Kafka By The Shore on a plate. This is a game changer. Arthur picks up the book.
Under the book is another surprise. The gold coin which they had forgotten in the grass.
My coin, says Arthur. How did it get here?
He looks up at the waiter.
Kawai, says the waiter. You forgot your things. You Scottish folk are very careless.
We're not Scottish folk, says Vello. We're French.
Except for me, says David. And I am never careless.
And me, says Rosie. You can't go calling people careless based on their ethnicity.
Sit down, says Belle et Bonne. I assume you're not a waiter.
And I assume that's not our lunch, says David. I do hope it's still coming.
Hideo sits down.
May I ask you something? says Belle et Bonne.
Yes, says Hideo. Ask away.
Where did you find the book? says Belle et Bonne.
In an otter's holt , says Hideo. Through an underwater entrance in the riverbank.
Where's the rest of it? says Belle et Bonne.
You'll have to ask the otter, says Hideo.
Impossible, says David. They are elusive, secretive creatures.
They are, says Hideo. The question may never be resolved. But now, this must be your lunch arriving.
A waiter brings a plate of mixed baguettes.
Join us, says Belle et Bonne. There's enough.
Is there a fish one? says Hideo. Thanks, I will.
He chooses a baguette filled with cream cheese, fennel and smoked salmon.
Lucky Ageless isn't here. He would have wanted that one.
But Ageless is here. He has just been to the toilet. Now he's back.
And Ageless has a question for Hideo.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Magical Realism and The Enlightenment
Hideo stands there, dripping. Then turns away and walks off down the path.
The gold coin lies forgotten in the grass.
What just happened? says Rosie.
I don't know, says Belle et Bonne, but it was spooky. Let's get away from here.
She picks Kobo up and drops her in the backpack.
Don't forget the bucket, says Ageless. I could use a lift, Arthur. I'm weary.
He climbs into the bucket. Arthur picks it up.
They start the long walk back to their hotel.
..........
It is lunch time. Belle, Arthur and Rosie are having lunch with Vello and David in a cafe.
David is sceptical about the otter story.
I know otters, says David. I have known them since my childhood. An otter may attempt a robbery. But an otter will not disappear into thin air. Nor are they known to be very avid readers.
Vello nods wisely, knowing nothing of the world of otters.
Stop nodding, papa, says Belle et Bonne. I tell you it did happen. Didn't it Arthur, Rosie?
Arthur and Rosie agree that it did happen.
Let's run through it, says David. A man jumps in the water. An otter comes out.
No evident causality, says Vello.
The otter enters the backpack, and the occupant claims the otter steals her book, says David.
No book, says Vello.
The otter is then captured under a bucket, says David.
By me, says Rosie. You can't argue with that.
I have no argument with that, says David. But you claim you heard the sound of paper being eaten. What does that sound like?
Chomp chomp chomp, says Arthur. We all heard it.
Chomp! says David. It was not necessarily paper. Who is to say it could not have been grass?
Assuredly, says Vello. And then you say that when the bucket was upended, the otter was no longer in the bucket.
Habeas corpus, says David. No otter. And then the man climbs out of the water.
Habeas corpus, says Belle et Bonne.
No, says David. Non habeas corpus. It was the man who jumped in earlier. A different corpus. It's perfectly explicable. You have all suffered a delusion, perhaps occasioned by the sunshine. Ah, here comes our lunch!
Well then, if you're so reasonable and clever, says Belle et Bonne, where's the missing book?
Here, says Arthur, pointing.
Kafka By The Shore ( the second half, starting at Chapter 22), has just been served up to them on a plate.
The gold coin lies forgotten in the grass.
What just happened? says Rosie.
I don't know, says Belle et Bonne, but it was spooky. Let's get away from here.
She picks Kobo up and drops her in the backpack.
Don't forget the bucket, says Ageless. I could use a lift, Arthur. I'm weary.
He climbs into the bucket. Arthur picks it up.
They start the long walk back to their hotel.
..........
It is lunch time. Belle, Arthur and Rosie are having lunch with Vello and David in a cafe.
David is sceptical about the otter story.
I know otters, says David. I have known them since my childhood. An otter may attempt a robbery. But an otter will not disappear into thin air. Nor are they known to be very avid readers.
Vello nods wisely, knowing nothing of the world of otters.
Stop nodding, papa, says Belle et Bonne. I tell you it did happen. Didn't it Arthur, Rosie?
Arthur and Rosie agree that it did happen.
Let's run through it, says David. A man jumps in the water. An otter comes out.
No evident causality, says Vello.
The otter enters the backpack, and the occupant claims the otter steals her book, says David.
No book, says Vello.
The otter is then captured under a bucket, says David.
By me, says Rosie. You can't argue with that.
I have no argument with that, says David. But you claim you heard the sound of paper being eaten. What does that sound like?
Chomp chomp chomp, says Arthur. We all heard it.
Chomp! says David. It was not necessarily paper. Who is to say it could not have been grass?
Assuredly, says Vello. And then you say that when the bucket was upended, the otter was no longer in the bucket.
Habeas corpus, says David. No otter. And then the man climbs out of the water.
Habeas corpus, says Belle et Bonne.
No, says David. Non habeas corpus. It was the man who jumped in earlier. A different corpus. It's perfectly explicable. You have all suffered a delusion, perhaps occasioned by the sunshine. Ah, here comes our lunch!
Well then, if you're so reasonable and clever, says Belle et Bonne, where's the missing book?
Here, says Arthur, pointing.
Kafka By The Shore ( the second half, starting at Chapter 22), has just been served up to them on a plate.
Friday, August 30, 2013
The Moral Complexities Of Ownership
The river rushes by. The gold coin gleams in the sunshine, held aloft by Ageless. A kingfisher darts at something moving through the water. Splash!
Thud!
The sound is coming from Belle's open backpack.
Look! cries Belle. That otter's stealing something from my backpack!
Rosie grabs the bucket. She runs over to the backpack and brings the bucket down over the otter.
Arthur claps. That Rosie is quick witted.
Now what? says Belle.
I guess we let it go, says Rosie.
Not before it gives me back my book! shouts Kobo, from deep down in the backpack.
Ageless drops the coin and sidles over. He pokes his head into the backpack.
If it's true that Kafka By The Shore is missing, it seems fair that he should keep the three pounds fifty. If he ever gets it from that skinflint Arthur.
Kobo, my beloved, are you intact? says Ageless. O how brave you are.
Kobo emerges from the backpack.
He came upon me from behind, says Kobo. Started reading over my shoulder. Then he said Kawai, or something like that. He grabbed the book and ran away.
No beloved, says Ageless. He didn't run away. Rosie caught him under the new bucket. He is in there as we speak.
A noise comes from the bucket. The sound of paper being eaten.
It is the otter, eating Kafka By The Shore.
Stop him, says Kobo. That's my book he's eating.
Technically, beloved, it's my book, says Ageless.
No, technically it's my book, says Belle et Bonne. I paid for it.
But it was a gift, says Kobo.
Chomp chomp chomp. The otter keeps on eating. He has eaten all the way to chapter 22.
Not from me, says Belle. It was a gift from Ageless. And he hasn't paid me yet. Therefore it wasn't his to give.
Arthur kicks the bucket. It topples over. There is nothing in it.
Hideo pokes his head up from the water. He pulls himself out on to the riverbank and stands there dripping.
Apologies, says Hideo.
What for? says Arthur.
It was the only copy in the bookshop, says Hideo.
Thud!
The sound is coming from Belle's open backpack.
Look! cries Belle. That otter's stealing something from my backpack!
Rosie grabs the bucket. She runs over to the backpack and brings the bucket down over the otter.
Arthur claps. That Rosie is quick witted.
Now what? says Belle.
I guess we let it go, says Rosie.
Not before it gives me back my book! shouts Kobo, from deep down in the backpack.
Ageless drops the coin and sidles over. He pokes his head into the backpack.
If it's true that Kafka By The Shore is missing, it seems fair that he should keep the three pounds fifty. If he ever gets it from that skinflint Arthur.
Kobo, my beloved, are you intact? says Ageless. O how brave you are.
Kobo emerges from the backpack.
He came upon me from behind, says Kobo. Started reading over my shoulder. Then he said Kawai, or something like that. He grabbed the book and ran away.
No beloved, says Ageless. He didn't run away. Rosie caught him under the new bucket. He is in there as we speak.
A noise comes from the bucket. The sound of paper being eaten.
It is the otter, eating Kafka By The Shore.
Stop him, says Kobo. That's my book he's eating.
Technically, beloved, it's my book, says Ageless.
No, technically it's my book, says Belle et Bonne. I paid for it.
But it was a gift, says Kobo.
Chomp chomp chomp. The otter keeps on eating. He has eaten all the way to chapter 22.
Not from me, says Belle. It was a gift from Ageless. And he hasn't paid me yet. Therefore it wasn't his to give.
Arthur kicks the bucket. It topples over. There is nothing in it.
Hideo pokes his head up from the water. He pulls himself out on to the riverbank and stands there dripping.
Apologies, says Hideo.
What for? says Arthur.
It was the only copy in the bookshop, says Hideo.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
The Shape Shifter
Belle et Bonne and Ageless are returning to the riverbank where the otter sicked up the gold coin which fell out of Arthur's pocket.
Kobo is in Belle's backpack, reading Kafka By The Shore.
They are being followed at a respectful distance by Hideo, the Japanese customer who seems to know so much about otters.
Belle and Ageless are discussing love and obligation.
I do think it was lovely of you Ageless, says Belle et Bonne, to take Kobo to a bookshop and buy her a book. By the way, you owe me three pounds fifty.
That's where you are out of luck, says Ageless. I have no money.
I thought as much, says Belle et Bonne. But make no mistake, you will repay me somehow.
Did you know we're being followed? says Ageless.
Belle turns around and sees the Japanese customer a short way behind them.
Are you lost? says Belle et Bonne to the Japanese customer. Do you need directions?
Kawai, says Hideo, rudely.
Very funny, says Ageless. We know you. We saw you in the bookshop.
I wish to see the otter, says Hideo. The one that ate your money.
The otter won't be there, explains Belle et Bonne. He sicked up the coin and dived straight back into the water. We're just going to meet our friends. But you're welcome to join us. Perhaps you can tell us more about otters, they must be very interesting creatures.
I prefer to follow you at a distance, says Hideo.
That's really creepy, says Belle et Bonne.
Don't worry, says Ageless. Ageless will protect you from the predatory human.
Thanks, says Belle et Bonne. As long as you know it's not worth three pounds fifty. Look! I see Rosie and Arthur.
Rosie and Arthur are standing at the riverbank, next to a heap of grass. Arthur is holding an empty bucket.
Hi, says Belle et Bonne. Have you got it?
No, says Arthur. We were waiting for you.
Me? says Belle et Bonne. Oh all right. Give me the bucket.
She drops her backpack on the grass.
Ouch! says Kobo from inside the backpack. Do be careful!
Who's that man? says Rosie. He's looking at us funny.
A serial killer, says Ageless. But don't panic.
An otter afficionado, says Belle et Bonne. Totally harmless. Aren't you?
Kawai, says Hideo, the shape shifter, as he dives into the glittering Water of Leith.
Bizarre! says Rosie. What a nutcase! Come on, let's get this thing over with and leave.
Belle swishes water from the bucket over the pile of grass and vomit. The gold coin, uncovered, shimmers in the sun. Still no one really wants to pick it up.
They look at one another helplessly.
I'll do it, for a price, says Ageless. Three pounds fifty.
Done, says Arthur. I'll have to owe it to you.
Everyone watches as Ageless picks up the coin with his large pincer.
They don't see the otter as it slides out of the water, and creeps towards Belle's backpack lying open on the grass.
Kobo is in Belle's backpack, reading Kafka By The Shore.
They are being followed at a respectful distance by Hideo, the Japanese customer who seems to know so much about otters.
Belle and Ageless are discussing love and obligation.
I do think it was lovely of you Ageless, says Belle et Bonne, to take Kobo to a bookshop and buy her a book. By the way, you owe me three pounds fifty.
That's where you are out of luck, says Ageless. I have no money.
I thought as much, says Belle et Bonne. But make no mistake, you will repay me somehow.
Did you know we're being followed? says Ageless.
Belle turns around and sees the Japanese customer a short way behind them.
Are you lost? says Belle et Bonne to the Japanese customer. Do you need directions?
Kawai, says Hideo, rudely.
Very funny, says Ageless. We know you. We saw you in the bookshop.
I wish to see the otter, says Hideo. The one that ate your money.
The otter won't be there, explains Belle et Bonne. He sicked up the coin and dived straight back into the water. We're just going to meet our friends. But you're welcome to join us. Perhaps you can tell us more about otters, they must be very interesting creatures.
I prefer to follow you at a distance, says Hideo.
That's really creepy, says Belle et Bonne.
Don't worry, says Ageless. Ageless will protect you from the predatory human.
Thanks, says Belle et Bonne. As long as you know it's not worth three pounds fifty. Look! I see Rosie and Arthur.
Rosie and Arthur are standing at the riverbank, next to a heap of grass. Arthur is holding an empty bucket.
Hi, says Belle et Bonne. Have you got it?
No, says Arthur. We were waiting for you.
Me? says Belle et Bonne. Oh all right. Give me the bucket.
She drops her backpack on the grass.
Ouch! says Kobo from inside the backpack. Do be careful!
Who's that man? says Rosie. He's looking at us funny.
A serial killer, says Ageless. But don't panic.
An otter afficionado, says Belle et Bonne. Totally harmless. Aren't you?
Kawai, says Hideo, the shape shifter, as he dives into the glittering Water of Leith.
Bizarre! says Rosie. What a nutcase! Come on, let's get this thing over with and leave.
Belle swishes water from the bucket over the pile of grass and vomit. The gold coin, uncovered, shimmers in the sun. Still no one really wants to pick it up.
They look at one another helplessly.
I'll do it, for a price, says Ageless. Three pounds fifty.
Done, says Arthur. I'll have to owe it to you.
Everyone watches as Ageless picks up the coin with his large pincer.
They don't see the otter as it slides out of the water, and creeps towards Belle's backpack lying open on the grass.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Otters Don't Do That
None of Belle's fears have been realised. The books remain upon the bookshelves, the CDs in the racks, the vinyl records in their good old fashioned sleeves.
The crowd is merely surging forward in an orderly fashion to the cash register where Ageless is holding court.
Yes, Ageless is saying. It was all down to me. I stepped in when my team mate was indisposed. If it had not been for the laxity of others, Team Provenance would no doubt have won the Tour.
The crowd murmurs with approval. Aye, we Scots know what it's like.
Belle pushes through.
Is everything all right? says Belle to Ageless. Where's Kobo?
Over there, says Ageless. Perusing the Japanese novels. Where's Arthur?
He's down at the riverbank with Rosie looking for his coin, says Belle. An otter ate it.
A hush falls over the bookshop, followed by a collective intake of breath.
Aaahaah! An OTTER ate it. Those otters, they are always playing pranks!
You want to watch out for those otters, says a Japanese customer. They are notorious shape shifters. We call them Kawauso. If you address them they say oraya, if you ask them a question they say kawai. They put out the fires in paper lanterns, and change into a woman's shape to lure and kill and eat you.
This shocks the Scottish customers. Otters don't do that! An argument breaks out in Elvis Shakespeare between the Scots and Japanese.
Ageless is miffed. His audience is fractured. He scowls at Belle et Bonne.
Come on, says Belle. Looks like you're finished in the bookshop. Let's pick up Kobo and go back to the riverbank.
Ageless stomps out of Elvis Shakespeare, between the legs of the disputatious crowd. He waits outside for Belle and Kobo. Here they come. Does Kobo have a book?
After all that was the purpose of the visit to Elvis Shakespeare.
Yes, Belle has picked up Kobo and the book that she was reading. The book is Kafka On The Shore, by Murakami. Its price is three pounds fifty.
We may rest assured that this time three pounds fifty has been honourably paid.
The crowd is merely surging forward in an orderly fashion to the cash register where Ageless is holding court.
Yes, Ageless is saying. It was all down to me. I stepped in when my team mate was indisposed. If it had not been for the laxity of others, Team Provenance would no doubt have won the Tour.
The crowd murmurs with approval. Aye, we Scots know what it's like.
Belle pushes through.
Is everything all right? says Belle to Ageless. Where's Kobo?
Over there, says Ageless. Perusing the Japanese novels. Where's Arthur?
He's down at the riverbank with Rosie looking for his coin, says Belle. An otter ate it.
A hush falls over the bookshop, followed by a collective intake of breath.
Aaahaah! An OTTER ate it. Those otters, they are always playing pranks!
You want to watch out for those otters, says a Japanese customer. They are notorious shape shifters. We call them Kawauso. If you address them they say oraya, if you ask them a question they say kawai. They put out the fires in paper lanterns, and change into a woman's shape to lure and kill and eat you.
This shocks the Scottish customers. Otters don't do that! An argument breaks out in Elvis Shakespeare between the Scots and Japanese.
Ageless is miffed. His audience is fractured. He scowls at Belle et Bonne.
Come on, says Belle. Looks like you're finished in the bookshop. Let's pick up Kobo and go back to the riverbank.
Ageless stomps out of Elvis Shakespeare, between the legs of the disputatious crowd. He waits outside for Belle and Kobo. Here they come. Does Kobo have a book?
After all that was the purpose of the visit to Elvis Shakespeare.
Yes, Belle has picked up Kobo and the book that she was reading. The book is Kafka On The Shore, by Murakami. Its price is three pounds fifty.
We may rest assured that this time three pounds fifty has been honourably paid.
Get Me Out Of Here
Belle, Arthur and Rosie have found the Royal Yacht Britannia. They regard it from the dock.
Twelve pounds! says Rosie. You probably don't want to spend all that money.
Arthur reaches into the depths of his badly mended pocket.
You're not thinking ......? says Belle et Bonne.
No, says Arthur. One of my gold coins has disappeared.
I knew it! says Rosie. It must have happened when you pulled out that bandage! I bet it's on the river path near where we saw the otter. Let's go back there.
They make their way back to the spot beside the river where they saw the otter.
This is where we saw the otter, says Rosie. Look there he is again.
The otter pops his head above the riverbank. He has a belly ache. He vomits in the grass.
There's your coin, says Belle et Bonne. The otter must have swallowed it and now he's sicked it up. How lucky is that!
Not lucky at all, says Arthur. I'm not touching it.
Oh come on, says Rosie. Don't tell me you've never had to retrieve something from vomit.
Not an otter's, says Arthur.
What we need, says Belle et Bonne, is a big bucket of water, to slosh over it.
They cover the vomit carefully with grass and head for Leith Walk.
It takes a long time to find a bucket, and then it feels like time for morning coffee. They sit down at a table outside a cafe and take in the picturesque nature of the street.
Something untoward seems to be happening. A crowd is gathering outside one of the shops.
Rosie is the only one who knows the shop is Elvis Shakespeare. Perhaps she should say something to the others. Their lobster and his bookish friend may need a rescue.
But the coffee hasn't come yet, and they have ordered macarons, which are her favourite. So she says nothing.
The coffee and three macarons arrive. Red, yellow, green. Arthur eats the green one.
I suppose we should go back to the riverbank before we meet Ageless and Kobo at the bookshop, says Belle et Bonne. But they might be wondering where we are. Why don't you two go, and I'll head off to Elvis Shakespeare. Where exactly is it ?
There, says Rosie, pointing to the fracas.
There? says Belle. Where the crowd is? Oh my goodness. I bet Ageless has done something reprehensible. Poor Kobo! You guys go. I'll see you later!
She dashes down the road to Elvis Shakespeare.
She pushes through the crowd into the shop, expecting chaos. Overturned bookstands, CDs and DVDs strewn across the floor, ripping paper, cracking vinyl. Ageless Lobster on the counter near the cash register singing Love Me Tender. Kobo wailing Get Me Out Of Here.
Twelve pounds! says Rosie. You probably don't want to spend all that money.
Arthur reaches into the depths of his badly mended pocket.
You're not thinking ......? says Belle et Bonne.
No, says Arthur. One of my gold coins has disappeared.
I knew it! says Rosie. It must have happened when you pulled out that bandage! I bet it's on the river path near where we saw the otter. Let's go back there.
They make their way back to the spot beside the river where they saw the otter.
This is where we saw the otter, says Rosie. Look there he is again.
The otter pops his head above the riverbank. He has a belly ache. He vomits in the grass.
There's your coin, says Belle et Bonne. The otter must have swallowed it and now he's sicked it up. How lucky is that!
Not lucky at all, says Arthur. I'm not touching it.
Oh come on, says Rosie. Don't tell me you've never had to retrieve something from vomit.
Not an otter's, says Arthur.
What we need, says Belle et Bonne, is a big bucket of water, to slosh over it.
They cover the vomit carefully with grass and head for Leith Walk.
It takes a long time to find a bucket, and then it feels like time for morning coffee. They sit down at a table outside a cafe and take in the picturesque nature of the street.
Something untoward seems to be happening. A crowd is gathering outside one of the shops.
Rosie is the only one who knows the shop is Elvis Shakespeare. Perhaps she should say something to the others. Their lobster and his bookish friend may need a rescue.
But the coffee hasn't come yet, and they have ordered macarons, which are her favourite. So she says nothing.
The coffee and three macarons arrive. Red, yellow, green. Arthur eats the green one.
I suppose we should go back to the riverbank before we meet Ageless and Kobo at the bookshop, says Belle et Bonne. But they might be wondering where we are. Why don't you two go, and I'll head off to Elvis Shakespeare. Where exactly is it ?
There, says Rosie, pointing to the fracas.
There? says Belle. Where the crowd is? Oh my goodness. I bet Ageless has done something reprehensible. Poor Kobo! You guys go. I'll see you later!
She dashes down the road to Elvis Shakespeare.
She pushes through the crowd into the shop, expecting chaos. Overturned bookstands, CDs and DVDs strewn across the floor, ripping paper, cracking vinyl. Ageless Lobster on the counter near the cash register singing Love Me Tender. Kobo wailing Get Me Out Of Here.
Monday, August 26, 2013
The Britannia Is Supposed To Be Here Somewhere
Next morning David and Vello are feeling a little under the weather and decide to have a lie in.
Belle et Bonne, Arthur, Ageless and Kobo meet Rosie beside the Water of Leith. They are going to walk along the charming walkway beside the river all the way to Leith Walk and there pay a visit to the Elvis Shakespeare bookshop.
It is a lovely Scottish summer's day. Along the riverbank they spot otters, kingfishers, heron, and brown trout.
Gaius would love this, says Belle et Bonne.
I'm guessing Gaius is a naturalist, says Rosie.
A famous Roman one, says Ageless. And a loser.
Ageless! says Kobo. Gaius is no loser.
He lost the Twitcher, didn't he, says Ageless, rejigging history somewhat. And he missed the Tour de France.
What does he need you for? says Rosie, looking at Arthur.
He calls me his right hand man, says Arthur. He thinks that I'm reliable.
I bet you're not all that reliable, says Rosie.
She looks at Belle et Bonne.
How are your knees Arthur? says Belle et Bonne, changing the subject. You said that they were itchy.
They are itchy, says Arthur. I might have to use the bandage.
No, your gold coins will fall out, says Rosie.
I shall trust to fate, says Arthur, pulling at the bandage.
You can buy another one in Leith, says Rosie. They say you can get anything there.
Are we there yet? says Ageless. I am weary.
Almost, says Rosie. Look, another otter!
But everyone now has their mind on shopping, not on otters.
Soon they emerge into the picturesque Shore area of Leith.
It's a port! says Belle There's the sea! How glorious. I do love boats and things.
Me too, says Rosie. Want to walk along the quay? The Britannia is supposed to be here somewhere.
No, says Ageless. We want to go to Elbow Shipshape, or whatever it was called.
Elvis Shakespeare, says Rosie. It's just down there. You two go on ahead.
Ageless and Kobo go on ahead to look for Elvis Shakespeare.
Which may turn out to be a very bad idea.
Belle et Bonne, Arthur, Ageless and Kobo meet Rosie beside the Water of Leith. They are going to walk along the charming walkway beside the river all the way to Leith Walk and there pay a visit to the Elvis Shakespeare bookshop.
It is a lovely Scottish summer's day. Along the riverbank they spot otters, kingfishers, heron, and brown trout.
Gaius would love this, says Belle et Bonne.
I'm guessing Gaius is a naturalist, says Rosie.
A famous Roman one, says Ageless. And a loser.
Ageless! says Kobo. Gaius is no loser.
He lost the Twitcher, didn't he, says Ageless, rejigging history somewhat. And he missed the Tour de France.
What does he need you for? says Rosie, looking at Arthur.
He calls me his right hand man, says Arthur. He thinks that I'm reliable.
I bet you're not all that reliable, says Rosie.
She looks at Belle et Bonne.
How are your knees Arthur? says Belle et Bonne, changing the subject. You said that they were itchy.
They are itchy, says Arthur. I might have to use the bandage.
No, your gold coins will fall out, says Rosie.
I shall trust to fate, says Arthur, pulling at the bandage.
You can buy another one in Leith, says Rosie. They say you can get anything there.
Are we there yet? says Ageless. I am weary.
Almost, says Rosie. Look, another otter!
But everyone now has their mind on shopping, not on otters.
Soon they emerge into the picturesque Shore area of Leith.
It's a port! says Belle There's the sea! How glorious. I do love boats and things.
Me too, says Rosie. Want to walk along the quay? The Britannia is supposed to be here somewhere.
No, says Ageless. We want to go to Elbow Shipshape, or whatever it was called.
Elvis Shakespeare, says Rosie. It's just down there. You two go on ahead.
Ageless and Kobo go on ahead to look for Elvis Shakespeare.
Which may turn out to be a very bad idea.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
The Old Children's Bookshelf's Broken Window
They look at one another and the broken window.
Should we call the police? says Belle et Bonne.
Why would we do that? says Arthur.
He bends down and puts his face up to the shards of broken glass.
Don't cut yourself, says Rosie.
Ageless are you in there? calls Arthur softly.
They hear a scuffling sound, and Ageless's head appears.
Get me out, says Ageless. This bookshop's just for children.
How did you get in? says Belle et Bonne.
Kobo got me in, says Ageless. She's behind me somewhere.
Belle is suspicious.
When you say she got you in, what do you mean exactly?
I mean she broke the window for me, answers Ageless.
Go the sisterhood. A girl has done it! But this is not the time to feel superior.
We'll help you out, says Belle, but first we need to see Kobo.
Ageless disappears. In half a minute he reappears with Kobo.
She's a rock! gasps Rosie. That's how she broke the window.
He told you that? says Kobo. That's rich. The workman blames his tool.
Ahem, says Ageless. Beloved. We worked seamlessly together to gain access to the bookshop.
A useless sort of bookshop, says Kobo. Unless you are a minor. It's all children's books and annuals. And Greyladies novels, which are not my taste at all.
Picky-picky, says Ageless. A book's a book if it has pages.
Kobo sighs.
If you wish to win back my affection, Ageless, you will take that back. You cannot mean it. Remember The Woman In The Dunes and how it brought us both together?
Ageless considers. Yes, he does remember. The endless words. The shifting suffocating sand.
I know that novel, says Rosie. It's Japanese. Is that the sort of book you both like reading? I can recommend a fabulous bookshop. Elvis Shakespeare. It's in Leith Walk, not that far away.
Let's all go there tomorrow, says Belle et Bonne. Arthur, want to come?
Yes, says Arthur. Elvis Shakespeare. My knees feel itchy. I do want to come .
Should we call the police? says Belle et Bonne.
Why would we do that? says Arthur.
He bends down and puts his face up to the shards of broken glass.
Don't cut yourself, says Rosie.
Ageless are you in there? calls Arthur softly.
They hear a scuffling sound, and Ageless's head appears.
Get me out, says Ageless. This bookshop's just for children.
How did you get in? says Belle et Bonne.
Kobo got me in, says Ageless. She's behind me somewhere.
Belle is suspicious.
When you say she got you in, what do you mean exactly?
I mean she broke the window for me, answers Ageless.
Go the sisterhood. A girl has done it! But this is not the time to feel superior.
We'll help you out, says Belle, but first we need to see Kobo.
Ageless disappears. In half a minute he reappears with Kobo.
She's a rock! gasps Rosie. That's how she broke the window.
He told you that? says Kobo. That's rich. The workman blames his tool.
Ahem, says Ageless. Beloved. We worked seamlessly together to gain access to the bookshop.
A useless sort of bookshop, says Kobo. Unless you are a minor. It's all children's books and annuals. And Greyladies novels, which are not my taste at all.
Picky-picky, says Ageless. A book's a book if it has pages.
Kobo sighs.
If you wish to win back my affection, Ageless, you will take that back. You cannot mean it. Remember The Woman In The Dunes and how it brought us both together?
Ageless considers. Yes, he does remember. The endless words. The shifting suffocating sand.
I know that novel, says Rosie. It's Japanese. Is that the sort of book you both like reading? I can recommend a fabulous bookshop. Elvis Shakespeare. It's in Leith Walk, not that far away.
Let's all go there tomorrow, says Belle et Bonne. Arthur, want to come?
Yes, says Arthur. Elvis Shakespeare. My knees feel itchy. I do want to come .
Something Equally Natural To Grasshoppers
It's late. Everyone in the World's End is feeling mellow. David has asserted for the thousandth time that no one can ever prove their own existence. It is pleasant to imagine momentarily that you may not exist. Therefore why not sit a little longer, eating crisps and drinking Scottish beer.
But even David knows that this is sophistry. Reality intrudes. Belle's phone beeps twice. Beep Beep.
She has a message.
It's from Gaius, says Belle et Bonne. What can he want?
She reads the text aloud: WHEN IS A
When is a? says Belle. What should I answer? When is a what?
Yes, says Vello. Ha ha! That's the perfect answer. An adverb for an adverb.
Belle starts typing: WHEN IS A WHAT
Before she has finished typing she receives another message. Beep Beep.
It's from Gaius.
..... COMING HOME?
Aha, says Belle, that explains the mystery. He must have pressed send prematurely. He wants to know when Arthur's coming home. Oh damn!
What? says Vello.
I pressed send, says Belle. I've replied WHEN IS A WHAT. That will confuse him.
Beep Beep, another message, again from Gaius.
THAT IS MOST UNHELPFUL. GPS
I know it is, says Belle et Bonne. I guess I'd better answer.
She sends back: SORRY I DON'T KNOW.
What did you reply? asks Arthur.
I don't know, says Belle.
Arthur looks mildly surprised, but David doesn't.
Hear hear, says David. None of us knows anything.
True, says Vello. Did it occur to anyone that A could well refer to Ageless?
It'll refer to me, says Arthur. Gaius probably wants me to help him look for grasshoppers or something equally natural. But where is Ageless?
He stayed behind with Kobo, says Belle et Bonne. He was planning to take her to a bookshop.
That's so sweet, says Rosie. Let's go find them. I know which bookshop it'll be.
How strange that Rosie should claim to know something like that.
Arthur and Belle follow Rosie out into the Royal Mile, and up the street a little way. She stops outside a quaint and tiny out-of-the-way bookshop called The Old Children's Bookshelf.
It is closed.
But it appears someone has recently smashed a corner of the window.
But even David knows that this is sophistry. Reality intrudes. Belle's phone beeps twice. Beep Beep.
She has a message.
It's from Gaius, says Belle et Bonne. What can he want?
She reads the text aloud: WHEN IS A
When is a? says Belle. What should I answer? When is a what?
Yes, says Vello. Ha ha! That's the perfect answer. An adverb for an adverb.
Belle starts typing: WHEN IS A WHAT
Before she has finished typing she receives another message. Beep Beep.
It's from Gaius.
..... COMING HOME?
Aha, says Belle, that explains the mystery. He must have pressed send prematurely. He wants to know when Arthur's coming home. Oh damn!
What? says Vello.
I pressed send, says Belle. I've replied WHEN IS A WHAT. That will confuse him.
Beep Beep, another message, again from Gaius.
THAT IS MOST UNHELPFUL. GPS
I know it is, says Belle et Bonne. I guess I'd better answer.
She sends back: SORRY I DON'T KNOW.
What did you reply? asks Arthur.
I don't know, says Belle.
Arthur looks mildly surprised, but David doesn't.
Hear hear, says David. None of us knows anything.
True, says Vello. Did it occur to anyone that A could well refer to Ageless?
It'll refer to me, says Arthur. Gaius probably wants me to help him look for grasshoppers or something equally natural. But where is Ageless?
He stayed behind with Kobo, says Belle et Bonne. He was planning to take her to a bookshop.
That's so sweet, says Rosie. Let's go find them. I know which bookshop it'll be.
How strange that Rosie should claim to know something like that.
Arthur and Belle follow Rosie out into the Royal Mile, and up the street a little way. She stops outside a quaint and tiny out-of-the-way bookshop called The Old Children's Bookshelf.
It is closed.
But it appears someone has recently smashed a corner of the window.
Friday, August 23, 2013
The Qualities Of Canaries
By the time the playwright returns with the drinks, a philosophical debate has started.
It began like this, when he was at the bar:
Vello: Call me a fool, but I didn't know canary beaks were brown.
David: Of course they're brown. A chicken's beak is orange. A canary's beak is brown.
Belle et Bonne: Are you sure David? I never for a moment suspected the yellow leaf of being a canary.
Rosie: I'll check it out.
She takes out her phone and types in the word canary. A photograph comes up on the screen. She shows it around.
Belle et Bonne: Its beak is pinky-yellow! David, look!
He looks.
David: Wrong type of canary. That's a southern canary. The northern canary has yellow feathers with olive streaks and a brown beak.
Belle et Bonne: Did you think that I knew that?
David: No, I was just saying. It was a northern canary that the leaf reminded you of.
Belle et Bonne: It couldn't have been. Especially as I thought it was a chicken.
David: With a brown beak? Come on! And what happened when you realised it was actually a leaf?
Belle et Bonne: I was happy it wasn't a chicken.
Arthur: If it was me, I would have been happier if it was.
Belle et Bonne: I was happy because it hadn't been alive. But then I thought.....
Rosie: I know what you thought! It had been alive. There wasn't any difference.
Belle et Bonne: I felt a little guilty thinking that. Less happy. It was complicated.
Vello: So it was dead, this chicken?
David: Of course it was. It was lying on the footpath!
Belle et Bonne: It wasn't a chicken.
David: Or a canary.
Vello: You can't be sure.
David: Don't get me started.
Rosie: Started? What on?
Vello: David thinks we can't be sure of anything. He's an empiricist.
Rosie: So how come he knows about the qualities of canaries?
Vello: I bet he doesn't know a single thing.
David: It doesn't stop me having an opinion.
David Leddy (plonking down the drinks): Here we are. Drinks for everyone. What's that you've got there Rosie? Why're you looking at a picture of a chicken?
It began like this, when he was at the bar:
Vello: Call me a fool, but I didn't know canary beaks were brown.
David: Of course they're brown. A chicken's beak is orange. A canary's beak is brown.
Belle et Bonne: Are you sure David? I never for a moment suspected the yellow leaf of being a canary.
Rosie: I'll check it out.
She takes out her phone and types in the word canary. A photograph comes up on the screen. She shows it around.
Belle et Bonne: Its beak is pinky-yellow! David, look!
He looks.
David: Wrong type of canary. That's a southern canary. The northern canary has yellow feathers with olive streaks and a brown beak.
Belle et Bonne: Did you think that I knew that?
David: No, I was just saying. It was a northern canary that the leaf reminded you of.
Belle et Bonne: It couldn't have been. Especially as I thought it was a chicken.
David: With a brown beak? Come on! And what happened when you realised it was actually a leaf?
Belle et Bonne: I was happy it wasn't a chicken.
Arthur: If it was me, I would have been happier if it was.
Belle et Bonne: I was happy because it hadn't been alive. But then I thought.....
Rosie: I know what you thought! It had been alive. There wasn't any difference.
Belle et Bonne: I felt a little guilty thinking that. Less happy. It was complicated.
Vello: So it was dead, this chicken?
David: Of course it was. It was lying on the footpath!
Belle et Bonne: It wasn't a chicken.
David: Or a canary.
Vello: You can't be sure.
David: Don't get me started.
Rosie: Started? What on?
Vello: David thinks we can't be sure of anything. He's an empiricist.
Rosie: So how come he knows about the qualities of canaries?
Vello: I bet he doesn't know a single thing.
David: It doesn't stop me having an opinion.
David Leddy (plonking down the drinks): Here we are. Drinks for everyone. What's that you've got there Rosie? Why're you looking at a picture of a chicken?
Thursday, August 22, 2013
The Sisterhood Is Strong
Arthur has two gold coins, a knife and a dirty bandage in his pocket. And a hole.
Rosie has a needle and thread, but she can't sew.
What is this, a riddle?
Vello thinks so.
Why carry a needle and thread, Rosie, if you can't sew? asks Vello.
I ...make necklaces, says Rosie.
This too is a lie. Belle et Bonne suspects it right away.
If Rosie made necklaces she would wear one, and she doesn't.
But the sisterhood is strong.
Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. I'm sure you could mend the hole yourself. Remember when we fixed up Ageless's costume?
With toothpicks and glue, says Arthur. Yes I do. Has anyone got a toothpick?
Of course no one has a toothpick. Arthur turns to Rosie.
What colour is your thread? asks Arthur.
Red, says Rosie. Always red. My thread.
Red thread, says Arthur. I'd like to use it. Give me a minute.
He takes the knife out of his pocket. He cuts several holes either side of the slit in his pocket. He threads the red thread criss-cross through the holes and observes his handiwork. The space around the holes is wide enough for a gold coin to fall out. He pulls bits of bandage through for extra security.
That looks awful, Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. So untidy.
It'll keep things in, says Arthur.
Are those the shorts my mother gave you ? asks David. She'd be thrilled.
They look all right, says Arthur. From this angle. It's debatable, what things look like. Rosie and I were talking about it earlier.
What? says David.
Say you saw something beautiful on the pavement..... begins Arthur.
Like a yellow leaf, with a little brown tip, says Belle et Bonne. I know. It happens all the time. At first you think it's a chicken.
A chicken? says David. Sounds more like a canary.
All right, a canary, says Belle et Bonne.
Hee hee, says Vello. Anyone for another drink?
I'll get it, says the playwright, David Leddy. He gets up and goes over to the bar. He likes these people. It might be worth staying at the World's End a little longer.
Rosie has a needle and thread, but she can't sew.
What is this, a riddle?
Vello thinks so.
Why carry a needle and thread, Rosie, if you can't sew? asks Vello.
I ...make necklaces, says Rosie.
This too is a lie. Belle et Bonne suspects it right away.
If Rosie made necklaces she would wear one, and she doesn't.
But the sisterhood is strong.
Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. I'm sure you could mend the hole yourself. Remember when we fixed up Ageless's costume?
With toothpicks and glue, says Arthur. Yes I do. Has anyone got a toothpick?
Of course no one has a toothpick. Arthur turns to Rosie.
What colour is your thread? asks Arthur.
Red, says Rosie. Always red. My thread.
Red thread, says Arthur. I'd like to use it. Give me a minute.
He takes the knife out of his pocket. He cuts several holes either side of the slit in his pocket. He threads the red thread criss-cross through the holes and observes his handiwork. The space around the holes is wide enough for a gold coin to fall out. He pulls bits of bandage through for extra security.
That looks awful, Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. So untidy.
It'll keep things in, says Arthur.
Are those the shorts my mother gave you ? asks David. She'd be thrilled.
They look all right, says Arthur. From this angle. It's debatable, what things look like. Rosie and I were talking about it earlier.
What? says David.
Say you saw something beautiful on the pavement..... begins Arthur.
Like a yellow leaf, with a little brown tip, says Belle et Bonne. I know. It happens all the time. At first you think it's a chicken.
A chicken? says David. Sounds more like a canary.
All right, a canary, says Belle et Bonne.
Hee hee, says Vello. Anyone for another drink?
I'll get it, says the playwright, David Leddy. He gets up and goes over to the bar. He likes these people. It might be worth staying at the World's End a little longer.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
The Nature Of Reality
On the way to World's End they continue their discussion on the nature of reality.
Rosie has her own ideas.
Let's say you're walking along, says Rosie, on a footpath, just like this one, and you think you see a flower.
I see a flower, says Arthur.
No, says Rosie. You THINK you see a flower, and you think, Oh! A flower on the pavement! How beautiful! Even if it's been flattened. It's still a flower.
But it isn't? says Arthur, wondering what she means.
It's flattened, says Rosie. But it isn't a flower. As you get closer you see it's a piece of squashed pie, or a burst balloon, or, you know, a dead rat's innards.
Arthur likes this way of thinking.
And the question is, says Arthur, is it still beautiful when you know it's a dead rat's innards.
Exactly, says Rosie. What do you think?
I think, says Arthur, that most people would say it isn't, but I would say it is.
Rosie nods. She thinks the same, and she knows that many people wouldn't. It seems that Arthur is her type.
They arrive at the World's End and go in.
Someone hails Arthur from a table in the corner.
Arthur! Arthur! We're over here!
It's Belle et Bonne, with David and Vello. The World's End has become their favourite pub.
Belle orders more drinks and they all sit down together.
Arthur, says Belle. You have a hole in your pocket. Look a bandage is trailing out at the bottom.
Arthur looks down. Tries to tuck the bandage in. The last gold coin falls out.
Oops, says Rosie, look, you dropped this. Wow! Is that a genuine gold coin?
My last one, says Arthur. I used to have three. Spent one, lost one.
I suppose it fell out of your pocket, says Belle et Bonne. You'd better get that pocket mended.
Just then the playwright enters. He comes up to their table.
You lost this, says the playwright, handing the gold coin back to Arthur. I thought I'd find you here. Mind if I join you?
No one minds.
The playwright sits down. Tells them his name is David Leddy.
My name is David too, says David. David Hume.
A famous name, says David Leddy. Does it cause you any grief?
No not really, says David, puzzled. Why should it?
Has anybody got a needle and thread? says Belle et Bonne. I can't stand looking at that bandage hanging out of Arthur's shorts.
I have, says Rosie. But I can't sew.
Me either, says Belle et Bonne.
Both of them lying.
Good for them.
Rosie has her own ideas.
Let's say you're walking along, says Rosie, on a footpath, just like this one, and you think you see a flower.
I see a flower, says Arthur.
No, says Rosie. You THINK you see a flower, and you think, Oh! A flower on the pavement! How beautiful! Even if it's been flattened. It's still a flower.
But it isn't? says Arthur, wondering what she means.
It's flattened, says Rosie. But it isn't a flower. As you get closer you see it's a piece of squashed pie, or a burst balloon, or, you know, a dead rat's innards.
Arthur likes this way of thinking.
And the question is, says Arthur, is it still beautiful when you know it's a dead rat's innards.
Exactly, says Rosie. What do you think?
I think, says Arthur, that most people would say it isn't, but I would say it is.
Rosie nods. She thinks the same, and she knows that many people wouldn't. It seems that Arthur is her type.
They arrive at the World's End and go in.
Someone hails Arthur from a table in the corner.
Arthur! Arthur! We're over here!
It's Belle et Bonne, with David and Vello. The World's End has become their favourite pub.
Belle orders more drinks and they all sit down together.
Arthur, says Belle. You have a hole in your pocket. Look a bandage is trailing out at the bottom.
Arthur looks down. Tries to tuck the bandage in. The last gold coin falls out.
Oops, says Rosie, look, you dropped this. Wow! Is that a genuine gold coin?
My last one, says Arthur. I used to have three. Spent one, lost one.
I suppose it fell out of your pocket, says Belle et Bonne. You'd better get that pocket mended.
Just then the playwright enters. He comes up to their table.
You lost this, says the playwright, handing the gold coin back to Arthur. I thought I'd find you here. Mind if I join you?
No one minds.
The playwright sits down. Tells them his name is David Leddy.
My name is David too, says David. David Hume.
A famous name, says David Leddy. Does it cause you any grief?
No not really, says David, puzzled. Why should it?
Has anybody got a needle and thread? says Belle et Bonne. I can't stand looking at that bandage hanging out of Arthur's shorts.
I have, says Rosie. But I can't sew.
Me either, says Belle et Bonne.
Both of them lying.
Good for them.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Truth Is As Slippery As An Eel.
The playwright glares at Arthur, tightening his grip.
Face the FRONT! says the playwright fiercely, twisting Arthur's neck.
I am, says Arthur. I am facing the front.
Now you are, says the playwright. Stay that way and pay attention. You might learn something.
About Pravda handbags, says Arthur. And truth and reality and fakery and forgery. I get it.
I don't think you do, says the playwright. You have no idea. Tell me, what does Pravda mean?
A brand name? shrugs Arthur.
No, that's PRADA! says the playwright. The PRADA is the real handbag. The PRAVDA is the fake. Do you know what PRAVDA means?
It means truth, in Russian, says Arthur. I'm not a fool. It's the name of a Russian newspaper. So it is a brand name. But I understand you're being clever.
The playwright calms down a bit on learning that Arthur is no fool, and thinks he's clever.
Come and have a drink with me afterwards, says the playwright.
No thanks, says Arthur. I'm seeing Rosie afterwards.
So am I, says the playwright.
All right then, says Arthur, standing up.
Sit DOWN, thunders the playwright. It's not finished.
One of Arthur's gold coins falls through the slit in his pocket, onto the floor. The other one stays put, being wedged in by a crumpled dirty bandage.
Arthur hasn't noticed but the playwright has. He is sensitive to noises, in the theatre.
He bends down to pick it up. He straightens, and turns to give it back to Arthur, who has disappeared.
Good! says the playwright. Peace and quiet. I'll find him later.
He sits back to enjoy the rest of his dazzling two-hander.
.......
Arthur has gone out to the foyer, to meet Rosie.
Out already? says Rosie. Didn't you like the play?
Want the truth? says Arthur.
Ha! says Rosie. Can we know it?
I know it, says Arthur.
What is it? says Rosie.
The truth, says Arthur, is as slippery as an eel. But the world is full of facts not things.
Tell me one, says Rosie.
I've lost something, says Arthur. And I don't care.
That was two, says Rosie.
It was, says Arthur And now its only one.
Let's go, says Rosie. To the World's End.
So that is where they go.
Face the FRONT! says the playwright fiercely, twisting Arthur's neck.
I am, says Arthur. I am facing the front.
Now you are, says the playwright. Stay that way and pay attention. You might learn something.
About Pravda handbags, says Arthur. And truth and reality and fakery and forgery. I get it.
I don't think you do, says the playwright. You have no idea. Tell me, what does Pravda mean?
A brand name? shrugs Arthur.
No, that's PRADA! says the playwright. The PRADA is the real handbag. The PRAVDA is the fake. Do you know what PRAVDA means?
It means truth, in Russian, says Arthur. I'm not a fool. It's the name of a Russian newspaper. So it is a brand name. But I understand you're being clever.
The playwright calms down a bit on learning that Arthur is no fool, and thinks he's clever.
Come and have a drink with me afterwards, says the playwright.
No thanks, says Arthur. I'm seeing Rosie afterwards.
So am I, says the playwright.
All right then, says Arthur, standing up.
Sit DOWN, thunders the playwright. It's not finished.
One of Arthur's gold coins falls through the slit in his pocket, onto the floor. The other one stays put, being wedged in by a crumpled dirty bandage.
Arthur hasn't noticed but the playwright has. He is sensitive to noises, in the theatre.
He bends down to pick it up. He straightens, and turns to give it back to Arthur, who has disappeared.
Good! says the playwright. Peace and quiet. I'll find him later.
He sits back to enjoy the rest of his dazzling two-hander.
.......
Arthur has gone out to the foyer, to meet Rosie.
Out already? says Rosie. Didn't you like the play?
Want the truth? says Arthur.
Ha! says Rosie. Can we know it?
I know it, says Arthur.
What is it? says Rosie.
The truth, says Arthur, is as slippery as an eel. But the world is full of facts not things.
Tell me one, says Rosie.
I've lost something, says Arthur. And I don't care.
That was two, says Rosie.
It was, says Arthur And now its only one.
Let's go, says Rosie. To the World's End.
So that is where they go.
Monday, August 19, 2013
The Pravda Is A Handbag
Arthur is sitting in the darkened theatre. Beside him is the playwright who had poked him earlier in the queue.
The play begins. Two characters in a paint-splattered room, Jim and Liz. They need money and they need it soon.
Arthur isn't paying much attention. He is looking round for Paul.
The playwright becomes annoyed with Arthur, and sticks an elbow in him.
Ouch! says Arthur. Why did you do that?
Stop craning round, says the playwright crossly. You paid to come in here, so pay attention.
Mm, says Arthur. I thought it was going to be about a knife.
Knife's in the Pravda, hisses the playwright. Now just shut up and listen.
What's the Pravda? wonders Arthur.
He pays momentary attention.
Ah, the Pravda seems to be a sort of handbag.
He looks around again for Paul, but doesn't see him.
He still has the gift knife in his pocket, the one Paul didn't want. He twists the knife and accidentally makes a long slit in his pocket.
He doesn't realise that now his two gold coins are likely to fall out.
The playwright is determined to force Arthur to appreciate his play. It is a good play, cutting edge and edgy, about the nature of reality and truth. It's not just about the handbag. Jim and Liz have big ideas. They are going to forge a painting. Hence the paint.
How to make this irritating young man understand that?
The playwright leans across to Arthur and closes his large bony fingers round his throat.
The play begins. Two characters in a paint-splattered room, Jim and Liz. They need money and they need it soon.
Arthur isn't paying much attention. He is looking round for Paul.
The playwright becomes annoyed with Arthur, and sticks an elbow in him.
Ouch! says Arthur. Why did you do that?
Stop craning round, says the playwright crossly. You paid to come in here, so pay attention.
Mm, says Arthur. I thought it was going to be about a knife.
Knife's in the Pravda, hisses the playwright. Now just shut up and listen.
What's the Pravda? wonders Arthur.
He pays momentary attention.
Ah, the Pravda seems to be a sort of handbag.
He looks around again for Paul, but doesn't see him.
He still has the gift knife in his pocket, the one Paul didn't want. He twists the knife and accidentally makes a long slit in his pocket.
He doesn't realise that now his two gold coins are likely to fall out.
The playwright is determined to force Arthur to appreciate his play. It is a good play, cutting edge and edgy, about the nature of reality and truth. It's not just about the handbag. Jim and Liz have big ideas. They are going to forge a painting. Hence the paint.
How to make this irritating young man understand that?
The playwright leans across to Arthur and closes his large bony fingers round his throat.
Saturday, August 17, 2013
A Bald Man With A Fierce Expression
It's late but the streets of Edinburgh are still buzzing with revellers and Fringe-goers. A crazy atmosphere.
Arthur is on the lookout for Paul Verlaine.
He should have left the Poetry Slam earlier. Paul might be anywhere.
Arthur sticks his head in through the doors of many pubs and wine bars.
He sees fish, and knives and empty bottles, but no sign of Paul.
He passes along a wall stuck haphazardly with posters advertising Fringe Shows.
One is Long Live The Little Knife.
It's on tonight at the Traverse Theatre. Ten pounds a ticket. Paul could well be there.
And if he isn't.
At least it's something relevant to do.
Arthur jingles the two gold coins in his pocket. He has no intention of spending them.
He walks to Cambridge Street and stands outside the Traverse Theatre.
Nice theatre. Circular and high, with people going in.
Arthur enters and goes up to the box office.
Any spare seats going free? says Arthur.
In your dreams, says the girl behind the window. Hey, do I know you?
No, says Arthur. But has a bald man with a fierce expression gone inside?
Are you kidding me? says Rosie. You've just described almost every single Scotsman.
Arthur laughs.
The one I'm looking for is French.
Like you, says Rosie. But not as cute though.
This is going well. At this rate Arthur may get in to see Long Live The Little Knife for nothing.
A bald man with a fierce expression is standing behind Arthur.
He is becoming impatient.
He pokes a hard and bony finger into Arthur.
Get a move on, he says, are you going in or not?
Wait your turn, says Rosie, to the bald man. Oh it's you. Just go in, why don't you.
Arthur turns around.
The bald man has disappeared.
He's the playwright, whispers Rosie. He doesn't need a ticket. But he's entitled to a few. You can have this one.
She hands Arthur a ticket. See you afterwards? she says. My name is Rosie.
Arthur, says Arthur, taking the free ticket.
This is good. It looks like he is in.
Arthur is on the lookout for Paul Verlaine.
He should have left the Poetry Slam earlier. Paul might be anywhere.
Arthur sticks his head in through the doors of many pubs and wine bars.
He sees fish, and knives and empty bottles, but no sign of Paul.
He passes along a wall stuck haphazardly with posters advertising Fringe Shows.
One is Long Live The Little Knife.
It's on tonight at the Traverse Theatre. Ten pounds a ticket. Paul could well be there.
And if he isn't.
At least it's something relevant to do.
Arthur jingles the two gold coins in his pocket. He has no intention of spending them.
He walks to Cambridge Street and stands outside the Traverse Theatre.
Nice theatre. Circular and high, with people going in.
Arthur enters and goes up to the box office.
Any spare seats going free? says Arthur.
In your dreams, says the girl behind the window. Hey, do I know you?
No, says Arthur. But has a bald man with a fierce expression gone inside?
Are you kidding me? says Rosie. You've just described almost every single Scotsman.
Arthur laughs.
The one I'm looking for is French.
Like you, says Rosie. But not as cute though.
This is going well. At this rate Arthur may get in to see Long Live The Little Knife for nothing.
A bald man with a fierce expression is standing behind Arthur.
He is becoming impatient.
He pokes a hard and bony finger into Arthur.
Get a move on, he says, are you going in or not?
Wait your turn, says Rosie, to the bald man. Oh it's you. Just go in, why don't you.
Arthur turns around.
The bald man has disappeared.
He's the playwright, whispers Rosie. He doesn't need a ticket. But he's entitled to a few. You can have this one.
She hands Arthur a ticket. See you afterwards? she says. My name is Rosie.
Arthur, says Arthur, taking the free ticket.
This is good. It looks like he is in.
Some Things Not Meant To Happen
There is a rumbling from the back row.
Belle et Bonne turns around.
Oh no! Vello and David are attempting to stand up. Perhaps they too wish to try their hand at extemporising.
Belle gets up and hurries over to Young Dawkins.
Don't let them on the stage, she says. They're not poets. It could end up embarrassing for everyone.
Fear not my dear, says Young Dawkins. Time has got away from us, we must resume the Slamming.
Vello and David loom up behind them
Go and sit down, papa, says Belle et Bonne. And you too, David. There's no time for you to have a turn.
I think......, says Vello not very distinctly, .........and David here is of the same opinion......
I say, steady on, says David, tottering a little. How do you know?
Young Dawkins likes this type of argument.
Not only do you look like David Hume......, says Young Dawkins.
.....but in fact, I am he, finishes David gallantly. And I should like to try my hand at.....
Perhaps another night, says Young Dawkins. We could put on a Philosophy Slam. I'm sure you would blow everyone away.
Pooh, says Vello. Philosophy is easy. We wish to try and better Rabbie Burns at Poesy.
Papa! says Belle et Bonne. Rabbie's poem was awful.
I didn't like to be the first to say it, being an American, says Young Dawkins. But I must agree. What kind of dialect was it supposed to be? What is mirk? What did he mean by 'Clare ye? And makit, is that even a word?
I am French, says Belle et Bonne, so don't ask me, but it certainly was retro. All those rhymes. Arthur wouldn't do it.
Oh Arthur! says Young Dawkins, effusively. He is another kettle of fish entirely. I became ecstatic listening to his poem. The threat of violence, the lines of different colours, that business of the scraper and the knife, the shifting point of you.
Of you? says Vello.
Of view, says David.
I thought it was of you, says Young Dawkins. But there you are, that's what made it so brilliant. Where is he now? I want....
Yes where is he? His seat is empty.
Arthur has slipped the net again.
Belle et Bonne turns around.
Oh no! Vello and David are attempting to stand up. Perhaps they too wish to try their hand at extemporising.
Belle gets up and hurries over to Young Dawkins.
Don't let them on the stage, she says. They're not poets. It could end up embarrassing for everyone.
Fear not my dear, says Young Dawkins. Time has got away from us, we must resume the Slamming.
Vello and David loom up behind them
Go and sit down, papa, says Belle et Bonne. And you too, David. There's no time for you to have a turn.
I think......, says Vello not very distinctly, .........and David here is of the same opinion......
I say, steady on, says David, tottering a little. How do you know?
Young Dawkins likes this type of argument.
Not only do you look like David Hume......, says Young Dawkins.
.....but in fact, I am he, finishes David gallantly. And I should like to try my hand at.....
Perhaps another night, says Young Dawkins. We could put on a Philosophy Slam. I'm sure you would blow everyone away.
Pooh, says Vello. Philosophy is easy. We wish to try and better Rabbie Burns at Poesy.
Papa! says Belle et Bonne. Rabbie's poem was awful.
I didn't like to be the first to say it, being an American, says Young Dawkins. But I must agree. What kind of dialect was it supposed to be? What is mirk? What did he mean by 'Clare ye? And makit, is that even a word?
I am French, says Belle et Bonne, so don't ask me, but it certainly was retro. All those rhymes. Arthur wouldn't do it.
Oh Arthur! says Young Dawkins, effusively. He is another kettle of fish entirely. I became ecstatic listening to his poem. The threat of violence, the lines of different colours, that business of the scraper and the knife, the shifting point of you.
Of you? says Vello.
Of view, says David.
I thought it was of you, says Young Dawkins. But there you are, that's what made it so brilliant. Where is he now? I want....
Yes where is he? His seat is empty.
Arthur has slipped the net again.
Friday, August 16, 2013
To A Clam By Rabbie Burns National Poet Of Scotland
Rabbie Burns walks up to the stage, shrewdness in all his lineaments. His eye, of a dark cast, glowing with intelligence. Never have the poets seen such another eye in a human head.
Or so he thinks. He is a little under the weather, as we know.
But this will only serve to help him to extemporise.
He flicks a careless curl from his brow, caresses a straining button and stands in a thoughtful pose, which sets off the curve of his calf muscles nicely, before beginning.
Kobo has stopped breathing. Ageless is fuming.
To A Clam That Has Lately Become Immortal (declaims the national poet)
Wee clammie ye were once a man
No fear ye
Ye still have power of a man
I hear ye
Awa' now wi' your puny lover
'Clare ye!
And come awa' now wi' another
Dare ye?
Ye need no' me a clumpin' poet
Tae spare ye
Sin ye are makit o' fossil stone
No wear ye
All we who dwell here i' the mirk
Compare ye
Tae us ye now immortal are
God fare ye.
Rabbie bows, and walks back to his seat to mild applause.
Was he taking the piss? Nobody knows. But Kobo who has understood hardly a word, is certain that she has been paid a once-in-a-lifetime compliment.
That was so-o-o LOVELY, she whispers to Ageless.
That was bollocks, spits Ageless lobster, puny lover.
Or so he thinks. He is a little under the weather, as we know.
But this will only serve to help him to extemporise.
He flicks a careless curl from his brow, caresses a straining button and stands in a thoughtful pose, which sets off the curve of his calf muscles nicely, before beginning.
Kobo has stopped breathing. Ageless is fuming.
To A Clam That Has Lately Become Immortal (declaims the national poet)
Wee clammie ye were once a man
No fear ye
Ye still have power of a man
I hear ye
Awa' now wi' your puny lover
'Clare ye!
And come awa' now wi' another
Dare ye?
Ye need no' me a clumpin' poet
Tae spare ye
Sin ye are makit o' fossil stone
No wear ye
All we who dwell here i' the mirk
Compare ye
Tae us ye now immortal are
God fare ye.
Rabbie bows, and walks back to his seat to mild applause.
Was he taking the piss? Nobody knows. But Kobo who has understood hardly a word, is certain that she has been paid a once-in-a-lifetime compliment.
That was so-o-o LOVELY, she whispers to Ageless.
That was bollocks, spits Ageless lobster, puny lover.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
A Mortal Man Of Flesh And Blood
Ageless drags Kobo off the stage and back to the seat with the empty basket on it.
He stops under the seat, and addresses Kobo loudly so that everyone can hear.
Come to your senses, my sweet besotted man-girl! Give me a kiss! says Ageless. Your famous poet lover is nothing but a has-been.
A kiss? says Kobo tartly. Are you making a kissy mouth by any chance? I cannot see you.
You could see HIM well enough, says Ageless. Don't you know he's nothing but a statue?
A statue? I don't think so, says Kobo. Did you not see the soft curve of his mouth, his straining buttons?
Ageless is beside himself with fury.
His straining buttons! You mock me, pseudo-woman!
Pseudo-woman! That is cruel. The poets are transfixed.
They stand up to get a better look at Rabbie Burns, his sensuous buttons. Woah!
Rabbie may be drunk but he knows when he's the centre of attention.
He stands up and bows.
As ye can see, I am no statue, he declares. I am a mortal man of flesh and blood.
Three men we are! cries Vello. Of Flesh and Blood. Tarah!
Papa! cries Belle. Oh do sit down!
You, sir, says Ageless lobster, are an imposter! You are not Rabbie Burns! I know him!
Nay, says Rabbie. I dinna ken ye. Methinks ye know one o' ma many statues. Where are ye from?
Adelaide, says Ageless.
Aye, that'll be the statue outside the State Library on North Terrace, says Rabbie. That's no' me! That's a poor wee excuse for a man. He walked out o' his boots some time ago, and found he had no legs. Tis the way wi' stone. If I were made o' stone I tell ye, I wud consider toppin' maself.........
Kobo listens to this insensitive diatribe.
I am made of stone, she says. And proud of it.
Wee lassie, says Rabbie Burns. I was forgettin'. Forgive me, I shall make it up to ye. I'll extemporise a poem just for ye. Twill be called To a Clam.
Kobo shivers. A poem for her by Rabbie Burns, called To a Clam! How thrilling!
And Ageless will just have to suck it up.
He stops under the seat, and addresses Kobo loudly so that everyone can hear.
Come to your senses, my sweet besotted man-girl! Give me a kiss! says Ageless. Your famous poet lover is nothing but a has-been.
A kiss? says Kobo tartly. Are you making a kissy mouth by any chance? I cannot see you.
You could see HIM well enough, says Ageless. Don't you know he's nothing but a statue?
A statue? I don't think so, says Kobo. Did you not see the soft curve of his mouth, his straining buttons?
Ageless is beside himself with fury.
His straining buttons! You mock me, pseudo-woman!
Pseudo-woman! That is cruel. The poets are transfixed.
They stand up to get a better look at Rabbie Burns, his sensuous buttons. Woah!
Rabbie may be drunk but he knows when he's the centre of attention.
He stands up and bows.
As ye can see, I am no statue, he declares. I am a mortal man of flesh and blood.
Three men we are! cries Vello. Of Flesh and Blood. Tarah!
Papa! cries Belle. Oh do sit down!
You, sir, says Ageless lobster, are an imposter! You are not Rabbie Burns! I know him!
Nay, says Rabbie. I dinna ken ye. Methinks ye know one o' ma many statues. Where are ye from?
Adelaide, says Ageless.
Aye, that'll be the statue outside the State Library on North Terrace, says Rabbie. That's no' me! That's a poor wee excuse for a man. He walked out o' his boots some time ago, and found he had no legs. Tis the way wi' stone. If I were made o' stone I tell ye, I wud consider toppin' maself.........
Kobo listens to this insensitive diatribe.
I am made of stone, she says. And proud of it.
Wee lassie, says Rabbie Burns. I was forgettin'. Forgive me, I shall make it up to ye. I'll extemporise a poem just for ye. Twill be called To a Clam.
Kobo shivers. A poem for her by Rabbie Burns, called To a Clam! How thrilling!
And Ageless will just have to suck it up.
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
The Trigger
The trigger is not long in coming. Three men stumble through the door.
Three latecomers who appear to have been drinking.
Vello, David Hume and Rabbie Burns, laughing and smelling of expensive whisky.
They look around. Why is it so quiet? Why is no one on the stage?
Evening all! says Vello, sitting down in the back row.
Apologies! says David, also sitting. We could not locate the venue. Hic!
Aye! says Rabbie. Tis true we couldna find it. But here we are now! Start the recitin'!
He sits down with a bump.
Kobo has fainted.
Young Dawkins doesn't notice, because she looks the same.
How long will the silence last? Has Kobo finished?
Ageless clambers on to the stage.
With a gentle kick he sets Kobo rocking.
Oooh, says Kobo. Where am I? Where is my beloved?
Right here, my sweetness, says Ageless. Come on down with me.
I had a vision, says Kobo. I saw him. He was so handsome. His big head, his curly hair, his straightforward eye, his trousers..... That's when I fainted.
Do not embarrass yourself, my precious clam-girl, says Ageless. In fact shut up, that's my advice. I won't tolerate a rival.
Kobo has now fully regained her senses. She stares out towards the back row where the three newcomers are sitting.
So it's one of them that Kobo is in love with!
The audience of poets turns in unison to observe the characteristics of the three drunk friends.
Not the first one, he looks too old and skinny, and too French. Not the next one, he's fat and looks like David Hume. So that only leaves the third man.
Goodness gracious. The poets can't believe it. It's Rabbie Burns, the National Poet of Scotland!
Shame on Kobo! How retro is that.
Three latecomers who appear to have been drinking.
Vello, David Hume and Rabbie Burns, laughing and smelling of expensive whisky.
They look around. Why is it so quiet? Why is no one on the stage?
Evening all! says Vello, sitting down in the back row.
Apologies! says David, also sitting. We could not locate the venue. Hic!
Aye! says Rabbie. Tis true we couldna find it. But here we are now! Start the recitin'!
He sits down with a bump.
Kobo has fainted.
Young Dawkins doesn't notice, because she looks the same.
How long will the silence last? Has Kobo finished?
Ageless clambers on to the stage.
With a gentle kick he sets Kobo rocking.
Oooh, says Kobo. Where am I? Where is my beloved?
Right here, my sweetness, says Ageless. Come on down with me.
I had a vision, says Kobo. I saw him. He was so handsome. His big head, his curly hair, his straightforward eye, his trousers..... That's when I fainted.
Do not embarrass yourself, my precious clam-girl, says Ageless. In fact shut up, that's my advice. I won't tolerate a rival.
Kobo has now fully regained her senses. She stares out towards the back row where the three newcomers are sitting.
So it's one of them that Kobo is in love with!
The audience of poets turns in unison to observe the characteristics of the three drunk friends.
Not the first one, he looks too old and skinny, and too French. Not the next one, he's fat and looks like David Hume. So that only leaves the third man.
Goodness gracious. The poets can't believe it. It's Rabbie Burns, the National Poet of Scotland!
Shame on Kobo! How retro is that.
Time Is Wasted
Belle et Bonne carries Kobo up to the stage and places her on it. Then she goes and sits down next to Ageless.
Kobo is tiny. She is the colour of sand.
She waits for silence. Silence falls.
Mine is a long story, says Kobo. And that is the name of my poem.
the long story
i was once a living clam
and life was fast and furious
i was a man
a man with a man clam's manhood
that
is life for a young adult clam
i grew older
i was on the cusp of becoming a woman
life was soft mature and creamy
then
o then
something happened
geological
i was buried in clay
my body rotted away
portion by portion
i was transformed
over eons and eons
into stone
if you know what boredom is my poets
you will.....
Ahem, says Young Dawkins, Kobo, would you mind perhaps abridging that part? We have other poets to get through.
Kobo nods, and continues.
i spent my days and nights in reading
books about sand
and the men and women
buried in it
and books about stones
until i met ageless
i never expected to love ageless.
but he pursued me
he said i was his girlfriend
i played along
he has no right to think of me as his reward.
now that i love another.
Who! cries Ageless.
Who? cry all the poets.
This is not an interactive poem, says Kobo. You must not ask. And I must not tell you. And that is because he is a famous poet. It would not be proper.
Young Dawkins is jumping up and down with impatience.
He would like to wring her neck. Spit it out, Kobo! Then we can all get on with the freaking competition.
But Kobo stands there as though waiting for a trigger.
Kobo is tiny. She is the colour of sand.
She waits for silence. Silence falls.
Mine is a long story, says Kobo. And that is the name of my poem.
the long story
i was once a living clam
and life was fast and furious
i was a man
a man with a man clam's manhood
that
is life for a young adult clam
i grew older
i was on the cusp of becoming a woman
life was soft mature and creamy
then
o then
something happened
geological
i was buried in clay
my body rotted away
portion by portion
i was transformed
over eons and eons
into stone
if you know what boredom is my poets
you will.....
Ahem, says Young Dawkins, Kobo, would you mind perhaps abridging that part? We have other poets to get through.
Kobo nods, and continues.
i spent my days and nights in reading
books about sand
and the men and women
buried in it
and books about stones
until i met ageless
i never expected to love ageless.
but he pursued me
he said i was his girlfriend
i played along
he has no right to think of me as his reward.
now that i love another.
Who! cries Ageless.
Who? cry all the poets.
This is not an interactive poem, says Kobo. You must not ask. And I must not tell you. And that is because he is a famous poet. It would not be proper.
Young Dawkins is jumping up and down with impatience.
He would like to wring her neck. Spit it out, Kobo! Then we can all get on with the freaking competition.
But Kobo stands there as though waiting for a trigger.
Monday, August 12, 2013
In Love But No Longer With You
Shh! says a voice from behind Belle et Bonne. Stop that moaning. It's not fair to Anna Percy.
Anna Percy looks down from the stage in the direction of the moaning.
It's okay. she says. I'm cool with moaning. It kind of works in with my theme.
Then it's cheating, says Young Dawkins, from the sidelines. Sorry. The moaning must stop.
Ageless has come down from the stage intending to sit beside Belle et Bonne.
He climbs up on the seat with the basket, the source of the moaning, which has now ceased.
Ageless is still sobbing in a theatrical fashion, but softly, so as not to raise the ire of Young Dawkins.
He pushes the basket to the edge of the seat where it teeters.
Watch! cries Belle et Bonne. I don't want her to fall!
Uh-uh-uh-sniff , gulps Ageless, his tears drying. Who's in the basket?
Ageless peers into the basket.
Beloved! he cries. My creamy clammy girlfriend! Come out! Was that you moaning?
Yes Ageless, says Kobo, it was me.
You heard my heart rending poem? says Ageless. It affected you so?
You could say that, says Kobo. I was affected by the shock of discovering you had not been eaten.
You were moaning with joy! Ah, I knew it, says Ageless. Come let me join you in the basket. Is there by any chance a lid?
Ageless, you are making an assumption, says Kobo. I was not moaning with joy, but desolation. I am in love but no longer with you. My love must remain a secret, however, because it cannot be requited.
Anna Percy has stopped. She is listening.
So is everyone else.
In a room full of poets, who is Kobo in love with?
There is one way to find out.
Young Dawkins comes over. He peers into the basket.
Madam, says Young Dawkins. Do I intuit that you are a poet?
At heart, admits Kobo, I am. Though I usually keep myself to myself, being a fossilised clam.
None the less, may I on behalf of everyone present invite you to come up to the stage and be our special guest poet of the evening? It would be a great treat and an honour for us all, wheedles Young Dawkins.
Kobo assents modestly.
It's a gamble on the part of Young Dawkins.
What if Kobo chooses not to unburden her heart?
She may have bottled up poems about the boredom of being a fossil for eons and eons.
Time may be wasted.
Anna Percy looks down from the stage in the direction of the moaning.
It's okay. she says. I'm cool with moaning. It kind of works in with my theme.
Then it's cheating, says Young Dawkins, from the sidelines. Sorry. The moaning must stop.
Ageless has come down from the stage intending to sit beside Belle et Bonne.
He climbs up on the seat with the basket, the source of the moaning, which has now ceased.
Ageless is still sobbing in a theatrical fashion, but softly, so as not to raise the ire of Young Dawkins.
He pushes the basket to the edge of the seat where it teeters.
Watch! cries Belle et Bonne. I don't want her to fall!
Uh-uh-uh-sniff , gulps Ageless, his tears drying. Who's in the basket?
Ageless peers into the basket.
Beloved! he cries. My creamy clammy girlfriend! Come out! Was that you moaning?
Yes Ageless, says Kobo, it was me.
You heard my heart rending poem? says Ageless. It affected you so?
You could say that, says Kobo. I was affected by the shock of discovering you had not been eaten.
You were moaning with joy! Ah, I knew it, says Ageless. Come let me join you in the basket. Is there by any chance a lid?
Ageless, you are making an assumption, says Kobo. I was not moaning with joy, but desolation. I am in love but no longer with you. My love must remain a secret, however, because it cannot be requited.
Anna Percy has stopped. She is listening.
So is everyone else.
In a room full of poets, who is Kobo in love with?
There is one way to find out.
Young Dawkins comes over. He peers into the basket.
Madam, says Young Dawkins. Do I intuit that you are a poet?
At heart, admits Kobo, I am. Though I usually keep myself to myself, being a fossilised clam.
None the less, may I on behalf of everyone present invite you to come up to the stage and be our special guest poet of the evening? It would be a great treat and an honour for us all, wheedles Young Dawkins.
Kobo assents modestly.
It's a gamble on the part of Young Dawkins.
What if Kobo chooses not to unburden her heart?
She may have bottled up poems about the boredom of being a fossil for eons and eons.
Time may be wasted.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
The Judges Have Nowhere To Go
Yes, so much for that.
That was wonderful Arthur, says Young Dawkins, but unhelpful. You have left the judges nowhere to go. Is there anyone else here who might care to act as our sacrificial poet?
No one in the audience wants to. Until...
I'll do it, says Ageless. I feel a poem welling up inside me.
Thank you Ageless, says Young Dawkins. Let's hear what you can do. Fellow poets, please welcome to the stage Ageless Lobster!
Ageless drags himself up to the stage, and begins:
How Everything Has Gone Wrong
No I have not been eaten.
But everything else has gone wrong
The Yellow Jersey came back to my seat
He said Arthur had threatened to kill me
I was scared. I took off my bee outfit
I left it on the seat.
The Yellow Jersey said
Arthur had the gift.
What gift? I said
The gift of the gab?
No said the Yellow Jersey
The macarons I was giving to Wiggo.
Give him something else
I said, helpful.
What though? he asked.
He looked at me. I was naked.
I looked like a lobster, I knew.
Not me, I said
No, he said. As if he'd want you.
He said he would buy a cooked lobster from Harrods
When he got off in London.
I got off the train without my bicycle
Just me and no clothes.
So I could still follow Arthur
He went looking for Paul
He stole a knife.
He came here
But I got here first.
Arthur.
Don't kill me
I'm dying to see my Beloved.
My promised reward
O life is hard and unfair
Arthur gets the top score from all of the judges
and Ageless gets nothing at all.
Ageless breaks down in floods of false tears.
There is muted clapping. The judges scribble hard in their notebooks.
Ageless gets a very low score.
Excellent, says Young Dawkins. That's more like it. Now to get on with the Slam...
He is about to introduce the first poet, Anna Percy, when a loud moan erupts from the basket on the seat beside Belle et Bonne.
That was wonderful Arthur, says Young Dawkins, but unhelpful. You have left the judges nowhere to go. Is there anyone else here who might care to act as our sacrificial poet?
No one in the audience wants to. Until...
I'll do it, says Ageless. I feel a poem welling up inside me.
Thank you Ageless, says Young Dawkins. Let's hear what you can do. Fellow poets, please welcome to the stage Ageless Lobster!
Ageless drags himself up to the stage, and begins:
How Everything Has Gone Wrong
No I have not been eaten.
But everything else has gone wrong
The Yellow Jersey came back to my seat
He said Arthur had threatened to kill me
I was scared. I took off my bee outfit
I left it on the seat.
The Yellow Jersey said
Arthur had the gift.
What gift? I said
The gift of the gab?
No said the Yellow Jersey
The macarons I was giving to Wiggo.
Give him something else
I said, helpful.
What though? he asked.
He looked at me. I was naked.
I looked like a lobster, I knew.
Not me, I said
No, he said. As if he'd want you.
He said he would buy a cooked lobster from Harrods
When he got off in London.
I got off the train without my bicycle
Just me and no clothes.
So I could still follow Arthur
He went looking for Paul
He stole a knife.
He came here
But I got here first.
Arthur.
Don't kill me
I'm dying to see my Beloved.
My promised reward
O life is hard and unfair
Arthur gets the top score from all of the judges
and Ageless gets nothing at all.
Ageless breaks down in floods of false tears.
There is muted clapping. The judges scribble hard in their notebooks.
Ageless gets a very low score.
Excellent, says Young Dawkins. That's more like it. Now to get on with the Slam...
He is about to introduce the first poet, Anna Percy, when a loud moan erupts from the basket on the seat beside Belle et Bonne.
Friday, August 9, 2013
The Perfect Sacrificial Poet
Belle peers into the basket. Kobo doesn't want to come out.
The recognition scene will have to be postponed till later. Lucky Ageless has no idea.
The venue is now filled with poetry lovers. It is time for the Slam to begin.
Young Dawkins introduces Arthur, the sacrificial poet. A ripple goes through the house. Arthur Rimbaud!
Arthur stands up and starts talking.
Point of View.
I'm on a train
inside your head
you remember
I'm coming
I have a knife
and a sweet yellow line
of cakes in my pocket.
He wrecked my respectable life
but it was his fault
you wanted to run
and buy dead fish
and fight with knives till we bled
and drink absinthe
a sweet green line snaking into the belly.
you were jealous
I'm coming on the train
with cakes in my pocket
I know that he's coming
he has a knife
it's your knife
no it isn't
that was a scraper
The scraper scrapes across his neck
a sweet red line
the sacrificial poet
here I am
to bleed.
Arthur stops talking.
The house goes crazy. Everyone whistles and whoops. The judges scribble hard on their notepads.
Arthur scores full points from all the judges. They know their Arthur Rimbaud.
So much for that.
The recognition scene will have to be postponed till later. Lucky Ageless has no idea.
The venue is now filled with poetry lovers. It is time for the Slam to begin.
Young Dawkins introduces Arthur, the sacrificial poet. A ripple goes through the house. Arthur Rimbaud!
Arthur stands up and starts talking.
Point of View.
I'm on a train
inside your head
you remember
I'm coming
I have a knife
and a sweet yellow line
of cakes in my pocket.
He wrecked my respectable life
but it was his fault
you wanted to run
and buy dead fish
and fight with knives till we bled
and drink absinthe
a sweet green line snaking into the belly.
you were jealous
I'm coming on the train
with cakes in my pocket
I know that he's coming
he has a knife
it's your knife
no it isn't
that was a scraper
The scraper scrapes across his neck
a sweet red line
the sacrificial poet
here I am
to bleed.
Arthur stops talking.
The house goes crazy. Everyone whistles and whoops. The judges scribble hard on their notepads.
Arthur scores full points from all the judges. They know their Arthur Rimbaud.
So much for that.
A Day Under Sixty
Young Dawkins watches as Arthur walks over to Ageless. Arthur still has the knife.
He jabs the point of the knife towards Ageless.
Ageless takes a step back. They appear to be having a row.
They turn and come back to Young Dawkins.
Ageless speaks first.
Settle this, says Ageless. Did I come in first?
Of the two of you, you came in first, says Young Dawkins.
Then I couldn't have been following him, says Ageless. And he has no right to cut off my appendages.
Certainly not, says Young Dawkins. We don't encourage violence here. We are peacable people of words.
Ooh, says Ageless rudely. Peacable people of words. And you are?
Young Dawkins, says Young Dawkins. The host of the Slam, previous winner and runner up.
Funny name you've got , says Ageless. You don't look a day under sixty.
Young Dawkins smiles a watery smile.
And you are? says Young Dawkins.
Ageless, says Ageless. But before you come up with a clever riposte, I am.....
Too late. Young Dawkins is spluttering with laughter, spraying yellow macaron crumbs all around.
What does the sacrificial poet do? says Arthur.
He performs the first poem, says Young Dawkins. So we get an idea of how the judges are marking. The points scheme is quite complicated. Do you have a suitable poem?
Yes, says Arthur. I just wrote it. It has a sweet yellow line.
Good, says Young Dawkins. People are arriving.
They are.
Here is Belle et Bonne carrying Kobo in a basket.
Arthur! cries Belle et Bonne. What are you doing here? And Ageless! We thought you'd been eaten!
Not eaten, says Ageless, but everything else has gone wrong. Arthur wants to cut off my appendages.
Arthur! says Belle. You do not!
Don't I , says Arthur. Yes I do. And you! Why is everyone following me? Can't I have any privacy?
What about me? says Ageless. I was promised my Beloved.
A soft expellation of air arises from the basket. A sigh. Difficult to interpret its tone.
He jabs the point of the knife towards Ageless.
Ageless takes a step back. They appear to be having a row.
They turn and come back to Young Dawkins.
Ageless speaks first.
Settle this, says Ageless. Did I come in first?
Of the two of you, you came in first, says Young Dawkins.
Then I couldn't have been following him, says Ageless. And he has no right to cut off my appendages.
Certainly not, says Young Dawkins. We don't encourage violence here. We are peacable people of words.
Ooh, says Ageless rudely. Peacable people of words. And you are?
Young Dawkins, says Young Dawkins. The host of the Slam, previous winner and runner up.
Funny name you've got , says Ageless. You don't look a day under sixty.
Young Dawkins smiles a watery smile.
And you are? says Young Dawkins.
Ageless, says Ageless. But before you come up with a clever riposte, I am.....
Too late. Young Dawkins is spluttering with laughter, spraying yellow macaron crumbs all around.
What does the sacrificial poet do? says Arthur.
He performs the first poem, says Young Dawkins. So we get an idea of how the judges are marking. The points scheme is quite complicated. Do you have a suitable poem?
Yes, says Arthur. I just wrote it. It has a sweet yellow line.
Good, says Young Dawkins. People are arriving.
They are.
Here is Belle et Bonne carrying Kobo in a basket.
Arthur! cries Belle et Bonne. What are you doing here? And Ageless! We thought you'd been eaten!
Not eaten, says Ageless, but everything else has gone wrong. Arthur wants to cut off my appendages.
Arthur! says Belle. You do not!
Don't I , says Arthur. Yes I do. And you! Why is everyone following me? Can't I have any privacy?
What about me? says Ageless. I was promised my Beloved.
A soft expellation of air arises from the basket. A sigh. Difficult to interpret its tone.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
How Memory Fails Us
Young Dawkins ignores Ageless lobster and walks up to Paul Verlaine.
How's our sacrificial poet? says Young Dawkins.
Quietly confident, says Paul Verlaine.
Sacrificial poet? Ageless is intrigued.
Do they know Arthur is coming?
No they don't. Arthur walks in just at that moment, and stops in front of Paul.
Paul, says Arthur.
Arthur, says Paul.
Only Paul says it squeakily, being mighty surprised to see Arthur.
Ageless eyes Arthur's pocket. Arthur's hand plunges in and draws out...... a knife!
Young Dawkins goggles.
There is going to be a Murder! Ageless sits down to take note.
This is for you, says Arthur, holding it up to Paul's face.
A knife? says Paul Verlaine. Why a knife, Arthur?
I borrowed yours, says Arthur. Fossicking in Alice Springs, remember? I never gave it back.
That was a scraper, says Paul. I lent you a scraper.
I don't think so, says Arthur. I had my own scraper.
Well what happened to mine? says Paul Verlaine.
The two poets look puzzled.
How memory fails us.
Young Dawkins is feeling relieved that his sacrificial poet is not going to be murdered.
Ageless has some regrets.
I brought you these as well, says Arthur, pulling out the three yellow macarons.
They've got cuts in them, says Paul. They are crumbly, and why are they yellow?
It's a long story, says Arthur. I wanted green.
Green, says Paul. I thought so.
Are you going to eat them? asks Young Dawkins. Young Dawkins likes macarons.
Are we? says Arthur. He looks searchingly into the eyes of his former lover.
No, says Paul. We are not going to eat them.
He turns and walks out.
Arthur stares after him.
I say, says Young Dawkins, are you Arthur Rimbaud?
Yes, says Arthur. I am.
I'm Young Dawkins, says Young Dawkins. Host of the Slam. Looks like we've lost our sacrificial poet. Would you like to take his place?
Arthur is about to ask if the role involves bloodshed when he spots Ageless trying to slip inconspicuously down from a chair.
Excuse me a minute, says Arthur. I just need a word with the lobster. Hold these.
He shoves the macarons at Young Dawkins.
Take your time, says Young Dawkins, picking at the bright yellow crumbs.
How's our sacrificial poet? says Young Dawkins.
Quietly confident, says Paul Verlaine.
Sacrificial poet? Ageless is intrigued.
Do they know Arthur is coming?
No they don't. Arthur walks in just at that moment, and stops in front of Paul.
Paul, says Arthur.
Arthur, says Paul.
Only Paul says it squeakily, being mighty surprised to see Arthur.
Ageless eyes Arthur's pocket. Arthur's hand plunges in and draws out...... a knife!
Young Dawkins goggles.
There is going to be a Murder! Ageless sits down to take note.
This is for you, says Arthur, holding it up to Paul's face.
A knife? says Paul Verlaine. Why a knife, Arthur?
I borrowed yours, says Arthur. Fossicking in Alice Springs, remember? I never gave it back.
That was a scraper, says Paul. I lent you a scraper.
I don't think so, says Arthur. I had my own scraper.
Well what happened to mine? says Paul Verlaine.
The two poets look puzzled.
How memory fails us.
Young Dawkins is feeling relieved that his sacrificial poet is not going to be murdered.
Ageless has some regrets.
I brought you these as well, says Arthur, pulling out the three yellow macarons.
They've got cuts in them, says Paul. They are crumbly, and why are they yellow?
It's a long story, says Arthur. I wanted green.
Green, says Paul. I thought so.
Are you going to eat them? asks Young Dawkins. Young Dawkins likes macarons.
Are we? says Arthur. He looks searchingly into the eyes of his former lover.
No, says Paul. We are not going to eat them.
He turns and walks out.
Arthur stares after him.
I say, says Young Dawkins, are you Arthur Rimbaud?
Yes, says Arthur. I am.
I'm Young Dawkins, says Young Dawkins. Host of the Slam. Looks like we've lost our sacrificial poet. Would you like to take his place?
Arthur is about to ask if the role involves bloodshed when he spots Ageless trying to slip inconspicuously down from a chair.
Excuse me a minute, says Arthur. I just need a word with the lobster. Hold these.
He shoves the macarons at Young Dawkins.
Take your time, says Young Dawkins, picking at the bright yellow crumbs.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Walking Out Does Not Look Like Coming In
Edinburgh is large and populous. How will Arthur find Paul Verlaine?
He could pick up a Fringe Guide and check out the poetry gigs.
But Arthur doesn't think of that.
He walks up and down the Royal Mile looking at faces.
Some of the faces are three dimensional faces, and some are on posters.
He stops to examine a long wall of posters. There is one advertising the BBC Edinburgh Fringe Poetry Slam. Yes, no doubt Paul will be there.
He takes note of the dates and the times, twisting the knife in his pocket, careless of the yellow macarons.
......
Belle et Bonne is surprised how well Kobo has taken the news about Ageless. She wants to go out on the town.
The Festival is on, says Kobo. I know because I heard someone talking down at reception. He said he was here for the Slam.
What is the Slam? says Belle et Bonne.
A poetry competition, says Kobo. I know that because he was a poet. He said so.
You know a lot, for a fossilised clam, says Belle et Bonne. I didn't realise how well you could function.
I'm like a sponge,says Kobo. Ha ha, only joking. But I do tend to get rather bored.
Then we'll go to the Slam, says Belle et Bonne. It sounds quite exciting. I'll check out when it's on.
.........
Paul Verlaine is already at the venue. He keeps reading and re-reading his poem. He is nervous.
Ageless lobster walks in and sits down.
Mon Dieu! says Paul Verlaine. Ageless! I last saw you in Alice Springs. What are you doing here?
Ageless is taken aback.
Nothing, says Ageless. I was just leaving.
You were not just leaving, says Paul Verlaine. I know what just leaving looks like. It does not look like coming in and sitting down.
All right, smarty trousers, says Ageless. But don't worry. I'm not following you.
So you are following someone? says Paul.
It seems Paul has recently become more intelligent.
No, says Ageless. I just love.... err...poems and such.
You are in the right place then, says Paul. Soon the Poetry Slam heats will begin. Now please remain silent, I am busy rehearsing.
Ageless is silent. Should he leave now? This is awkward.
He is about to walk out when in walks Young Dawkins.
He could pick up a Fringe Guide and check out the poetry gigs.
But Arthur doesn't think of that.
He walks up and down the Royal Mile looking at faces.
Some of the faces are three dimensional faces, and some are on posters.
He stops to examine a long wall of posters. There is one advertising the BBC Edinburgh Fringe Poetry Slam. Yes, no doubt Paul will be there.
He takes note of the dates and the times, twisting the knife in his pocket, careless of the yellow macarons.
......
Belle et Bonne is surprised how well Kobo has taken the news about Ageless. She wants to go out on the town.
The Festival is on, says Kobo. I know because I heard someone talking down at reception. He said he was here for the Slam.
What is the Slam? says Belle et Bonne.
A poetry competition, says Kobo. I know that because he was a poet. He said so.
You know a lot, for a fossilised clam, says Belle et Bonne. I didn't realise how well you could function.
I'm like a sponge,says Kobo. Ha ha, only joking. But I do tend to get rather bored.
Then we'll go to the Slam, says Belle et Bonne. It sounds quite exciting. I'll check out when it's on.
.........
Paul Verlaine is already at the venue. He keeps reading and re-reading his poem. He is nervous.
Ageless lobster walks in and sits down.
Mon Dieu! says Paul Verlaine. Ageless! I last saw you in Alice Springs. What are you doing here?
Ageless is taken aback.
Nothing, says Ageless. I was just leaving.
You were not just leaving, says Paul Verlaine. I know what just leaving looks like. It does not look like coming in and sitting down.
All right, smarty trousers, says Ageless. But don't worry. I'm not following you.
So you are following someone? says Paul.
It seems Paul has recently become more intelligent.
No, says Ageless. I just love.... err...poems and such.
You are in the right place then, says Paul. Soon the Poetry Slam heats will begin. Now please remain silent, I am busy rehearsing.
Ageless is silent. Should he leave now? This is awkward.
He is about to walk out when in walks Young Dawkins.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
If He Had Been Eaten I'd Know
They ride back to Edinburgh. It seems shorter. Or perhaps they ride faster.
Just imagine, David, says Vello, if you had come to Chirnside two years ago for your three hundredth birthday.....
I'm very glad I didn't, says David. It is bad enough now. That embarassing beer!
It was very nice beer, says Belle et Bonne. Don't be embarrassed!
It's the thought that counts, says Vello.
If you say that one more time, says David, I shall ride on ahead.
I won't say it again, says Vello, but it was amusing.
And I'll be obliged if you'd recycle the bottle, says David. I know you have kept it.
A souvenir, says Vello. That's all.
It is late and the sun is low in the sky. The buttercups are closing, but the thistles are bristling still.
They arrive at their hotel close to tea time. Belle goes up to the desk and asks if her package has arrived.
Aye lassie, here it is, says the woman, Tis a very strange package, I swear I heard something moving inside.
Thank you, says Belle et Bonne, taking the package upstairs.
She opens the package, to reveal Kobo the fossilised clam, the beloved of Ageless.
Now Kobo, says Belle, very quickly. I want you to take a deep breath.
Ahhhh, says Kobo. Don't tell me. I know. I'm in Scotland. You needn't worry. I'm alright with that.
Good, says Belle et Bonne, but that's not actually the worst of it. It's about Ageless.
He's not coming? says Kobo. I'm alright with that.
He's not coming, says Belle, because something dreadful has happened.
He's been eaten, says Kobo. Serves the arrogant fool right. Who has eaten him, if you don't mind me asking?
Sir Bradley Wiggins, says Belle. It seems Chris Froome gave him Ageless as a dinner gift. I know! It's unconscionable!
Even Kobo thinks that's a bit off. She turns a whiter shade of stone. She sighs. Maybe she will begin to miss Ageless. They used to have a thing going, almost telepathic. He used to write... click... click... click... hrrr...my creamy girlfriend, it was rather erotic. She used to write back,,, mmm,,,,, yes,,,, kissy kiss,,,
If Ageless was eaten, she'd know.
Just imagine, David, says Vello, if you had come to Chirnside two years ago for your three hundredth birthday.....
I'm very glad I didn't, says David. It is bad enough now. That embarassing beer!
It was very nice beer, says Belle et Bonne. Don't be embarrassed!
It's the thought that counts, says Vello.
If you say that one more time, says David, I shall ride on ahead.
I won't say it again, says Vello, but it was amusing.
And I'll be obliged if you'd recycle the bottle, says David. I know you have kept it.
A souvenir, says Vello. That's all.
It is late and the sun is low in the sky. The buttercups are closing, but the thistles are bristling still.
They arrive at their hotel close to tea time. Belle goes up to the desk and asks if her package has arrived.
Aye lassie, here it is, says the woman, Tis a very strange package, I swear I heard something moving inside.
Thank you, says Belle et Bonne, taking the package upstairs.
She opens the package, to reveal Kobo the fossilised clam, the beloved of Ageless.
Now Kobo, says Belle, very quickly. I want you to take a deep breath.
Ahhhh, says Kobo. Don't tell me. I know. I'm in Scotland. You needn't worry. I'm alright with that.
Good, says Belle et Bonne, but that's not actually the worst of it. It's about Ageless.
He's not coming? says Kobo. I'm alright with that.
He's not coming, says Belle, because something dreadful has happened.
He's been eaten, says Kobo. Serves the arrogant fool right. Who has eaten him, if you don't mind me asking?
Sir Bradley Wiggins, says Belle. It seems Chris Froome gave him Ageless as a dinner gift. I know! It's unconscionable!
Even Kobo thinks that's a bit off. She turns a whiter shade of stone. She sighs. Maybe she will begin to miss Ageless. They used to have a thing going, almost telepathic. He used to write... click... click... click... hrrr...my creamy girlfriend, it was rather erotic. She used to write back,,, mmm,,,,, yes,,,, kissy kiss,,,
If Ageless was eaten, she'd know.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Enlightenment
The philosophers have made it to Chirnside.
Now where is my house? says David, looking round.
Don't you remember? says Vello.
It was near a river, says David. I used to play there. The River Whiteadder.
They locate the river and follow it. They come to a fence, a wide stretch of grass, a large house, named Ninewells. It has a sun room, a swing in the garden, a large animal lurking outside.
Something's wrong, mutters David. It's not Ninewells. We had no sunroom or swing. And where are the cows?
Is that not a cow? says Vello pointing at the animal.
No papa, says Belle, it's a very large dog.
The very large dog barks in an unfriendly manner. The owner comes out.
Can I help you? says the owner, in a tone that means please go away.
I fear not, says David. I used to live here, but everything's changed.
And who might you be? says the owner.
David Hume, says David. As a child I played by the river. We had cows.
My goodness! says the owner. David Hume! And you became the famous philosopher. You are well thought of in Chirnside. Do come in and have tea and scones.
Really? says David. Thank you very much. We should very much like tea and scones.
They go inside. They are served tea and scones in the sun room. It is hot in the sun room. The owner tells David the old house was pulled down and rebuilt in the nineteenth century, which is why it looks different these days.
And now you have added this delightful sun room, says David. How very pleasant it is.
Vello smirks into his tea cup. Ha ha! The Scots and their sun rooms!
But his host does not mind. Wait till he tells everyone at the the Chirnside Common Good Association who came to tea!
At last the three cyclists take their leave.
Before you start back for Edinburgh, may I suggest you drop in to the Red Lion in the village, says their host. And order a beer
This sounds like a good idea, so they head off to find the Red Lion.
David orders three beers.
You look like an Enlightenment man, says the barman.
I am indeed says David. How did you know?
Lucky guess, says the barman, handing David three glasses, and three bottles of Enlightenment Beer.
David looks at the labels. How embarrassing! His profile in cameo, above the words David Hume, Philosopher, Enlightenment Beer, and at the bottom of the label the motto: It's the thought that counts.
What will Vello say?
Now where is my house? says David, looking round.
Don't you remember? says Vello.
It was near a river, says David. I used to play there. The River Whiteadder.
They locate the river and follow it. They come to a fence, a wide stretch of grass, a large house, named Ninewells. It has a sun room, a swing in the garden, a large animal lurking outside.
Something's wrong, mutters David. It's not Ninewells. We had no sunroom or swing. And where are the cows?
Is that not a cow? says Vello pointing at the animal.
No papa, says Belle, it's a very large dog.
The very large dog barks in an unfriendly manner. The owner comes out.
Can I help you? says the owner, in a tone that means please go away.
I fear not, says David. I used to live here, but everything's changed.
And who might you be? says the owner.
David Hume, says David. As a child I played by the river. We had cows.
My goodness! says the owner. David Hume! And you became the famous philosopher. You are well thought of in Chirnside. Do come in and have tea and scones.
Really? says David. Thank you very much. We should very much like tea and scones.
They go inside. They are served tea and scones in the sun room. It is hot in the sun room. The owner tells David the old house was pulled down and rebuilt in the nineteenth century, which is why it looks different these days.
And now you have added this delightful sun room, says David. How very pleasant it is.
Vello smirks into his tea cup. Ha ha! The Scots and their sun rooms!
But his host does not mind. Wait till he tells everyone at the the Chirnside Common Good Association who came to tea!
At last the three cyclists take their leave.
Before you start back for Edinburgh, may I suggest you drop in to the Red Lion in the village, says their host. And order a beer
This sounds like a good idea, so they head off to find the Red Lion.
David orders three beers.
You look like an Enlightenment man, says the barman.
I am indeed says David. How did you know?
Lucky guess, says the barman, handing David three glasses, and three bottles of Enlightenment Beer.
David looks at the labels. How embarrassing! His profile in cameo, above the words David Hume, Philosopher, Enlightenment Beer, and at the bottom of the label the motto: It's the thought that counts.
What will Vello say?
Saturday, August 3, 2013
The Art And Science Of Motion
The next morning David, Vello and Belle are cycling to Chirnside. Belle has hired a bike and packed a picnic lunch. The sun is shining. Scotland looks nice.
What a wonderful play that was last night, says David. I'm so glad we went.
Me too, says Belle et Bonne. Quantum mechanics. Now I understand why I understand nothing.
And why we cannot be certain of anything, says Vello. Including where anything is. How far is it to Chirnside?
That depends on where we are, says David.
I trust you know where that is, says Vello. How far is it from where we started?
Eighty kilometres from Edinburgh, says David. A doddle for us, after the Tour.
It's so pretty, says Belle. All these meadows, and the wildflowers at the side of the road. What are those ones called, David?
Those are thistles, my dear, says David. I'm surprised you don't know.
No, not those ones, those ones, says Belle, nearly falling off her bicycle.
Buttercups, says David.
Lovely, says Belle. Just like home.
Is it lunch time? says Vello.
No, says David. At least one thing is certain. We still have a long way to go.
.........
Back at the hotel, a package is waiting at reception. It is addressed to Belle et Bonne.
Inside the package is Kobo, the beloved of Ageless. She is in a bad mood.
She may be a fossilised clam, but she can hear everything, and she knows where she is.
She is in Edinburgh. The very last place she would have wanted to go. She had longed to see Paris, even if it meant seeing Ageless. She is so over Ageless. It's his fault she is here.
A man comes to the counter to make a booking. He pokes at the package.
Dinna poke at the package, says the receptionist. Tis for the young lady from Paris.
Oh aye, sorry, says the man. Do you have a room?
Aye, says the receptionist. Just a wee one. Tis busy in August ye know.
Aye I know, says the man. I'm a poet. I'm here for the Poetry Slam. Ma name's Burns. Rabbie Burns.
Oh aye? says the receptionist.
Aye, says the man.
Kobo's mood changes all of a sudden, inside the package. Of course, the Festival is on! That's why Ageless is here. He's following Arthur. Arthur is a poet. It all makes sense now, she is certain.
She hopes Belle claims her soon. Where can she be?
..........
A train pulls in to Edinburgh station, thanks in part to quantum mechanics.
Arthur gets off, with his knife.
What a wonderful play that was last night, says David. I'm so glad we went.
Me too, says Belle et Bonne. Quantum mechanics. Now I understand why I understand nothing.
And why we cannot be certain of anything, says Vello. Including where anything is. How far is it to Chirnside?
That depends on where we are, says David.
I trust you know where that is, says Vello. How far is it from where we started?
Eighty kilometres from Edinburgh, says David. A doddle for us, after the Tour.
It's so pretty, says Belle. All these meadows, and the wildflowers at the side of the road. What are those ones called, David?
Those are thistles, my dear, says David. I'm surprised you don't know.
No, not those ones, those ones, says Belle, nearly falling off her bicycle.
Buttercups, says David.
Lovely, says Belle. Just like home.
Is it lunch time? says Vello.
No, says David. At least one thing is certain. We still have a long way to go.
.........
Back at the hotel, a package is waiting at reception. It is addressed to Belle et Bonne.
Inside the package is Kobo, the beloved of Ageless. She is in a bad mood.
She may be a fossilised clam, but she can hear everything, and she knows where she is.
She is in Edinburgh. The very last place she would have wanted to go. She had longed to see Paris, even if it meant seeing Ageless. She is so over Ageless. It's his fault she is here.
A man comes to the counter to make a booking. He pokes at the package.
Dinna poke at the package, says the receptionist. Tis for the young lady from Paris.
Oh aye, sorry, says the man. Do you have a room?
Aye, says the receptionist. Just a wee one. Tis busy in August ye know.
Aye I know, says the man. I'm a poet. I'm here for the Poetry Slam. Ma name's Burns. Rabbie Burns.
Oh aye? says the receptionist.
Aye, says the man.
Kobo's mood changes all of a sudden, inside the package. Of course, the Festival is on! That's why Ageless is here. He's following Arthur. Arthur is a poet. It all makes sense now, she is certain.
She hopes Belle claims her soon. Where can she be?
..........
A train pulls in to Edinburgh station, thanks in part to quantum mechanics.
Arthur gets off, with his knife.
We Can Be Sure Of Nothing
It is five o'clock, in Edinburgh. Belle et Bonne and David are at the World's End, waiting for Vello.
What do you think of the World's End, Belle? says David.
It's nice, says Belle. It's so atmospheric.
It's about to become more atmospheric. In comes Vello.
He waves the end of a black bun in one hand and flaps a Haggis flavoured crisp packet in the other.
Outrageous! says Vello. What disgusting food! No doubt the beer is as bad.
Papa! says Belle et Bonne. It's a charming old pub. So historic. Do you know why it's called the World's End?
Pchah! exclaims Vello. It's quite obvious.
Not at all, says David. It's where the poor folks who couldn't afford to enter the city had to stay in the old days.
Exactly, says Vello. What are we drinking?
Guinness, says David.
Good, says Vello. I'll have a Guinness. What's up, Belle?
Oh papa, says Belle. Some thing awful has happened. I promised Ageless a reward for tailing Arthur and the reward was his Beloved, and she's arriving tomorrow in a package sent on from Paris.
So the Beloved arrives in a package? says Vello. How bizarre. Goodness me, that reminds me. Did you know what they found in a cave up on Arthur's Seat? Seventeen tiny coffins with wooden figures inside.
What? says David. When was this?
In 1836, says Vello.
Witchcraft, says Belle with a shiver.
Or Burke and Hare, says David, darkly.
Surely not, says Vello. What would be the point of Burke and Hare putting wooden figures in coffins and then hiding them?
Good point, says David. And fine Guinness, too. Let's have another.
They order another round of Guinness, and David risks a packet of Scampi flavoured crisps.
Vello takes a Scampi flavoured crisp. Crunch! He doesn't even notice the flavour.
But what about the Beloved? says Belle et Bonne. She'll be so upset. Coming all this way in a package only to find her own Beloved has been made a gift of by Froomey and eaten by Wiggo in London?
Vello laughs.
You couldn't make it up! he declares. But who is to say that it may not end happily? At this point in time, all is flux and uncertainty. We can be sure of nothing. Cheer up Belle!
What a coincidence, says Belle, cheering up. We've bought three tickets for The Principle Of Uncertainty, and we're going tonight!
Wonderful! says Vello. That sounds right up my alley. Well done, you and David.
Now all three are good friends again.
It is an unexpected example of how the principle works.
What do you think of the World's End, Belle? says David.
It's nice, says Belle. It's so atmospheric.
It's about to become more atmospheric. In comes Vello.
He waves the end of a black bun in one hand and flaps a Haggis flavoured crisp packet in the other.
Outrageous! says Vello. What disgusting food! No doubt the beer is as bad.
Papa! says Belle et Bonne. It's a charming old pub. So historic. Do you know why it's called the World's End?
Pchah! exclaims Vello. It's quite obvious.
Not at all, says David. It's where the poor folks who couldn't afford to enter the city had to stay in the old days.
Exactly, says Vello. What are we drinking?
Guinness, says David.
Good, says Vello. I'll have a Guinness. What's up, Belle?
Oh papa, says Belle. Some thing awful has happened. I promised Ageless a reward for tailing Arthur and the reward was his Beloved, and she's arriving tomorrow in a package sent on from Paris.
So the Beloved arrives in a package? says Vello. How bizarre. Goodness me, that reminds me. Did you know what they found in a cave up on Arthur's Seat? Seventeen tiny coffins with wooden figures inside.
What? says David. When was this?
In 1836, says Vello.
Witchcraft, says Belle with a shiver.
Or Burke and Hare, says David, darkly.
Surely not, says Vello. What would be the point of Burke and Hare putting wooden figures in coffins and then hiding them?
Good point, says David. And fine Guinness, too. Let's have another.
They order another round of Guinness, and David risks a packet of Scampi flavoured crisps.
Vello takes a Scampi flavoured crisp. Crunch! He doesn't even notice the flavour.
But what about the Beloved? says Belle et Bonne. She'll be so upset. Coming all this way in a package only to find her own Beloved has been made a gift of by Froomey and eaten by Wiggo in London?
Vello laughs.
You couldn't make it up! he declares. But who is to say that it may not end happily? At this point in time, all is flux and uncertainty. We can be sure of nothing. Cheer up Belle!
What a coincidence, says Belle, cheering up. We've bought three tickets for The Principle Of Uncertainty, and we're going tonight!
Wonderful! says Vello. That sounds right up my alley. Well done, you and David.
Now all three are good friends again.
It is an unexpected example of how the principle works.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Who Would Not Enjoy Edinburgh?
There is a limit to which the properties of position and momentum can be known simultaneously. That is the uncertainty principle. Yes, something like that.
Belle and David think Vello is in his room, but he is not in his room when they get there. He has gone out, and left them a note.
Gone out to climb Arthur's Seat. Will be at World's End at five. Vello.
Really! says Belle et Bonne. What's he talking about?
I know, says David, pointing out of the window. He's climbing that hill over there, then he's going to the pub.
Belle looks out of the window. So that's Arthur's Seat.
Once again she thinks about Arthur, and how Ageless has let everyone down, by being eaten.
........
Vello has climbed to the top of Arthur's Seat. There is a view from up there. He can see Edinburgh Castle, Holyrood Palace, the Scottish Parliament, and so on. But he is not as impressed as he should be.
He sits down on a tuft of grass and pulls a slice of black bun out of his pocket.
It tastes lardy, not like a French pastry.
A group of walkers pass by, eating crisps.
Over there, says one of the walkers, pointing. In 1836, that's where they found them.
Wow! says another of the walkers. How awesome was that!
Yes, the boys were hunting for rabbits, says the first one. And they entered the cave, and there they were in a row, seventeen little coffins, with wooden figures inside.....
The walkers pass out of earshot, discarding their empty packet of crisps. Walker's Crisps, Haggis flavour.
How typical of this country, says Vello. It would not happen in France.
.......
Back at the hotel, Belle has received a message from the hotel she has just left in Paris. There is a package for her on it's way.
What can it be? wonders Belle. Did I leave something behind? Then she remembers. Oh no! It will be the Beloved!
Oh David, says Belle. She will be so disappointed to find Ageless eaten.
Never mind, says David, philosophically. Is she not made of stone? And I am sure she will enjoy Edinburgh anyway, as indeed who would not?
He is about to find out who would not.
Belle and David think Vello is in his room, but he is not in his room when they get there. He has gone out, and left them a note.
Gone out to climb Arthur's Seat. Will be at World's End at five. Vello.
Really! says Belle et Bonne. What's he talking about?
I know, says David, pointing out of the window. He's climbing that hill over there, then he's going to the pub.
Belle looks out of the window. So that's Arthur's Seat.
Once again she thinks about Arthur, and how Ageless has let everyone down, by being eaten.
........
Vello has climbed to the top of Arthur's Seat. There is a view from up there. He can see Edinburgh Castle, Holyrood Palace, the Scottish Parliament, and so on. But he is not as impressed as he should be.
He sits down on a tuft of grass and pulls a slice of black bun out of his pocket.
It tastes lardy, not like a French pastry.
A group of walkers pass by, eating crisps.
Over there, says one of the walkers, pointing. In 1836, that's where they found them.
Wow! says another of the walkers. How awesome was that!
Yes, the boys were hunting for rabbits, says the first one. And they entered the cave, and there they were in a row, seventeen little coffins, with wooden figures inside.....
The walkers pass out of earshot, discarding their empty packet of crisps. Walker's Crisps, Haggis flavour.
How typical of this country, says Vello. It would not happen in France.
.......
Back at the hotel, Belle has received a message from the hotel she has just left in Paris. There is a package for her on it's way.
What can it be? wonders Belle. Did I leave something behind? Then she remembers. Oh no! It will be the Beloved!
Oh David, says Belle. She will be so disappointed to find Ageless eaten.
Never mind, says David, philosophically. Is she not made of stone? And I am sure she will enjoy Edinburgh anyway, as indeed who would not?
He is about to find out who would not.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
The Principle Of Uncertainty
It does not take long for our philosophers to accept the situation.
So what if Sir Bradley Wiggins has eaten Ageless lobster for dinner? It is a fitting end for Ageless, who got off scot free after blatantly cheating his way through the Tour.
But that means no one's tailing Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. I hope he's alright.
He'll be fine, says David. He lives a charmed life. Now how about a wee stroll down the Royal Mile? Did you know I was born in Lawnmarket?
Were you really, David? says Vello. How extraordinary. I think I'll give it a miss.
I'd love to, David, says Belle et Bonne. You can show me the sights.
They go out, leaving Vello to read the newspaper, and gripe on his own.
The Royal Mile is full of buskers and people handing out fliers. The Edinburgh Fringe has begun.
Someone shoves a flier at David.
What's this? says David, A play? The Principle of Uncertainty. What a wonderful title. And only ten pounds a ticket.
Oh let's buy three tickets! says Belle et Bonne. Papa would love it. The principle of uncertainty. It sounds so intellectual.
Hmm, hmm, the principle of uncertainty, says David. Whatever is it? I feel I should know.
But you are uncertain? says Belle et Bonne.
Ha ha! laughs David. You are a breath of fresh air, Belle et Bonne. Vello and I have been quarrelling, you know. I believe he is jealous.
He's always jealous, says Belle et Bonne. But you and he must be tired. You've just finished a gruelling Tour.
True, says David. Look, that's where I was born. It looks a bit different now.
It does. It is now a ticket office. They buy three tickets for The Principle of Uncertainty, and amble back to the hotel to surprise Vello.
The principle of uncertainty is about not knowing where someone is if they're moving.
Yes something like that.
Therefore Vello will be easy to find.
........
Arthur is having the opposite problem in London. Paul is on the move.
He knocks on the door of the next apartment.
Hello? says a man. Can I help you?
Do you know Paul Verlaine? asks Arthur.
Sure do, says the man. He lives next door.
I know, says Arthur. He's a friend. Do you happen to know where he's gone?
Paul? He's gone to Edinburgh, says the neighbour. He's doing a poetry reading for the festival. He's a poet you know.
Oh I know, says Arthur. Thanks.
He turns to go down the stairs. A door slams.
Right, now to get hold of a knife.
So what if Sir Bradley Wiggins has eaten Ageless lobster for dinner? It is a fitting end for Ageless, who got off scot free after blatantly cheating his way through the Tour.
But that means no one's tailing Arthur, says Belle et Bonne. I hope he's alright.
He'll be fine, says David. He lives a charmed life. Now how about a wee stroll down the Royal Mile? Did you know I was born in Lawnmarket?
Were you really, David? says Vello. How extraordinary. I think I'll give it a miss.
I'd love to, David, says Belle et Bonne. You can show me the sights.
They go out, leaving Vello to read the newspaper, and gripe on his own.
The Royal Mile is full of buskers and people handing out fliers. The Edinburgh Fringe has begun.
Someone shoves a flier at David.
What's this? says David, A play? The Principle of Uncertainty. What a wonderful title. And only ten pounds a ticket.
Oh let's buy three tickets! says Belle et Bonne. Papa would love it. The principle of uncertainty. It sounds so intellectual.
Hmm, hmm, the principle of uncertainty, says David. Whatever is it? I feel I should know.
But you are uncertain? says Belle et Bonne.
Ha ha! laughs David. You are a breath of fresh air, Belle et Bonne. Vello and I have been quarrelling, you know. I believe he is jealous.
He's always jealous, says Belle et Bonne. But you and he must be tired. You've just finished a gruelling Tour.
True, says David. Look, that's where I was born. It looks a bit different now.
It does. It is now a ticket office. They buy three tickets for The Principle of Uncertainty, and amble back to the hotel to surprise Vello.
The principle of uncertainty is about not knowing where someone is if they're moving.
Yes something like that.
Therefore Vello will be easy to find.
........
Arthur is having the opposite problem in London. Paul is on the move.
He knocks on the door of the next apartment.
Hello? says a man. Can I help you?
Do you know Paul Verlaine? asks Arthur.
Sure do, says the man. He lives next door.
I know, says Arthur. He's a friend. Do you happen to know where he's gone?
Paul? He's gone to Edinburgh, says the neighbour. He's doing a poetry reading for the festival. He's a poet you know.
Oh I know, says Arthur. Thanks.
He turns to go down the stairs. A door slams.
Right, now to get hold of a knife.
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