. He can't manage on land, just as we can't manage in water."
"I can. I'm a gull. I can manage water, land and air."
"Don't be smug! You know what I mean. Not everyone can enjoy Christmas like we can, but there's nothing we can do about it so we're just going to have to blot out the guilt with insane amounts of food and drink, and hopefully every other nasty memory. Is that breakfast ready yet?"
"Oh dear Tuppy. That's not the way to approach things, at all."
"Well I can't help it," I snapped," I'm tired and I can't manage moral dilemmas and guilt on an empty stomach. I hope you've made plenty tattie scones."
"I have, Tuppy. I have."
"Black pudding? Don't say a word. I can tell by the look on your face that you forgot."
"Well to be honest Tuppy - and I know this is very poor timing - I think we need to give up black pudding."
"Oh?"
Geoffrey swallowed anxiously. "I want to go macrobiotic Tuppy. There, I've said it."
" I'll have your full-cooked then."
"I didn't mean right now! It's something for the New Year. You know the kind of thing."
"I do."
Phew! I thought. Macrobiotics? It'd be yoga next, if I couldn't nip this in the bud, and giving up smoking and opium. And then where would we be? Life wouldn't be worth a candle. I'd need to keep a close eye on Geoffrey.
We sat by the fire and ate in silence, and then dozed pleasantly in the warmth as we waited for the sun to creep above the horizon.
And we tried not to think about the lonely Whale, swimming round and round in the cold dark water, or the coracle of Death, as it drifted ever closer....
We seem to remember being pushed shore-wards at alarming speed by the Great 'Fat' Whale of Norway. Both of us remember that, so it must be true, surely. We reached land at about 5 o'clock this morning - Christmas morning - and managed to leap ashore and throw the painter round a rock to secure Fancy, before she could escape.
It wasn't easy, weak with hunger as we were, and we wouldn't have managed it but for the assistance of the forward momentum provided by the Whale.
"Thank you, Whale!" we cried.
"Don't forget me lads! Throw me some food as soon as you get the chance." The Whale circled slowly in the deep water of the Bay.
Not too far behind him, circled the other coracle - the Big One. When we got back to the Outcrop, I found my most powerful spyglass and had a look at it from the livingroom window while Geoffrey set to in the kitchen, lighting the fire and getting some breakfast on the go.
"Sausages, egg, bacon, fried bread, tattie scones, beans....yes, that should do. Brown sauce. Mustn't forget that. Toast and marmalade for afters, and a large pot of tea," I heard him murmur, amidst the clattering of pans, and the spattering of hot fat. Comforting, homely sounds.
"That coracle's carrying a ragged black flag at half-mast," I said. "What do you make of that, Geoffrey?"
The kettle whistled.
"Same as you, I imagine, Tuppy. She's a Death ship, come to claim her own during the Dark Days of Winter. Let's chuck a sausage sandwich down to the Whale and then light the signal fire. We'd better warn the others."
"What others?"
"You know. Our neighbours. The Fulmars. Stormy Petrel. The Narks. Doctor Wilson."
"Wilson? The Narks? You must be kidding."
"Well, the Tupfinder-Generals then. Although, I'm quite certain he'll already be aware."
"Oh I can't be bothered Geoffrey. At least, not until I've had my breakfast and a serious nap. Surely nothing bad will happen today. After all, it's Christmas. Goodwill to all. A time of joy and starlight and happy faces crowded round a homely fire over glasses of hot punch. Everyone will be busy with their Christmas dinners and stockings and presents and stuff."
"Not everybody, Tuppy. Think of that poor Whale, circling round and round all alone in the cold and the dark. All he has to eat is what we throw down to him."
"But that's his natural environment Geoffrey. He's a Whale. He can't manage on land, just as we can't manage in water."
"I can. I'm a gull. I can manage water, land and air."
"Don't be smug! You know what I mean. Not everyone can enjoy Christmas like we can, but there's nothing we can do about it so we're just going to have to blot out the guilt with insane amounts of food and drink, and hopefully every other nasty memory. Is that breakfast ready yet?"
"Oh dear Tuppy. That's not the way to approach things, at all."
"Well I can't help it," I snapped," I'm tired and I can't manage moral dilemmas and guilt on an empty stomach. I hope you've made plenty tattie scones."
"I have, Tuppy. I have."
"Black pudding? Don't say a word. I can tell by the look on your face that you forgot."
"Well to be honest Tuppy - and I know this is very poor timing - I think we need to give up black pudding."
"Oh?"
Geoffrey swallowed anxiously. "I want to go macrobiotic Tuppy. There, I've said it."
" I'll have your full-cooked then."
"I didn't mean right now! It's something for the New Year. You know the kind of thing."
"I do."
Phew! I thought. Macrobiotics? It'd be yoga next, if I couldn't nip this in the bud, and giving up smoking and opium. And then where would we be? Life wouldn't be worth a candle. I'd need to keep a close eye on Geoffrey.
We sat by the fire and ate in silence, and then dozed pleasantly in the warmth as we waited for the sun to creep above the horizon.
And we tried not to think about the lonely Whale, swimming round and round in the cold dark water, or the coracle of Death, as it drifted ever closer....
Sunday, 22 December 2013
Yuletide Ramblings
"You know, it looks like we're going to be celebrating Yule whilst tossing around in..."
"Do you mind!" interrupted Fancy, doing one of her twirls.
".... in the middle of the Atlantic," I continued, ignoring her.
"With nothing to eat or drink bar our own finger and toenails," added Geoffrey.
"Make that just 'toe', Geoffrey," I said,glancing at my fingers, which were bitten down to stumps.
"I mean come off it Fancy. It is Yule after all, Season of good will and so forth. Can't you see your way clear to coming out of your towering huff and sailing us back home again?"
Silence.
"I might be able to help," ventured the Whale. "I could push you landwards, till the water gets too shallow for me. It would be my pleasure. What with it being Yule and that," it added, glancing darkly at Fancy.
"Whales don't celebrate Yule," sneered Fancy.
"We do so too," replied the genial Leviathon*. "Only this morning I felt the joy of Christmas leaping in my breast, and I wanted to scream "Happy Christmas!" at the top of my lungs."
"Screaming doesn't sound very festive," said Fancy," Are you sure you didn't have a case of heartburn?"
"Quite sure," replied the Whale,"Given that I haven't actually eaten anything for ages. Besides, Yule means different things to different people. For some, it's a time to gaze at the stars, and ponder the coming of the Christ child. For others, it's a time to contemplate murdering your own family, as you stare at them over the skeletal remains of an Aldi three bird roast and the last of Aunt Bessie's frozen roasters. For others, it's a time to enjoy the sight of brown land lying fallow before the resurgence of Spring. For others, it's a time to sit down beside a roaring fire, at a table laden with food and drink. Turkey, stuffing, ham, bread sauce, gravy, fine wines..."
"O stop, stop," cried Geoffrey,"You're torturing us. Stop talking and start pushing. We want to get home!"
So home we went, despite Fancy's sulky efforts to the contrary. In hot pursuit, however, was the other coracle - the Big One.....
*apologies for using the term 'genial leviathon' again
Please remember that all five of my blog-related e-books are available for FREE for five days, as from Christmas Eve. Here is the link. to one of them, on Amazon.
more later
"Do you mind!" interrupted Fancy, doing one of her twirls.
".... in the middle of the Atlantic," I continued, ignoring her.
"With nothing to eat or drink bar our own finger and toenails," added Geoffrey.
"Make that just 'toe', Geoffrey," I said,glancing at my fingers, which were bitten down to stumps.
"I mean come off it Fancy. It is Yule after all, Season of good will and so forth. Can't you see your way clear to coming out of your towering huff and sailing us back home again?"
Silence.
"I might be able to help," ventured the Whale. "I could push you landwards, till the water gets too shallow for me. It would be my pleasure. What with it being Yule and that," it added, glancing darkly at Fancy.
"Whales don't celebrate Yule," sneered Fancy.
"We do so too," replied the genial Leviathon*. "Only this morning I felt the joy of Christmas leaping in my breast, and I wanted to scream "Happy Christmas!" at the top of my lungs."
"Screaming doesn't sound very festive," said Fancy," Are you sure you didn't have a case of heartburn?"
"Quite sure," replied the Whale,"Given that I haven't actually eaten anything for ages. Besides, Yule means different things to different people. For some, it's a time to gaze at the stars, and ponder the coming of the Christ child. For others, it's a time to contemplate murdering your own family, as you stare at them over the skeletal remains of an Aldi three bird roast and the last of Aunt Bessie's frozen roasters. For others, it's a time to enjoy the sight of brown land lying fallow before the resurgence of Spring. For others, it's a time to sit down beside a roaring fire, at a table laden with food and drink. Turkey, stuffing, ham, bread sauce, gravy, fine wines..."
"O stop, stop," cried Geoffrey,"You're torturing us. Stop talking and start pushing. We want to get home!"
So home we went, despite Fancy's sulky efforts to the contrary. In hot pursuit, however, was the other coracle - the Big One.....
*apologies for using the term 'genial leviathon' again
Please remember that all five of my blog-related e-books are available for FREE for five days, as from Christmas Eve. Here is the link. to one of them, on Amazon.
more later
Friday, 20 December 2013
Thursday, 19 December 2013
"Biscuits," I said. "If only! We ran out of food AGES ago and now we're going insane with hunger. I was just thinking about eating my best friend, until you came along, taunting us with talk of biscuits and weight gain."
"It's remarkable how long one can manage without food," said the Whale, "For example, when I was Overthere... "
"Yes," interrupted Geoffrey, "Food's not important. It's water that's essential to life. At least at first. And we're running out of that. There are only three teeny weeny drops left in the flask. Ooops! I dropped it and it broke! I'm sorry Tuppy. I've let you down again, haven't I? Please don't be too angry. I feel bad enough as it is."
"Right. That's it. We've no food, and no water, and our boat refuses to behave as it should," I began furiously, thumping the foc's'l with my front hoof. I had to take control - I simply had to. But how could I, when the boat had a mind of its own, and we were in the middle of some sort of trackless ocean-style thing?
"Coracle!" shouted Geoffrey.
"Yes, I know it's a coracle. I was using the generic term. We're being dragged to wherever Fancy takes us, and it's about as much fun as having your fingers trapped in a door."
"No - CORACLE! There's another one, and it's heading our way. It's far bigger than this one, and it appears to be steam-powered. Oo-er. Fancy - you have a rival."
more later
"It's remarkable how long one can manage without food," said the Whale, "For example, when I was Overthere... "
"Yes," interrupted Geoffrey, "Food's not important. It's water that's essential to life. At least at first. And we're running out of that. There are only three teeny weeny drops left in the flask. Ooops! I dropped it and it broke! I'm sorry Tuppy. I've let you down again, haven't I? Please don't be too angry. I feel bad enough as it is."
"Right. That's it. We've no food, and no water, and our boat refuses to behave as it should," I began furiously, thumping the foc's'l with my front hoof. I had to take control - I simply had to. But how could I, when the boat had a mind of its own, and we were in the middle of some sort of trackless ocean-style thing?
"Coracle!" shouted Geoffrey.
"Yes, I know it's a coracle. I was using the generic term. We're being dragged to wherever Fancy takes us, and it's about as much fun as having your fingers trapped in a door."
"No - CORACLE! There's another one, and it's heading our way. It's far bigger than this one, and it appears to be steam-powered. Oo-er. Fancy - you have a rival."
more later
Sunday, 15 December 2013
The Great 'Fat' Whale of Norway Shares His Feelings about This and That
"I don't know much about This, but I can tell you an awful lot about THAT," began the Whale.*
Then it began to cough.
"Jings," I said.
"Crivvins," said Geoffrey.
"Help ma boab**," said Fancy, spinning round and round in her excitement.
"STOP THAT FANCY!" I shouted, "You'll knock us all sick."
"Yes please do stop," said the Whale,"I can't address a spinning audience. It reminds terribly me of the terrible time when I had a terrible inner ear infection, and I got terrible vertigo. I got terribly ill and it took me a terrible length of time to recover. And even then, when I was supposedly better, I felt terrible."
"Doctors eh," said Geoffrey.
"Never trust 'em," I added darkly. (We were both thinking of Drs Wilson and Kwak, mentioned in earlier Tales, and in the first four e-books)
"That was how the weight gain started," continued the Whale, warming to its tale. "There I was, housebound, with only a reclining chair, a biscuit barrel, a deep fat fryer and a wall-mounted TV for company."
Geoffrey and I glanced at each other. "Where were you? A sheltered housing complex?" I asked. "Did you have a walk-in bath, as well?"
"No Tuppy. You're quite wrong. They couldn't possibly allow deep fat fryers in sheltered housing, due to health and safety issues," said Geoffrey in his best 'job'sworth' tone. Not that he's ever had a job.
"Yes!" said the Whale,"Well, kind of. It was a theme park for elderly whales. Well they said it was a theme park, but really it was a knacker's yard, for old whales who couldn't jump and do tricks any more. Before they made us into scampi bites and fish-style fingers. They wanted us to fatten up. Pile on the beef, so to speak. You know - Overthere. Right by the Speedispend Hypermarket and Compulsory Screening Centre. I managed to escape," it added proudly.
"How? How did you manage to escape?" we cried.
"Give me a biscuit and I'll tell you. I've not had sight or sound of so much as a Rich Tea for three long months."
more later
*apologies to the late Chic Murray
**apologies to The Broons
Then it began to cough.
"Jings," I said.
"Crivvins," said Geoffrey.
"Help ma boab**," said Fancy, spinning round and round in her excitement.
"STOP THAT FANCY!" I shouted, "You'll knock us all sick."
"Yes please do stop," said the Whale,"I can't address a spinning audience. It reminds terribly me of the terrible time when I had a terrible inner ear infection, and I got terrible vertigo. I got terribly ill and it took me a terrible length of time to recover. And even then, when I was supposedly better, I felt terrible."
"Doctors eh," said Geoffrey.
"Never trust 'em," I added darkly. (We were both thinking of Drs Wilson and Kwak, mentioned in earlier Tales, and in the first four e-books)
"That was how the weight gain started," continued the Whale, warming to its tale. "There I was, housebound, with only a reclining chair, a biscuit barrel, a deep fat fryer and a wall-mounted TV for company."
Geoffrey and I glanced at each other. "Where were you? A sheltered housing complex?" I asked. "Did you have a walk-in bath, as well?"
"No Tuppy. You're quite wrong. They couldn't possibly allow deep fat fryers in sheltered housing, due to health and safety issues," said Geoffrey in his best 'job'sworth' tone. Not that he's ever had a job.
"Yes!" said the Whale,"Well, kind of. It was a theme park for elderly whales. Well they said it was a theme park, but really it was a knacker's yard, for old whales who couldn't jump and do tricks any more. Before they made us into scampi bites and fish-style fingers. They wanted us to fatten up. Pile on the beef, so to speak. You know - Overthere. Right by the Speedispend Hypermarket and Compulsory Screening Centre. I managed to escape," it added proudly.
"How? How did you manage to escape?" we cried.
"Give me a biscuit and I'll tell you. I've not had sight or sound of so much as a Rich Tea for three long months."
more later
*apologies to the late Chic Murray
**apologies to The Broons
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
An Encounter with the Great 'Fat' Whale. Of Norway.
No, of course I didn't eat Geoffrey. He would probably be perfectly edible served up with a couple of rashers of bacon on his back and some sage and onion stuffing, or even, at a push, roasted with a Knorr stock cube crumbled and massaged into his skin 'to bring out the flavour', and an unwaxed lemon up his nethers a la Marco Pierre White, or even simmered vilely in Coca Cola a la Nigella, but sadly there are no cooking facilities on the coracle and I just couldn't face him 'au nature' or whatever.
I certainly couldn't manage to pluck him, with my hooves. I'd have to singe his feathers off. Maybe with my Zippo. But it would take AGES.......
"Tuppy! How c-can you even think of such things!" gasped Geoffrey. I'd forgotten about his mind-reading facility.
Oh dear. Oh well.....
"I'm STARVING Geoffrey! Have a heart. Call yourself a friend? The least you can do is...."
WHOOOOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHH BBLLOOWWWWWWWWWWW
A large whale appeared off our starboard bow. Well, it would have been our starboard bow, if we had one. The coracle doesn't have bows, being circular. So, I suppose all bows are at the same time either and or equally starboard and or port depending on how the mood - or indeed "Fancy", to make another nauseating and laboured allusion* - takes you.
"My. You're awfully big. Even for a whale. What kind are you?" asked Geoffrey politely.
"I'm the Great 'Fat' Whale. Of Norway," replied the creature.
"Really? How interesting. Do tell me how you came by your name, especially the 'Fat' bit. I'm sure it will be an absolutely fascinating tale, and I'm longing to hear it," enthused Geoffrey.
I put my feet up on the bowsprit and prepared myself for a nap.
"Fire the kettle on and crack open your best biscuits, friend," replied the genial Leviathon**, "Chocolate ones. And maybe some cake as well. And I wouldn't say no to a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, if you have it. And plenty full fat milk and six sugars in my tea. And after that I'll tell you how I got my name and other tales that will make your feathers fall out."
I opened an eye. "Ummmmm....."
*the name of our coracle is Fancy. Feel free to split your sides.
**apologies for using the term 'genial Leviathon'
I certainly couldn't manage to pluck him, with my hooves. I'd have to singe his feathers off. Maybe with my Zippo. But it would take AGES.......
"Tuppy! How c-can you even think of such things!" gasped Geoffrey. I'd forgotten about his mind-reading facility.
Oh dear. Oh well.....
"I'm STARVING Geoffrey! Have a heart. Call yourself a friend? The least you can do is...."
WHOOOOOOSSSHHHHHHHHHHH BBLLOOWWWWWWWWWWW
A large whale appeared off our starboard bow. Well, it would have been our starboard bow, if we had one. The coracle doesn't have bows, being circular. So, I suppose all bows are at the same time either and or equally starboard and or port depending on how the mood - or indeed "Fancy", to make another nauseating and laboured allusion* - takes you.
"My. You're awfully big. Even for a whale. What kind are you?" asked Geoffrey politely.
"I'm the Great 'Fat' Whale. Of Norway," replied the creature.
"Really? How interesting. Do tell me how you came by your name, especially the 'Fat' bit. I'm sure it will be an absolutely fascinating tale, and I'm longing to hear it," enthused Geoffrey.
I put my feet up on the bowsprit and prepared myself for a nap.
"Fire the kettle on and crack open your best biscuits, friend," replied the genial Leviathon**, "Chocolate ones. And maybe some cake as well. And I wouldn't say no to a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, if you have it. And plenty full fat milk and six sugars in my tea. And after that I'll tell you how I got my name and other tales that will make your feathers fall out."
I opened an eye. "Ummmmm....."
*the name of our coracle is Fancy. Feel free to split your sides.
**apologies for using the term 'genial Leviathon'
Monday, 2 December 2013
Hamster Droppings
We're still on the boat. IN the boat, rather, what with it being a coracle. And all.
It's still in a mood. It skirted the Corryfreckle whirlpool, lacking the courage, thankfully, to plunge right in, and took us instead round the Paps of Jura and out into the wild Atlantic. Where we remain. Waving forlornly to passing trawlers and such-like.
Not to mention whales. More of those later.
Two rather pressing issues. One, we forgot to bring the Travel Scrabble (always a godsend on a long trip).
Two, we're STARVING!!!!!!
Goji berry flapjacks, UHT almond milk smoothies and all that other vegan food is no substitute for flesh. To make matters worse, Geoffrey informs me that the flapjacks that we so blithely consumed, were made from the sweepings from Val Nark's horrible child's horrible hamster's cage.
"Those chewy bits weren't goji berries Tuppy. They were hamster droppings."
"Hamster droppings?"
"Yes. From the Nark child's hamster's cage."
"I didn't know that there was a Nark child."
"Oh yes. I think it's a boy child, called Bucket or something. Something that's not a proper name, anyway. I can't remember. Oh Tuppy! I'm too hungry to think! What are we going to do?"
"I haven't the foggiest. Only I'm thinking, you DO look rather like chicken Geoffrey. Quite appetising, if you were trussed up with a couple of rashers of bacon on your back and half a dozen chipolatas sizzling on the side. I might even manage a sprout or two, if they were going begging. Just for the aesthetic appeal."
"Charming! I thought that sheep were herbivores!"
"Not in a tight spot, Geoffrey." I edged towards him, hands outstretched. Was I really going to eat my best friend?
more later
It's still in a mood. It skirted the Corryfreckle whirlpool, lacking the courage, thankfully, to plunge right in, and took us instead round the Paps of Jura and out into the wild Atlantic. Where we remain. Waving forlornly to passing trawlers and such-like.
Not to mention whales. More of those later.
Two rather pressing issues. One, we forgot to bring the Travel Scrabble (always a godsend on a long trip).
Two, we're STARVING!!!!!!
Goji berry flapjacks, UHT almond milk smoothies and all that other vegan food is no substitute for flesh. To make matters worse, Geoffrey informs me that the flapjacks that we so blithely consumed, were made from the sweepings from Val Nark's horrible child's horrible hamster's cage.
"Those chewy bits weren't goji berries Tuppy. They were hamster droppings."
"Hamster droppings?"
"Yes. From the Nark child's hamster's cage."
"I didn't know that there was a Nark child."
"Oh yes. I think it's a boy child, called Bucket or something. Something that's not a proper name, anyway. I can't remember. Oh Tuppy! I'm too hungry to think! What are we going to do?"
"I haven't the foggiest. Only I'm thinking, you DO look rather like chicken Geoffrey. Quite appetising, if you were trussed up with a couple of rashers of bacon on your back and half a dozen chipolatas sizzling on the side. I might even manage a sprout or two, if they were going begging. Just for the aesthetic appeal."
"Charming! I thought that sheep were herbivores!"
"Not in a tight spot, Geoffrey." I edged towards him, hands outstretched. Was I really going to eat my best friend?
more later
Saturday, 23 November 2013
Aldous Huxley
I'm posting a link to this essay in the LA Times. http://lareviewofbooks.org/essay/aldous-huxley-in-los-angeles/#.Uo_K-Q07yRE.twitter
It's about Aldous Huxley. I did not know that he died on the same day as JFK, nor that he was injected (at his own written request) with LSD just prior to death.
I don't think I've read much, if any, Aldous Huxley. I can hardly believe that I'm saying that, given that his name was bandied around by many of the writers and musicians of my youth. Surely I must have had a crack at The Doors of Perception and Brave New World? I like the sound of Crome Yellow. That's next on my reading list.
A trip to the library would be on the cards, if I thought there might be the slightest chance that they'd have any of his books among their rapidly-dwindling stock. As it is a trawl through the 1p. listings on Amazon will have to do. I know it's wrong but needs must.
Update I just learned via this article here that CS Lewis also died on that day! And someone has recommended a couple of books - Laura Huxley's biography of her husband, and Michael Holroyd's biography of Lytton Strachey, which apparently has a lot of related information. So I will have a look for those two.
Crome Yellow first though.
It's about Aldous Huxley. I did not know that he died on the same day as JFK, nor that he was injected (at his own written request) with LSD just prior to death.
I don't think I've read much, if any, Aldous Huxley. I can hardly believe that I'm saying that, given that his name was bandied around by many of the writers and musicians of my youth. Surely I must have had a crack at The Doors of Perception and Brave New World? I like the sound of Crome Yellow. That's next on my reading list.
A trip to the library would be on the cards, if I thought there might be the slightest chance that they'd have any of his books among their rapidly-dwindling stock. As it is a trawl through the 1p. listings on Amazon will have to do. I know it's wrong but needs must.
Update I just learned via this article here that CS Lewis also died on that day! And someone has recommended a couple of books - Laura Huxley's biography of her husband, and Michael Holroyd's biography of Lytton Strachey, which apparently has a lot of related information. So I will have a look for those two.
Crome Yellow first though.
Dream of the Week
I had a dream that I borrowed my friend's mobile phone so that I could go on tour with the Rolling Stones. Keith Richards was fixing mirror tiles to a bathroom in Newtyle and carrying a bag of tools, between gigs. I stuck my head round Mick's hotel room door and said 'I'm just popping out for half an hour, in case anyone's looking for me.' He was listening to 'Sway' on a teak stereo, along with a couple of very geeky, studenty-looking blokes.
I was kind of a teenager, yet not a teenager. I tried to text my friend, to tell her about it all, but couldn't work out how to use the mobile. I was out on a moor somewhere, and the sky was white.....
That's dreams for you.
Thursday, 21 November 2013
Breakfast of the Week - Co-op own brand Fruit and Nut Muesli
However - word of warning. This might just have been a good batch.
The Nose-dirt Extraction Device (pictured)
"Look Tuppy! It's a nose-dirt extraction device! I'm going to patent it when we get back and I'll be rich as Croesus!"
"It's a turkey baster," I stated flatly. "In fact, it's OUR turkey baster. And I don't want it sticking up people's noses extracting dirt willy nilly and without so much as a by your leave."
"I'd wash it afterwards. Naturally. A good rinse under the tap and a wipe on the old sleeve. It's an object with multiple functionality." He was sounding less convinced by the second. A bit like a wind-up gramophone winding down.
"Yes Geoffrey. I think you'd better take one of your special pills and have a nice lie down under the tartan knee-rug. There's a good chap."
My Amazon page https://www.amazon.co.uk/Kate-Smart/e/B008MFK3NE/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1
The Self-Destructing Coracle
Well here we are, still stuck on this sodding boat. Yes I know that's a horrible way to describe our beloved coracle 'Fancy', which has served us so well etc. etc. and been our friend yawn yawn through many dangers - enough already.
If YOU had been crammed into a coracle, especially ours, which is spherical, and has a mind of its own in terms of whether the 'fancy' takes it to actually go where we want it to, i.e. in terms of NAVIGATION, which is kind of an essential aspect of a 'craft', you'd be calling it a 'sodding boat' too, or perhaps a lot worse.
Besides, it leaks.
It doesn't have to leak. It just does, because it's in that kind of mood.
A leaky mood. You could say it was crying I suppose, if you were feeling sympathetic.
Nobody here felt sympathetic.
And nobody was talking to it.
No. We were all talking ABOUT it.
"It's all an act. It's all put on. Ignore it, that's the best way. Anyone got any fags left? I'm gasping."
"I'll sink myself!" shrieked Fancy. "I'll self-destruct! I'll remove my bungs! Don't think I won't!"
"Why though?" Geoffrey was using his most soothing tone. I've no idea if it was deliberate. "Why self-destruct?"
"Well, I'm not sure. But I just feel in that kind of mood. I know what. I'm not going to remove my bungs. I'm going to circumvent the co-ordinates you put in and I'm going to head straight for the Corryfreckle whirlpool INSTEAD, where Death surely awaits. Put that in your pipes and smoke it."
"If only we could," I murmured.
Next time - Cannibalism - the pros and cons when in a tight spot.
If YOU had been crammed into a coracle, especially ours, which is spherical, and has a mind of its own in terms of whether the 'fancy' takes it to actually go where we want it to, i.e. in terms of NAVIGATION, which is kind of an essential aspect of a 'craft', you'd be calling it a 'sodding boat' too, or perhaps a lot worse.
Besides, it leaks.
It doesn't have to leak. It just does, because it's in that kind of mood.
A leaky mood. You could say it was crying I suppose, if you were feeling sympathetic.
Nobody here felt sympathetic.
And nobody was talking to it.
No. We were all talking ABOUT it.
"It's all an act. It's all put on. Ignore it, that's the best way. Anyone got any fags left? I'm gasping."
"I'll sink myself!" shrieked Fancy. "I'll self-destruct! I'll remove my bungs! Don't think I won't!"
"Why though?" Geoffrey was using his most soothing tone. I've no idea if it was deliberate. "Why self-destruct?"
"Well, I'm not sure. But I just feel in that kind of mood. I know what. I'm not going to remove my bungs. I'm going to circumvent the co-ordinates you put in and I'm going to head straight for the Corryfreckle whirlpool INSTEAD, where Death surely awaits. Put that in your pipes and smoke it."
"If only we could," I murmured.
Next time - Cannibalism - the pros and cons when in a tight spot.
Wednesday, 20 November 2013
Scottish Islands Explorer: Where Shadows Dance
Scottish Islands Explorer: Where Shadows Dance: If you like the photograph (above) of Northton Sands , South Harris, by Ruth Fairbrother , you will certainly enjoy the exhibition (below)...
We rented a cottage near this beach many years ago, and I remember we walked across it towards the sea the evening we arrived. The beach is so vast it can be used as an airstrip, and the tide was out. We walked and walked and the sea never seemed to get any closer. It was like an illusion. We closed our eyes and walked, knowing that all there was in front of us was yard upon yard of flat sand. I don't remember that we ever did reach the sea.
Nowadays I'd be worried about quicksand, or a tidal race.
We rented a cottage near this beach many years ago, and I remember we walked across it towards the sea the evening we arrived. The beach is so vast it can be used as an airstrip, and the tide was out. We walked and walked and the sea never seemed to get any closer. It was like an illusion. We closed our eyes and walked, knowing that all there was in front of us was yard upon yard of flat sand. I don't remember that we ever did reach the sea.
Nowadays I'd be worried about quicksand, or a tidal race.
Sunday, 17 November 2013
Rex Ingram's The Magician
Here's the clip I mentioned. Rex Ingram's adaptation of Maugham's The Magician. And I'm intrigued to note that Michael Powell was assistant director. Serendipity. I've always loved Powell and Pressburger films. I don't want to sound unduly fey but nobody can deny that there is definitely something of the weird about them. In this internet age of one-click connections we've lost the mystery and magic of a bookshop or record-shop find that suddenly shines a light through the gloom and leads you a bit further along the path. We've lost the sixth sense, the part of the subconscious that enables us to close our eyes and trust while we feel our way through the dark and home in on what it is that we need to find.
Or have we?
Thursday, 14 November 2013
Does Chewing One's Own Toenails Mean You're a Cannibal?
"Of course you can't turn cannibal, Tuppy," scolded Geoffrey. "It would be absolutely appalling."
He was reading my mind again. Where was the Mind-Reading-Prevention-Device when I needed it? (as mentioned back in 2011 or 12 or thereabouts, and possibly in an e-book only don't ask me which one)
Back at the Outcrop, somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs, probably. Or down the back of the settee, possibly. Or propping up the end of the sideboard where the woodworm had eaten through. At any rate, it was somewhere well out of reach. I made a mental note to always carry it with me, in future. It's an unattractive but impressively functional device, with an effect similar to throwing a blanket over a garrulous budgie's cage. Only in reverse, as it's me that has to wear it.
"What do you mean, cannibal?" snapped the sheep with the greenest, most piercing and most disturbingly gyroscopic eyes. He was definitely the leader. Far too full of the big 'I am' for my liking.
"You're feeling threatened by him, aren't you Tuppy? I'm sure there's no need." Geoffrey again. How tiresome, not to mention intrusive, this mind-reading is! Mind you - when he manages to read minds other than mine, it can prove quite interesting AND useful. Depending on whose, of course.
"I'm quite sure there will be a need, if he turns cannibal," said the sheep leader, folding his front legs in a truculent manner. All the other sheep huddled behind him, bleating their support in a rather half-hearted fashion.
"Is it cannibalism when you chew your own toenails?" asked Geoffrey. "I've always wondered. Same with nose dirt consumption."
"Nose dirt consumption is definitely not cannibalism, because nose dirt is an exudate - a bodily excretion. It isn't part of the fleshy corporeum, or whatever," said the sheep leader. "Toenails are a moot point. Especially if they're someone else's."
"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said. "What's your name, anyway?"
"It's Wool I Am," sniggered Geoffrey.
"Don't be stupid Geoffrey," I snapped. It annoys me when he pretends to be "current".
And he knows it.
"No really it is," he protested. "Ouch! Don't pinch me. It is, isn't it, Wool?"
"Yes," muttered Wool, blushing. "But how did you know?"
"Geoffrey can read minds," I said proudly. "And he's my best friend in all the world."
Geoffrey beamed with pleasure.
more later
He was reading my mind again. Where was the Mind-Reading-Prevention-Device when I needed it? (as mentioned back in 2011 or 12 or thereabouts, and possibly in an e-book only don't ask me which one)
Back at the Outcrop, somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs, probably. Or down the back of the settee, possibly. Or propping up the end of the sideboard where the woodworm had eaten through. At any rate, it was somewhere well out of reach. I made a mental note to always carry it with me, in future. It's an unattractive but impressively functional device, with an effect similar to throwing a blanket over a garrulous budgie's cage. Only in reverse, as it's me that has to wear it.
"What do you mean, cannibal?" snapped the sheep with the greenest, most piercing and most disturbingly gyroscopic eyes. He was definitely the leader. Far too full of the big 'I am' for my liking.
"You're feeling threatened by him, aren't you Tuppy? I'm sure there's no need." Geoffrey again. How tiresome, not to mention intrusive, this mind-reading is! Mind you - when he manages to read minds other than mine, it can prove quite interesting AND useful. Depending on whose, of course.
"I'm quite sure there will be a need, if he turns cannibal," said the sheep leader, folding his front legs in a truculent manner. All the other sheep huddled behind him, bleating their support in a rather half-hearted fashion.
"Is it cannibalism when you chew your own toenails?" asked Geoffrey. "I've always wondered. Same with nose dirt consumption."
"Nose dirt consumption is definitely not cannibalism, because nose dirt is an exudate - a bodily excretion. It isn't part of the fleshy corporeum, or whatever," said the sheep leader. "Toenails are a moot point. Especially if they're someone else's."
"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said. "What's your name, anyway?"
"It's Wool I Am," sniggered Geoffrey.
"Don't be stupid Geoffrey," I snapped. It annoys me when he pretends to be "current".
And he knows it.
"No really it is," he protested. "Ouch! Don't pinch me. It is, isn't it, Wool?"
"Yes," muttered Wool, blushing. "But how did you know?"
"Geoffrey can read minds," I said proudly. "And he's my best friend in all the world."
Geoffrey beamed with pleasure.
more later
Tuesday, 12 November 2013
"I'm hungry, " said Geoffrey.
"That's a good sign. So am I. We must be returning to normal."
We had just spent a week spinning round in the Corryfreckle whirlpool-cum-tidal race, and it had knocked us quite sick.
Now it was High Springs, and we were Out.
"We're hungry also," bleated the trailer-load of orange-fleeced, wooden-toothed sheep. "Does that mean we're returning to normal also?"
"Of course!" I lied.
"Whatever 'normal' is," added Geoffrey. Then "THEY'll never be normal!" he hissed out of the side of his mouth,"Stop giving them false hope!"
"Oh do shut up Geoffrey, and have a goji berry flapjack. Fling a couple back to the sheep while you're at it."
"All right," he agreed meekly.
Things were definitely returning to normal, I thought smugly. Geoffrey being meek was a Very Good Sign.
Mind you, one of Val Nark's goji berry and raw oat flapjacks wasn't going to hit the spot. I needed sausages, and I needed them fast. I glanced behind me at the trailer-load of sheep....could I turn on my own kind, in a tight spot? Could I turn...cannibal?
"That's a good sign. So am I. We must be returning to normal."
We had just spent a week spinning round in the Corryfreckle whirlpool-cum-tidal race, and it had knocked us quite sick.
Now it was High Springs, and we were Out.
"We're hungry also," bleated the trailer-load of orange-fleeced, wooden-toothed sheep. "Does that mean we're returning to normal also?"
"Of course!" I lied.
"Whatever 'normal' is," added Geoffrey. Then "THEY'll never be normal!" he hissed out of the side of his mouth,"Stop giving them false hope!"
"Oh do shut up Geoffrey, and have a goji berry flapjack. Fling a couple back to the sheep while you're at it."
"All right," he agreed meekly.
Things were definitely returning to normal, I thought smugly. Geoffrey being meek was a Very Good Sign.
Mind you, one of Val Nark's goji berry and raw oat flapjacks wasn't going to hit the spot. I needed sausages, and I needed them fast. I glanced behind me at the trailer-load of sheep....could I turn on my own kind, in a tight spot? Could I turn...cannibal?
Saturday, 2 November 2013
The Dark Crossing
"Tuppy?"
"At your service, as ever. In a manner of speaking. Terms and conditions apply."
"I think we're going to need a bigger boat. In fact, I know we are."
"I could have told you that before we set off. Now shut up and keep rowing."
The moon was up and lighting our path homewards across the Clinch, and a following breeze was proving helpful, especially with Geoffrey being terrible at rowing; so far so good. However, a vast, expanding, black cloud was obscuring the stars on the far horizon, and it was moving our way.
Rapidly.
And we were towing a trailerful of terrified, orange, wooden-toothed sheep.
"Tuppy."
"What is it now?"
"I'm scared. I'm scared of the big black cloud. Pretty soon the moon will be covered and we won't be able to see a thing. And the waves are getting bigger. We've the tidal race and the whirlpool to get through, and they're bad enough in daylight."
"I know."
"Maybe if you rowed as well..."
"I can't! Not with my back. Just do your best and we'll deal with whatever happens somehow. Something always turns up when we least expect it. And I'm sure that for once it'll be a good something." I filled my pipe and stared out at the oily swell. "Karma, Geoffrey. We've done the right thing by rescuing those poor sheep. Nothing can possibly go wrong. The fates are with us."
"It would make a change. What did we rescue them from, exactly?"
"I'm not sure..."
more later
"At your service, as ever. In a manner of speaking. Terms and conditions apply."
"I think we're going to need a bigger boat. In fact, I know we are."
"I could have told you that before we set off. Now shut up and keep rowing."
The moon was up and lighting our path homewards across the Clinch, and a following breeze was proving helpful, especially with Geoffrey being terrible at rowing; so far so good. However, a vast, expanding, black cloud was obscuring the stars on the far horizon, and it was moving our way.
Rapidly.
And we were towing a trailerful of terrified, orange, wooden-toothed sheep.
"Tuppy."
"What is it now?"
"I'm scared. I'm scared of the big black cloud. Pretty soon the moon will be covered and we won't be able to see a thing. And the waves are getting bigger. We've the tidal race and the whirlpool to get through, and they're bad enough in daylight."
"I know."
"Maybe if you rowed as well..."
"I can't! Not with my back. Just do your best and we'll deal with whatever happens somehow. Something always turns up when we least expect it. And I'm sure that for once it'll be a good something." I filled my pipe and stared out at the oily swell. "Karma, Geoffrey. We've done the right thing by rescuing those poor sheep. Nothing can possibly go wrong. The fates are with us."
"It would make a change. What did we rescue them from, exactly?"
"I'm not sure..."
more later
Monday, 28 October 2013
The Orange Cannibal Sheep of Frockall
"How dare you steal our treasure!" shrieked the sheep. He was the biggest of a very big...well, I would normally say "flock", but this lot were more like a gang. There were at least ten of them, all sporting varying shades of orange wool, with enormous, garish yellow teeth and green staring eyes with pupils that moved constantly, as if controlled by an internal gyroscope.
"We hadn't got that far," quavered Geoffrey.
"That's right," I said quickly," We were only looking."
"Admiring its wondrousness," added Geoffrey.
"Why were you loading it into your boat then?"
"Only to look at it more closely! Listen, you've got it all back now haven't you, anyway, so could you ask your friend here to remove his teeth from my backside? It's not like I'm going anywhere and he must be getting tired."
"I think he might be stuck," said Geoffrey. "Perhaps I could attempt to prise the teeth apart using my zircon encrusted tweezers..."
"NO! Don't touch the teeth!" said the biggest sheep. All the other sheep murmured in an alarmed fashion, and huddled together. I began to wonder if they were really as terrifying as their reputation and appearance would have it.
"Go ahead Geoffrey," I said. "Prise away."
"Do you think - "
"YES! Just do it. Else I won't be able to sit down for a fortnight. Oh!"
The sheep had let go of its own accord, and was rapidly backing away towards the others with its mouth firmly shut.
"Phew," I sighed. "What a relief. Ouch! Oh no. It feels like they're still there. This must be what it's like when you have a leg amputated. Something like that anyway. I must ask the T-G when we get back - IF we get back...Geoffrey, Geoffrey - is my bottom still there? Has it been bitten off? Has it been amputated like the T-G's leg? Where is it? How will I sit down? Sitting down's my favourite thing - what if I can never do it ever again? Oh my GOOOODDDDD!! Help me help me!"
"They ARE still there Tuppy. The teeth. AND your bottom. Stop babbling. Just stand still till I remove them. Tuppy, I think that poor sheep was wearing false teeth. Look!" And he held a vast set of dentures aloft. "They appear to be made of wood. I can see the grain beneath the yellow paint."
"I think they've ALL got false wooden teeth Geoffrey. Which implies that they aren't half as scary as they look. Thank goodness. In fact, they look like a bunch of wimps."
"Wimps like us Tuppy! How marvellous! I'm sure we'll all get along famously!"
"I wouldn't go that far myself, but I suppose some impoverished, half-witted souls -"
"Oh! You're on about me again aren't you. How cruel. And to think I loaded all that treasure while you sat on your fat backside being the so-called look-out. And look where that got us! I'm upset now. Especially since I removed the teeth and was sympathetic and everything."
" - might call it marvellous to have few moments respite from worrying about ending up being simmered in a cooking pot with a couple of onions, a carrot, a squeeze of tomato puree and a bouquet garni. The eyes are still pretty strange mind. For my liking. Did you say "fat backside?", you peevish creature?"
"I know! Mine too! I can't look at them for more than a second without feeling like I'm getting sucked into a vortex. Yes I did and I'm not sorry. You're an ungrateful sod and I wish I'd left those teeth where they were. You'd have looked a right twit back at the Outcrop, with a set of teeth sticking out of your backside - which, by the way, is expanding by the second."
"Well!" I spluttered. I hate spluttering, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Although, now I came to think of it, I could feel something distinctly odd going on, behind...I tried to glance over my shoulder, but I knew it was futile to try to see my own backside without the aid of two mirrors. Which I didn't happen to have, on my person at the time. Or indeed at any other time. What kind of maniac goes around with two mirrors? They just don't, do they? And who can blame them? They'd have to be unhinged.
"Please don't tell anyone," interrupted the biggest sheep,"We're supposed to terrorise anyone who comes looking for the treasure with our huge carnivore-style teeth, and if people think we've only got wooden ones they won't be frightened any more."
"What do you mean, you're 'supposed to'? That implies that there's someone in charge - someone who's telling you what to do."
The sheep huddled together even more closely, and exchanged anxious glances.
"We need to get away from Frockall," bleated one of the smallest ones, "We're frightened. Can you help us to escape please?"
"I'm sure you can," said another, whose eyes were twirling even more hypnotically than the others,"You're using words like "implied", which implies that you must be clever enough to think of a way to help us..."
more later
"We hadn't got that far," quavered Geoffrey.
"That's right," I said quickly," We were only looking."
"Admiring its wondrousness," added Geoffrey.
"Why were you loading it into your boat then?"
"Only to look at it more closely! Listen, you've got it all back now haven't you, anyway, so could you ask your friend here to remove his teeth from my backside? It's not like I'm going anywhere and he must be getting tired."
"I think he might be stuck," said Geoffrey. "Perhaps I could attempt to prise the teeth apart using my zircon encrusted tweezers..."
"NO! Don't touch the teeth!" said the biggest sheep. All the other sheep murmured in an alarmed fashion, and huddled together. I began to wonder if they were really as terrifying as their reputation and appearance would have it.
"Go ahead Geoffrey," I said. "Prise away."
"Do you think - "
"YES! Just do it. Else I won't be able to sit down for a fortnight. Oh!"
The sheep had let go of its own accord, and was rapidly backing away towards the others with its mouth firmly shut.
"Phew," I sighed. "What a relief. Ouch! Oh no. It feels like they're still there. This must be what it's like when you have a leg amputated. Something like that anyway. I must ask the T-G when we get back - IF we get back...Geoffrey, Geoffrey - is my bottom still there? Has it been bitten off? Has it been amputated like the T-G's leg? Where is it? How will I sit down? Sitting down's my favourite thing - what if I can never do it ever again? Oh my GOOOODDDDD!! Help me help me!"
"They ARE still there Tuppy. The teeth. AND your bottom. Stop babbling. Just stand still till I remove them. Tuppy, I think that poor sheep was wearing false teeth. Look!" And he held a vast set of dentures aloft. "They appear to be made of wood. I can see the grain beneath the yellow paint."
"I think they've ALL got false wooden teeth Geoffrey. Which implies that they aren't half as scary as they look. Thank goodness. In fact, they look like a bunch of wimps."
"Wimps like us Tuppy! How marvellous! I'm sure we'll all get along famously!"
"I wouldn't go that far myself, but I suppose some impoverished, half-witted souls -"
"Oh! You're on about me again aren't you. How cruel. And to think I loaded all that treasure while you sat on your fat backside being the so-called look-out. And look where that got us! I'm upset now. Especially since I removed the teeth and was sympathetic and everything."
" - might call it marvellous to have few moments respite from worrying about ending up being simmered in a cooking pot with a couple of onions, a carrot, a squeeze of tomato puree and a bouquet garni. The eyes are still pretty strange mind. For my liking. Did you say "fat backside?", you peevish creature?"
"I know! Mine too! I can't look at them for more than a second without feeling like I'm getting sucked into a vortex. Yes I did and I'm not sorry. You're an ungrateful sod and I wish I'd left those teeth where they were. You'd have looked a right twit back at the Outcrop, with a set of teeth sticking out of your backside - which, by the way, is expanding by the second."
"Well!" I spluttered. I hate spluttering, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Although, now I came to think of it, I could feel something distinctly odd going on, behind...I tried to glance over my shoulder, but I knew it was futile to try to see my own backside without the aid of two mirrors. Which I didn't happen to have, on my person at the time. Or indeed at any other time. What kind of maniac goes around with two mirrors? They just don't, do they? And who can blame them? They'd have to be unhinged.
"Please don't tell anyone," interrupted the biggest sheep,"We're supposed to terrorise anyone who comes looking for the treasure with our huge carnivore-style teeth, and if people think we've only got wooden ones they won't be frightened any more."
"What do you mean, you're 'supposed to'? That implies that there's someone in charge - someone who's telling you what to do."
The sheep huddled together even more closely, and exchanged anxious glances.
"We need to get away from Frockall," bleated one of the smallest ones, "We're frightened. Can you help us to escape please?"
"I'm sure you can," said another, whose eyes were twirling even more hypnotically than the others,"You're using words like "implied", which implies that you must be clever enough to think of a way to help us..."
more later
Tuesday, 22 October 2013
We've Been Where Fancy's Taken Us - and now we're going home again (hopefully)
"Load it up Geoffrey. Hurry! The tide's about to turn."
"It would help if YOU helped, Tuppy. I can't manage all these bags of Spanish coin on my own."
"I AM helping. I'm the look-out. And if I help YOU, I won't be able to see anything, will I? Just get on with it, will you?"
Fancy had taken us to the secret cave stuffed with treasure from a wrecked Spanish galleon (mentioned in a post last week.) For days we had huddled in Fancy's bowels, surviving on a "sample" bag of dried cranberry and macadamia nut mix, three fun-sized flapjacks, and a flask of goji berry tea - all courtesy of Val Nark's table sale at last weekend's Harvest Home Festival.
We don't have a "church", Hereabouts, but Val and Dave felt that some sort of seasonal gesture would be nice, as well as being a good promotional tool for their ongoing yurt business.
"We're building a super-yurt next. It'll be up and running for the start of the next tourist season," stated Dave, in his most irritating "I will not be denied" manner.
Naturally, that remains to be seen. Or in other words, NOT if we have anything to do with it. Which we fully intend to ensure we do. In every imaginable respect. Especially if said respect involves large amounts of combustible material, fire accelerant, and a Zippo lighter.
"You shouldn't be taking samples," said Val, as we filled our duffel bags with flapjacks, goji berry tea, and anything else that was lying about. "You've tried everything. You should be at the buying something stage by now."
"We just want to make sure that we like it all before making our minds up," said Geoffrey obsequiously, as he brushed a few macadamia nut crumbs off his waistcoat.
"Yes. Times are hard and we can't afford to spend munny on stuff we aren't sure about," I added, through a mouthful of yogurt-covered dried fig and banana bar.
"Really." snapped Val. "And since when did you two have a dog?"
We glanced at each other in astonishment. "A dog?"
"Yes. Those are organic vegan dog biscuits you're dunking in your samples of knotweed and dock leaf tisane."
Well we liked them. But we thought perhaps best to leave Val to her rapidly-emptying stall, and her latest knitting project.
And so here we are on the far-flung outpost of Frockall, loading our coracle with the treasure that we found at the bottom of the secret cave, and trying to avoid the attentions of the native cannibal sheep with orange wool...
"And truly massive incisors Tuppy. Did you see the incisors Tuppy? They're truly massive. I saw the incisors Tuppy. They're massive and they clearly belong to a serious meat-eating species."
Geoffrey was reading my mind again. It's very annoying - although sometimes, very useful.
"Do stop panicking Geoffrey. Have you finished packing the gold coin? Oh I suppose that'll do. We can always pop back for more. Right. Let's be off before - aaaaaaaarrgghhh!!!!!!!!!!!"
"It would help if YOU helped, Tuppy. I can't manage all these bags of Spanish coin on my own."
"I AM helping. I'm the look-out. And if I help YOU, I won't be able to see anything, will I? Just get on with it, will you?"
Fancy had taken us to the secret cave stuffed with treasure from a wrecked Spanish galleon (mentioned in a post last week.) For days we had huddled in Fancy's bowels, surviving on a "sample" bag of dried cranberry and macadamia nut mix, three fun-sized flapjacks, and a flask of goji berry tea - all courtesy of Val Nark's table sale at last weekend's Harvest Home Festival.
We don't have a "church", Hereabouts, but Val and Dave felt that some sort of seasonal gesture would be nice, as well as being a good promotional tool for their ongoing yurt business.
"We're building a super-yurt next. It'll be up and running for the start of the next tourist season," stated Dave, in his most irritating "I will not be denied" manner.
Naturally, that remains to be seen. Or in other words, NOT if we have anything to do with it. Which we fully intend to ensure we do. In every imaginable respect. Especially if said respect involves large amounts of combustible material, fire accelerant, and a Zippo lighter.
"You shouldn't be taking samples," said Val, as we filled our duffel bags with flapjacks, goji berry tea, and anything else that was lying about. "You've tried everything. You should be at the buying something stage by now."
"We just want to make sure that we like it all before making our minds up," said Geoffrey obsequiously, as he brushed a few macadamia nut crumbs off his waistcoat.
"Yes. Times are hard and we can't afford to spend munny on stuff we aren't sure about," I added, through a mouthful of yogurt-covered dried fig and banana bar.
"Really." snapped Val. "And since when did you two have a dog?"
We glanced at each other in astonishment. "A dog?"
"Yes. Those are organic vegan dog biscuits you're dunking in your samples of knotweed and dock leaf tisane."
Well we liked them. But we thought perhaps best to leave Val to her rapidly-emptying stall, and her latest knitting project.
And so here we are on the far-flung outpost of Frockall, loading our coracle with the treasure that we found at the bottom of the secret cave, and trying to avoid the attentions of the native cannibal sheep with orange wool...
"And truly massive incisors Tuppy. Did you see the incisors Tuppy? They're truly massive. I saw the incisors Tuppy. They're massive and they clearly belong to a serious meat-eating species."
Geoffrey was reading my mind again. It's very annoying - although sometimes, very useful.
"Do stop panicking Geoffrey. Have you finished packing the gold coin? Oh I suppose that'll do. We can always pop back for more. Right. Let's be off before - aaaaaaaarrgghhh!!!!!!!!!!!"
Thursday, 10 October 2013
One of Them
I dropped my end of the coracle and sat down heavily on a sea-weed-covered rock.
"Pull yourself together Tuppy. We're not on a pointless mission. We're after a hoard of Spanish treasure, remember? Look - I've painted FANCY on the bowsprit, so that we can truly say that we're going where Fancy takes us!"
I smiled weakly. "Thanks for making the effort, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey blinked rapidly and preened himself. "I knew you'd like it. Perhaps as well as the treasure we'll get some of that orange wool off the indigenous sheep and get Mrs T-G to knit us jumpers when we get back. She's got a new Acme Knit-o-matic knitting machine and is knitting loads of stuff, all the time. Did you know that, Tuppy? Did you know about her new Acme Knit-o-matic knitting machine, and that she's knitting loads of stuff, all the time?"
"No I didn't. Stop babbling. Now think. Did you pack the blunderbuss? Because honestly I'm not going one step further if not. These orange sheep are cannibals, and in case you hadn't noticed, I'm One of Them. I don't want to end up simmering in a pot at Gas Mark 3, with a Knorr stock cube, a glass of red wine, a bay leaf, a sprig of thyme, two onions, a carrot and a third cousin twice removed."
"I think it's in the carpet bag under the extra gelignite. But more than likely you won't need it. I'm sure you'll be welcomed with open arms Tuppy. Come on now - the moon's up. Let's catch the tide."
Fuckall.
"No. I've got stuff to do."
"What stuff?"
"Absolutely fuck all - and that's the way I like it. Now fuck off."
"Did you know there is an island off the north coast of North Rona, called Fuckall? It has its own breed of indigenous sheep. They have orange wool and are cannibals. And there's an underground cave, packed with treasure from a wrecked Spanish galleon, which lies undiscovered to this day."
"No, I didn't. And neither does anyone else. Stop making things up. Wait a minute - did you say treasure? Fetch the coracle Geoffrey, and fill the flask! We're off to Fuckall on the next tide. Let's follow the stars and see where fancy takes us."
Thursday, 3 October 2013
The Original Rocky Outcrop
It's taken from the McCrimmon Memorial, Borreraig, Isle of Skye, and the occasion was an anniversary, I think. The McCrimmon Memorial is a large cairn which commemorates the great McCrimmon piping family and school.
The photographer was a George B. Alden, I think, and copyright belongs to Scottish Field. I haven't asked for permission to reproduce - am assuming that because the photo is so old, it might not matter...
The cottage in the background is my late great-aunt's. Her sheep can be seen grazing around it. At times one would wander inside. The two dots on the far cliff are people - my great-aunt, and my cousin, I think.
The cottage no longer exists. It's been completely remodelled and extended and turned into a very upmarket holiday let and artist's studio.
However, the version pictured remains as the original inspiration for Sea Penguin and all related stories.
The view from the iron age Dun above and to the left of it is tremendous - right across Loch Dunvegan to the coral beaches, and across the Minch to the Outer Hebrides. In the other direction are the Cuillins.
Friday, 27 September 2013
Please Make Me a Nice Cup of Tea
"You've been looking at the news on the itternet again, haven't you. That's a rhetorical question by the way. I don't require an answer because your face tells me All I Need to Know."
"Ummmmmmmmm......."
"As I thought. Unplug that itternet thing and forget about it."
"But what about the rapists, and the child molesters, and the thieves, and the terrorists, and the holesale destruction of the planet?"
"That doesn't concern us. And it's "wholesale", not "holesale"."
"How did you know how I was spelling it? This is a real-life 3D conversation, not an online convo."
"Oh shut up with your online convos. That itternet thing has turned you imbecilic."
"I don't like the itternet anyway. I only end up getting upset. And don't you mean, "that itternet thing has turned you into an imbecile"?
"No. Now leave me alone. I need to concentrate on my new book, "One Hundred Ways to Polish a Turd (wot u never thought of B4)""
"Wow. That sounds fascinating. I'm sure there will be a huge market for it."
"No there won't. But I don't care. I refuse to pander to the popular whim."
"Will there be pictures?"
"Yes. No. What am I saying? Perhaps. Please make me a nice cup of tea."
"Ummmmmmmmm......."
"As I thought. Unplug that itternet thing and forget about it."
"But what about the rapists, and the child molesters, and the thieves, and the terrorists, and the holesale destruction of the planet?"
"That doesn't concern us. And it's "wholesale", not "holesale"."
"How did you know how I was spelling it? This is a real-life 3D conversation, not an online convo."
"Oh shut up with your online convos. That itternet thing has turned you imbecilic."
"I don't like the itternet anyway. I only end up getting upset. And don't you mean, "that itternet thing has turned you into an imbecile"?
"No. Now leave me alone. I need to concentrate on my new book, "One Hundred Ways to Polish a Turd (wot u never thought of B4)""
"Wow. That sounds fascinating. I'm sure there will be a huge market for it."
"No there won't. But I don't care. I refuse to pander to the popular whim."
"Will there be pictures?"
"Yes. No. What am I saying? Perhaps. Please make me a nice cup of tea."
Wee in the Tea-pot.
 |
| Our front door |
"I don't know. Give us a clue. Where does it live?"
"It lives up your chimney."
"What does it eat?"
"It likes milk chocolate digestives. McVities ONLY. But it realises it's being a snob."
"So it has insight. Does that not indicate that it does in fact have a superego?"
"...."
"I see. You don't know what you're talking about, do you?"
"No."
"Good. Now let's get on with the game. Loser has to thread the other one's eyebrows."
"I've not got eyebrows."
"That doesn't matter, because you're going to lose."
"How DARE you!"
"Oh shut your pie-hole and put the kettle on. Look, I'm sorry, all right? I've not got eyebrows either. And what's more I don't care. Let's crack open the Soreen loaf and forget about it."
"Maybe. Maybe not. You said to shut my pie-hole and that's not very nice. It'll take more than Soreen loaf to make up for that."
"I said I was sorry."
"You said it too fast. It was meaningless."
"No really. Really, I am sorry. Will that do? It better had because it's all you're getting. I know there's issues and stuff underlying my foul nature, but I can't be bothered dealing with them. Can't we just have a nice cup of tea and not talk about it any more?"
"Oh I s'pose. I weed in the teapot when I was in a temper last night by the way. I really regret it now that you've said all that. If I rinse it out with boiling water do you think it'll be OK?"
"No."
Sunday, 22 September 2013
 |
| Nature reclaiming its own
It's only a few years since this road was categorised an "A", with tour buses, lorries, and other heavy traffic careering along.
"And I know a grove Of large extent, hard by a castle huge, Which the great lord inhabits not; and so This grove is wild with tangling underwood, And the trim walks are broken up, and grass, Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths." From Coleridge's The Nightingale, 1798 |
Why I Hate X Y and Z, growths, boils, and other awful rubbish
 |
| Geoffrey |
"I'm blogging. "
"Well would you mind doing it in the privacy of the latrine, or somewhere? That tippy-tappy noise is spoiling my enjoyment of my fourth bacon and red sauce sandwich. What's blogging, anyway?"
"Blogging is writing a whole load of crap about things nobody cares about, and then blasting it round the internet. Or attempting to. I've got a computer now, see? I'm on the itternet."
"What's the itternet? Don't you mean INTERnet? Surely."
"No I don't. I mean ITTERnet. Leave me alone."
I peered over his shoulder. "WHY I AHTE.....you've spelled HATE wrong. And what do you hate, anyway? You're a very mild-mannered type as a rule."
"Stop it! Go AWAY Tuppy. I hate everything! I'm an itternet hater! I'm a troll!"
"You're not. You've turned bright red. You're getting hot and bothered. You're embarrassed because you're writing a lot of rubbish that any right-thinking person should be thoroughly ashamed of."
"Oh all right. I admit it. I was feeling neglected because you were spending too much time discussing that book about growths and boils with the new librarian from the mobile library and I needed some attention. You're right. I don't hate anyone."
"Except yourself. Come on - say it after me. I don't hate anyone - "
"Except myself."
"Louder please."
"I don't hate anyone except myself. There."
"Thank you. Now I can get on with reading more about growths and boils. In peace."
Wednesday, 18 September 2013
The World of ePigg &c.
"What's that awful smell?"
"It's Mrs Tupfinder General's latest recipe. Black Pudding Mousse. Home-made."
"It doesn't smell like black pudding. It smells like...like...well I hate to say it, but blood."
"Well of course it does. She's been slaughtering pigs all week so she can collect enough blood for the puddings."
"Slaughtering pigs? All by herself?"
"Yes. You know what she's like. Rubber apron and a big knife."
"Good grief. Where did she get them?"
"The apron and the knife? Probably found them in the outhouses or something. They've got everything up at Tupfinder Towers."
"I meant the PIGS. Where did she get the pigs?"
"She ordered them online, apparently. From a website called ePiggandsonsdotcom. Run by a Eddie Pigg and his daughter, also called Eddie. They couldn't call the site ePigganddaughterdotcom as someone was already using that name. They provide everything pertaining to the world of pig - so long as it's a live pig that you want and nothing else."
"You're awfully well-informed. Why have I not been privy to this information?"
"You're always staring out windows or smoking your pipe, or finishing a bacon sandwich. I don't like to disturb you when you're busy. She's started an alligator farm as well. Selling steaks and making handbags from the skins."
"And I thought all she could do was knit baggy jumpers and make black sausage rolls! (see previous posts for more on black sausage rolls) What does the T-G make of all this?"
"Oh he doesn't care, as long as he gets his dinner on time. He's absorbed in some new artefact that he's nursing in his vitrine. (see e-books for more on the T-G's vitrine.)"
"I expect...oh!"
*crump crump crump*
"It's him! It's the T-G!"
"Hallo chaps. Would you mind closing the windows? I can't stomach the smell of blood for a moment longer. Have you any sal volatile? I could do with a whiff to clear my head."
"Of course. Geoffrey - open the medical chest please. And chuck me an opium tabloid while you're in there. I'm feeling a bit nauseous with the smell. It's terrible, isn't it T-G?"
"You think this is bad? Wait till you smell the mousse."
"It's Mrs Tupfinder General's latest recipe. Black Pudding Mousse. Home-made."
"It doesn't smell like black pudding. It smells like...like...well I hate to say it, but blood."
"Well of course it does. She's been slaughtering pigs all week so she can collect enough blood for the puddings."
"Slaughtering pigs? All by herself?"
"Yes. You know what she's like. Rubber apron and a big knife."
"Good grief. Where did she get them?"
"The apron and the knife? Probably found them in the outhouses or something. They've got everything up at Tupfinder Towers."
"I meant the PIGS. Where did she get the pigs?"
"She ordered them online, apparently. From a website called ePiggandsonsdotcom. Run by a Eddie Pigg and his daughter, also called Eddie. They couldn't call the site ePigganddaughterdotcom as someone was already using that name. They provide everything pertaining to the world of pig - so long as it's a live pig that you want and nothing else."
"You're awfully well-informed. Why have I not been privy to this information?"
"You're always staring out windows or smoking your pipe, or finishing a bacon sandwich. I don't like to disturb you when you're busy. She's started an alligator farm as well. Selling steaks and making handbags from the skins."
"And I thought all she could do was knit baggy jumpers and make black sausage rolls! (see previous posts for more on black sausage rolls) What does the T-G make of all this?"
"Oh he doesn't care, as long as he gets his dinner on time. He's absorbed in some new artefact that he's nursing in his vitrine. (see e-books for more on the T-G's vitrine.)"
"I expect...oh!"
*crump crump crump*
"It's him! It's the T-G!"
"Hallo chaps. Would you mind closing the windows? I can't stomach the smell of blood for a moment longer. Have you any sal volatile? I could do with a whiff to clear my head."
"Of course. Geoffrey - open the medical chest please. And chuck me an opium tabloid while you're in there. I'm feeling a bit nauseous with the smell. It's terrible, isn't it T-G?"
"You think this is bad? Wait till you smell the mousse."
Thursday, 5 September 2013
Parlour Games
"What's orange, has three noses, five legs and - final clue - and surely you'll get it with this one - breath that smells off. Sorry OF. That's breath that smells OF newspaper. Come on - answer me someone." Geoffrey tapped his pen against his beak. "I haven't got all day."
"Oh do shut up Geoffrey," I snapped. "It's three in the morning. We've been at this for hours."
"How are we supposed to know?" asked the Tupfinder General. "For pity's sake. I'm going to get some air. Unlock the shackles will you?"
"Not Until You Say the Answer," said Geoffrey.
"That's outrageous! Surely we're entitled to a comfort break. This is only an after dinner parlour game, after all."
"It Matters To Me," replied Geoffrey. "And you said I could choose as it's my birthday, and you two would play along."
"Yes but - "
"If you let me down now I'll never be able to trust either of you again. Come on now. What's orange, has three noses...."
"Oh we give up. Just tell us the answer and put us out of our misery."
"OK. NOTHING, is the answer. A-hahahaha!" laughed Geoffrey. "Nothing! You fools. What on earth could it be? There's nothing on earth that answers that hideous description. Tricked you! I win! A-hahaha!"
"Are you all right, T-G?" I asked. The Tupfinder General was turning an un-natural shade of purple. "Is that steam coming out of your ears?"
"Never mind that. I can hear someone scurrying about outside. And am I the only one who can smell newspaper?"
"Yes."
more later.
"Oh do shut up Geoffrey," I snapped. "It's three in the morning. We've been at this for hours."
"How are we supposed to know?" asked the Tupfinder General. "For pity's sake. I'm going to get some air. Unlock the shackles will you?"
"Not Until You Say the Answer," said Geoffrey.
"That's outrageous! Surely we're entitled to a comfort break. This is only an after dinner parlour game, after all."
"It Matters To Me," replied Geoffrey. "And you said I could choose as it's my birthday, and you two would play along."
"Yes but - "
"If you let me down now I'll never be able to trust either of you again. Come on now. What's orange, has three noses...."
"Oh we give up. Just tell us the answer and put us out of our misery."
"OK. NOTHING, is the answer. A-hahahaha!" laughed Geoffrey. "Nothing! You fools. What on earth could it be? There's nothing on earth that answers that hideous description. Tricked you! I win! A-hahaha!"
"Are you all right, T-G?" I asked. The Tupfinder General was turning an un-natural shade of purple. "Is that steam coming out of your ears?"
"Never mind that. I can hear someone scurrying about outside. And am I the only one who can smell newspaper?"
"Yes."
more later.
Thursday, 4 July 2013
In the Yurt, with a Flamethrower and a Nice Cup of Goji Berry Tea
"I could get to like this Geoffrey." I placed a fresh log in the burner, then sighed contentedly as I lay back on a cosy pile of Val's handmade rag rugs and home-knitted blankets, and sipped a cup of Goji berry tea, made from home-grown organic Goji berries grown in Dave and Val's poly-yurt, and sweetened with sea-weed honey harvested by Dave from remote wild seaweed-eating bee colonies on the cliffs over on the Far Side.
"Me too. Goji berry tea isn't half as bad as it sounds, " replied Geoffrey, who was munching on a cob of ultra-sweet sweetcorn, also grown in the poly-yurt, along with tomatoes, melons, aubergines, monster gabba-gabba fruits and various other new-fangled vegetables. "I think there's a tang of chili in there Tuppy. What do you think?"
"Yes Geoffrey. I think you could be right. Definitely a hint of warmth on the tastebuds."
"I can't wait for Val to come in and give us one of her extra-special shiatsu treatments. My sinuses have been playing up something shocking. You know I think she's right - allopathic medicine does more harm than good, and the natural ways are the best. Perhaps it's time we reviewed the medical chest Tuppy, and ditched the old opiates."
"Yes Geoffrey. I think you could be right. Definitely a hint of warmth on the tastebuds."
"I can't wait for Val to come in and give us one of her extra-special shiatsu treatments. My sinuses have been playing up something shocking. You know I think she's right - allopathic medicine does more harm than good, and the natural ways are the best. Perhaps it's time we reviewed the medical chest Tuppy, and ditched the old opiates."
"I think that's taking things a bit far to be honest. That medicine chest has served us well over the years, and we mustn't be rash. Besides, Val says opiates are permissible because they're made from opium, which comes from a plant. Nevertheless - "
"Shut your pie-holes will you!" snapped Tuppence, who was standing guard at the "door", or "curtained entrance", with a cocked pistol, a flame-thrower and a machete stuck in his belt. "Val says Val says. Goji berry tea. What is this namby-pamby crap? We're not on holiday you gibbering fools. This is serious. We're Occupying the Car Park. Remember?"
"What's wrong with enjoying ourselves while we're here?" I protested.
"Nothing. As long as you keep your wits about you and remember to trash the place after, like we planned. You two sound like you're being taken over by the Dark Side. Since when did you enjoy froot, Uncle Tuppy? Pull yourself together, for pity's sake. We've got a mission to accomplish."
"Which is?" asked Geoffrey archly, as he extracted a stray piece of corn from a cavity in his upper incisor with his favourite zircon-encrusted tweezers. "Ow."
"Don't play the idiot with me Geoffrey. Not that you ARE playing, you witless, pathetic apology for a creature. As well you know, our objective is clear. Trash the yurts, or failing that drive out Dave and Val, and take them over as a going concern. Or the other way round. I'm not quite sure."
"Trash the yurts? A going concern?" I gasped. "But that wasn't discussed, when we planned this back at the Outcrop last Monday. We merely agreed to mount a mildly disagreeable and inconvenient protest and then come home again once the food ran out and the toilet facilities overflowed. You're taking things to a different level here Tuppence, and I don't like it."
"Neither do I," chimed in Geoffrey." I enjoyed Val's talk last week about alternative remedies and environmental friendliness. I quite like her."
"Yes Dave's definitely the nutter. Val's all right," I agreed. "When she's on her own."
"Perhaps we should rescue her from Dave!" suggested Geoffrey, eagerly. "She could stay with us, instead. It'd be her choice entirely, of course, but I think she'd - "
"Oh shut up," snapped Tuppence. "We've got a plan, and we're sticking to it. I'm the one packing, remember?" And he switched on the flame-thrower, full-blast.
"Aaaaaaaaaaarrghh!"
Saturday, 11 May 2013
The Tupfinder General
*discuss*
"Ride those mofos - yee-ha!"
Tuppence
*one possible response*
"Sit on a plate for as long as is humanly (or otherwise) possible, while essential supplies last, then simply fly off to another one."
Geoffrey
*the scorn-inducing response*
"Find the most secure-looking plate - they can be deceptive, mind - sit on it with a vat of strong drink and some mind-numbing drugs for as long as humanly (or otherwise) possible, then slide off into the deep when the time comes, hoping that enough substances have been ingested to ensure a pain-free transition to...whatever comes next."
Me.
*whatever*
Monday, 6 May 2013
Whatever Boils Your Kettle - Strivers and Scroungers
"I know which one I'd rather do," I muttered as I thrust a "pamphlet" shrieking "ARE U A STRIVER OR A SCROUNGER?" which some deranged nutter had rammed through our letterbox - or *hole* - on the fire, along with another screaming "DEATH TO SCROUNGERS" and yet another yelling "GO AWAY ANYONE WHO'S NOT FROM ROUND HERE BEFORE WE KILL YOUSE ALL".
Yes, it's come to this. Politix. Politix has arrived, finally, on our draughty doorstep, via Mrs Tupfinder General's niece-by-marriage, Melaena Shovelbum-Steele.
Melaena is what we call an "incomer".
She's not "normal", like us.
She comes from "Overthere".
I don't think I need say more.
"I'm too old to strive," I said firmly, as she parked herself in Geoffrey's usual armchair,"And that seat's taken by the way. Geoffrey's not here but I need it for putting my feet on."
"You're never to old to strive, Tuppy. People - creatures like yourself, even - are living till ninety plus, thanks to the help of health boffins such as Drs Kwak and Wilson (see e-books, and paperbacks) and why on earth shouldn't you continue to contribute and do your bit for society, right up until your final breath? "He Strived Until He Dropped". Wouldn't you like to have that inscribed on your gravestone?"
"No. Now sod off Melaena. I've got a kettle to boil."
Melaena stood up, smoothing her Tupwatch Tartan trews over her well-toned thighs. How did I know they were well-toned? Because the Tupfinder General recently informed me with a heavy sigh that Melaena has installed a gym in the dungeon of Tupfinder Towers, complete with Stairmaster.
"I thought she was involved in the occult when she started banging on about The Stairmaster," he said, aghast," But no - it's worse. She's a Parliamentary Candidate - and she's into body-pumping, and personal development - and what's worse still, she wants us ALL to do it...we've to have a fast day once a week and there's no smoking and no drinking and no bacon and no sausage rolls and we're not allowed to complain about anything because we've all to cultivate a positive mental attitude - Mrs T-G is NOT impressed...and my life is now officially HELL. Hell Hell Hell. And what's put the tin hat on it is, my home is a wreck - again (see e-books for details of previous debacle)"
Apparently, the gym was originally installed in the uppermost floor of the uppermost turret of Tupfinder Towers - just above the Secret Room, with the Vitrine (see e-books, and paperbacks) - however, due to the weight of the equipment, the entire room came loose from the ancient stone walls, and crashed holus bolus down through the turret and the banquet hall and the drawing-room and the kitchens and the pantry and the still-room, right into the bowels of the dungeon, where it rightly belongs.
Something Will Have To Be Done............................
Yes, it's come to this. Politix. Politix has arrived, finally, on our draughty doorstep, via Mrs Tupfinder General's niece-by-marriage, Melaena Shovelbum-Steele.
Melaena is what we call an "incomer".
She's not "normal", like us.
She comes from "Overthere".
I don't think I need say more.
"I'm too old to strive," I said firmly, as she parked herself in Geoffrey's usual armchair,"And that seat's taken by the way. Geoffrey's not here but I need it for putting my feet on."
"You're never to old to strive, Tuppy. People - creatures like yourself, even - are living till ninety plus, thanks to the help of health boffins such as Drs Kwak and Wilson (see e-books, and paperbacks) and why on earth shouldn't you continue to contribute and do your bit for society, right up until your final breath? "He Strived Until He Dropped". Wouldn't you like to have that inscribed on your gravestone?"
"No. Now sod off Melaena. I've got a kettle to boil."
Melaena stood up, smoothing her Tupwatch Tartan trews over her well-toned thighs. How did I know they were well-toned? Because the Tupfinder General recently informed me with a heavy sigh that Melaena has installed a gym in the dungeon of Tupfinder Towers, complete with Stairmaster.
"I thought she was involved in the occult when she started banging on about The Stairmaster," he said, aghast," But no - it's worse. She's a Parliamentary Candidate - and she's into body-pumping, and personal development - and what's worse still, she wants us ALL to do it...we've to have a fast day once a week and there's no smoking and no drinking and no bacon and no sausage rolls and we're not allowed to complain about anything because we've all to cultivate a positive mental attitude - Mrs T-G is NOT impressed...and my life is now officially HELL. Hell Hell Hell. And what's put the tin hat on it is, my home is a wreck - again (see e-books for details of previous debacle)"
Apparently, the gym was originally installed in the uppermost floor of the uppermost turret of Tupfinder Towers - just above the Secret Room, with the Vitrine (see e-books, and paperbacks) - however, due to the weight of the equipment, the entire room came loose from the ancient stone walls, and crashed holus bolus down through the turret and the banquet hall and the drawing-room and the kitchens and the pantry and the still-room, right into the bowels of the dungeon, where it rightly belongs.
Something Will Have To Be Done............................
Friday, 12 April 2013
Jeremy Brett Doing a Tablecloth Pull
As I thought - it's in the Six Napoleons. You can see him doing a pretty good tablecloth pull from about 6.24.
The physics of a pulled tablecloth, seen in slow motion
The physics of a pulled tablecloth, seen in slow motion
I always like watching Jeremy Brett do this as Sherlock Holmes in (I think) The Six Napoleons. I used to be able to do it as a child, with the tea table. Haven't tried it in years...
I always like watching Jeremy Brett do this as Sherlock Holmes in (I think) The Six Napoleons. I used to be able to do it as a child, with the tea table. Haven't tried it in years...
Thursday, 11 April 2013
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Vanished Paths
A link here from Scottish Islands Explorer: Abandoned Arderanish: If you are sailing in or out of Tarbert on the Uig crossing look to the south and you could see at least the whereabouts of a deserted ho...
Interesting - I think I'd like to know more about that family of long ago, and the abandoned footpath. Footpaths are generally formed by the regular passage of feet - human or animal - over time. It doesn't take long for them to appear, and even less time for them to vanish.
Reminds me of the path that meandered from a relative's cottage on Skye across a small heathery outcrop, over a fence and then across a grassy hill, to my aunt's - worn over fifty years, perhaps, by the relative's stout boots as he trekked the mile or two every day for his dinner, and summer visitors who ran along it towards the iron age fort, the shore, and fishing, and seal-watching, and all sorts of mischief. If you followed it, you would avoid the marshy bits and the hidden rabbit holes and tricky stones.
People still live around there, but they're different people, with different habits, and the path has gone.
Sometimes, if you stand near a place where a path has been, and half-close your eyes, it can almost reappear. Or at least you can sense where it once was. Similarly with deer tracks.
Interesting - I think I'd like to know more about that family of long ago, and the abandoned footpath. Footpaths are generally formed by the regular passage of feet - human or animal - over time. It doesn't take long for them to appear, and even less time for them to vanish.
Reminds me of the path that meandered from a relative's cottage on Skye across a small heathery outcrop, over a fence and then across a grassy hill, to my aunt's - worn over fifty years, perhaps, by the relative's stout boots as he trekked the mile or two every day for his dinner, and summer visitors who ran along it towards the iron age fort, the shore, and fishing, and seal-watching, and all sorts of mischief. If you followed it, you would avoid the marshy bits and the hidden rabbit holes and tricky stones.
People still live around there, but they're different people, with different habits, and the path has gone.
Sometimes, if you stand near a place where a path has been, and half-close your eyes, it can almost reappear. Or at least you can sense where it once was. Similarly with deer tracks.
Monday, 1 April 2013
Alan Watts - Re-examination of ''Common Sense''
I like Alan Watts' books - I've only recently started listening to Youtube clips. Most, like this one, have music that I find really intrusive. But he's worth a listen.
Friday, 22 March 2013
The Dark Thing in my Bag
"I need you to unleash the Twirly Wirly thing, and I need you to do it now T-G." I had managed to scramble up the ivy, after glimpsing the Dark Thing in my bag and remembering, despite the lingering haze of mutant wasp venom, why I was there, three hundred feet up a wall, in the first frigging place.
"Yes get a move on Uncle Tuppy. Do stop making like a woolly spider and get into the secret room before we all die of boredom."
I could scarcely believe it! My nephew Tuppence was already there, leaning out of the mullioned window alongside the Tupfinder General!
I decided to leave the whys and what fors till I was safely off the ivy with both hands free and a clear head; I had a distinct feeling that I might need to have my wits about me. I grabbed hold of the end of the shepherd's crook which the Tupfinder was helpfully pointing in my direction, and heaved myself up and over the window ledge.
Unfortunately my hoof caught on a strand of ivy, and as I kicked it free, I knocked out one of the leaded panes of glass in the T-G's mullioned windows.
"Ooops! Sorry T-G," I gasped, as the shards tinkled and clattered to the ground.
"Tuppy! Have a care, for pity's sake! That glass is original 12th century Venetian, lifted from the Doge's Palace by my ancestor Mad Finlay. Besides, it's draughty enough in here. Mrs T-G will have a fit - especially when she finds out it's you that did it. She's still fuming about the French Diary episode (see previous posts)"
"Sorry T-G. I can plug the hole with my old hanky. That'll stop the draught at any rate." As I stuffed my large pocket handkerchief (embroidered with the letter "T") into the broken pane, I glanced downwards and saw the ghastly Kiltie Twins staring up at me and pointing. Another figure, bulky, and wearing a rough Harris tweed two-piece, was heading towards them, carrying what looked like a shotgun slung across her ample shoulders, and a tray of black sausage rolls.
It was Mrs T-G.
more later
"Yes get a move on Uncle Tuppy. Do stop making like a woolly spider and get into the secret room before we all die of boredom."
I could scarcely believe it! My nephew Tuppence was already there, leaning out of the mullioned window alongside the Tupfinder General!
I decided to leave the whys and what fors till I was safely off the ivy with both hands free and a clear head; I had a distinct feeling that I might need to have my wits about me. I grabbed hold of the end of the shepherd's crook which the Tupfinder was helpfully pointing in my direction, and heaved myself up and over the window ledge.
Unfortunately my hoof caught on a strand of ivy, and as I kicked it free, I knocked out one of the leaded panes of glass in the T-G's mullioned windows.
"Ooops! Sorry T-G," I gasped, as the shards tinkled and clattered to the ground.
"Tuppy! Have a care, for pity's sake! That glass is original 12th century Venetian, lifted from the Doge's Palace by my ancestor Mad Finlay. Besides, it's draughty enough in here. Mrs T-G will have a fit - especially when she finds out it's you that did it. She's still fuming about the French Diary episode (see previous posts)"
"Sorry T-G. I can plug the hole with my old hanky. That'll stop the draught at any rate." As I stuffed my large pocket handkerchief (embroidered with the letter "T") into the broken pane, I glanced downwards and saw the ghastly Kiltie Twins staring up at me and pointing. Another figure, bulky, and wearing a rough Harris tweed two-piece, was heading towards them, carrying what looked like a shotgun slung across her ample shoulders, and a tray of black sausage rolls.
It was Mrs T-G.
more later
Saturday, 16 February 2013
Quote of the Day - from Camus' The Fall
'Then it was that the thought of death burst into my daily life. I would measure the years separating me from my end. I would look for examples of men my age who were already dead. And I was tormented by the thought that I might not have time to accomplish my task. What task? I had no idea.......No one, ever again, would know the truth on this point since the only one to know it was precisely the dead man sleeping on his secret. That absolute murder of a truth used to make me dizzy. Today, by the way, it would cause me instead subtle joys. The idea, for instance, that I am the only one to know what everyone is looking for and that I have at home an object which has kept the police of three countries on the run to no avail is a sheer delight. But let's not go into that. At the time I had not yet found the recipe and I was fretting.'
From my copy of Albert Camus' The Fall, Penguin 1980 edition, page 66.
One of these books that I'd forgotten I had. My favourite Camus used to be A Happy Death. Pretty grim and intense stuff, but with an unrelenting honesty to it that meant a lot to me as a youngster as I tried to find a place for myself in a world that seemed terribly fake.
(Of course I never did find a place for myself, but hey.)
I'm sure that reading volumes like this, even if like me it's so long ago that you forget that you have, affects the workings of your brain, permanently. Affects the Actual Brain Chemistry. Like seeing something strikingly amazing as a child, or like meeting somebody with whom there is that unexpected warmth of like-minded recognition, so that it doesn't really matter what occurs after or that you might not meet again, because that moment has made you remember that you are not alone in the universe; or like a comforting hand upon the shoulder at a difficult moment, it always stays with you even if you can't consciously remember. Like an imprint on the spirit, or on the soul, if you believe in souls.
From my copy of Albert Camus' The Fall, Penguin 1980 edition, page 66.One of these books that I'd forgotten I had. My favourite Camus used to be A Happy Death. Pretty grim and intense stuff, but with an unrelenting honesty to it that meant a lot to me as a youngster as I tried to find a place for myself in a world that seemed terribly fake.
(Of course I never did find a place for myself, but hey.)
I'm sure that reading volumes like this, even if like me it's so long ago that you forget that you have, affects the workings of your brain, permanently. Affects the Actual Brain Chemistry. Like seeing something strikingly amazing as a child, or like meeting somebody with whom there is that unexpected warmth of like-minded recognition, so that it doesn't really matter what occurs after or that you might not meet again, because that moment has made you remember that you are not alone in the universe; or like a comforting hand upon the shoulder at a difficult moment, it always stays with you even if you can't consciously remember. Like an imprint on the spirit, or on the soul, if you believe in souls.
Saturday, 9 February 2013
I've updated my Amazon pages. Here is the link to the U.S. one, since most readers seem to be from there. The U.S. page also shows blog posts, which the U.K. one doesn't, so it's better.
I intend doing pages for France and Germany as well, since I've had interest from there. I'm not sure if I might write them in my own pretty brutal Franglais and pidgin German, just for a laugh.
It's inconvenient/a right pain to have to do separate pages for each country. You'd think Amazon would be able to fix that.
Probably something to do with tax, I imagine.
I intend doing pages for France and Germany as well, since I've had interest from there. I'm not sure if I might write them in my own pretty brutal Franglais and pidgin German, just for a laugh.
It's inconvenient/a right pain to have to do separate pages for each country. You'd think Amazon would be able to fix that.
Probably something to do with tax, I imagine.
Friday, 8 February 2013
THE TROGGS TAPES FULL EXTENDED 11 MIN VERSION WARNING! VERY STRONG LANGU...
"YOU'RE DOING IT FUCKING WRONG!!" Marvellous. The Troggs were great, despite the execrable Love is all Around. Glad Reg Presley made some money out of that, however, because I gather that they didn't make much in the 60s.
Sunday, 3 February 2013
Fairport Convention The Hanging Song
One of my favourite songs from one of my favourite bands. Love Dave Swarbrick's voice.
From their album Babbacombe Lee.
Saturday, 2 February 2013
Friday, 25 January 2013
Saturday, 19 January 2013
Is it Possible to be Bored and Terrified at the Same Time?
Ah well. It's great to be home, toasting my feet before a roaring driftwood fire and sipping a large mug of Madeira.
How did I get here? I can't for the life of me remember, and it's probably just as well. Geoffrey assures me that it was all a horrible dream - except for the part where we were sitting on Saturn's rings. Which leads me to think that we might still be there, and that my cosy fireside is an illusion, brought on by either boredom or terror. Or both.
Is it possible to be bored and terrified at the same time?
I will ask Geoffrey.
"Geoffrey?"
"Yes, I think it is. For example - "
"But I haven't asked you anything yet. Oh no! Don't tell me you're at the mind-reading again. Where's your Mind-reading Prevention Device, or M.P.D.? Put it on immediately."
"No. I have a new Device. It's a Mind-reading Filtre, or M.F. It enables me to choose which minds to home in on and read, rather than having to endure the chitter chatter of many minds, when in range of course. Some people's minds are rather unsavoury, Tuppy. You'd be surprised."
"I wouldn't," I thought.
"Yes you would. And no, I don't mean normal dirt and muck, or wanting to put a pillow over my face to stop me snoring PERMANENTLY, or hiding packets of Gypsy Creams and Black Bogey behind the skirting and pretending we've run out. Yes, I know about all that, because I saw your thoughts - it was just like being at a magick lantern show, except it was deeply hurtful and upsetting and there was no popcorn and nobody sneezing in the seat behind without covering their mouth."
I was aghast. Talk about intrusive! I tried to make my mind as blank as possible by thinking about Nothing...nothing.....nothing.....Gosh it was difficult. So much for people saying I'm empty-headed.
Geoffrey was still rattling on. "It's all right Tuppy - I forgive you. I understand your foibles, despite your not understanding mine and being horribly impatient with me. What I mean is, some people think nasty, poisonous thoughts about other people. They assume the worst. They suffer agonies of jealousy and they want to bring them down. These thoughts occupy most of their waking moments, and as a result they make their own lives miserable as well as the lives of those around them. I can't bear it Tuppy!"
He began to sob.
"Fetch the M.P.D. right now Geoffrey," I snapped, "I'm sure it's still in the attic - possibly underneath the coracle. The new-fangled M.F. obviously is no earthly use whatever, and you're starting to rave, albeit rather feebly. This carry-on has to stop, and stop NOW. While you're searching for it I'm going to have an opium tabloid to take the edge off my morbid fear of still being on Saturn's ring and my own cosy fireside just being a trick of the over-taxed brain, and ponder today's conundrum - is it possible to be both bored and terrified at the same time."
more later
How did I get here? I can't for the life of me remember, and it's probably just as well. Geoffrey assures me that it was all a horrible dream - except for the part where we were sitting on Saturn's rings. Which leads me to think that we might still be there, and that my cosy fireside is an illusion, brought on by either boredom or terror. Or both.
Is it possible to be bored and terrified at the same time?
I will ask Geoffrey.
"Geoffrey?"
"Yes, I think it is. For example - "
"But I haven't asked you anything yet. Oh no! Don't tell me you're at the mind-reading again. Where's your Mind-reading Prevention Device, or M.P.D.? Put it on immediately."
"No. I have a new Device. It's a Mind-reading Filtre, or M.F. It enables me to choose which minds to home in on and read, rather than having to endure the chitter chatter of many minds, when in range of course. Some people's minds are rather unsavoury, Tuppy. You'd be surprised."
"I wouldn't," I thought.
"Yes you would. And no, I don't mean normal dirt and muck, or wanting to put a pillow over my face to stop me snoring PERMANENTLY, or hiding packets of Gypsy Creams and Black Bogey behind the skirting and pretending we've run out. Yes, I know about all that, because I saw your thoughts - it was just like being at a magick lantern show, except it was deeply hurtful and upsetting and there was no popcorn and nobody sneezing in the seat behind without covering their mouth."
I was aghast. Talk about intrusive! I tried to make my mind as blank as possible by thinking about Nothing...nothing.....nothing.....Gosh it was difficult. So much for people saying I'm empty-headed.
Geoffrey was still rattling on. "It's all right Tuppy - I forgive you. I understand your foibles, despite your not understanding mine and being horribly impatient with me. What I mean is, some people think nasty, poisonous thoughts about other people. They assume the worst. They suffer agonies of jealousy and they want to bring them down. These thoughts occupy most of their waking moments, and as a result they make their own lives miserable as well as the lives of those around them. I can't bear it Tuppy!"
He began to sob.
"Fetch the M.P.D. right now Geoffrey," I snapped, "I'm sure it's still in the attic - possibly underneath the coracle. The new-fangled M.F. obviously is no earthly use whatever, and you're starting to rave, albeit rather feebly. This carry-on has to stop, and stop NOW. While you're searching for it I'm going to have an opium tabloid to take the edge off my morbid fear of still being on Saturn's ring and my own cosy fireside just being a trick of the over-taxed brain, and ponder today's conundrum - is it possible to be both bored and terrified at the same time."
more later
Wednesday, 16 January 2013
Quote of the Day - from Scott's Journals
Extract from Robert Falcon Scott's Journals - 'Sunday, October 8. - ....Troubles rarely come singly, and it occurred to me after Clissold had been brought in that Taylor, who had been bicycling to the Turk's Head, was overdue. We were relieved to hear that with glasses two figures could be seen approaching in South Bay, but at supper Wright appeared very hot and said that Taylor was exhausted in South Bay - he wanted brandy and hot drink. I thought it best to despatch another relief party, but before they were well round the point Taylor was seen coming over the land. He was fearfully done. He must have pressed on towards his objective long after his reason should have warned him that it was time to turn; with this and a good deal of anxiety about Clissold, the day terminates very unpleasantly.'
Monday, 7 January 2013
Jimmy Page In Conversation (BBC Dec 2012) *Full Interview*
Kennedy Medals and a comfy middle-aged-style interview with the BBC. It'll be knighthoods next. Ghastly, yes - but Led Zeppelin can transcend all. Marvellous to see Jimmy Page at any rate.
(Nice teeth.)
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