An Unexpected Vanishment

This is ridiculous, said Gaius, from the back seat of the police car. You have no evidence other than hearsay.

A complaint must be followed by a report, said the policeman. Sorry gentlemen, but that's how it is.

The police car reached the end of the causeway.

Would you mind stopping a moment? said Sweezus. That's my bike over there. I need to make sure it's locked up.

Good one, said the policeman. I let you out and you try to escape.

Sweezus won't try to escape, said Gaius. He volunteered to take the blame.

Did you say Sweezus? asked the policeman.

Yes, said Gaius. That's his name.

THE Sweezus? asked the policeman.

I suppose so, said Gaius. Why don't you ask him?

Are you who I think you are, sir? asked the policeman.

I don't know, said Sweezus. Who do you think I am?

The guy who Tweets the moon, asked the policeman? On Twitter?

Yep, said Sweezus. That's me.

I'm a follower, said the policeman. My name is Victor. Well, I certainly feel I can trust you not to escape Mr Sweezus. You may get out and check on your bike.

Thanks, said Sweezus. You're uber cool, Victor.

Don't mention it, said Victor. Hurry up now.

Sweezus got out of the police car. He walked over to his bike.

Just fancy, said Victor.

Yes, just fancy, said Gaius. I think I had better get myself a Twitter account.

You should, said Victor. You might get famous.

I might indeed, said Gaius. I shall call myself....Pliny

Pliny! said Victor. I think someone already uses that name.

Outrageous! said Gaius.

Hey! said Victor. Where's he gone?

Gaius looked out of the window.

Both Sweezus and his bicycle had vanished!

Only in Spain

You don't know who Lance Armstrong is? said Gustave, astonished.

Of course I do, replied Violetta. I merely meant to indicate that he is of no importance now. Our main rival in the Tour de France will be Alberto Contador.

True, said Gustave. I hear he is a little worried about the competition.

He should be, said Violetta. Not only because we are in it, but I believe that Team Philosophe is very strong this year.

I've heard the same, said Gaius. Very strong. They have a wonder dog, and a dark horse called Sweezus.

A dog and a horse! said Violetta. Bizarre!

He's not actually a horse, said Gaius.

........

Alberto Contador WAS worried by this year's competition. He had heard some alarming things about Team Philosophe. He mentioned his fears to his manager.

Alberto Contador: What is this I'm hearing about Team Philosophe? They are having a dog as a rider. Surely that is not allowed!

His Manager: Normally no. But they have produced a special permit signed by Nicolas Sarcozy. These French they stick together.

Alberto Contador: Madre de dios! And what if I was to wish to join my own personal dog to my team Saxobank Sungard? I think this would not be allowed, no way!

His Manager: It is not the dog you have to fear so much as this Sweezus.

Alberto Contador: Who is he this Sweezus?

His Manager: I hesitate to tell you.

Alberto Contador: Tell me nevertheless.

His Manager: His real name is Jesus. Sweezus is his Twitter name.

Alberto Contador: So what? Many men are called Jesus.

His Manager: Only in Spain, Alberto. Only in Spain.

Sweezus and Farky

Just then Jesus popped his head around the door.

Hello everyone, said Jesus. Does anyone want to help me with an assignment?

What? A creative writing assignment? asked The VeloDrone. No thanks.

I'm really busy today, said Belle et Bonne.

Hello, I don't believe we've met, said Le Bon David.

It's Jesus, said Belle et Bonne. Jesus, meet Uncle David.

Hello, said Jesus. I've heard all about you.

And I've heard all about you, said Le Bon David. You're doing a creative writing course, and you're making a name for yourself on Twitter as Sweezus.

Jesus looked embarrassed.

No, no, said Le Bon David, don't be embarrassed. We all have to start somewhere.
What is your assignment, Sweezus?

I have to go to the Zoo, said Jesus, and write a story about the animals.

Woo hoo! said Farquhar, pricking up his ears. Animals! I'll go with you. I'll help you write your assignment. It'll be good practice for our collaboration.

Hum, said The VeloDrone. Our contributors don't usually need to practice.

Well, Sweezus does, said Farquhar. He is neither a philosopher, nor a writer.

Alright, said Sweezus. No need to rub it in. Coming Farky?

Yes! said Farky. Sweezus and Farky on assignment at the Zoo. See you later, everyone!

Tweeting the Moon.

Well, said Belle et Bonne, I'm adopted, so that makes me doubly lucky. But anyway, you have a famous father too.

Not that famous, said Jesus.

Are you kidding? said Belle et Bonne.

Oh him, said Jesus. A misunderstanding after the event. I guess you could say I'm adopted too. So, what's Voltaire like as a dad?

He's great, said Belle et Bonne. A little difficult sometimes. You just have to humour him.

Mmm. Same, said Jesus.

Marie came in with the tea.

Would anyone like a hot cross bun? she asked.

Yes please, said Belle et Bonne.

No thanks, said Jesus.

Oh sorry, said Marie. I should have thought.

It's not that, said Jesus. It's because I hate peel.

Then you're in luck, said Marie. These ones are choc chip.

Yum, said Jesus.

They drank tea and munched choc chip easter buns in silence for a while.

Oh by the way, said Marie, I'm following you on Twitter.

Me too, said Belle et Bonne. We love your moon tweets. They're so... over the top.

Yeah, said Jesus. I really try to let my self go. Did you like last night's one? "Full frown-faced moon breaks free of tarry custard-rimmed cloud-flake only to be obscured again by dragon's claw".

We fell about in admiration, said Belle et Bonne.

Leave the Chocolate to Jesus

He has a Twitter account, said Marie, to Belle et Bonne. He tweets as Sweezus.

Let's have a look, said Belle et Bonne.

She searched for Sweezus on Twitter.

Here he is! Woah! All his tweets are about the MOON!

Let's see, said Marie, looking over Belle et Bonne's shoulder.

"A dented silver coracle moon rides the glistening spume of the maelstrom in the blackwater sky", they read.

Weird, said Belle et Bonne.

No, he's really nice, said Marie. You'll like him.

Just then her phone rang, It was Jesus again.

I was just thinking, said Jesus. What about food?

Don't worry about food, said Marie. Belle et Bonne and I will organise it.

Great, said Jesus. What will we be having?

Picnic food, said Marie. Sandwiches, fruit, water.

Chocolate? asked Jesus, hopefully.

If you like, said Marie. It's good energy food.

Tell you what, said Jesus. I'll bring the chocolate.

Don't bring too much, said Marie. And only dark chocolate. And make sure it's wrapped, we don't want it melting.

Sure, said Jesus, not really listening. Just leave it to me.

Following Jesus

Jesus was sad. His favourite character had been killed off in a blog that he followed.

Poor Frog, thought Jesus. What a way to go. Then he brightened. Soon it would be Easter. Not that he liked Easter. But this year he had plans.

He had recently joined a book club where he had met Marie. Marie was co-editor of a cycling magazine, and she had invited him to join her on an Easter cycling tour, with her friend Belle et Bonne. They were planning to set off on Thursday.

I'd better call her, thought Jesus. I need to know what to bring.

Hi Marie, he said, when she answered.

What's up? said Marie. Hey, are you okay? You sound a bit flat.

Yeah, I'm okay, said Jesus. Just peed off about Frog.

Me too, said Marie. He was the best one in it. I loved him when he stuck up for himself at the science event. I carry within me the seeds of my own propagation. Classic!

Yeah, classic, said Jesus. Anyway, what do I have to bring on Thursday?

Just your bike, said Marie. And your helmet, and a warm jacket in case it turns cold.

And my Blackberry, said Jesus. I'll be tweeting our trip.

Oh will you? said Belle et Bonne. So you have a Twitter account?

Yep! It's pretty new.

What are you called? asked Marie

Don't laugh, said Jesus.

I won't, said Marie.

Sweezus, said Jesus.

Cool, said Marie. You got that from Baby Pierre. What do you tweet about, mainly?

Follow me and you'll see, said Jesus.

Three Weeks

Aha! said Pliny the Elder. The Tour de France is finished. What shall we do next?

I don't know about you, I said, but I am going to catch up on all the things that have happened at home in the last three weeks.

But that might take three weeks, said Pliny.

No, it won't, I said. Watch this:

Thursday: mum doesn't like her chickenless caesar salad at the library
Friday: photograph pineapple in bicycle helmet
Saturday: replace bedroom curtain which has mysterious rents
Sunday: daughter deactivates twitter account; giant saucer placed under mum's tree
Monday: daughter deactivates facebook account; I realise we are still nonvirtual friends
Tuesday: Qi Long looks at me when I say hello to him several times
Wednesday: think about tomorrow
Thursday: fall over dramatically on the way to a lecture, graze knee
Friday: headache
Saturday: election called; I hope Julia wins!
Sunday: daughter returns from London in shorts
Monday: washing and ironing
Tuesday: Li Feng gives me two pieces of warmed up cake to eat
Wednesday: IKEA
Thursday: Pi Approximation Day: watch movie Pi and eat pies at the science exchange
Friday: very cold day.
Saturday: put a rubber band round mum's curtain rod, debate with her its merits as marker
Sunday: Masterchef full of preposterous drama; Adam wins

There, Pliny, I said. That's what happened. Is there anything you would like me to elaborate upon?

Pliny looked perplexed.

What's IKEA? he said.

Confessions

Surely your mother did not say anything so vulgar! said Pliny sternly. Not to mention that she seems to have spoken uncharacteristically in rhyme.

Of course she didn't, Pliny. I just couldn't resist it, and it serves you right for boasting that you're friends with Coleridge. I bet you only googled him. I bet you're only friends with him the same way I could say that I'm friends with Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

Oh? And in what way are you friends with him? asked Pliny, with a sniff.

I'm reading about him. I just finished Rousseau's Dog. Now I'm reading his Confessions. I feel I know him very well indeed.

Imagine that, said Pliny. I myself am following him on Twitter. He appears to be doing very well in the Tour de France.

But Pliny, he's a philosopher.

Indeed he is, and a very witty one. Only this morning he tweeted this gem: Man is born free but is everywhere in chains. A reference to his bicycle, do you see?

15% Hetero

Well, I think I have sufficiently dug myself out of that hole. Or further into it. Time to change the subject.

Today I'm going to tell you how I learned to say "Oh! That's good!" in Swedish.

Many people turn up their noses at Twitter, but I like it. It encapsulates the comedie humaine, and sometimes gives you a surprise. One of the people I follow is Stephen Fry, who has over half a million followers, and does not follow me.

Yesterday he posted a link to stockholmpride, who will analyse your Twitterfeed and tell you how hetero you are, by looking at the words you use. I clicked on it, entered my Twitter name and was astonished to see the percentage counter fall rapidly to 15 %, and to read, "You're barely hetero at all. Don't you whish you've just got a few more points? To spice things up a bit? No? Alright."

I was very taken with this. The words I'd used that helped me gain that score were supa, Beulah, cabaret, broad and biscuit. These must not be words that hetero people use very much.

I received a black badge with my name, a rainbow, and "15 % hetero" on it, and the option to post it on my Facebook, which I did. It looked good amongst my relatives' Scrabble and Farkle scores, and their family snaps.

So pleased with it was I that I decided to draw further attention to it by posting a comment underneath. But what to say? Obviously something in Swedish. I don't know any Swedish, but you can google "Swedish for that's good", and get an answer. And that is how I learned to say "Oj! Det var bra!"