Bedwetters and Brainless Oafs

'Dark skies over yonder, Unkle Funkle.  Hoist the main-brace and crank up the -'
'Thar she blows!  The Great Whale of the West!'
'That's not the Great Whale of the West, you blind fool. That's Mrs T-G, sunbathing on the Fulmars' decking.'
It was half past ten on a Tuesday morning, and already Tuppence was raving.  His Unkle Funkle obsession was well out of hand.
He'd stormed in at eight, demanding rum, and wearing a patch over his left eye and a fake 'peg leg'.  Receiving the reply that we hadn't got rum, we'd only Madeira, and precious little of that due to 'austerity cuts', he'd stormed out again till ten, spitting over his shoulder as he went, and cursing horribly.
'Best ignored,' I said to Geoffrey, 'Like most things in life these days.'
 We then had our usual 'triple bacon' sandwich, accompanied by five cups of tea and an argument about pigs, and why it was OK to eat them and cows, but not OK to eat sheep or horses.
'It's because we don't know any pigs personally,' explained Geoffrey, wiping some red sauce from his snowy white breast feathers.  'I'd never eat a sheep, because I know one, i.e. YOU, personally.  Just as you'd never eat a gull, because you know one, i.e. ME, personally.'
'True.  We don't know any cows - oh!  Except Mr Spockfingers.  But he was a Highland cow and perhaps - '
'PerHAPS you should enlarge your circle of acquaintances,' snapped Tuppence, who by then had reappeared.
'And perhaps YOU should keep a civil tongue in your head and lay off the rum.'
'Why on earth should I listen to a pair of old bores like you?  You're not experts in anything.  You've no moral fibre.  You're fat and lazy. You're failures in every possible respect.'
Geoffrey began to sob.  I knew Tuppence had hit a nerve; Geoffrey lacks my capacity for denial.
'It's true Tuppy!  We ARE fail - '
I interrupted, shaking my head and gesturing for him to be silent.  'Easy to criticise from the dizzy heights of youth Tuppence. What are you an expert in, then, other than catapults, bed-wetting, and raspberry chews?'
'I was not criticising, merely suggesting.  You brainless pair of oafs.'
'Well!  Unkle Funkle must be turning in his grave.  He'd be shocked to his marrow if he heard your cheek.'
'Two problems with that last statement Uncle Tuppy.'
'Oh really?  Do pray continue.  I'm all agog.'  I yawned in a faux-theatrical manner.
'I fully intend to continue.  If you'd stop interrupting and yawning in that pathetic faux-theatrical manner.   Firstly, Unkle Funkle was unshockable.  Secondly, he was stone deaf, so even if he had been shockable, which as I've already said he was not, he could not have heard you. Or indeed me.  Thirdly - '
'TWO problems you said.  Now it's three all of a sudden...'
'Is it?  Oh.  I can only count to two.  Being young and all that.  Anyway - as I was saying - '
'Oh DO hurry up.  I've sausages to fry.'
'All right.  Thirdly - he's not dead.  Ergo, he is incapable of turning in his grave.'
'WHAAAATT???????'

more later.

Here's a link to my Amazon page and more Tall Tales

A Couple of Short Walks.

The island

Reeds, Loch Clunie

Horse Chestnut Candle

A wander by a familiar haunt,  Loch Clunie.  Hoped to see an osprey - didn't. It was sunny-ish, but very very cold for May, and I was tired, so I didn't linger.
I did see a Great Crested Grebe, and a swan...
Next day I walked by Loch of the Lowes; in the fields were several pairs of lapwings (more than I've see in years), and numerous brown hares,  with swifts, martins and swallows flying across.  I also observed a little grebe in another loch, and quite a few tufted ducks.
Still no ospreys.
But it's only a matter of time.

By Loch of the Lowes

Loch of the Lowes

Tuppence reads - Wise Words from Unkle Funkle...

...he of the Wintry Isles circumnavigation fame.  Or notoriety.  Or infamy.  Or nothing at all.  Whatever.

'What are you reading,  Tuppence?'  Imagine him, reading, I thought.  Him!   Of all people!
'Don't you mean 'HE' of all people,  Tuppy?'
Geoffrey was at the mind-reading again.  Tiresome at times*.  'He of all people? Does that sound right to you Geoffrey?'
'Well, it sounds about as right as 'him' of all people.'
'Are you talking about me, you fools?' said Tuppence, glaring at us over his golden pince nez. Not that he needed 'eyewear' of any type.  His vision was perfect, even at night. Convenient for his exploits with the rats (see e-books for details).  The pince nez, therefore, were a mere affectation.  A phase.  Next thing will be tattoos I imagine - ghastly depictions of his fave prog rock stars, such as Rick Wakeman and Mont Campbell of Egg. 'If so, 'he' has got a name.  And I'm  reading Unkle Funkle's Diaries.  I found them wrapped in oilskin in a rusty tartan tin under the stairs, along with a packet of Lipton's tea, three tins of rice pudding and a Kendall Mint Cake wrapper with a use by date of June 3rd, 1920. The tin was labelled 'KLEENING MATERIELS' - that's why you wouldn't have ever opened it.  I only did cos I was bored and looking for - well, anything really.  But preferably cash.  The Diaries are ever so interesting Uncle Tuppy.  I think he went completely insane from time to time, what with the sea water drinking and the unfortunate incident with the albatross and all, but in between bouts of madness he made some useful observations.'
'Oh yes?' said Geoffrey, settling down and fluffing his feathers on his favourite end of the  mantlepiece.
'Such as?'  I said.
'Such as never work for a living, if you can possibly avoid it.  And if you must work, never ever work for someone else as an 'employee'.  Especially not in catering. He wrote that bit while employed as cook on the clipper 'Violet Carson', tacking round the Cape of Good Hope.'
'Well before he found the Wintry Isles then.'
'Yes.  He didn't like working as a cook.  He jumped ship in South Georgia and made a raft from balsa wood and a sail from his erstwhile cook's apron, and steered north, by the stars.  Only he went south, due to the prevailing winds and his getting mixed up with the northern and southern hemispheres and stuff.  And he ended up at the Wintry Isles, with a case of rice pudding, a pound of Lipton's tea and five bars of Kendall Mint Cake to see him through six months of Antarctic darkness.'
'Did he ever regret chucking his job in?'
'No.'

*useful at others

Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 65, Rebecca West

Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 65, Rebecca West



Very interesting.  I like Rebecca West a lot, or used to - I haven't read her for many a year. I have several of her books (The Fountain Overflows,  Cousin Rosamund, among others) and I've now ordered a biography from Amazon.  I badly need some fresh reading material.

I've also ordered another Graham Chapman book, Calcium Made Interesting, because I enjoyed A Liar's Autobiography so much (see blog posts about this from, oh, goodness knows when...).  And The Haunted Hotel, by Wilkie Collins, which also sounds pretty good.

Meanwhile I'm re-reading Titus Groan.

I might give my verdict on these at some point....although, why I should bother I don't know.  Who's going to be interested?  They aren't new books, and so many others have written about them already.

Ivor Cutler - Beautiful Cosmos

This is basically my life.

IVOR CUTLER John Peel 9th June 1987

robin williamson ancient song

Not a very seasonal video but I just felt like listening to this song.

Do Animals Have Souls? (part 2)

'So Uncle Tuppy.  Five years ago you set off in the coracle to free a boatload of lactating ewes held captive on a prison ship (please see my five e-book tales on Amazon, if you want to know more). Now, you're wolfing down your third bacon sandwich of the day, and wiping grease off your chin. Isn't there some kind of APPALLING CONTRADICTION there?  In short, aren't you a hypocrite?'
'Well, I - '
'Let me complete my train of thought before you start with the weasel-worded reply. You're not only a hypocrite - you're a PSYCHOPATH,' Tuppence continued, folding his arms. 'You're devoid of compassion and moral integrity.  You've a black hole instead of a conscience.'
'That's a nice thing to say to someone who bought you Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas for your birthday.  And a Smartie pencil case.'
'You're not even attempting to defend yourself.  You're resorting to feeble sarcasm and personal attacks.'
'Isn't that always the best way?'
'It's lazy.  Where are your facts?  Your counter-arguments?'
'I have none.  I admit everything.  I saved the ewes because I could.  I eat bacon because I can.  They sell it shrink-wrapped for one ninety-nine a packet off the back of the grocer's van.  It would be rude to say no.  I'm human, therefore I'm fallible - what can I say?'
'You've said plenty.  And you aren't human - as well you know.  You're a sheep.  You're supposed to be a herbivore, yet you eat dead pigs. What's wrong with you?'
'I don't know.  I'm weak. I know that what I'm doing is wrong. I don't think of bacon and sausages as being real.  They're like biscuits or crisps...'
'Oh shut up. I wanted a proper argument with dialectics and everything. But all you can do is waffle about crisps.  No wonder I'm delinquent.'

This Morning's Conversation - Do Animals Have Souls?

'Discuss.'
'Not till I've had my second cup of tea.  How many TIMES?'
'Ooh testy.'

Tuppence is out of the sweat lodge (please see previous posts for details*) and is recuperating** on the sofa by the fire in our 'house'.
Well, I call it a house but that's a very loose term really.  It doesn't conjure up its ramshackle walls, the hole in the wall that we use as a door, or indeed the 'tarp' roof.
But regular readers will know that.
'Bear Grylls and that other outdoorsy fat chap off the telly would love it here,'  enthused one of Val's yurt guests recently, as they peered through the hole in the wall while wandering past on one of her 'guided wildlife excursions'. 'It's perfect. Not a single mod con in sight.  Mind you I couldn't cope without underfloor heating and a rainforest shower.  I couldn't actually LIVE here.'
'You're so right!' cooed Val obsequiously, 'It's a pastoral idyll, perfect for de-stressing and taking a break from the pressures of city life.  At least that's what I've said on my website.  Mind your step on the sheep muck Demelza. You don't want to get that on your Crocs.'
'Ray Mears?' sneered Tuppence, throwing a used hankie at them, 'He's not outdoorsy.  He uses stock cubes for Christ's sake!'
'Oh my god - is that a talking sheep?' gasped the yurt guest. 'I thought it was a rug.'
'Yes.  And here's another one for you - bigger and ten times uglier,' I snarled, 'Now sod off and let us have our breakfast in peace.'
'Any minute now...' said Tuppence, struggling to his feet and dusting the biscuit crumbs off his britches.
I knew just what he was about to do.   He was about to...
'Fetch the shotgun Tuppy!' cried Geoffrey, flying in. 'Fetch it now, and blast them to smithereens!'
'Where's smithereens?' said the yurt guest. 'Val - where's....'
But Val had fled.  She knew us of old.
'Oh no.  My Crocs...'
Tuppence leapt through the hole in the wall and seized the yurt guest by the 'bingo wing'***.
'You're our guest now...' he smiled as he deftly roped her into the wooden rocking chair by the fireplace. 'Now,where were we Uncle Tuppy?  Something about animals having souls, wasn't it?'
'Oh yes.  But that can wait.  Let's have a bacon sandwich.  I've not reached full cogitation strength yet.'

*there aren't any
**eating biscuits
***the bit that really hurts when you grab it

I've five e-books all featuring the same characters doing various things - find 'em on Amazon here.

Tuppence attempts to contact Uncle Funkle using the power of his own mind...

...while in the sweat lodge.

'One tap for yes, two for no...' droned Tuppence. 'Are you there Uncle Funkle....will you talk to me? Can you bring me some sweets? Not Werther's Originals or Pan Drops.'
'We've got to get him out of there Val, ' I said. 'I know you said the longer the better but it's been weeks and weeks.  It's affecting his brain.'
'Nonsense,' snapped Val,' It's the fever itself that's affecting his brain.  Nothing to do with the sweat lodge and being on his own all the time and surviving on a diet of goji berry tea and nettle and dandelion ermmmmmm......nettle and dandelion......ummmmmmm.......'
'Stew?' I suggested.
'No.  Definitely not that. It's much too...basic a name.  Besides, it's raw.'
'Salad then.'
'No. Too blunt.  Too ordinary.  Too suburban.  Smacks of clumsily-cut under-ripe tomatoes, limp lettuce, and own-brand salad cream out of a bottle.  If my online customers thought I was selling 'salad' they'd desert me in droves - and they'd be right.  The bastards.'
'What if you used Kraft thousand island and added some bacon sprinkles?'
'Don't be disingenuous.  You know perfectly well what type of stuff I sell. It's all high-end organic health foods aimed at the discerning and eco-conscious middle-earner.'
'Oh well.  Who cares what you call it.  It's basically weeds, and he needs more than that to keep body and soul together.  He needs a square meal Val.  He needs sausage and chips and some bakewell tart and custard.  Followed by a pot of tea and some banana cake, and then an egg and bacon sandwich for supper.'   And so do I, I thought.  My stomach was beginning to rumble.  It was over an hour since breakfast and I'd only had mushrooms on toast, three rashers of smoked back, two rounds of black pudding and a pickled egg.  Preceded by a large bowl of Ricicles and followed by five oatcakes thickly-spread with butter and three fruit marmalade.
'Tuppy, he's got Brain Fever.  You can't let him out mid-cure, and you can't start feeding him sausages.  It could be fatal.  Look at him Tuppy.  He's raving.'
We both bent down and stared through the flap.
'Uncle Funkle....are you there, Uncle Funkle....' Tuppence continued, leaning back in his chair with half-closed eyes. 'Help me Uncle Funkle...I need to escape...even if it is only to somewhere else inside my Own Head...'
Is he raving?  I wondered.  Or is he just bored out of his mind?  It was impossible to tell without talking to him directly, and I wasn't going to risk that in case he really did have Brain Fever.   Either way I had to Do Something before matters took a turn for the worse.
Or did I?  Why should I act?  Why was Tuppence MY responsibility?  Why couldn't someone else do the difficult bits for me?
Perhaps I should just turn my back, and leave him to Val and her weeds health foods.
But I knew I couldn't abandon him.  I'd have to have a sit down, and a think, and make a decision.  I'd have to let him out, basically.  But how would he react?  He was unpredictable at the best of times.
And who on earth was Uncle Funkle?  and why did he circumnavigate the Wintry Isles?  I was about to find out.

more later

*Paperback edition of similar stories now available on Amazon.*

'

Today's Walk - Clunie

Beavers have had a go at the saplings by the water

A dank and silent pool, that always reminds me of the one at the entrance to Moria, in Lord of the Rings

Finally it feels like Spring is, well, not quite here, but definitely On Its Way.  The snowdrops are over and suddenly daffodils are everywhere.  I went over to my regular haunt - Loch Clunie - with my binoculars, hoping to see an osprey. The male has returned to Loch of the Lowes which is just a few miles further along the road, and you just never know.  I was also keeping an eye out for kites, which I'm seeing more frequently these days.

Not today though.  I did see a number of buzzards, three whooper swans, two mute swans, and some long-tailed tits, and that was about it except for the usual pheasants, crows, and mallard ducks.  And a solitary lapwing flying over the road - I think there might have been another sitting in a field, in fact I'm fairly sure of it, and I hope they are a pair and will nest.

I had a look for frog spawn -  again, nothing.  It is a bit early for it here.

It's still bitterly cold when the sun goes in and the wind blows, but at least the days are longer and there is some warmth around.  

I feel that my brain is still in winter-mode.  Not just my brain - my whole system.

Perhaps I need a de-tox or something.

Or perhaps I should just wait, and see how I feel as the year unfolds...

I haven't forgotten about Tuppence, by the way.  He's fine.  The sweat lodge did him a power of good....

More on all that,  later............

Daevid Allen - Sacred Geometry

Nothing Is Required But Freedom - Berfrois

Nothing Is Required But Freedom - Berfrois



Kant.  Worth a read.

Today's Walk - inside my Own Head

I haven't been outside for a couple of days, except to post a letter, as I've been feeling very ill with a fluey cold.  After one day's respite the weather has continued to be awful again anyway - chilly, steady rain, low skies, interspersed with bouts of 'wind'.  (Which reminds me - I need to summon up the strenf to rescue Tuppence from the ersatz sweat lodge sometime soon.)
Everything is muddy and wintry and Somme-like, still.  Few signs of Spring - certainly nothing much to indicate that the world is coming alive again.
I've been feeling so feeble I've barely read a thing.  However, I did finish one of my last charity shop buys - 'Hello',  Leslie Phillips' autobiography, which I expected to find interesting. I always enjoy his films. However, the book doesn't go into nearly enough detail for my liking.  About anything, really. Which is quite infuriating.  I shouldn't complain though.  I suppose he's had such a long career he would have needed to write several volumes in order to do it all justice, and I'm sure he probably couldn't be bothered.  I get the feeling too that he's probably held back a lot in order to preserve other people's secrets and dignity - and possibly his own.  There is a recent documentary about him on Youtube, I think, if you care to seek it out.
I still haven't finished my second charity shop buy - James Shapiro's '1599 - A Year in the Life of William Shakespeare'.  I tend to read last thing at night, generally, and two or three lines of '1599' and I'm off to sleep.    It's tremendously well-researched (edifying springs to mind) but not sufficiently gripping to keep me awake at 1 a.m..
Which is all to the good as far as I'm concerned.
I listened to a programme about dark matter on Radio Four this morning.  I think it was In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg.  Apparently (and think I sort of knew this before I heard the programme) dark matter is what holds the universe together, only nobody knows what it is.  They aren't even sure what it isn't.  They only know that it's there because it affects other things.  I got quite excited, listening, because that makes complete sense to me.  Or at least it gives me the feeling that it would, if only I sat down and thought about it for a while.  It could even explain human nature and the concept of Good and Evil.  It's the concept of Shadow writ large. And it's not an abstract concept - it really does seem to be that way, in the nature of the energies of which we are a part.   There is some kind of interactive dynamic, between dark and light,  and the one, so it would appear, I think, really cannot exist without the other.  Besides the obvious analogies there's a whole philosophical treatise to be written about that - to add to the hundreds if not thousands already in progress.  Nobody can have completed one because nobody yet knows what the subject really is.
I find it tremendously exciting to learn more about the Universe as I hurtle grave-wards. Perhaps I am going to return to the place 'from whence I came', i.e. Somewhere Out There, and will be recycled as a dark matter 'atom' (not that anyone knows if there are such things in dark matter).  Or perhaps I'll be a bubble in the Soup Dragon's cauldron.
I must read more about it.