He Can't Put It Down

Do you have anything for wiping the glue off ? asks the lady.

Only my tee shirt, says Sweezus.

He wipes his fingers down the front of his tee shirt.

What about the glue on my great grandmother's hat pin? asks the lady.

We can probably use it, says Sweezus. 

Quick, before it dries, says the lady. Where is it going?

Here, says Sartre. He is still holding the broken clasp open.

What a tiny handbag! says the lady. It reminds me of something.

Put a dab on each side, says Sweezus. 

I was going to do that job, says Terence.

That was before we got a hat pin. says Sweezus.

I'm sure the little boy could manage a hat pin, says the lady.

Yes! says Terence.

She gives him the hat pin. 

There are two blobs of glue near the end.

Steady, says Sartre. We don't want glue going down the sides of the handbag.

Ternce pokes a blob of glue onto one edge of the broken clasp. 

Then the second blob onto the other edge.

Sartre clamps the two edges together.

Well done! says the lady.

Yes, well done, says Sartre. How long do I have to hold this thing together?

Dunno, says Sweezus. Let's see the instructions.

He picks up the glue tube. Reads the instructions.

Twenty minutes, says Sweezus.

Dear me, says the lady. Poor you.

She smiles sympathetically at Sartre.

Would you like to take over? asks Sartre.

Me? says the lady.

No, I meant him, says Sartre. 

Can't, says Sweezus. Sticky fingers. 

I'll do it! says Terence.

What a helpful child, says the lady. His toy bear is very lucky.

It's not my toy bear, says Terence. It's Holy Spitball's.

And who is Holy Spitball? asks the lady.

We can't tell you, says Terence. 

Why is that? asks the lady.

Because he's a spy, says Terence.

I see, says the lady. Well I'd better get back to my queue. It's started moving.

She heads back to her place in the queue.

Phew! says Terence. She nearly found out EVERYTHING!

Hardly, says Sweezus. Are you taking over or what?

Here, says Sartre, holding out the handbag

Terence is about to take it, when he realises...

He's still holding the hat pin.

And worse, he can't put it down.

Glue Bloobles

Sartre sees the hairline crack where the clasp has been broken.

He forces it open.

Done! says Sartre.

Awesome, says Sweezus. Hold it while I squeeze in the glue.

Sartre holds the tiny handbag's clasp open.

Glue! says Sweezus. Where is it, Terence?

I'm still getting the lid off, says Terence.

He twiddles the lid. It comes off. 

Shall I squeeze it now? asks Terence.

Okay, says Sweezus. Just gently. There and there.

He indicates the two places the glue has to go.

Terence squeezes.

No glue comes out.

You probably have to pierce the top with a pin, says Sartre.

Yeah but who's got a pin? asks Sweezus. 

I'll get one, says Terence. I'll ask a lady.

He runs off the towards the people queueing to enter the Sagrada Familia.

And up to a lady.

Excuse me, says Terence. Do you have a pin?

No, says the lady. Gone are the days when most ladies had pins.

Oh, says Terence. What about something else pointy?

What is it for? asks the lady.

To open our glue, says Terence. 

Are you trying to mend something? asks the lady.

A handbag, says Terence.

Is it yours? asks the lady.

It's little Fuzzball's says Terence. I mean, it belongs to a bear.

A toy handbag! says the lady. 

Another lady is standing behind her and has been listening.

I couldn't help overhearing, says the second lady. How would this do?

She hands Terence an old fashioned hat pin.

A hat pin! says the first lady. I've not seen one for years!

It was my great grandmother's, says the second lady. I always carry it with me. It's lucky.

Yay! says Terence. Can it get glue on it?

If you wipe it off after, says the second lady.

Perhaps you should go with him, says the first lady. If it's important to you.

Will you mind my place for me? asks the second lady.

Certainly, says the first lady.

Terence and the second lady go over to where Sartre is still holding the broken clasp open, and Sweezus is holding the inaccessible glue.

We've got grandma's lucky hat pin! cries Terence.

Great grandma's, says the second lady. 

Wicked, says Sweezus. Poke it in here.

Can I do it? asks Terence.

I'll do it, says the second lady.

She plunges her great grandmother's hatpin into the top of the special plastic glue tube.

Blooobbb.... 

Glue bloobles up, out, and down Sweezus's fingers

Necessary Violence

Prong arrives first.

They've found glue! says Prong.

Cool! says Sweezus. What kind?

Special plastic glue, says Prong.

Great, says Sweezus. I got that part right.

What do you mean? asks Prong.

I'm writing Sartre's blog for him, says Sweezus.

I know. says Prong. But weren't you just catching up on past happenings?

Yeah I was, says Sweezus. I got kind of carried away.

Sartre arrives with Terence and a small paper bag.

Glue! says Sartre, opening the bag.

Special glue, says Terence.

Yes, says Sartre. I asked the assistant's advice.

Okay, says Sweezus. I'll start mending the handbag, while you read what I've written. 

He returns Sartre's phone.

Sartre starts reading.

It's very detailed, says Sartre.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Feel free to change stuff.

Irritating for the baby? says Sartre.

I wrote tragic for the baby, says Sweezus. But I thought irritating sounded more you.

I suppose it does, says Sartre. But would I use that term for a baby?

Babies get irritated, says Sweezus.

Point taken, says Sartre.

He gives Sweezus the glue.

Can I help? asks Terence.

Yeah get the lid off, says Sweezus. Where's the handbag?

Terence looks around. 

Yes, where is it?

Sartre, Sweezus and Terence start looking.

Prong notices where it is first.

The two Fuzzballs have got it, says Prong. Look, they've got one handbag each.

The two Fuzzballs are playing with their handbags on one of the steps.

Handbag! says one.

Pencil! says the other.

The one with the good handbag opens his handbag.

Out tumbles a pencil.

Grr-hee! laugh the Fuzzballs.

Give me the broken one, says Terence. We have to fix it.

The two Fuzzballs look rebellious.

This will ruin their game.

But Terence takes the broken handbag and hands it to Sweezus.

Sweezus starts forcing the broken clasp into place.

Click!

Shit! says Sweezus.

You're meant to wait for the glue! says Terene.

It just clicked into place, says Sweezus. 

What's  happened? asks Sartre looking up from the problematic blog Sweezus has written.

Didn't put the glue in, says Sweezus. And now it looks like it's fixed, but it isn't.

Force it apart again, says Sartre. Sometimes violence is called for.

But is it? asks Sweezus. 

Necessary violence, says Sartre.

You do it, says Sweezus.

Sartre takes the tiny handbag.

This is the sort of thing he is good at.

Tragic To Irritating

Sartre and Terence have not yet returned with the glue.

Sweezus keeps typing Sartre's blog, on Sartre's phone:

An accident had occurred with the handbag. The clasp was broken. The replacement baby was distraught, and our parrot has promised to fix it. At this moment I'm looking for a glue shop.

Sweezus stops. Has he left out too much? Holy Spitball's role for example?

No, Sartre needs to catch up to the present. And add stuff about bikes.

Sweezus alters his last sentence: 

At this moment I'm cycling around Barcelona looking for a glue shop. I'm wearing a helmet. They're strict about wearing bike helmets here. The glue will be a middle of the road solution, not the superglue favoured by certain of my colleagues. I pointed out that the handbag might become permanently closed, a tragic result for the baby.  

Sweezus stops again. Has he gone too far? Sartre isn't cycling. And would he use the word tragic?

He alters tragic to irritating. Yeah, that's more like Sartre.

Encouraged, he keeps going:.

I spot a hardware shop. No doubt they sell glue. I prop my bike against a bollard and put the chain on. I enter the hardware shop and enquire about glue. The hardware assistant insists on knowing what I'll be using the glue for. I tell him it's for a child's plastic handbag. He shows me various glues that suit plastic. I pick the most expensive. He approves of my choice. 

Sweezus stops again. 

He has definitely gone too far now. 

Would Sartre pick the most expensive? 

If he did, would he say that he had? 

Would he then become chatty and tell the hardware assistant about Holy Spitball, and how the accident happened?

No harm in exploring:

The assistant keeps asking questions. Perhaps he's a spy? No, he seems genuinely interested. I'll tell him what happened, without revealing too much. Well, I say, I've been involved in a clandestine rescue, in which a bird, who goes by the name Holy Spitball, was persuaded to act as a lookout, in exchange for a simple toy bear. Unfortunately the toy bear broke the handbag in the course of the rescue. So, you were rescuing a CHILD! says the hardware assistant. I grab the glue, run out of the shop, unlock my bicycle hurriedly and cycle away.... 

Understandably. Sweezus stops here, and does not press publish.

Not Nicked But Forgotten To Pay For

Sweezus is typing on Sartre's phone when it rings.

It's Vello.

Hi boss, says Sweezus. Checking up on how we're doing?

Yes, says Vello. Why are you answering Sartre's phone?

I'm just helping him with a few details, says Sweezus.

As in what? asks Vello.

Have you been reading his blog? asks Sweezus.

I have, says Vello. It seems short on bicycle details. 

I'll get him to fix that, says Sweezus.

Where is he? asks Vello.

He's away buying glue, says Sweezus. 

What for? asks Vello. 

The cliffhanger, says Sweezus. 

Oh yes, the genius cliffhanger, says Vello. Has something broken?

Yeah, says Sweezus. 

What? asks Vello.

Do you want me to tell you or do you want to wait for the next post ? asks Sweezus.

Tell me, says Vello. 

The handbag, says Sweezus.

The replacement bear's handbag? asks Vello. 

Yeah, his, says Sweezus.

Do we learn how it got broken? asks Vello.

I'm leaving certain things out, says Sweezus.

You mean Sartre is, says Vello. I suppose he knows what he's doing.

But he sometimes forgets how he got there, says Sweezus. 

Lucky he has you, then, says Vello.

Yeah, thanks boss, says Sweezus. Wanna know how the handbag got broken?

Tell me, says Vello.

Well there's this dove, see, says Sweezus. It's called Holy Spitball. 

Why has Sartre not mentioned it before? asks Vello.

He still could, says Sweezus.

Go on, says Vello.

It was acting as lookout for the rescue, in exchange for a bear of its own, says Sweezus. Luckily Arthur had nicked a bear earlier. Well, not nicked, forgotten to pay for. So Holy Spitball got that bear. He wedged it in a fork of his tree, and when he tried to get it out later it fell into the Virgin's bowl and busted her new baby's handbag.

Yes I see why you're leaving certain things out, says Vello.

Yeah, says Sweezus. Too much info.

I'll leave you to it, says Vello.

Adiós boss, says Sweezus.

Very good, says Vello. You've learned Spanish. 

Bicicletas, says Sweezus. Learned that too.

Good man, says Vello. I assume that means.....

Yeah, it does, says Sweezus.

 

A Genius Post

Sweezus is already working on Sartre's next post when Sartre returns.

How'd you go with the fish? asks Sweezus.

We bought a tin of sardines, says Sartre.

Tin! says Sweezus. How's the pelican meant to eat tinned sardines?

Ask Terence and Prong, says Sartre. My part is done.

Yeah so's this part, says Sweezus.

He hands Sartre his phone.

I'll check it for errors and style, says Sartre. 

Sorry about that, says Sweezus. But it's already posted.

I see, says Sartre. Well I'd better see what I've supposedly written.

You've bypassed the string, checked on the handbag, and set up a cliffhanger, says Sweezus.

Sartre looks at the latest blog post by him.

Very good, says Sartre. Nice short sentences. A bike ride. I seem to know what I'm doing.

Yeah you do, says Sweezus. Want me to keep going?

What is this second snag that I mention? asks Sartre.

You know, says Sweezus. The handbag gets broken. 

Of course, says Sartre. Hence the need for the fish glue. But then we were sidetracked by needing some actual fish...

Let me do it, says Sweezus. I've already started it anyway. Hey look! You've got a comment.

Let me see! says Sartre.

He reads the comment.

"Genius!"

Sartre looks pleased for a moment, until he realises the genius post was not written by him.

Go ahead, says Sartre. You seem to be doing quite well.

No worries, says Sweezus. Did this creative writing course once. Got a credit.

Hmm, says Sartre. I'll see about getting the tin of sardines to the pelican. Prong, will you take it?

Not till we've fixed the handbag, says Prong.

Did we decide on superglue? asks Sartre.

Yes superglue, says Terence. Let's get some.

Superglue might be tricky, says Prong. What if we accidentally superglued the handbag shut for ever.

With Fuzzball's pencil inside! says Terence.

No, his pencil is out of the handbag, says Prong. But he could never put it back in.

So it would be USELESS! says Terence.

We'll find a middle of the road solution, says Sartre.

Yes! says Terence. I'll stop the traffic.

Is that a joke? asks Sartre.

Maybe, says Terence. Let's go!

See you guys later, says Sweezus.

Remember to quote me on the middle of the road solution. says Sartre.

I'll squeeze it in somewhere, says Sweezus

Two Hard Things

Sartre, Terence and Prong have found a fish shop.

They stop, and look through the window.

Fresh fish, dried fish, and stacks of tins of sardines.

Perfect! says Prong. 

What's perfect? asks Sartre.

A tin of sardines is perfect for a cement pelican, says Prong.

I don't follow your reasoning, says Sartre.

Two hard things, says Prong.

What are they? asks Terence.

The tin and the pelican, says Prong.

I thought you meant hard things, says Terence.

They are hard things, says Prong. 

I thought you meant different hard things, says Terence.

Like what? asks Prong.

You're the one who said it! says Terence.

Difficult things, says Sartre. But let us go into the fish shop.

They go into the fish shop.

Hola, senor, chico y pajáro! says the fish shop guy.

Hola, says Sartre. Perhaps you can help us. What fish do pelicans like?

Why don't you ask your pajáro, says the fish guy.

He is looking at Prong.

It's a cement pelican, says Prong. So I don't really know.....

Maybe I know, says Terence.

Of course, says Sartre. You're of the same substance.

What is this substace? asks the fish guy.

Cement, I believe, says Sartre. Although you'd hardly credit it.

What does that mean? asks Terence.

You seem very flexible, says Sartre. But there'll be certain qualities you share with the pelican.

Yes! says Terence. We're two hard things.

This is getting nowhere, says Sartre. I'll just take a tin of your best sardines.

Ciertamente, senor, says the fish guy.

He goes to the window and takes a tin from the top of the pile.

Sartre pays for it. 

Adiós, senor, says the fish guy. 

Adiós, says Sartre.

He and Terence and Prong leave the shop.

Will the pelican eat the whole tin? asks Terence.

That's the beauty of this purchase, replies Sartre. 

It will be up to him.