It has not occurred to Gaius that Lavender will know about placoderms. But it makes perfect sense. After all the dear child is a fossil.
Lavender, I'm inclined to believe you, says Gaius, sipping his green tea. What has Margaret put in it? It's spicy.
Why? says Lavender.
Because you yourself are a fossil, says Gaius.
Wrong, says Lavender. I'm not a fossil. I'm a space in the shape of an auger. And I know the future.
But Lavender, says Margaret. The placoderm is not from the future.
Have we been to China to see it? says Lavender.
Not yet, says Margaret.
Ha ha, Margaret, says Gaius. Lavender's got you there.
Margaret doesn't think so. And she won't let Lavender wriggle out of a grilling.
Placoderms, says Margaret. What are they?
I went out with one, says Lavender. Millions of years ago.
Gaius is thrilled. For two reasons. Lavender will be a valuable addition to his entourage. And being tiny, she travels free.
..........
Arthur and Rosamunda Secunda are on the plane heading for Adelaide.
Arthur is eating a muffin.
Rosamunda is learning Chinese.
Qing man yong, says Rosamunda.
What does that mean? says Arthur. Qing man yong?
Please eat slowly, says Rosamunda.
When would you say it? says Arthur.
I don't know, says Rosamunda. I suppose I might say it to you.
Arthur stops chewing.
But I don't speak Chinese, says Arthur.
There's much less useful phrases than that one, says Rosamunda. Wo de qidianchuan zhuangman le shanyu. My hovercraft is full of eels.
It's not a hovercraft, says a flight attendant, in passing. It's a Boeing. And there are no eels. Is there anything else I can get you?
No thank you, says Rosamunda. I'm fine.
.............
It's endless night, on a long haul. Rosamunda can't sleep.
She pokes Arthur.
Are you happy I'm coming?
Yes, says Arthur. I am.
Why, says Rosamunda. Why are you?
Because you're dangerous, says Arthur.
Rosamunda had not thought she was dangerous.
Oh well, he can think what he likes.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
The Usefulness Of Knowing
Gaius is packing for China. Trousers, sensible shorts, shirt, thick notebooks, crocs.
You're not taking those crocs! says Margaret. There I must put my foot down.
Gaius sighs.
If only Arthur were here. Or that delightful young Rosamunda Secunda. Perhaps she would know Mandarin. He sends her a text, asking.
Rosamunda, do you know Mandarin?
...........
Rosamunda Secunda is in a cafe in London.
She is waiting for Arthur, who has gone to the pawn shop to redeem Katherine's shoe horn.
She reads Gaius's text. Brilliantissimo! He wants her to go with him to China!
How hard can Mandarin be?
And anyway, she does know......what is it?........
She texts back to Gaius: ni hao Gaius, see you soon.
...........
Margaret, says Gaius. It is possible I may not need you.
And why is that? says Margaret.
Rosamunda Secunda is coming, says Gaius. She speaks Mandarin.
Give me her number, says Margaret. I'll believe that when I hear it.
.........
Arthur enters the cafe.
How'd that go? says Rosie.
Arthur pulls the shoe horn out from his pocket.
Nice one, says Rosie.
Her phone rings. It is Margaret.
I am Gaius's companion, says Margaret. I hear you speak Mandarin.
Ni hao, says Rosamunda Secunda.
The call ends abruptly, after that.
...........
Nonetheless, says Margaret, I know more about placoderms.
She is making a pot of green tea for herself and Gaius.
I know ALL about placoderms, says a voice from the window sill.
It is Lavender.
Can she be believed?
You're not taking those crocs! says Margaret. There I must put my foot down.
Gaius sighs.
If only Arthur were here. Or that delightful young Rosamunda Secunda. Perhaps she would know Mandarin. He sends her a text, asking.
Rosamunda, do you know Mandarin?
...........
Rosamunda Secunda is in a cafe in London.
She is waiting for Arthur, who has gone to the pawn shop to redeem Katherine's shoe horn.
She reads Gaius's text. Brilliantissimo! He wants her to go with him to China!
How hard can Mandarin be?
And anyway, she does know......what is it?........
She texts back to Gaius: ni hao Gaius, see you soon.
...........
Margaret, says Gaius. It is possible I may not need you.
And why is that? says Margaret.
Rosamunda Secunda is coming, says Gaius. She speaks Mandarin.
Give me her number, says Margaret. I'll believe that when I hear it.
.........
Arthur enters the cafe.
How'd that go? says Rosie.
Arthur pulls the shoe horn out from his pocket.
Nice one, says Rosie.
Her phone rings. It is Margaret.
I am Gaius's companion, says Margaret. I hear you speak Mandarin.
Ni hao, says Rosamunda Secunda.
The call ends abruptly, after that.
...........
Nonetheless, says Margaret, I know more about placoderms.
She is making a pot of green tea for herself and Gaius.
I know ALL about placoderms, says a voice from the window sill.
It is Lavender.
Can she be believed?
Friday, September 27, 2013
Fast Track To China
Something is niggling Arthur. He gets out his smartphone, which he has not yet ditched, and calls Gaius.
Arthur! says Gaius. I hope you are not with that woman.
I never was, says Arthur. But what's this about China?
Wonderful news! says Gaius. Professor Zhu Min has invited me to visit his Institute in Qujing to examine his Entelognathus.
What is it? says Arthur. A blobfish?
No, no, says Gaius. The blobfish fell through. Far too deep.This is a new kettle of fish.
He pauses, for Arthur to laugh. Arthur doesn't.
Ha, ha, says Gaius. Kettle of fish!
I might think it was funnier, says Arthur, if I knew what it was.
My dear boy, says Gaius. I thought everyone knew what it was. It's in all the newspapers and all over the net. It's a placoderm...... (silence from Arthur)....more plainly, a missing link between ancient placoderms and modern bony fishes....
Ha! says Arthur. Kettles, newspapers, nets, your wit kills me.
Dear boy, says Gaius. How well you understand me. If only you were not in the Wolds. I would take you to China.
You couldn't afford it, says Arthur.
The Chinese are paying. says Gaius. I may bring two companions. At least one must speak Mandarin. Thus I am forced to take Margaret......
And who else? says Arthur.
But Gaius has faded away.
.................
Where are we going? says Rosie.
To the station, says Arthur.
They race to the station. There are crowds of people on the platform with placards.
A train passes through at top speed. Only two carriages and already full.
The people are angry.
.........
Arthur and Rosie are at the racecourse. No point wasting free tickets.
They are eating Homemade pie, Potato and Peas, and drinking a pint and a Pimm's.
A long red varnished fingernail pokes Arthur.
It is Ann!
I knew I'd find you here, says Ann Cox. There's been a mix up. Here's your gold coin. Do you have my Half Peny?
How lucky is that? And how logical.
........
Next morning, Arthur and Rosie are on the train heading to London.
We'll miss Kirton and Saint Ives, says Rosie.
Good, says Arthur. At least we won't miss China.
We? says Rosie.
I, says Arthur. You don't have a passport.
I do have a passport, says Rosie.
Arthur! says Gaius. I hope you are not with that woman.
I never was, says Arthur. But what's this about China?
Wonderful news! says Gaius. Professor Zhu Min has invited me to visit his Institute in Qujing to examine his Entelognathus.
What is it? says Arthur. A blobfish?
No, no, says Gaius. The blobfish fell through. Far too deep.This is a new kettle of fish.
He pauses, for Arthur to laugh. Arthur doesn't.
Ha, ha, says Gaius. Kettle of fish!
I might think it was funnier, says Arthur, if I knew what it was.
My dear boy, says Gaius. I thought everyone knew what it was. It's in all the newspapers and all over the net. It's a placoderm...... (silence from Arthur)....more plainly, a missing link between ancient placoderms and modern bony fishes....
Ha! says Arthur. Kettles, newspapers, nets, your wit kills me.
Dear boy, says Gaius. How well you understand me. If only you were not in the Wolds. I would take you to China.
You couldn't afford it, says Arthur.
The Chinese are paying. says Gaius. I may bring two companions. At least one must speak Mandarin. Thus I am forced to take Margaret......
And who else? says Arthur.
But Gaius has faded away.
.................
Where are we going? says Rosie.
To the station, says Arthur.
They race to the station. There are crowds of people on the platform with placards.
A train passes through at top speed. Only two carriages and already full.
The people are angry.
.........
Arthur and Rosie are at the racecourse. No point wasting free tickets.
They are eating Homemade pie, Potato and Peas, and drinking a pint and a Pimm's.
A long red varnished fingernail pokes Arthur.
It is Ann!
I knew I'd find you here, says Ann Cox. There's been a mix up. Here's your gold coin. Do you have my Half Peny?
How lucky is that? And how logical.
........
Next morning, Arthur and Rosie are on the train heading to London.
We'll miss Kirton and Saint Ives, says Rosie.
Good, says Arthur. At least we won't miss China.
We? says Rosie.
I, says Arthur. You don't have a passport.
I do have a passport, says Rosie.
In Search Of The Entelognathus
Look! The Barney Buttery Half Peny, says Arthur, holding it up.
So what's Ann got? says Rosie. A pound?
No, says Arthur, she must have my gold coin, the last one.
Shall I call her? says Rosie. I could.
No, says Arthur. Let her stew. Serves her right.
But that leaves you out of pocket, says Rosie.
Good, says Arthur. I was becoming too dependent on property. I might ditch the smart phone as well.
Wow! says Rosie. You are awesome!
It means I can't buy you a hat, says Arthur.
You weren't going to, says Rosie.
True, says Arthur.
Anyway, I'm going to make one, says Rosie. Help me look for feathers.
They look in the grass for feathers. But don't find a single one.
Was it you that told Gaius? says Arthur. About me and Ann?
Yes, says Rosie. I sent him a photo. It seemed kind of funny at the time. Sorry.
Doesn't matter, says Arthur.
He's thinking of going to China, says Rosie.
China? says Arthur. How do you know?
We communicate about natural history, says Rosie. Didn't I tell you? I send him bird lists, and stuff about wolds.
Like that they're made of chalk, scoffs Arthur. He would have already known that.
He did, says Rosie. He replied and told me all about drainage, and flat bottomed glacial valleys. It was so cool. That's how people learn.
Why is he going to China? says Arthur.
To look at the Entelognathus, says Rosie. Whatever that is. He did tell me.
I might cut this trip short. says Arthur. If he's going to China. I might take the train back to London and get an earlier flight....
No need to, says Rosie. He's not taking you. He's taking two women.
Arthur doesn't believe it. Gaius, taking two women?
So what's Ann got? says Rosie. A pound?
No, says Arthur, she must have my gold coin, the last one.
Shall I call her? says Rosie. I could.
No, says Arthur. Let her stew. Serves her right.
But that leaves you out of pocket, says Rosie.
Good, says Arthur. I was becoming too dependent on property. I might ditch the smart phone as well.
Wow! says Rosie. You are awesome!
It means I can't buy you a hat, says Arthur.
You weren't going to, says Rosie.
True, says Arthur.
Anyway, I'm going to make one, says Rosie. Help me look for feathers.
They look in the grass for feathers. But don't find a single one.
Was it you that told Gaius? says Arthur. About me and Ann?
Yes, says Rosie. I sent him a photo. It seemed kind of funny at the time. Sorry.
Doesn't matter, says Arthur.
He's thinking of going to China, says Rosie.
China? says Arthur. How do you know?
We communicate about natural history, says Rosie. Didn't I tell you? I send him bird lists, and stuff about wolds.
Like that they're made of chalk, scoffs Arthur. He would have already known that.
He did, says Rosie. He replied and told me all about drainage, and flat bottomed glacial valleys. It was so cool. That's how people learn.
Why is he going to China? says Arthur.
To look at the Entelognathus, says Rosie. Whatever that is. He did tell me.
I might cut this trip short. says Arthur. If he's going to China. I might take the train back to London and get an earlier flight....
No need to, says Rosie. He's not taking you. He's taking two women.
Arthur doesn't believe it. Gaius, taking two women?
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Beware Older Women
They are soon back in Pocklington.
Ann takes them across to the Council Chambers. Wait here for a minute, she says.
She goes in, and comes out with a sealed envelope, which she hands to Arthur.
We shall not meet again, says Ann. But don't forget Pocklington. Remember us kindly. Goodbye.
.....
So that's that. Or so you would think.
Arthur and Rosie are riding to Market Rasen. It is already dark.
You know, Arthur, says Rosie, I've never been to the races.
Nor have I, says Arthur. There never seemed any point.
People bet on the races, says Rosie. And lose money.
If we don't go, says Arthur, we won't lose any money.
And they wear wee hats, says Rosie.
We'll go if you want to, says Arthur. You can wear a wee hat.
They ride on in silence, through the dark night, conceiving fantastical hats.
..........
It is dawn. The birds sing in the trees outside Market Rasen.
Arthur and Rosie have paused by the roadside.
What was in the envelope she gave you? says Rosie.
Arthur takes the envelope out of his pocket and opens it.
Inside are two tickets to the next race meeting at Market Rasen. Awesome Autumn Package. Worth twenty pounds each. Including admission, Homemade Pie, Potato and Peas, a pint or a Pimm's.
Rosie's wee hat begins to take shape in her mind. It should have little Yorkshire Wold bird feathers. Blue ones......
........
What did Gaius say? says Rosie.
Beware older women, says Arthur. Beats me how he knew.
..........
It is only now, at last, finally, that Arthur checks the contents of his pockets.
Beware older women who stick their hands in your pocket and become momentarily distracted. They don't always see what comes out.
Ann takes them across to the Council Chambers. Wait here for a minute, she says.
She goes in, and comes out with a sealed envelope, which she hands to Arthur.
We shall not meet again, says Ann. But don't forget Pocklington. Remember us kindly. Goodbye.
.....
So that's that. Or so you would think.
Arthur and Rosie are riding to Market Rasen. It is already dark.
You know, Arthur, says Rosie, I've never been to the races.
Nor have I, says Arthur. There never seemed any point.
People bet on the races, says Rosie. And lose money.
If we don't go, says Arthur, we won't lose any money.
And they wear wee hats, says Rosie.
We'll go if you want to, says Arthur. You can wear a wee hat.
They ride on in silence, through the dark night, conceiving fantastical hats.
..........
It is dawn. The birds sing in the trees outside Market Rasen.
Arthur and Rosie have paused by the roadside.
What was in the envelope she gave you? says Rosie.
Arthur takes the envelope out of his pocket and opens it.
Inside are two tickets to the next race meeting at Market Rasen. Awesome Autumn Package. Worth twenty pounds each. Including admission, Homemade Pie, Potato and Peas, a pint or a Pimm's.
Rosie's wee hat begins to take shape in her mind. It should have little Yorkshire Wold bird feathers. Blue ones......
........
What did Gaius say? says Rosie.
Beware older women, says Arthur. Beats me how he knew.
..........
It is only now, at last, finally, that Arthur checks the contents of his pockets.
Beware older women who stick their hands in your pocket and become momentarily distracted. They don't always see what comes out.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Dangerous Liaisons
Arthur rolls over deliberately trapping Ann Cox's arm under his belly while her hand feels around in his pocket.
Ann is mortified. It's beyond embarrassing. Why did Arthur do that?
But just then her fingers close around something hard, round and sticky.
It has to be Barney Buttery's half penny. That coin belongs to Pocklington. She won't let it go.
You said I could take it, she gasps.
I didn't say it would be easy, says Arthur, rolling away.
Ann Cox sits up, drops the coin hurriedly into her picnic basket, and looks over at Rosie. Rosie is texting.
Ann Cox hopes it is not about her.
They tramp back to Pocklington over the wolds, Ann Cox quite a long way in front.
She is thinking about Arthur, and how the whole thing was his fault.
Arthur is thinking about Ann Cox and how she was lucky. She could have been cut by his knife. Instead she has regained Barney Buttery His Half Peny for Pocklington. She may well be re-elected next year.
Arthur looks at his phone. He sees the message from Sweezus with Gaius's number. Good, now he can send Gaius the photo of the pelican window. He locates the photo and sends it to Gaius, at last.
Rosie comes up beside him. She has finished her texting. She is thinking, how funny was that. She had taken a photo. It looked like Arthur was pashing the Mayor. She has sent it to Gaius and Belle.
Why are you grinning? says Arthur.
No reason, says Rosie.
Arthur's phone buzzes. He has a text message from Gaius.
No wait, he has two!
Ann is mortified. It's beyond embarrassing. Why did Arthur do that?
But just then her fingers close around something hard, round and sticky.
It has to be Barney Buttery's half penny. That coin belongs to Pocklington. She won't let it go.
You said I could take it, she gasps.
I didn't say it would be easy, says Arthur, rolling away.
Ann Cox sits up, drops the coin hurriedly into her picnic basket, and looks over at Rosie. Rosie is texting.
Ann Cox hopes it is not about her.
They tramp back to Pocklington over the wolds, Ann Cox quite a long way in front.
She is thinking about Arthur, and how the whole thing was his fault.
Arthur is thinking about Ann Cox and how she was lucky. She could have been cut by his knife. Instead she has regained Barney Buttery His Half Peny for Pocklington. She may well be re-elected next year.
Arthur looks at his phone. He sees the message from Sweezus with Gaius's number. Good, now he can send Gaius the photo of the pelican window. He locates the photo and sends it to Gaius, at last.
Rosie comes up beside him. She has finished her texting. She is thinking, how funny was that. She had taken a photo. It looked like Arthur was pashing the Mayor. She has sent it to Gaius and Belle.
Why are you grinning? says Arthur.
No reason, says Rosie.
Arthur's phone buzzes. He has a text message from Gaius.
No wait, he has two!
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Severe Inflation
The picnic is delightful, although they must ration the apple juice.
Ann Cox leans back against the warm trunk of a beech tree and explains Barney Buttery's coin.
After the Civil War, says Ann, there was severe inflation and coins were in short supply. So some of the wealthier businessmen made their own tokens. Barney Buttery was a maltster in Pocklington. Our Local History Group ......Arthur, are you listening?
What? says Arthur, who has been observing a blue tit, and wondering if it is a buzzard.
Never mind, says Ann Cox. Do have another fruit tart.
Thanks, says Arthur. He bites into another fruit tart.
What about you, Rosamunda? says Ann, Go halves in this one? Arthur, may I borrow your knife?
I'm stuffed, says Rosie. Couldn't eat another thing. But thanks for the picnic. And the birds. And showing us these wonderful wolds.
Yes, says Ann Cox. They are wonderful wolds, made of chalk, as you know, which is why....
Course I do, says Rosie, taking out her notebook, and writing MADE OF CHALK!!! AWESOME!!!
What are you writing? says Arthur.
Nothing says Rosie. Just notes.
Bet you wrote MADE OF CHALK, says Arthur.
I'm sure she wrote more than that, says Ann Cox.
Rosie smiles at her sweetly. Yes, she did write more than that.
Well, time we made tracks, says Ann Cox. Where are you two off to next?
Arthur takes out his phone. It is the first time he's looked at it since Rosie gave it back to him yesterday.
Market Rasen, says Arthur. Another market. Sounds predictably dreary.
Au contraire, says Ann Cox. There's a racecourse. You must go and see it.
For some reason this reminds her that Barney Buttery's coin is still in Arthur's shorts pocket.
Maybe it is the warmth of the afternoon, or whatever, but she reaches out and plunges her hand into Arthur's pocket without asking.
Which turns out to be a mistake.
Ann Cox leans back against the warm trunk of a beech tree and explains Barney Buttery's coin.
After the Civil War, says Ann, there was severe inflation and coins were in short supply. So some of the wealthier businessmen made their own tokens. Barney Buttery was a maltster in Pocklington. Our Local History Group ......Arthur, are you listening?
What? says Arthur, who has been observing a blue tit, and wondering if it is a buzzard.
Never mind, says Ann Cox. Do have another fruit tart.
Thanks, says Arthur. He bites into another fruit tart.
What about you, Rosamunda? says Ann, Go halves in this one? Arthur, may I borrow your knife?
I'm stuffed, says Rosie. Couldn't eat another thing. But thanks for the picnic. And the birds. And showing us these wonderful wolds.
Yes, says Ann Cox. They are wonderful wolds, made of chalk, as you know, which is why....
Course I do, says Rosie, taking out her notebook, and writing MADE OF CHALK!!! AWESOME!!!
What are you writing? says Arthur.
Nothing says Rosie. Just notes.
Bet you wrote MADE OF CHALK, says Arthur.
I'm sure she wrote more than that, says Ann Cox.
Rosie smiles at her sweetly. Yes, she did write more than that.
Well, time we made tracks, says Ann Cox. Where are you two off to next?
Arthur takes out his phone. It is the first time he's looked at it since Rosie gave it back to him yesterday.
Market Rasen, says Arthur. Another market. Sounds predictably dreary.
Au contraire, says Ann Cox. There's a racecourse. You must go and see it.
For some reason this reminds her that Barney Buttery's coin is still in Arthur's shorts pocket.
Maybe it is the warmth of the afternoon, or whatever, but she reaches out and plunges her hand into Arthur's pocket without asking.
Which turns out to be a mistake.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Barney Buttery His Half Peny
There are plenty of birds to be spotted in the Yorkshire Wolds. Rosamunda writes names in her notebook.
Robins, blue tits, great tits, coal tits, long-tailed tits, buzzards, jays and chiff-chaffs ( who are just passing through), crows , jackdaws, pheasants, swallows, bullfinches, chaffinches, kestrels, magpies, wrens, grey herons, kingfishers, a woodpecker.
All of them spotted by Ann.
Arthur sits under a larch tree, scraping the ground with his knife, waiting for lunch time.
Ding!
He's hit something hard. He digs round it, winkles it out.
Looks like a coin. He spits on it, rubs the dirt off. Holds it up to the light.
What's he found? says Ann Cox.
Rosie goes over to see.
It's a coin, says Rosie. Is it Roman?
No, says Arthur. It's got a date on. 1666.
Wow, says Rosie. 1666, that means you can keep it.
Nonsense, says Ann Cox. Let me see.
She opens a bottle of best Yorkshire apple juice, and tips it over the coin, washes it clean.
On one side are the words Barney Buttery, His Half Peny.
On the other side, three interlaced flowers, the initials BB, and the words Of Pocklington.
Rosie gets out her phone. Takes a photo. And sends it to someone.
Who are you sending that to? asks Ann Cox.
My mentor, says Rosie.
Mentor? says Arthur. Who is it?
Gaius, says Rosie. He's my mentor. He and me are like that.
Who's this Gaius? says Ann Cox. A natural historian?
Oh yes, says Rosie. The most famous one ever. Gaius Plinius Secundus. He'll love that coin.
He won't, says Arthur. It's too modern. He'd have liked it if it was Roman.
Arthur puts the coin in his pocket.
No, you don't, says Ann Cox. That is part of the heritage of Pocklington. Hand it over.
Take it, says Arthur, giving her his blue look, the one that always melted his mother.
Ann Cox is disarmed. How had she not noticed before how attractive this boy is?
Time for lunch, says Ann Cox, spreading a rug out and opening her basket.
Arthur, dear, do try some ham.
Robins, blue tits, great tits, coal tits, long-tailed tits, buzzards, jays and chiff-chaffs ( who are just passing through), crows , jackdaws, pheasants, swallows, bullfinches, chaffinches, kestrels, magpies, wrens, grey herons, kingfishers, a woodpecker.
All of them spotted by Ann.
Arthur sits under a larch tree, scraping the ground with his knife, waiting for lunch time.
Ding!
He's hit something hard. He digs round it, winkles it out.
Looks like a coin. He spits on it, rubs the dirt off. Holds it up to the light.
What's he found? says Ann Cox.
Rosie goes over to see.
It's a coin, says Rosie. Is it Roman?
No, says Arthur. It's got a date on. 1666.
Wow, says Rosie. 1666, that means you can keep it.
Nonsense, says Ann Cox. Let me see.
She opens a bottle of best Yorkshire apple juice, and tips it over the coin, washes it clean.
On one side are the words Barney Buttery, His Half Peny.
On the other side, three interlaced flowers, the initials BB, and the words Of Pocklington.
Rosie gets out her phone. Takes a photo. And sends it to someone.
Who are you sending that to? asks Ann Cox.
My mentor, says Rosie.
Mentor? says Arthur. Who is it?
Gaius, says Rosie. He's my mentor. He and me are like that.
Who's this Gaius? says Ann Cox. A natural historian?
Oh yes, says Rosie. The most famous one ever. Gaius Plinius Secundus. He'll love that coin.
He won't, says Arthur. It's too modern. He'd have liked it if it was Roman.
Arthur puts the coin in his pocket.
No, you don't, says Ann Cox. That is part of the heritage of Pocklington. Hand it over.
Take it, says Arthur, giving her his blue look, the one that always melted his mother.
Ann Cox is disarmed. How had she not noticed before how attractive this boy is?
Time for lunch, says Ann Cox, spreading a rug out and opening her basket.
Arthur, dear, do try some ham.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
A Yorkshire Picnic
We can't go now, to the Wolds, says Mayor Cox. I have a meeting. It will have to be tomorrow. Meet me here at ten in the morning, Rosamunda. I'll bring a nice Yorkshire picnic.
What about Arthur? says Rosie.
Mayor Cox glares at Arthur, who is cleaning his knife on his shorts.
He may come, says Mayor Cox, since he has expressed a liking for Wolds. But he must not bring the knife.
He? says Arthur. I know him. He won't abandon his knife.
Mayor Cox looks daggers at Arthur. Trouble-maker. And a French one to boot!
She hobbles off to the Pocklington Town Council meeting grappling with her conscience. Should she put a pound in the Skate Park Funds Box, or just let it go?
Rosie grins at Arthur. A free picnic tomorrow! That's good.
She loves you, says Arthur. She hates me. But I'm the one who fixed her pavement.
He starts picking at the cobblestone again. Lifts it out. Wedges a dirty bandage under it. Replaces the cobblestone loosely. Trip on that next time, Ann Cox.
It's awesome when you're a natural historian, says Rosie. Everyone respects you and wants you to write notes about stuff.
Great, says Arthur. But they don't offer you a bed for the night.
Come on Arthur, you've got money, says Rosie.
They go off to find a hotel.
......
Next morning finds them tramping over the gently rolling Yorkshire Wolds with Ann Cox.
How do you like them? says Ann. Are they not very fine? The poet Winifred Holtby described them this way, " fold upon fold of encircling hills, piled rich and golden".
Beautiful, says Rosie. So I gather that Wolds are just hills.
Ann Cox looks at her in a peculiar manner.
Arthur's a poet, says Rosie, moving on hurriedly.
Is he indeed? says Ann Cox. Well that is something. What does he think of the Wolds?
He thinks, says Arthur, that they are boring as hell, and he's wondering what's in your basket.
A rude poet, says Ann Cox. Just as I would have expected. You may tell him, Rosamunda, that in the basket is an indulgent picnic of freshly baked rolls, Yorkshire ham, cheesy scones, Puckett's Pickles, home grown salads, shortbread and individual fruit tarts, plus a bottle of delicious Yorkshire apple juice to wash it down.
When is lunch time? says Arthur.
Soon, says Ann Cox, but first I'm sure Rosamunda would like to do some bird spotting and our impatient poet might like to scratch in the dirt with his knife. Roman coins have been found in the Wolds. Of course if he finds one, he must give it to me.
It looks like a long time till lunch.
What about Arthur? says Rosie.
Mayor Cox glares at Arthur, who is cleaning his knife on his shorts.
He may come, says Mayor Cox, since he has expressed a liking for Wolds. But he must not bring the knife.
He? says Arthur. I know him. He won't abandon his knife.
Mayor Cox looks daggers at Arthur. Trouble-maker. And a French one to boot!
She hobbles off to the Pocklington Town Council meeting grappling with her conscience. Should she put a pound in the Skate Park Funds Box, or just let it go?
Rosie grins at Arthur. A free picnic tomorrow! That's good.
She loves you, says Arthur. She hates me. But I'm the one who fixed her pavement.
He starts picking at the cobblestone again. Lifts it out. Wedges a dirty bandage under it. Replaces the cobblestone loosely. Trip on that next time, Ann Cox.
It's awesome when you're a natural historian, says Rosie. Everyone respects you and wants you to write notes about stuff.
Great, says Arthur. But they don't offer you a bed for the night.
Come on Arthur, you've got money, says Rosie.
They go off to find a hotel.
......
Next morning finds them tramping over the gently rolling Yorkshire Wolds with Ann Cox.
How do you like them? says Ann. Are they not very fine? The poet Winifred Holtby described them this way, " fold upon fold of encircling hills, piled rich and golden".
Beautiful, says Rosie. So I gather that Wolds are just hills.
Ann Cox looks at her in a peculiar manner.
Arthur's a poet, says Rosie, moving on hurriedly.
Is he indeed? says Ann Cox. Well that is something. What does he think of the Wolds?
He thinks, says Arthur, that they are boring as hell, and he's wondering what's in your basket.
A rude poet, says Ann Cox. Just as I would have expected. You may tell him, Rosamunda, that in the basket is an indulgent picnic of freshly baked rolls, Yorkshire ham, cheesy scones, Puckett's Pickles, home grown salads, shortbread and individual fruit tarts, plus a bottle of delicious Yorkshire apple juice to wash it down.
When is lunch time? says Arthur.
Soon, says Ann Cox, but first I'm sure Rosamunda would like to do some bird spotting and our impatient poet might like to scratch in the dirt with his knife. Roman coins have been found in the Wolds. Of course if he finds one, he must give it to me.
It looks like a long time till lunch.
A Slight Problem With Funding
Mayor Ann Cox hands Arthur the spade. He doesn't take it.
Just dig out that cobblestone, says Ann Cox. Then make the hole deeper, and put it back in.
I'll use my knife, says Arthur.
He pulls the knife out of his pocket.
Ann Cox isn't pleased with this turn of events.
I see you are a young person who carries a knife, says Ann Cox. We don't like knives in Pocklington. Please give it to me.
No, says Arthur. I'm using it to dig out your cobblestone.
Ann Cox tries a new tack.
We're building a skate park, she says. A new one. For all the young people of Pocklington.
That proves there's nothing to do here, says Arthur, scratching at the dirt with his knife. The cobblestone comes loose. He lifts it out and sets it on the wall.
Well done, says Ann Cox. No, we don't have one at the moment. We have a slight problem with funding.
Now what? says Arthur, indicating the cobblestone.
Finish the job, then we'll see, says Ann Cox.
Arthur scratches around in the dirt that was under the cobblestone. Scoops dirt out with his hands and then drops the cobblestone back in its place. He stands up and stamps on the cobblestone.
How much is that worth? says Arthur.
Say a pound? says Ann Cox.
Put it towards the skate park, says Arthur. Don't say I'm not generous.
Ann Cox turns on her heel. Ouch! Another cricked ankle. She has to sit down on the wall.
Rosie rides up on her bicycle. It is only a two hour ride from Thirsk.
Hi Arthur! says Rosie. Here's your phone. Who's this lady?
Mayor of Pocklington, says Arthur. Her motto is Service With Freedom. What that means is, you work for nothing.
I say, says Ann Cox. That's not right. You've left out William Wilberforce. Not to mention I paid you a pound. Hello, young woman. My name is Mayor Cox. And you are?
Rosamunda Secunda, says Rosie. A natural historian. I've just been in Thirsk, rambling over the Moors, seeing Tits and Nuthatches and sticking my arm up cow's bottoms.
How wonderful! You must let me show you our Wolds, says Ann Cox.
Absolutely, says Rosamunda Secunda. Wolds are my favourite. But you're in a hurry, aren't you, Arthur?
No, says Arthur, calling her bluff. Wolds are my favourite too.
Just dig out that cobblestone, says Ann Cox. Then make the hole deeper, and put it back in.
I'll use my knife, says Arthur.
He pulls the knife out of his pocket.
Ann Cox isn't pleased with this turn of events.
I see you are a young person who carries a knife, says Ann Cox. We don't like knives in Pocklington. Please give it to me.
No, says Arthur. I'm using it to dig out your cobblestone.
Ann Cox tries a new tack.
We're building a skate park, she says. A new one. For all the young people of Pocklington.
That proves there's nothing to do here, says Arthur, scratching at the dirt with his knife. The cobblestone comes loose. He lifts it out and sets it on the wall.
Well done, says Ann Cox. No, we don't have one at the moment. We have a slight problem with funding.
Now what? says Arthur, indicating the cobblestone.
Finish the job, then we'll see, says Ann Cox.
Arthur scratches around in the dirt that was under the cobblestone. Scoops dirt out with his hands and then drops the cobblestone back in its place. He stands up and stamps on the cobblestone.
How much is that worth? says Arthur.
Say a pound? says Ann Cox.
Put it towards the skate park, says Arthur. Don't say I'm not generous.
Ann Cox turns on her heel. Ouch! Another cricked ankle. She has to sit down on the wall.
Rosie rides up on her bicycle. It is only a two hour ride from Thirsk.
Hi Arthur! says Rosie. Here's your phone. Who's this lady?
Mayor of Pocklington, says Arthur. Her motto is Service With Freedom. What that means is, you work for nothing.
I say, says Ann Cox. That's not right. You've left out William Wilberforce. Not to mention I paid you a pound. Hello, young woman. My name is Mayor Cox. And you are?
Rosamunda Secunda, says Rosie. A natural historian. I've just been in Thirsk, rambling over the Moors, seeing Tits and Nuthatches and sticking my arm up cow's bottoms.
How wonderful! You must let me show you our Wolds, says Ann Cox.
Absolutely, says Rosamunda Secunda. Wolds are my favourite. But you're in a hurry, aren't you, Arthur?
No, says Arthur, calling her bluff. Wolds are my favourite too.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Service With Freedom
Phil Bustard and Rosie arrive back at the Herriot Museum three hours later.
Chaffinches, Nuthatches, Great Tits and Coal Tits have been spotted. Sprigs of heather have been picked and discarded. Rosie has learned a few things about veterinary science.
Phil has learned that the Twitcher is an unusual bird-eating cuttlefish, and that Arthur is Arthur Rimbaud.
If I'd known who he was, I might have relented, says Phil.
No, you did the right thing, says Rosie. He was in a bad mood, after that message written in blood by the vicar, and the police may be looking for him too.
Dear me, says Phil. Well, here we are. The phones are recharged. I expect you'll be wanting to hurry off and catch up with Arthur. He sounds like a bit of a handful.
Rosie picks up the phones. It looks like Arthur has a message from Sweezus. It's Gaius's number.
She keys it into her phone.
..........
Arthur has arrived in Pocklington. It does have an old market square. He sits down on a stone wall wondering what to do next.
He has no phone. So he can't send the photo to Gaius. And he doesn't remember the route. Which boring old town is next? He will have to wait for Rosie. She will think he's being reliable. Phones are are like crab nets, he thinks.
A woman walks past him. She trips on a cobblestone, dropping a sheaf of papers on the ground.
Shit, mutters the woman. Must get those cobblestones fixed.
She sits down on the wall next to Arthur, rubbing her ankle.
Would you mind picking them up, she says, pointing at the papers. They might blow away.
Arthur picks them up, one by one. They look like the minutes of a meeting. They are on council letterhead with the Pocklington Armorial Bearings at the top. The bearings consist of a shield, crest with helmet and mantling, badge and motto. The motto is SERVICE WITH FREEDOM.
Service with freedom, says Arthur. What does that mean?
It means, says the woman, an end to slavery, and the beginning of service. William Wilberforce was from here.
Service? says Arthur. Like what, paid employment? That's your motto?
A proud motto, says the woman. I am the mayor of Pocklington. My name is Ann Cox. I take it you are unemployed.
Yes, says Arthur. I am unemployed. I am waiting for Rosie to arrive. Until then I have nothing to do.
Wait here, says Ann Cox. You can make yourself useful.
She hobbles off, and comes back with a spade.
Chaffinches, Nuthatches, Great Tits and Coal Tits have been spotted. Sprigs of heather have been picked and discarded. Rosie has learned a few things about veterinary science.
Phil has learned that the Twitcher is an unusual bird-eating cuttlefish, and that Arthur is Arthur Rimbaud.
If I'd known who he was, I might have relented, says Phil.
No, you did the right thing, says Rosie. He was in a bad mood, after that message written in blood by the vicar, and the police may be looking for him too.
Dear me, says Phil. Well, here we are. The phones are recharged. I expect you'll be wanting to hurry off and catch up with Arthur. He sounds like a bit of a handful.
Rosie picks up the phones. It looks like Arthur has a message from Sweezus. It's Gaius's number.
She keys it into her phone.
..........
Arthur has arrived in Pocklington. It does have an old market square. He sits down on a stone wall wondering what to do next.
He has no phone. So he can't send the photo to Gaius. And he doesn't remember the route. Which boring old town is next? He will have to wait for Rosie. She will think he's being reliable. Phones are are like crab nets, he thinks.
A woman walks past him. She trips on a cobblestone, dropping a sheaf of papers on the ground.
Shit, mutters the woman. Must get those cobblestones fixed.
She sits down on the wall next to Arthur, rubbing her ankle.
Would you mind picking them up, she says, pointing at the papers. They might blow away.
Arthur picks them up, one by one. They look like the minutes of a meeting. They are on council letterhead with the Pocklington Armorial Bearings at the top. The bearings consist of a shield, crest with helmet and mantling, badge and motto. The motto is SERVICE WITH FREEDOM.
Service with freedom, says Arthur. What does that mean?
It means, says the woman, an end to slavery, and the beginning of service. William Wilberforce was from here.
Service? says Arthur. Like what, paid employment? That's your motto?
A proud motto, says the woman. I am the mayor of Pocklington. My name is Ann Cox. I take it you are unemployed.
Yes, says Arthur. I am unemployed. I am waiting for Rosie to arrive. Until then I have nothing to do.
Wait here, says Ann Cox. You can make yourself useful.
She hobbles off, and comes back with a spade.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Now She Wants Him To Think
Give me your phone, says Rosie. Phil says we can recharge them inside.
Why should I give it to you? says Arthur.
You're not allowed back inside, says Rosie. But I am. Phil thinks I'm a natural historian. I was really convincing. I told him I'd written a treatise on Twitchers.
There was only one Twitcher, says Arthur.
A birdwatcher, right? says Rosie.
A giant Australian Cuttlefish, says Arthur.
Rosie looks doubtful.
Did he eat birds at all?
No, says Arthur. Why would he?
Never mind, says Rosie. Where's your phone?
How long will this take? says Arthur. I have to get going. It's a long ride to Pocklington.
Pocklington? says Rosie. You go on then, and I'll follow when our phones are recharged. We can meet up in the old market square. There's bound to be one.
I'm not waiting for you, here or there, says Arthur. I'm way behind schedule.
You'll be there, says Rosie. I guarantee I'll catch up with you in Pocklington, with your phone all charged up.
That Rosie. Now she wants him to think that she thinks he's reliable.
He'll show her.
Arthur rides away in what he hopes is the direction of Pocklington.
Rosie enters the Herriot Museum to find Phil, and to start charging the phones.
Righto, Rosamunda, says Phil Bustard. I've got the afternoon off. You've got a few hours to kill. How about I show you the moors? We can do a spot of birdwatching. Curlews, cuckoos, larks, linnets, buzzards, bullfinches.........and we might see some Twitchers, ha ha.
I very much doubt it, says Rosamunda Secunda, but I'll be happy to come just the same.
Phil locks up the Herriot Museum.
They drive off in his car.
In the quiet of the empty Museum, Arthur's phone buzzes.
The medicine bottles vibrate imperceptibly.
And nothing else happens.
Why should I give it to you? says Arthur.
You're not allowed back inside, says Rosie. But I am. Phil thinks I'm a natural historian. I was really convincing. I told him I'd written a treatise on Twitchers.
There was only one Twitcher, says Arthur.
A birdwatcher, right? says Rosie.
A giant Australian Cuttlefish, says Arthur.
Rosie looks doubtful.
Did he eat birds at all?
No, says Arthur. Why would he?
Never mind, says Rosie. Where's your phone?
How long will this take? says Arthur. I have to get going. It's a long ride to Pocklington.
Pocklington? says Rosie. You go on then, and I'll follow when our phones are recharged. We can meet up in the old market square. There's bound to be one.
I'm not waiting for you, here or there, says Arthur. I'm way behind schedule.
You'll be there, says Rosie. I guarantee I'll catch up with you in Pocklington, with your phone all charged up.
That Rosie. Now she wants him to think that she thinks he's reliable.
He'll show her.
Arthur rides away in what he hopes is the direction of Pocklington.
Rosie enters the Herriot Museum to find Phil, and to start charging the phones.
Righto, Rosamunda, says Phil Bustard. I've got the afternoon off. You've got a few hours to kill. How about I show you the moors? We can do a spot of birdwatching. Curlews, cuckoos, larks, linnets, buzzards, bullfinches.........and we might see some Twitchers, ha ha.
I very much doubt it, says Rosamunda Secunda, but I'll be happy to come just the same.
Phil locks up the Herriot Museum.
They drive off in his car.
In the quiet of the empty Museum, Arthur's phone buzzes.
The medicine bottles vibrate imperceptibly.
And nothing else happens.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
The Habits Of Bird Watchers
Rosie has re-entered the Herriot Museum, leaving Arthur outside.
You again, says the manager to Rosie. I thought I'd made it clear......
To Arthur, says Rosie. He's my right hand man, but his accident with the bottle was nothing to do with me.
Perhaps I over-reacted, says the manager. It was our last bottle of Hoose Mixture. Welcome back. I'm Phil Bustard. And you...?
Rosamunda Secunda, says Rosie.
I'm a natural historian, she adds.
Are you indeed? says Phil Bustard. Should I know you?
Perhaps, says Rosamunda. I've been published. I've recently written a treatise on..... errr.... Twitchers, which was quite well received.
Twitchers! says Phil Bustard. But Twitchers are bird watchers.
Yes they are, says Rosamunda. Bird watchers. Strange animals. They watch them and then they catch them and eat them. But my most recent interest is the blobfish.
You are in the wrong place, says Phil Bustard.
I realise that, says Rosamunda. I'm just passing through.
I could show you around, says Phil Bustard. Would you like that? The Yorkshire Moors are beautiful this time of year. The heather is flowering, and the autumn gentians. And of course you like birds....
Birds, says Rosamunda. Oh yes, birds. But no thank you. We don't have time. Arthur is in a hurry. However, you could do me a favour.
What is it? says Phil Bustard.
Would you take a photo of me with my arm up the cow's bottom? says Rosamunda. Arthur wouldn't.
Certainly, says Phil. Happy to oblige. Give me your phone. Oh dear, looks like it needs charging!
Damn! says Rosamunda. I bet Arthur's does as well. Where can we recharge them?
You can plug them in here, says Phil Bustard. Go and get his. But don't bring him back inside.
Rosamunda goes outside to find Arthur who is sitting astride his bicycle, looking moody.
That went well, she says. Give me your phone.
You again, says the manager to Rosie. I thought I'd made it clear......
To Arthur, says Rosie. He's my right hand man, but his accident with the bottle was nothing to do with me.
Perhaps I over-reacted, says the manager. It was our last bottle of Hoose Mixture. Welcome back. I'm Phil Bustard. And you...?
Rosamunda Secunda, says Rosie.
I'm a natural historian, she adds.
Are you indeed? says Phil Bustard. Should I know you?
Perhaps, says Rosamunda. I've been published. I've recently written a treatise on..... errr.... Twitchers, which was quite well received.
Twitchers! says Phil Bustard. But Twitchers are bird watchers.
Yes they are, says Rosamunda. Bird watchers. Strange animals. They watch them and then they catch them and eat them. But my most recent interest is the blobfish.
You are in the wrong place, says Phil Bustard.
I realise that, says Rosamunda. I'm just passing through.
I could show you around, says Phil Bustard. Would you like that? The Yorkshire Moors are beautiful this time of year. The heather is flowering, and the autumn gentians. And of course you like birds....
Birds, says Rosamunda. Oh yes, birds. But no thank you. We don't have time. Arthur is in a hurry. However, you could do me a favour.
What is it? says Phil Bustard.
Would you take a photo of me with my arm up the cow's bottom? says Rosamunda. Arthur wouldn't.
Certainly, says Phil. Happy to oblige. Give me your phone. Oh dear, looks like it needs charging!
Damn! says Rosamunda. I bet Arthur's does as well. Where can we recharge them?
You can plug them in here, says Phil Bustard. Go and get his. But don't bring him back inside.
Rosamunda goes outside to find Arthur who is sitting astride his bicycle, looking moody.
That went well, she says. Give me your phone.
Shoving Your Arm In A Cow
All these towns look alike, says Arthur, as they roll into Thirsk.
Nice though, says Rosie. Cottages, river banks, old market squares......
Arthur dismounts and starts kicking a stone.
You picked it, says Rosie. The route. I suppose it was meant to be scenic.
What's there to do here? says Arthur. A vet museum?
Oh yes, says Rosie. Let's go there.
They find the Herriot Museum. It's not difficult. It's just down the road and turn right. The house with the blue plaque on the outside. Famous.
They go inside.
It's like going back in time. There are medicine bottles on shelves and old plumbing and armchairs with antimacassars.
A cow with a hole in its backside. Rosie puts her arm in.
Take a photo, Arthur, says Rosie.
No, says Arthur. That's the worst thing I've seen.
Put your arm in then, says Rosie.
Arthur glowers and sits down in the armchair.
Get up, says the manager. You can't sit there. It's part of the film set.
Arthur gets up, walks over to a row of bottles, picks up a bottle, takes the cork out, sniffs it.
The manager, who is burly, takes the cork from Arthur's hand and shoves it back into the bottle which Arthur then drops on the linoleum, where it shatters.
That's it, young man, says the manager. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave.
We're going, says Rosie. She pulls Arthur outside.
Outside the museum she turns on Arthur.
Why am I here? says Rosie.
Spying on me, says Arthur.
I thought you liked me, says Rosie. You don't like me. You don't like anyone. Except maybe that... Gaius. So what is it about him?
Arthur thinks. It's true. He does like Gaius.
He thinks I'm reliable, says Arthur. No one else does.
Because you're not, says Rosie. Anyway, I'm leaving. Going home. Either that or....
What? says Arthur.
I don't know, says Rosie. I could pretend I was Gaius.
Arthur laughs.
You laughed! says Rosie. You don't think I could. He's a natural historian, right.
He's a Roman, says Arthur. An old guy. A one off. Go on then. Pretend that you're him.
Right, says Rosie. She turns around and walks back to the Herriot Museum. Goes inside.
And doesn't come out for two hours.
Nice though, says Rosie. Cottages, river banks, old market squares......
Arthur dismounts and starts kicking a stone.
You picked it, says Rosie. The route. I suppose it was meant to be scenic.
What's there to do here? says Arthur. A vet museum?
Oh yes, says Rosie. Let's go there.
They find the Herriot Museum. It's not difficult. It's just down the road and turn right. The house with the blue plaque on the outside. Famous.
They go inside.
It's like going back in time. There are medicine bottles on shelves and old plumbing and armchairs with antimacassars.
A cow with a hole in its backside. Rosie puts her arm in.
Take a photo, Arthur, says Rosie.
No, says Arthur. That's the worst thing I've seen.
Put your arm in then, says Rosie.
Arthur glowers and sits down in the armchair.
Get up, says the manager. You can't sit there. It's part of the film set.
Arthur gets up, walks over to a row of bottles, picks up a bottle, takes the cork out, sniffs it.
The manager, who is burly, takes the cork from Arthur's hand and shoves it back into the bottle which Arthur then drops on the linoleum, where it shatters.
That's it, young man, says the manager. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave.
We're going, says Rosie. She pulls Arthur outside.
Outside the museum she turns on Arthur.
Why am I here? says Rosie.
Spying on me, says Arthur.
I thought you liked me, says Rosie. You don't like me. You don't like anyone. Except maybe that... Gaius. So what is it about him?
Arthur thinks. It's true. He does like Gaius.
He thinks I'm reliable, says Arthur. No one else does.
Because you're not, says Rosie. Anyway, I'm leaving. Going home. Either that or....
What? says Arthur.
I don't know, says Rosie. I could pretend I was Gaius.
Arthur laughs.
You laughed! says Rosie. You don't think I could. He's a natural historian, right.
He's a Roman, says Arthur. An old guy. A one off. Go on then. Pretend that you're him.
Right, says Rosie. She turns around and walks back to the Herriot Museum. Goes inside.
And doesn't come out for two hours.
Monday, September 16, 2013
It's Midnight Where You Are
Where to next? asks Rosie.
Arthur consults his smart phone.
Thirsk, says Arthur. It's somewhere in Yorkshire.
I've heard of Thirsk, says Rosie. That's where James Herriot lived.
Huh? says Arthur.
You know! says Rosie. The VET! He wrote all those sitcoms. My grandma watched them.
Sitcoms? says Arthur. A vet?
Don't pretend, says Rosie. I know you like animals
What makes you think that? says Arthur.
Your awful lobster friend, says Rosie. And that pelican.
That wasn't a pelican, says Arthur. It was a stained glass window. That reminds me, I need Gaius's number.
He calls Sweezus.
Brrring Brrring.
Arthur! says Sweezus. Geez, man! It's the middle of the night!
Not where I am, says Arthur.
What's up? says Sweezus. You in trouble?
No, says Arthur. What's Gaius's number? I have to send him a picture.
I'll text it to you, says Sweezus. Arthur, you dickhead.. How'll I get back to sleep now? Where are you?
Just heading to Thirsk, says Arthur. It's in Yorkshire.
Thirsk, says Sweezus. That's where James Herriot lived.
The vet, says Arthur.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Great writer. Go see his house. It's a museum.
Just send me Gaius's number, says Arthur, ending the call.
What picture are you sending? says Rosie. The pelican?
Yes, says Arthur. He pulls the postcard out of his pocket and shows it to Rosie.
Is that blood? says Rosie.
She's feeding her children, says Arthur.
Not that blood, says Rosie. This brown stuff on the back! Looks like spidery writing, in blood.
Let's see it, says Arthur, turning over the postcard.
He frowns at the spidery writing.
So that was what the vicar wanted.
Pity.
He can't go back now.
Arthur consults his smart phone.
Thirsk, says Arthur. It's somewhere in Yorkshire.
I've heard of Thirsk, says Rosie. That's where James Herriot lived.
Huh? says Arthur.
You know! says Rosie. The VET! He wrote all those sitcoms. My grandma watched them.
Sitcoms? says Arthur. A vet?
Don't pretend, says Rosie. I know you like animals
What makes you think that? says Arthur.
Your awful lobster friend, says Rosie. And that pelican.
That wasn't a pelican, says Arthur. It was a stained glass window. That reminds me, I need Gaius's number.
He calls Sweezus.
Brrring Brrring.
Arthur! says Sweezus. Geez, man! It's the middle of the night!
Not where I am, says Arthur.
What's up? says Sweezus. You in trouble?
No, says Arthur. What's Gaius's number? I have to send him a picture.
I'll text it to you, says Sweezus. Arthur, you dickhead.. How'll I get back to sleep now? Where are you?
Just heading to Thirsk, says Arthur. It's in Yorkshire.
Thirsk, says Sweezus. That's where James Herriot lived.
The vet, says Arthur.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Great writer. Go see his house. It's a museum.
Just send me Gaius's number, says Arthur, ending the call.
What picture are you sending? says Rosie. The pelican?
Yes, says Arthur. He pulls the postcard out of his pocket and shows it to Rosie.
Is that blood? says Rosie.
She's feeding her children, says Arthur.
Not that blood, says Rosie. This brown stuff on the back! Looks like spidery writing, in blood.
Let's see it, says Arthur, turning over the postcard.
He frowns at the spidery writing.
So that was what the vicar wanted.
Pity.
He can't go back now.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Other Points Of View In The Natural World
The walls of Barnard Castle have been collapsing since 2009. The stones are in disarray.
You can hear them complaining.
It's the fault of the Council, says Stone 345.
They've done nothing, says Stone 872. They're all talk.
There'll be none of us left, says Stone 41. One by one we're going missing. We need protection. And where are the police?
Never around when you need them, says Stone189.
Arthur sits down on Stone189, unaware of its need for protection.
Rosie sits on Stone 345.
Who were you on the phone to? asks Rosie, handing Arthur a green-looking quiche.
Sweezus, says Arthur. Your hero.
What's he up to? says Rosie. Writing something amazing no doubt.
No he isn't, says Arthur. He's doing a report on the Twitcher while Gaius is off chasing blobfish.
Blobfish? says Rosie. I've heard about them. They've just been voted the world's ugliest animal. How mean is that?
Why? asks Arthur, who doesn't know much about blobfish.
Because they live in the dark, says Rosie. Here, have an apple.
Thanks, says Arthur. He takes out his knife.
Do you peel your apples? says Rosie. You're funny.
Sometimes, says Arthur, running the knife under the peel of the apple. The knife leaves a thin red line on the flesh.
Euww, says Rosie. Don't you wash it?
Arthur bites into his apple, wipes the knife on the back of his shorts.
He scrapes his knife down the side of Stone 189, to sharpen it.
Stone 189 stiffens.
Hey! says Stone 189 to the knife. Watch it, terminator!
Shut it, says the knife sharply. I'm sick of taking the blame. In fact, when I get to London.....
You're going to London? says Stone 189. Lucky you.
You bet, says the sharp knife of Arthur. I'm being exchanged for a shoe horn. And I tell you, I won't mind a bit.
Stone 189 is impressed. He shuts up and starts thinking about what he might be exchanged for, and where that might leave him. His thoughts extend to the grass. And the apple peel lying on it.
Arthur's apple peel curls up defensively on the grass as ants approach, military fashion.
Sh-sss, hisses the apple peel. Life is short.
Stone 189 finds he can relate to that sentiment.
Arthur and Rosie get up to leave Barnard Castle because they have nothing to drink.
And so they are nowhere near the collapsing ruins when the Durham Constabulary drift past.
You can hear them complaining.
It's the fault of the Council, says Stone 345.
They've done nothing, says Stone 872. They're all talk.
There'll be none of us left, says Stone 41. One by one we're going missing. We need protection. And where are the police?
Never around when you need them, says Stone189.
Arthur sits down on Stone189, unaware of its need for protection.
Rosie sits on Stone 345.
Who were you on the phone to? asks Rosie, handing Arthur a green-looking quiche.
Sweezus, says Arthur. Your hero.
What's he up to? says Rosie. Writing something amazing no doubt.
No he isn't, says Arthur. He's doing a report on the Twitcher while Gaius is off chasing blobfish.
Blobfish? says Rosie. I've heard about them. They've just been voted the world's ugliest animal. How mean is that?
Why? asks Arthur, who doesn't know much about blobfish.
Because they live in the dark, says Rosie. Here, have an apple.
Thanks, says Arthur. He takes out his knife.
Do you peel your apples? says Rosie. You're funny.
Sometimes, says Arthur, running the knife under the peel of the apple. The knife leaves a thin red line on the flesh.
Euww, says Rosie. Don't you wash it?
Arthur bites into his apple, wipes the knife on the back of his shorts.
He scrapes his knife down the side of Stone 189, to sharpen it.
Stone 189 stiffens.
Hey! says Stone 189 to the knife. Watch it, terminator!
Shut it, says the knife sharply. I'm sick of taking the blame. In fact, when I get to London.....
You're going to London? says Stone 189. Lucky you.
You bet, says the sharp knife of Arthur. I'm being exchanged for a shoe horn. And I tell you, I won't mind a bit.
Stone 189 is impressed. He shuts up and starts thinking about what he might be exchanged for, and where that might leave him. His thoughts extend to the grass. And the apple peel lying on it.
Arthur's apple peel curls up defensively on the grass as ants approach, military fashion.
Sh-sss, hisses the apple peel. Life is short.
Stone 189 finds he can relate to that sentiment.
Arthur and Rosie get up to leave Barnard Castle because they have nothing to drink.
And so they are nowhere near the collapsing ruins when the Durham Constabulary drift past.
Friday, September 13, 2013
In Pursuit Of The Blobfish
Arthur is waiting at the Butter Market. It is not what he had imagined. There is no butter on sale. Not anything really. An open circular building at the end of the main street. Ancient and breezy. A weather vane on top.
His phone rings. It's Sweezus.
Arthur? How're you doing? says Sweezus, in a crackling voice.
All right, says Arthur. I'm cycling to London to pick something up. Why?
Things are crap here, says Sweezus. I've run out of ideas. I might have to do something for Gaius.
Rather you than me, says Arthur.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Exactly.
What is it? says Arthur.
A report on the Twitcher, says Sweezus.
Twitcher's dead, says Arthur. What's to report?
The mayor of Wallaroo wants a full report on the mission to Turkey, says Sweezus. Gaius says he's too busy to do it. He's got a new interest.
What's that? says Arthur. A new woman?
Oh yeah right, says Sweezus, No way. It's an ugly gelatinous deep sea fish thing, a blobfish. So he's off to the coast, and I've got to do his report.
Good luck with that, says Arthur. The Wallaroo people were fond of the Twitcher. Don't tell them what really happened.
What really happened? says Sweezus.
You're breaking up, says Arthur, ending the call.
Rosie arrives at the Butter Market. Gets off her bike.
Hi Arthur ! says Rosie. Nice shorts! What's that on the bottom?
Blood, says Arthur. But it's dried now. Can you still see it?
Blood goes brown when it dries, not orange, says Rosie. Whose blood is it? Yours?
Arthur shrugs. It could well be the vicar's.
It's so cool that you've got a phone now, says Rosie. I couldn't live without mine. So, anyway, what shall we do? Go and look at the castle? They say the walls are collapsing.
Eat first, says Arthur. Let's find a bakery.
No need, says Rosie. I stopped at the bakery in Brampton for quiches and buns. And I've brought two apples.
See my poem in the window? says Arthur.
No, says Rosie. What poem?
Doesn't matter, says Arthur. A poem.
They move off in the direction of the castle, and are not near the Butter Market minutes later, when the Durham Constabulary cruise past.
His phone rings. It's Sweezus.
Arthur? How're you doing? says Sweezus, in a crackling voice.
All right, says Arthur. I'm cycling to London to pick something up. Why?
Things are crap here, says Sweezus. I've run out of ideas. I might have to do something for Gaius.
Rather you than me, says Arthur.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Exactly.
What is it? says Arthur.
A report on the Twitcher, says Sweezus.
Twitcher's dead, says Arthur. What's to report?
The mayor of Wallaroo wants a full report on the mission to Turkey, says Sweezus. Gaius says he's too busy to do it. He's got a new interest.
What's that? says Arthur. A new woman?
Oh yeah right, says Sweezus, No way. It's an ugly gelatinous deep sea fish thing, a blobfish. So he's off to the coast, and I've got to do his report.
Good luck with that, says Arthur. The Wallaroo people were fond of the Twitcher. Don't tell them what really happened.
What really happened? says Sweezus.
You're breaking up, says Arthur, ending the call.
Rosie arrives at the Butter Market. Gets off her bike.
Hi Arthur ! says Rosie. Nice shorts! What's that on the bottom?
Blood, says Arthur. But it's dried now. Can you still see it?
Blood goes brown when it dries, not orange, says Rosie. Whose blood is it? Yours?
Arthur shrugs. It could well be the vicar's.
It's so cool that you've got a phone now, says Rosie. I couldn't live without mine. So, anyway, what shall we do? Go and look at the castle? They say the walls are collapsing.
Eat first, says Arthur. Let's find a bakery.
No need, says Rosie. I stopped at the bakery in Brampton for quiches and buns. And I've brought two apples.
See my poem in the window? says Arthur.
No, says Rosie. What poem?
Doesn't matter, says Arthur. A poem.
They move off in the direction of the castle, and are not near the Butter Market minutes later, when the Durham Constabulary cruise past.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
It's No Good Asking What Happened
Far out! says Sweezus, putting the phone down.
Who was it? says Belle et Bonne.
Arthur, says Sweezus. He said I don't, then there was this thud.
I don't? says Belle et Bonne. A thud? Sweezie, call him straight back!
And heavy breathing, says Sweezus. Like something was going on.
What's his number? says Belle.
Don't know, says Sweezus. He called the landline. How does that even work?
Give it here, says Belle. She presses some buttons. Calls Arthur's number.
Ring ring.
But there is no reply.
He's in trouble, I knew it, says Belle et Bonne. Do we know where he is?
Brampton, says Sweezus. In Cumbria.
Right. I'm calling Rosie, says Belle. She'll know what to do.
She calls Rosie, in Edinburgh.
What's up, Belle? says Rosie. Are you home yet?
Yes, I'm home, says Belle. And Arthur's in trouble in Brampton.
She gives Rosie his number.
I'm on it, says Rosie. She gets a few things together and places them into a backpack. She takes her bicycle out of the shed.
...............
Arthur is on his way to Barnard Castle. The vicar is flat on his back under a tree on the outskirts of Brampton.
It is no good asking what happened.
The weather is fine as Arthur approaches the town of Barnard Castle, in Durham County.
The orange shorts have almost dried out.
His phone rings.
It's Rosie.
Arthur where are you? says Rosie. I heard you're in trouble.
Trouble? says Arthur.
I'm in Brampton, says Rosie.
That's where I was, says Arthur. Watch out for the vicar.
Where are you now? says Rosie.
Nearly to Barnard Castle, says Arthur.
Wait for me there, says Rosie.
Why? says Arthur.
I've come all this way to see you, says Rosie. Meet me at the Butter Market.
Arthur likes the sound of the Butter Market.
All right , says Arthur. I'll wait for you there.
It's good having a phone.
Who was it? says Belle et Bonne.
Arthur, says Sweezus. He said I don't, then there was this thud.
I don't? says Belle et Bonne. A thud? Sweezie, call him straight back!
And heavy breathing, says Sweezus. Like something was going on.
What's his number? says Belle.
Don't know, says Sweezus. He called the landline. How does that even work?
Give it here, says Belle. She presses some buttons. Calls Arthur's number.
Ring ring.
But there is no reply.
He's in trouble, I knew it, says Belle et Bonne. Do we know where he is?
Brampton, says Sweezus. In Cumbria.
Right. I'm calling Rosie, says Belle. She'll know what to do.
She calls Rosie, in Edinburgh.
What's up, Belle? says Rosie. Are you home yet?
Yes, I'm home, says Belle. And Arthur's in trouble in Brampton.
She gives Rosie his number.
I'm on it, says Rosie. She gets a few things together and places them into a backpack. She takes her bicycle out of the shed.
...............
Arthur is on his way to Barnard Castle. The vicar is flat on his back under a tree on the outskirts of Brampton.
It is no good asking what happened.
The weather is fine as Arthur approaches the town of Barnard Castle, in Durham County.
The orange shorts have almost dried out.
His phone rings.
It's Rosie.
Arthur where are you? says Rosie. I heard you're in trouble.
Trouble? says Arthur.
I'm in Brampton, says Rosie.
That's where I was, says Arthur. Watch out for the vicar.
Where are you now? says Rosie.
Nearly to Barnard Castle, says Arthur.
Wait for me there, says Rosie.
Why? says Arthur.
I've come all this way to see you, says Rosie. Meet me at the Butter Market.
Arthur likes the sound of the Butter Market.
All right , says Arthur. I'll wait for you there.
It's good having a phone.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
The Pre-Raphaelites Were Awfully Good
The vicar enters the bakery.
Morning vicar, says the baker. Coming in for a jammy bun?
The vicar is clenching his fist. Blood oozes onto the floor.
Hurt yourself? says the baker. You might need to get that cut seen to.
It's all right, says the vicar, sitting down. Just give me a paper napkin.
The baker hands the vicar a paper napkin. The vicar dabs at his wounds.
He looks up. Arthur is leaving.
Stop! says the vicar.
Arthur stops in the doorway, finishing his Belgian bun..
With his good hand, the vicar hands Arthur a postcard.
It's a photo of the pelican window. Giant doughnut pelican, blood like strawberry jam. Squawking babies like feathery cream puffs. The Pre-Raphaelites were awfully good.
Thanks, says Arthur. Very useful. Goodbye, I'm off now.
And? says the vicar, wiggling his fingers suggestively.
It was your fault, says Arthur.
Forgive and forget, says the vicar.
What happened? asks the baker.
The two girls look up from their buns.
Nothing that can't be mended, says the vicar. Read the back of the postcard, young man.
Later, says Arthur, making off down the road.
He knows vicars. He has a good idea what will be on the back of the postcard.
........
Arthur wheels his bike to the edge of town. Stops and takes out his phone.
He will forward his photo to Gaius, before setting off to Barnard Castle, the next town on his route.
He looks at the photo. Its a bad one. Just a grey grid, with the hint of a pelican shape.
He takes out the postcard. It's a good one. Abundant with pelican detail.
He photographs the postcard.
All he needs now is Gaius's number.
He will have to call Sweezus again.
.........
Ring, ring. The landline rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up.
You again, Arthur? says Sweezus. Man, why don't you call me direct?
I don't......begins a voice that sounds like Arthur, but ends in a thud, followed by heavy breathing........
Morning vicar, says the baker. Coming in for a jammy bun?
The vicar is clenching his fist. Blood oozes onto the floor.
Hurt yourself? says the baker. You might need to get that cut seen to.
It's all right, says the vicar, sitting down. Just give me a paper napkin.
The baker hands the vicar a paper napkin. The vicar dabs at his wounds.
He looks up. Arthur is leaving.
Stop! says the vicar.
Arthur stops in the doorway, finishing his Belgian bun..
With his good hand, the vicar hands Arthur a postcard.
It's a photo of the pelican window. Giant doughnut pelican, blood like strawberry jam. Squawking babies like feathery cream puffs. The Pre-Raphaelites were awfully good.
Thanks, says Arthur. Very useful. Goodbye, I'm off now.
And? says the vicar, wiggling his fingers suggestively.
It was your fault, says Arthur.
Forgive and forget, says the vicar.
What happened? asks the baker.
The two girls look up from their buns.
Nothing that can't be mended, says the vicar. Read the back of the postcard, young man.
Later, says Arthur, making off down the road.
He knows vicars. He has a good idea what will be on the back of the postcard.
........
Arthur wheels his bike to the edge of town. Stops and takes out his phone.
He will forward his photo to Gaius, before setting off to Barnard Castle, the next town on his route.
He looks at the photo. Its a bad one. Just a grey grid, with the hint of a pelican shape.
He takes out the postcard. It's a good one. Abundant with pelican detail.
He photographs the postcard.
All he needs now is Gaius's number.
He will have to call Sweezus again.
.........
Ring, ring. The landline rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up.
You again, Arthur? says Sweezus. Man, why don't you call me direct?
I don't......begins a voice that sounds like Arthur, but ends in a thud, followed by heavy breathing........
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
The Metaphysics Of Windows
Arthur enters the bakery.
You're back, says the baker, surprised.
Give me paper, says Arthur, and I'll give you the poem.
The baker gives Arthur a sheet of white paper.
And a pen, says Arthur.
The baker produces a red one, of the type that all businessmen have.
Arthur writes his poem on the white paper. It looks good in red. He gives it to the baker, who reads it aloud:
The Metaphysics of Windows
( the baker looks mildly disappointed by the title, but continues )
There's blood on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
the babies are begging for jam
give us blood red jam mother
she addresses her birdhead
blood red jam is inside
she arches her sacrificial neck
beats her wing against the locked door
her breast bursts open
blood red jam drips to the floor
stop mother cry the babies
there is jam on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
enough for us all.
That's good, says the baker. I like the way you incorporated the jam. But I was hoping for something less metaphysical.
Too bad, says Arthur. And I think it's worth more than one bun. Can I have another one? That one?
He points to a Belgian bun, with a half glace cherry on top.
Not yet, says the baker. Not till I see that the poem is working.
He sticks it in the front window near the door.
Two girls come along. They stop, read the poem, turn to one another, nod, and come inside.
Nice poem you've put up in the window, says one of the girls. Makes you hungry. We'll have two lattes and two large jam buns.
Certainly ladies, says the baker. Just sit down and make yourselves comfy. I'll bring them over to you.
He looks at Arthur and grins.
But Arthur is staring out of the window at the still bleeding vicar, who is peering intently inside.
You're back, says the baker, surprised.
Give me paper, says Arthur, and I'll give you the poem.
The baker gives Arthur a sheet of white paper.
And a pen, says Arthur.
The baker produces a red one, of the type that all businessmen have.
Arthur writes his poem on the white paper. It looks good in red. He gives it to the baker, who reads it aloud:
The Metaphysics of Windows
( the baker looks mildly disappointed by the title, but continues )
There's blood on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
the babies are begging for jam
give us blood red jam mother
she addresses her birdhead
blood red jam is inside
she arches her sacrificial neck
beats her wing against the locked door
her breast bursts open
blood red jam drips to the floor
stop mother cry the babies
there is jam on the grass
below the grey grid
outside the stained glass window
in Brampton
enough for us all.
That's good, says the baker. I like the way you incorporated the jam. But I was hoping for something less metaphysical.
Too bad, says Arthur. And I think it's worth more than one bun. Can I have another one? That one?
He points to a Belgian bun, with a half glace cherry on top.
Not yet, says the baker. Not till I see that the poem is working.
He sticks it in the front window near the door.
Two girls come along. They stop, read the poem, turn to one another, nod, and come inside.
Nice poem you've put up in the window, says one of the girls. Makes you hungry. We'll have two lattes and two large jam buns.
Certainly ladies, says the baker. Just sit down and make yourselves comfy. I'll bring them over to you.
He looks at Arthur and grins.
But Arthur is staring out of the window at the still bleeding vicar, who is peering intently inside.
Blood Sacrifice
Arthur pulls the knife from his pocket. Twirls it. Sticks it into a bun.
Splurt! Jam squirts out.
That's one pound twenty you owe me, says the baker, taking a brown paper bag from under the counter.
Is that the full price? says Arthur.
Yes it is, says the baker.
Low quality jam, says Arthur, licking the point of his knife.
Pay up, says the baker.
No, says Arthur. But I'll make you an offer. A poem for a bun. You can stick the poem up in your window. It'll bring in the customers.
The baker considers the offer. He needs more customers. Done, he says, bagging the bun.
Arthur takes it and heads for the door.
What about the poem? says the baker.
I'll be back in ten minutes, says Arthur.
He heads down the road to Saint Martin's, eating the bun. It is nicer without any jam.
The church has red sandstone walls, a green slate roof and a charming lead spire. Stained glass windows designed by Burne-Jones. But you can't enter unless it is Sunday. The doors are locked during the week.
Arthur prowls round the outside peering up at the windows.
Looking for something? says someone who looks like a vicar.
The pelican window, says Arthur. But I can't get inside.
Would you like a private viewing? says the vicar.
No thanks, says Arthur. Just show me which window it is.
He doesn't trust vicars. Nor should he.
The vicar looks disappointed. He points towards the east wall, and the five stained glass panels of windows.
There it is,says the vicar. The Pelican in her Piety. See. Representing self sacrifice. She pierces her own breast with her beak to provide nourishment for her young.
Arthur squints at panel. Stained glass windows look dull from outside. He can't pick out the pelican, her babies, or blood. But so what? He gets out his smart phone and snaps in the general direction.
Happy? says the vicar. If you like I can show you a postcard.
He reaches out to grab Arthur, but his fingers close on Arthur's jammy knife.
Ouch! Blood drips onto the grass. The vicar doubles up in pain.
As Arthur walks back to the bakery, a poem forms inside his head.
Splurt! Jam squirts out.
That's one pound twenty you owe me, says the baker, taking a brown paper bag from under the counter.
Is that the full price? says Arthur.
Yes it is, says the baker.
Low quality jam, says Arthur, licking the point of his knife.
Pay up, says the baker.
No, says Arthur. But I'll make you an offer. A poem for a bun. You can stick the poem up in your window. It'll bring in the customers.
The baker considers the offer. He needs more customers. Done, he says, bagging the bun.
Arthur takes it and heads for the door.
What about the poem? says the baker.
I'll be back in ten minutes, says Arthur.
He heads down the road to Saint Martin's, eating the bun. It is nicer without any jam.
The church has red sandstone walls, a green slate roof and a charming lead spire. Stained glass windows designed by Burne-Jones. But you can't enter unless it is Sunday. The doors are locked during the week.
Arthur prowls round the outside peering up at the windows.
Looking for something? says someone who looks like a vicar.
The pelican window, says Arthur. But I can't get inside.
Would you like a private viewing? says the vicar.
No thanks, says Arthur. Just show me which window it is.
He doesn't trust vicars. Nor should he.
The vicar looks disappointed. He points towards the east wall, and the five stained glass panels of windows.
There it is,says the vicar. The Pelican in her Piety. See. Representing self sacrifice. She pierces her own breast with her beak to provide nourishment for her young.
Arthur squints at panel. Stained glass windows look dull from outside. He can't pick out the pelican, her babies, or blood. But so what? He gets out his smart phone and snaps in the general direction.
Happy? says the vicar. If you like I can show you a postcard.
He reaches out to grab Arthur, but his fingers close on Arthur's jammy knife.
Ouch! Blood drips onto the grass. The vicar doubles up in pain.
As Arthur walks back to the bakery, a poem forms inside his head.
Monday, September 9, 2013
An Equivocal Dream
Arthur still has not made it into Brampton. He has been asleep.
.........
The moon shines brightly over the forest. He stops under a tree, leans his bicycle against the tree trunk. The bike topples over, he smells a strange smell. Picks up a grey yellow-edged fungus, sniffs it and throws it away.
Falls asleep in the damp grass and dreams an equivocal dream.
He is at a child's party, his party. Today he is four. He sits at one end of a large wooden table, on a balcony overlooking a steep leafy garden. On the table is popcorn and cake.
At the table are five friends and his sister. Her forehead is bandaged with a white bandage that covers her eyebrows. The day before, she ran into a brick.
The cake is decorated with black bats and purple icing. The icing has cascaded over the cake like purple lava and the bats have slid down the sides. There are four black candles which someone has lit with a lighter.
The children are singing. He blows out the candles, makes a wish.
I wish I could marry my sister. He says it. That is his wish.
..........
Arthur wakes up. His head is spinning. He can still smell the fungus on his fingers. Birthday wishes are circling like sharks.
..........
He cycles into Brampton. Where will he find this Pelican? What did Gaius even mean?
Forgetting that he has a smart phone, he stops at a bakery to ask.
Oh yes, says the baker. That'll be the windows. At Saint Martin's. It's just down the road.
Thanks, says Arthur, not yet turning to leave.
He is hungry. He is in a bakery, with change in his pocket.
And a knife. Old habits die hard.
.........
The moon shines brightly over the forest. He stops under a tree, leans his bicycle against the tree trunk. The bike topples over, he smells a strange smell. Picks up a grey yellow-edged fungus, sniffs it and throws it away.
Falls asleep in the damp grass and dreams an equivocal dream.
He is at a child's party, his party. Today he is four. He sits at one end of a large wooden table, on a balcony overlooking a steep leafy garden. On the table is popcorn and cake.
At the table are five friends and his sister. Her forehead is bandaged with a white bandage that covers her eyebrows. The day before, she ran into a brick.
The cake is decorated with black bats and purple icing. The icing has cascaded over the cake like purple lava and the bats have slid down the sides. There are four black candles which someone has lit with a lighter.
The children are singing. He blows out the candles, makes a wish.
I wish I could marry my sister. He says it. That is his wish.
..........
Arthur wakes up. His head is spinning. He can still smell the fungus on his fingers. Birthday wishes are circling like sharks.
..........
He cycles into Brampton. Where will he find this Pelican? What did Gaius even mean?
Forgetting that he has a smart phone, he stops at a bakery to ask.
Oh yes, says the baker. That'll be the windows. At Saint Martin's. It's just down the road.
Thanks, says Arthur, not yet turning to leave.
He is hungry. He is in a bakery, with change in his pocket.
And a knife. Old habits die hard.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
The Pelican In Her Piety
Arthur has been lucky. He has not been spotted by the store detective.
The store detective is in the ladies hosiery department, keeping a suspicious eye on David. Why is a gentleman of his age peering so intently at the little lacy socks?
Arthur likes the feeling of his new shorts. They rustle. That means they will dry quickly when his knees bleed.
He retrieves his bike. Wheels it down the footpath until he sees a phone shop. Enters the phone shop. Buys a smart phone. So what if he has spent one of his gold coins? The new Arthur knows that money is for spending. And anyway, there was plenty of change.
Now to head for London. He consults his smart phone for an app. Ah yes, here is a route for cycling from Edinburgh to London. First stop Brampton.
He stops to buy himself some snacks.
At last he is on his way to Brampton. It should take him about three days to get to London.
The orange shorts rustle rhythmically as he pedals down the road.
.........
Shush, shush, go the orange shorts.
It is getting dark in the country. Arthur can see the moon.
What was that Rosie said about Sweezus? He tweets descriptions of the moon.
It strikes Arthur that now he has a smart phone he too can be a tweeter.
He stops under a roadside tree. He downloads the Twitter app. No, this is stupid. All he really wants to do is talk to someone. Someone who is smart enough to understand him but isn't quite as clever. Sweezus would be ideal, if he only had his number.
.......
Ring ring! The phone rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up the phone.
Man! says Sweezus. Pffft! This phone is covered in DUST! Hello, this is Velosophy, can I help you?
It's me, says Arthur. Arthur. I've got a phone now.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Next time call my mobile. Where are you? In the city? Come on over. I could use some help.
I'm in Scotland, says Arthur. On my way to London.
Fuck, says Sweezus. I know someone who won't be happy.
Who? says Arthur.
Gaius, says Sweezus. He's here now. I'll put him on.
Arthur! says the voice of Gaius Plinius Secundus. Where are you now?
On my way to Brampton, says Arthur. On a bicycle.
Brampton in Cumbria? says Gaius. Goodness me! I thought you might be nearer. You are no use to me there. But wait, on the other hand, do you have a camera?
Yes, says Arthur. I've just bought myself a smart phone.
Excellent, says Gaius. You won't regret it. Now just do this for me will you, Arthur. When you get to Brampton, be sure and take a picture of the Pelican In Her Piety.
The phone crackles gently, and cuts out.
The store detective is in the ladies hosiery department, keeping a suspicious eye on David. Why is a gentleman of his age peering so intently at the little lacy socks?
Arthur likes the feeling of his new shorts. They rustle. That means they will dry quickly when his knees bleed.
He retrieves his bike. Wheels it down the footpath until he sees a phone shop. Enters the phone shop. Buys a smart phone. So what if he has spent one of his gold coins? The new Arthur knows that money is for spending. And anyway, there was plenty of change.
Now to head for London. He consults his smart phone for an app. Ah yes, here is a route for cycling from Edinburgh to London. First stop Brampton.
He stops to buy himself some snacks.
At last he is on his way to Brampton. It should take him about three days to get to London.
The orange shorts rustle rhythmically as he pedals down the road.
.........
Shush, shush, go the orange shorts.
It is getting dark in the country. Arthur can see the moon.
What was that Rosie said about Sweezus? He tweets descriptions of the moon.
It strikes Arthur that now he has a smart phone he too can be a tweeter.
He stops under a roadside tree. He downloads the Twitter app. No, this is stupid. All he really wants to do is talk to someone. Someone who is smart enough to understand him but isn't quite as clever. Sweezus would be ideal, if he only had his number.
.......
Ring ring! The phone rings in the office of Velosophy.
Sweezus picks up the phone.
Man! says Sweezus. Pffft! This phone is covered in DUST! Hello, this is Velosophy, can I help you?
It's me, says Arthur. Arthur. I've got a phone now.
Awesome, says Sweezus. Next time call my mobile. Where are you? In the city? Come on over. I could use some help.
I'm in Scotland, says Arthur. On my way to London.
Fuck, says Sweezus. I know someone who won't be happy.
Who? says Arthur.
Gaius, says Sweezus. He's here now. I'll put him on.
Arthur! says the voice of Gaius Plinius Secundus. Where are you now?
On my way to Brampton, says Arthur. On a bicycle.
Brampton in Cumbria? says Gaius. Goodness me! I thought you might be nearer. You are no use to me there. But wait, on the other hand, do you have a camera?
Yes, says Arthur. I've just bought myself a smart phone.
Excellent, says Gaius. You won't regret it. Now just do this for me will you, Arthur. When you get to Brampton, be sure and take a picture of the Pelican In Her Piety.
The phone crackles gently, and cuts out.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
The Harrods Of The North
It is late afternoon, in Edinburgh. Arthur is sitting on a bench in the Princes Street Gardens, listening to the trickle of the water in Ross fountain. His bicycle is beside him. Rosie is not far away, hidden by a tree.
He kicks a stone . Rubs his knee. Jingles the gold coins in his pocket.
He gets up and heads towards the big department store across the road, leaving the bicycle.
Rosie follows him.
Here comes another fellow, cutting through the Gardens. He is in a hurry. It is David.
He mutters to himself, Sockets, sockets. He heads towards the big department store across the road.
David enters Jenners. Looks around. It is a magnificent store, the Harrods of the North. They must sell sockets here.
He scans the counters and the racks. Where might one find sockets? Glances at his watch. Decides he'd better ask for information.
Arthur is in Jenners, wondering where to buy a mobile phone. He thinks he might do better in a phone shop.
He is distracted by the colourful racks of clothes.
Arthur sees a pair of orange shorts like those that Sweezus wears. The ones that Sweezus borrowed once from Surfing-With-Whales, and kept, except that his weren't orange. Arthur picks the shorts up from the rack and goes to find a change room.
Rosie can't follow him in there.
She sits down on a chair outside the change room, looking at her reflection in a mirror. She has a creamy yellow smear on her chin. She tries to lick it, but only makes it worse.
She catches sight of David in the mirror.
David! she cries. Aren't you flying home this evening?
Yes, says David. I am in a tearing hurry. Mother has entrusted me with an errand. Where in this enormous Aladdin's cave would you think one might find sockets?
Sockets? says Rosie. This isn't where I'd come. You want a hardware.
Mother specified she wanted sockets from Jenners, says David. Size eight, whatever that might mean. I am not mechanical.
You're sure that she said sockets? says Rosie. Not sockettes?
Sockets, sockettes, says David. What's the difference? French pronunciation?
No, you silly, says Rosie. Your mother wants sockettes. Here I'll show you where to get them. They sell all sorts of them in Jenners. What colour would your mother like?
She leads David off towards the ladies hosiery department.
Seconds later Arthur emerges from the change room, in bright new shorts.
He has left his old shorts hanging on a hook inside the change rooms, with the bandages and red thread poking though the pockets. He has only kept the gold coins and the knife.
The new Arthur smiles at his reflection. Now to get a phone. Then he will ride his bicycle up to London, and repossess the shoe horn. It's a plan.
He kicks a stone . Rubs his knee. Jingles the gold coins in his pocket.
He gets up and heads towards the big department store across the road, leaving the bicycle.
Rosie follows him.
Here comes another fellow, cutting through the Gardens. He is in a hurry. It is David.
He mutters to himself, Sockets, sockets. He heads towards the big department store across the road.
David enters Jenners. Looks around. It is a magnificent store, the Harrods of the North. They must sell sockets here.
He scans the counters and the racks. Where might one find sockets? Glances at his watch. Decides he'd better ask for information.
Arthur is in Jenners, wondering where to buy a mobile phone. He thinks he might do better in a phone shop.
He is distracted by the colourful racks of clothes.
Arthur sees a pair of orange shorts like those that Sweezus wears. The ones that Sweezus borrowed once from Surfing-With-Whales, and kept, except that his weren't orange. Arthur picks the shorts up from the rack and goes to find a change room.
Rosie can't follow him in there.
She sits down on a chair outside the change room, looking at her reflection in a mirror. She has a creamy yellow smear on her chin. She tries to lick it, but only makes it worse.
She catches sight of David in the mirror.
David! she cries. Aren't you flying home this evening?
Yes, says David. I am in a tearing hurry. Mother has entrusted me with an errand. Where in this enormous Aladdin's cave would you think one might find sockets?
Sockets? says Rosie. This isn't where I'd come. You want a hardware.
Mother specified she wanted sockets from Jenners, says David. Size eight, whatever that might mean. I am not mechanical.
You're sure that she said sockets? says Rosie. Not sockettes?
Sockets, sockettes, says David. What's the difference? French pronunciation?
No, you silly, says Rosie. Your mother wants sockettes. Here I'll show you where to get them. They sell all sorts of them in Jenners. What colour would your mother like?
She leads David off towards the ladies hosiery department.
Seconds later Arthur emerges from the change room, in bright new shorts.
He has left his old shorts hanging on a hook inside the change rooms, with the bandages and red thread poking though the pockets. He has only kept the gold coins and the knife.
The new Arthur smiles at his reflection. Now to get a phone. Then he will ride his bicycle up to London, and repossess the shoe horn. It's a plan.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
Flux And Sockets; Duty Calls
The baguettes have all been eaten and the coffee drunk. An elegaic silence falls upon the party.
I suppose we should be going, says David.
Good! So you're done with Scotland, says Vello. It's none too soon for me.
I meant the cafe, says David. Not the country. But you're right, my friend. We can't stay here for ever. We must go home. Duty calls.
Have you heard from Sweezie lately? says Belle et Bonne.
Not a peep, says Vello. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten he's supposed to be in charge.
Is that Sweezus you're talking about? asks Rosie. Sweezus the tweeter?
No, says Vello. It's the Sweezus who works for us. He's written a few articles for our magazine Velosophy.
It might be your Sweezus the tweeter, Rosie, says Belle et Bonne. Papa has no idea.
Sweezus is cool, says Rosie. He tweets amazing things about he moon. I'm a follower.
Good for you, says Belle et Bonne. Can't say I am.
Nor me, says Arthur. What's a tweeter?
Don't you know? says Rosie. Oh I forgot. You haven't even got a mobile phone.
Arthur is piqued. He gets up to leave.
He will go back to the park where he has left his bicycle, sit on a park bench and observe people. He will then obtain by one means or another, a mobile phone. That is his plan.
See you around, says Arthur. Off he goes.
............
Go after him Ageless, whispers Belle et Bonne. He might get into trouble.
No, says Ageless. I have a tummy ache.
He crawls into Belle's backpack.
Get out, Ageless! says Kobo. You stink of crab.
..........
Back at the hotel, Vello and David are packing.
Belle comes into their room.
You might want to get an earlier flight, says Belle et Bonne. I've just heard from Sweezie. Everything's gone cactus at the office. Unni's run away. David, what's the matter?
He's just heard from Katherine, says Vello.
Bad news? says Belle.
No, not bad news, says David. Mother wants some sockets. I cannot for the life of me think why.
I suppose we should be going, says David.
Good! So you're done with Scotland, says Vello. It's none too soon for me.
I meant the cafe, says David. Not the country. But you're right, my friend. We can't stay here for ever. We must go home. Duty calls.
Have you heard from Sweezie lately? says Belle et Bonne.
Not a peep, says Vello. I wouldn't be surprised if he's forgotten he's supposed to be in charge.
Is that Sweezus you're talking about? asks Rosie. Sweezus the tweeter?
No, says Vello. It's the Sweezus who works for us. He's written a few articles for our magazine Velosophy.
It might be your Sweezus the tweeter, Rosie, says Belle et Bonne. Papa has no idea.
Sweezus is cool, says Rosie. He tweets amazing things about he moon. I'm a follower.
Good for you, says Belle et Bonne. Can't say I am.
Nor me, says Arthur. What's a tweeter?
Don't you know? says Rosie. Oh I forgot. You haven't even got a mobile phone.
Arthur is piqued. He gets up to leave.
He will go back to the park where he has left his bicycle, sit on a park bench and observe people. He will then obtain by one means or another, a mobile phone. That is his plan.
See you around, says Arthur. Off he goes.
............
Go after him Ageless, whispers Belle et Bonne. He might get into trouble.
No, says Ageless. I have a tummy ache.
He crawls into Belle's backpack.
Get out, Ageless! says Kobo. You stink of crab.
..........
Back at the hotel, Vello and David are packing.
Belle comes into their room.
You might want to get an earlier flight, says Belle et Bonne. I've just heard from Sweezie. Everything's gone cactus at the office. Unni's run away. David, what's the matter?
He's just heard from Katherine, says Vello.
Bad news? says Belle.
No, not bad news, says David. Mother wants some sockets. I cannot for the life of me think why.
Monday, September 2, 2013
The Meowter And His Queen
Ageless, here you are! says Belle et Bonne. I thought you'd drowned or something. Look who's turned up!
Bah! says Ageless. It's him! Shape shifter, ravisher of my beloved, expert on otters, half eater of fine books.
You mistake me, says Hideo. I am none of those, except an expert on otters. I have returned the book. Why don't you sit down and have a sandwich.
Ageless looks at the plate of mixed baguettes, now much depleted.
Is there a fish one? he says, sniffing and poking at each one in an unhygenic manner.
I've eaten the fish one, says Hideo.
That confirms my suspicion, says Ageless.
What suspicion? says Hideo.
Otters eat fish, says Ageless.
They also like shellfish, says Hideo. What of it?
Is that a threat? says Ageless.
This one is crab, says Belle et Bonne quickly, thrusting it at Ageless. You might enjoy it.
It's not about the sandwich, says Ageless darkly. This is about his credentials. But I will have the crab one.
He starts picking at the filling with his pincers.
Arthur likes the idea of credentials. He decides to test Hideo.
What's a male otter called? says Arthur.
A meowter, says Hideo.
Vello roars with laughter. A meowter!
David shakes his head.
A dog, says David. That's what we used to call them
A meowter, insists Hideo. And the female is a queen.
That's ridiculous, says Rosie. A meowter! She gets out her smart phone. Taps away. Her eyes open wide.
He's right, says Rosie. If you can believe Wikipedia.
You can, says Hideo. I wrote that article myself, being an expert. Well, thank you for the salmon and cream cheese sandwich. I must be on my way.
He leaves, leaving a mystery behind him.
I had another question, says Ageless. But I forgot to ask him.
What was it? says Belle et Bonne.
What did he do to Kobo in the darkness of the backpack while he was an otter? says Ageless. She said he came upon her from behind. You all know what that means.
No. No one knows what that means, when the victim is a fossilised clam.
Bah! says Ageless. It's him! Shape shifter, ravisher of my beloved, expert on otters, half eater of fine books.
You mistake me, says Hideo. I am none of those, except an expert on otters. I have returned the book. Why don't you sit down and have a sandwich.
Ageless looks at the plate of mixed baguettes, now much depleted.
Is there a fish one? he says, sniffing and poking at each one in an unhygenic manner.
I've eaten the fish one, says Hideo.
That confirms my suspicion, says Ageless.
What suspicion? says Hideo.
Otters eat fish, says Ageless.
They also like shellfish, says Hideo. What of it?
Is that a threat? says Ageless.
This one is crab, says Belle et Bonne quickly, thrusting it at Ageless. You might enjoy it.
It's not about the sandwich, says Ageless darkly. This is about his credentials. But I will have the crab one.
He starts picking at the filling with his pincers.
Arthur likes the idea of credentials. He decides to test Hideo.
What's a male otter called? says Arthur.
A meowter, says Hideo.
Vello roars with laughter. A meowter!
David shakes his head.
A dog, says David. That's what we used to call them
A meowter, insists Hideo. And the female is a queen.
That's ridiculous, says Rosie. A meowter! She gets out her smart phone. Taps away. Her eyes open wide.
He's right, says Rosie. If you can believe Wikipedia.
You can, says Hideo. I wrote that article myself, being an expert. Well, thank you for the salmon and cream cheese sandwich. I must be on my way.
He leaves, leaving a mystery behind him.
I had another question, says Ageless. But I forgot to ask him.
What was it? says Belle et Bonne.
What did he do to Kobo in the darkness of the backpack while he was an otter? says Ageless. She said he came upon her from behind. You all know what that means.
No. No one knows what that means, when the victim is a fossilised clam.
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