Sweezus has got over being ripped off.
He orders a caramel crepe. It arrives, very crisp at the edges.
Under the table, Terence and Baldy have stopped being chickens.
The only bird left is Saint Roley.
Simone kicks him, accidentally.
Ouch! says Saint Roley. Someone kicked me.
Not me, says Belle sticking her head under the table. Come out guys, we're leaving in a minute.
So this is goodbye, says Sartre, trying not to look jubilant.
For you maybe, says Simone. Gaius is sleeping with me.
I am? says Gaius. Oh yes, I'm in your room at the Mistral. I must pick up my things first.
Room 27, says Simone. Knock twice when you get there. I'll let you in.
She pays the bill, and leaves with Sartre, and Baldy, her little Parisien.
Sweezus has finished his crepe. He feels like another. And more organic cider.
So does Arthur.
They stay.
.......
Belle and Gaius return to the small room at the Mistral, with Terence, Saint Roley, and Terence's poodle.
Baldy didn't say goodbye, says Terence.
Nor did you, says Belle. We'll pop in and say goodbye in the morning. Now where shall we put this poodle?
I'll leave it to you, says Gaius. Right, back pack, notebook, pencil, sharpener, Council Planning Scheme. I'm off to room 27. See you in the morning.
Bye, says Belle. Have a good night.
Gaius leaves, and Belle places the poodle in a corner.
He doesn't like it in the corner, says Terence.
Since when do you know what he likes? asks Belle.
I don't, says Terence. I know what he doesn't like.
Chill out, Terence, says Belle. It's been a long day.
She moves the poodle.
She's right, it has been a long day.
.........
Much later:
Sweezus and Arthur stumble into the small room at the Mistral.
Crash! Something smashes.
......
Earlier, in Room 27.
Gaius: I didn't realise.....
Simone: Jean Paul and I have always had separate apartments.
Gaius: Never mind. You go to bed. I'll work in the corner. There's enough light coming in from the street lamp.
Simone: Nonsense. You must keep the light on. Baldy's asleep. We can chat.
Gaius: But...
Simone: You know, it's a great pleasure for me having Baldy. I never had any children. Jean Paul....
Gaius: Ahem...this is not.... yes Baldy is a fine little fellow. He read through my notes on the Moreton Bay Council Planning Scheme, looking for references to shorebirds.
Simone: Did he really? Clever little boy. Did he find any?
Gaius: No, that's the point! Soils, advertising devices, bushfires, neighbourhood hub, economic impact, extractive industry.....
Simone: Yes of course, but...
Gaius: No mention of .....
Simone: Shorebirds. I see. Would you like a hot chocolate? I made one for Baldy but he didn't drink it
Gaius: No thank you. And I'm not surprised he didn't drink it.
Simone: Why do you say that?
Gaius: He and Terence prefer red drinks. They both began their lives in cathedrals.
Simone: Oh. I see. Well Baldy has much to learn. Including the fluidity of existence.
Gaius: Hm.
Simone: Speaking of which, shall I crack open a bottle?
Gaius: I had hoped for an evening of quiet industry.
Simone: The two are not incompatible.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Seeing Things Differently
Jean Paul Sartre chews on an oily slice of potato, tasting of ham.
Simone is going on about Art.
In order to have a world to express, says Simone, the artist must be a part of the world, which includes the oppressed and the oppressor.
Heavy, says Sweezus. I paid fifty euro for this.
Waste of money, says Gaius.
And she included the poodle, says Sweezus. Where's the evil?
Everything which has previously happened, says Sartre. Isn't that so, Beaver?
Simone doesn't like it when Sartre answers for her.
The artist must find the freedom within himself, says Simone.
Herself, says Sweezus.
....to make reasons manifest, says Simone.
Chocolate crepe anyone? asks Belle.
Me, says Arthur.
Sweezus would too, normally.
But he is pissed off. His painting cost fifty euro. He got a free poodle. Not that he wanted the poodle. It's not his poodle. Come to think of it, it was Morgane's idea. He never asked for the poodle. Maybe that's what Simone means by Art integrates Evil. The artist does whatever they freakin' well like. And you have to pay for it. Fuck that. Gaius is right.
He takes a large swig of his organic cider.
Saint Roley is having a parallel experience.
Not with the chocolate crepe. He would never have ordered one. But with his miniature.
Unlike Sweezus, he can't keep his doubts to himself.
He expresses them to Arthur.
Arthur is in a good mood, thanks to the organic cider, and the chocolate crepe, which will be coming.
How, says Saint Roley, could a miniature painting of my brother, which cost five euro, which you gave me, and which we earned from the sale of the larger cardboard with the picture of a young man whom the buyer thought looked more like your brother than mine, and furthermore suspected might be a Picasso, which it might, although we have no way of knowing, be evil?
It doesn't matter, says Arthur. You only wanted the cardboard. Remember?
Saint Roley remembers. Yes, it was the cardboard that reminded him of his brother. It's evident Simone doesn't know much about birds.
He hops down from the table to find Terence and Baldy.
Terence is wearing Baldy's yellow waterproof, and being a chicken.
What am I? asks Terence.
A chicken, says Baldy.
NOT YOU! says Terence. Saint Roley.
I'm an oystercatcher, says Saint Roley.
NO! WHAT AM I? says Terence.
A chicken, says Saint Roley. Sorry. I see things differently.
Not from us chickens, says Terence.
Simone is going on about Art.
In order to have a world to express, says Simone, the artist must be a part of the world, which includes the oppressed and the oppressor.
Heavy, says Sweezus. I paid fifty euro for this.
Waste of money, says Gaius.
And she included the poodle, says Sweezus. Where's the evil?
Everything which has previously happened, says Sartre. Isn't that so, Beaver?
Simone doesn't like it when Sartre answers for her.
The artist must find the freedom within himself, says Simone.
Herself, says Sweezus.
....to make reasons manifest, says Simone.
Chocolate crepe anyone? asks Belle.
Me, says Arthur.
Sweezus would too, normally.
But he is pissed off. His painting cost fifty euro. He got a free poodle. Not that he wanted the poodle. It's not his poodle. Come to think of it, it was Morgane's idea. He never asked for the poodle. Maybe that's what Simone means by Art integrates Evil. The artist does whatever they freakin' well like. And you have to pay for it. Fuck that. Gaius is right.
He takes a large swig of his organic cider.
Saint Roley is having a parallel experience.
Not with the chocolate crepe. He would never have ordered one. But with his miniature.
Unlike Sweezus, he can't keep his doubts to himself.
He expresses them to Arthur.
Arthur is in a good mood, thanks to the organic cider, and the chocolate crepe, which will be coming.
How, says Saint Roley, could a miniature painting of my brother, which cost five euro, which you gave me, and which we earned from the sale of the larger cardboard with the picture of a young man whom the buyer thought looked more like your brother than mine, and furthermore suspected might be a Picasso, which it might, although we have no way of knowing, be evil?
It doesn't matter, says Arthur. You only wanted the cardboard. Remember?
Saint Roley remembers. Yes, it was the cardboard that reminded him of his brother. It's evident Simone doesn't know much about birds.
He hops down from the table to find Terence and Baldy.
Terence is wearing Baldy's yellow waterproof, and being a chicken.
What am I? asks Terence.
A chicken, says Baldy.
NOT YOU! says Terence. Saint Roley.
I'm an oystercatcher, says Saint Roley.
NO! WHAT AM I? says Terence.
A chicken, says Saint Roley. Sorry. I see things differently.
Not from us chickens, says Terence.
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Art Tries To Integrate Evil
Evening, in Montmartre.
Simone and Jean Paul are sitting at a table inside the Port-Manech Creperie, with Baldy.
Baldy looks different.
Where are they? says Simone. I said seven.
Gaius and Belle enter the creperie.
Over here! cries Simone. Sit down. Where are the others?
Maybe they're not coming, says Baldy.
He hopes they're not coming.
Especially Terence and Saint Roley.
Coming! says Belle. Oh BALDY! You do look like a proper little Parisien! Doesn't he, Gaius!
Gaius looks at Baldy.
He is wearing tight blue trousers, and a yellow batwing waterproof, with metal buttons.
Very nice, says Gaius. Did your hairdresser manage to get the paint off?
Yes, says Simone. And his hair looks so much better, au naturel.
Au naturel for Baldy is metallic orange.
Gaius and Belle sit down at the table.
Everyone looks at the menu.
Terence runs in, followed by Saint Roley.
Guess what! says Terence.
What, says Baldy.
Who are you? says Terence.
It's Baldy, says Saint Roley. He's got new clothes on.
He looks like a chicken, says Terence.
Baldy is about to start crying, but remembers he is a proper little Parisien.
What's that you've got there? asks Jean Paul. Another painting?
Saint Roley's new brother, says Terence. It's small.
Let me see, says Simone.
She would offer an opinion, but she would prefer it if everyone was there.
Sweezus and Arthur come in, lugging a painting.
Sweezus turns the painting around.
It's him, sitting next to a grinning white poodle.
Didn't have to pay for the poodle, says Sweezus. Morgane said forget it. What do you reckon?
It looks like you, says Belle.
No it doesn't, says Gaius. It looks like that china dog that Belle bought for Terence.
Not that! says Sweezus. This one here. Me.
Easy mistake, says Gaius. Sorry. Shall we order? I'll have the Supercomplete.
Me too, says Jean Paul. When the weather turns chilly, its always nice to have a crepe filled with ham, eggs and potatoes.
No potatoes for me, says Belle. What are you having Simone?
Simone had been waiting for everyone to arrive so she could pronounce on the miniature. Now there are two artworks to consider.
But since every one is ordering....
Buckwheat with bacon, egg and onion, says Simone.
Sweezus and Arthur order Supercompletes, with extra fries. Red drinks are ordered for Terence and Baldy.
So what do you reckon, Jean Paul? asks Sweezus, indicating his portrait.
Don't ask him, says Simone. He'll just objectify everything.
And you won't, says Jean Paul. Give us your opinion.
I see Art, says Simone, as an attempt to integrate evil.
Baldy looks at Terence. Terence looks sympathetic.
That explains why he looks like a chicken.
Simone and Jean Paul are sitting at a table inside the Port-Manech Creperie, with Baldy.
Baldy looks different.
Where are they? says Simone. I said seven.
Gaius and Belle enter the creperie.
Over here! cries Simone. Sit down. Where are the others?
Maybe they're not coming, says Baldy.
He hopes they're not coming.
Especially Terence and Saint Roley.
Coming! says Belle. Oh BALDY! You do look like a proper little Parisien! Doesn't he, Gaius!
Gaius looks at Baldy.
He is wearing tight blue trousers, and a yellow batwing waterproof, with metal buttons.
Very nice, says Gaius. Did your hairdresser manage to get the paint off?
Yes, says Simone. And his hair looks so much better, au naturel.
Au naturel for Baldy is metallic orange.
Gaius and Belle sit down at the table.
Everyone looks at the menu.
Terence runs in, followed by Saint Roley.
Guess what! says Terence.
What, says Baldy.
Who are you? says Terence.
It's Baldy, says Saint Roley. He's got new clothes on.
He looks like a chicken, says Terence.
Baldy is about to start crying, but remembers he is a proper little Parisien.
What's that you've got there? asks Jean Paul. Another painting?
Saint Roley's new brother, says Terence. It's small.
Let me see, says Simone.
She would offer an opinion, but she would prefer it if everyone was there.
Sweezus and Arthur come in, lugging a painting.
Sweezus turns the painting around.
It's him, sitting next to a grinning white poodle.
Didn't have to pay for the poodle, says Sweezus. Morgane said forget it. What do you reckon?
It looks like you, says Belle.
No it doesn't, says Gaius. It looks like that china dog that Belle bought for Terence.
Not that! says Sweezus. This one here. Me.
Easy mistake, says Gaius. Sorry. Shall we order? I'll have the Supercomplete.
Me too, says Jean Paul. When the weather turns chilly, its always nice to have a crepe filled with ham, eggs and potatoes.
No potatoes for me, says Belle. What are you having Simone?
Simone had been waiting for everyone to arrive so she could pronounce on the miniature. Now there are two artworks to consider.
But since every one is ordering....
Buckwheat with bacon, egg and onion, says Simone.
Sweezus and Arthur order Supercompletes, with extra fries. Red drinks are ordered for Terence and Baldy.
So what do you reckon, Jean Paul? asks Sweezus, indicating his portrait.
Don't ask him, says Simone. He'll just objectify everything.
And you won't, says Jean Paul. Give us your opinion.
I see Art, says Simone, as an attempt to integrate evil.
Baldy looks at Terence. Terence looks sympathetic.
That explains why he looks like a chicken.
Monday, November 27, 2017
Could Be A Picasso
Place du Tertre, a cobbled square, frequented by artists and tourists.
Some of the tourists are having their portraits painted, for fifty euro.
It takes half an hour.
And you'll have the memory for ever.
Sweezus is tempted. Fifty euro.
Don't do it, says Arthur.
But Sweezus is already bargaining with the artist, Morgane.
She invites him to sit on a folding chair. She will just start an outline. See what happens.
Sweezus sits down, with the china poodle beside him.
Can the poodle be in it? asks Terence.
That's extra, says Morgane.
Come on, says Arthur, let's find a café.
You go, says Sweezus. I'll catch up.
I'm staying to watch, says Terence.
Arthur heads off to find a café, with Saint Roley, and the cardboard.
They find one, and sit down outside.
Saint Roley is perched on the table. His cardboard with the face on is propped up against Arthur's chair.
How much? asks a tourist.
Huh? says Arthur. What for?
The picture, says the tourist. It's good. I'll give you forty.
It's not for sale, says Arthur. It's this bird's brother.
WHOSE brother? asks the tourist.
Mine, says Saint Roley. It REMINDS me of my brother.
I was going to say...., says the tourist. It looks more like your brother than his brother.
It's not my brother, says Arthur. We'll take fifty.
NO WE WON'T, says Saint Roley.
Sixty then, says the tourist. (He really wants it. It might be an early Picasso, from his Brown Period).
Done, says Arthur. But can you wait a few minutes?
Sure, says the tourist. What for?
While I talk to the owner, says Arthur. Order a beer.
Okay, will you have one? asks the tourist.
Yes, thanks, says Arthur.
He turns to Saint Roley.
I'M the owner, says Saint Roley.
I know, says Arthur. Can you do maths?
Yes, says Saint Roley.
Right, says Arthur. Your cardboard won't fit in our luggage.
Is that maths? asks Saint Roley.
Yes, says Arthur.
So it needs to be smaller, says Saint Roley. So if I get an artist to paint a miniature, I can take it. How much would that be?
This is more complex maths than Arthur had in mind, but he concedes that it's possible.
Wait here, says Arthur.
He goes across to the nearest artist, with the cardboard.
How much to paint this, as a miniature?
Pfft! says the artist. That depends. How miniature?
Very miniature, says arthur.
Five euro, says the artist, dashing it off straight away. He is not busy..
It's not bad for a miniature. The hair is still brown and neat. The face is still solemn.
Back in a minute, says Arthur. I'll get the money.
He goes back to the tourist.
Sixty euro changes hands, and the tourist now owns the painting.
Arthur and the tourist drink their beer.
Arthur gives Saint Roley five euro, to pay for the miniature.
A rare case of ethical behaviour, from Arthur.
Saint Roley loves the miniature. It's small. Like his brother.
Some of the tourists are having their portraits painted, for fifty euro.
It takes half an hour.
And you'll have the memory for ever.
Sweezus is tempted. Fifty euro.
Don't do it, says Arthur.
But Sweezus is already bargaining with the artist, Morgane.
She invites him to sit on a folding chair. She will just start an outline. See what happens.
Sweezus sits down, with the china poodle beside him.
Can the poodle be in it? asks Terence.
That's extra, says Morgane.
Come on, says Arthur, let's find a café.
You go, says Sweezus. I'll catch up.
I'm staying to watch, says Terence.
Arthur heads off to find a café, with Saint Roley, and the cardboard.
They find one, and sit down outside.
Saint Roley is perched on the table. His cardboard with the face on is propped up against Arthur's chair.
How much? asks a tourist.
Huh? says Arthur. What for?
The picture, says the tourist. It's good. I'll give you forty.
It's not for sale, says Arthur. It's this bird's brother.
WHOSE brother? asks the tourist.
Mine, says Saint Roley. It REMINDS me of my brother.
I was going to say...., says the tourist. It looks more like your brother than his brother.
It's not my brother, says Arthur. We'll take fifty.
NO WE WON'T, says Saint Roley.
Sixty then, says the tourist. (He really wants it. It might be an early Picasso, from his Brown Period).
Done, says Arthur. But can you wait a few minutes?
Sure, says the tourist. What for?
While I talk to the owner, says Arthur. Order a beer.
Okay, will you have one? asks the tourist.
Yes, thanks, says Arthur.
He turns to Saint Roley.
I'M the owner, says Saint Roley.
I know, says Arthur. Can you do maths?
Yes, says Saint Roley.
Right, says Arthur. Your cardboard won't fit in our luggage.
Is that maths? asks Saint Roley.
Yes, says Arthur.
So it needs to be smaller, says Saint Roley. So if I get an artist to paint a miniature, I can take it. How much would that be?
This is more complex maths than Arthur had in mind, but he concedes that it's possible.
Wait here, says Arthur.
He goes across to the nearest artist, with the cardboard.
How much to paint this, as a miniature?
Pfft! says the artist. That depends. How miniature?
Very miniature, says arthur.
Five euro, says the artist, dashing it off straight away. He is not busy..
It's not bad for a miniature. The hair is still brown and neat. The face is still solemn.
Back in a minute, says Arthur. I'll get the money.
He goes back to the tourist.
Sixty euro changes hands, and the tourist now owns the painting.
Arthur and the tourist drink their beer.
Arthur gives Saint Roley five euro, to pay for the miniature.
A rare case of ethical behaviour, from Arthur.
Saint Roley loves the miniature. It's small. Like his brother.
Sunday, November 26, 2017
Possession
Simone pops her head in.
This IS a small room, says Simone. Would one of you like to bunk in with me this evening?
I will, says Arthur.
Not you, says Simone.
She looks at Belle, but Belle is fussing with a tea towel.
I really came to get Baldy, says Simone. I'm off to the hairdresser this afternoon. I want him to come with me.
Can I bring my dog? asks Baldy.
You don't have one, says Simone.
You don't have one says Terence.
I changed my mind, says Baldy. I do have one.
He points at the poodle.
Oh, says Simone. We can't take that with us.
The poodle keeps smiling upwards and sideways.
It would drive her insane.
I'll take up your offer Simone, says Gaius. I might get some work done.
What? Really? says Simone Oh, all right, yes.....very good. And perhaps we could all meet for dinner. Jean Paul wants to say goodbye. There's a very nice creperie just round the corner. The Port Manech. Shall we, say, meet there at seven?
Sure, says Belle. Okay Sweezie?
Yeah, says Sweezus. Okay.
Come Baldy, says Simone.
Why do I have to go? asks Baldy.
I'm going to ask the hairdresser if she has any paint stripper, says Simone. I'm certain she will. At dinner, no one will recognise you. You'll be a new cherub.
She marches off, with Baldy in tow.
Look after my dog! calls Baldy, as he disappears down the stairs.
It's not fair, says Terence. Baldy gets to do everything.
Drat! says Gaius . I forgot to ask him if he found any reference in the Planning Scheme to the Far Eastern Curlew.
See, says Terence.
Perhaps Sweezie and Arthur will take you for a walk this afternoon, says Belle. You could go to the Place du Tertre.
Can I take my dog? asks Terence.
The poodle is smiling. It seems he expects to be taken.
No, says Sweezus. I'm not taking that ugly dog anywhere.
The poodle keeps smiling.
Insane.
What about me? says Saint Roley.
You can come, says Terence. And you can bring your cardboard with the face on.
Sweezus would prefer not to be seen round Montmartre with a bird and large sheet of cardboard with a face on.
His face says so.
Maybe not Saint Roley, says Belle.
He's my parrot, says Terence. Maybe not the cardboard.
It's my cardboard, says Saint Roley.
This IS a small room, says Simone. Would one of you like to bunk in with me this evening?
I will, says Arthur.
Not you, says Simone.
She looks at Belle, but Belle is fussing with a tea towel.
I really came to get Baldy, says Simone. I'm off to the hairdresser this afternoon. I want him to come with me.
Can I bring my dog? asks Baldy.
You don't have one, says Simone.
You don't have one says Terence.
I changed my mind, says Baldy. I do have one.
He points at the poodle.
Oh, says Simone. We can't take that with us.
The poodle keeps smiling upwards and sideways.
It would drive her insane.
I'll take up your offer Simone, says Gaius. I might get some work done.
What? Really? says Simone Oh, all right, yes.....very good. And perhaps we could all meet for dinner. Jean Paul wants to say goodbye. There's a very nice creperie just round the corner. The Port Manech. Shall we, say, meet there at seven?
Sure, says Belle. Okay Sweezie?
Yeah, says Sweezus. Okay.
Come Baldy, says Simone.
Why do I have to go? asks Baldy.
I'm going to ask the hairdresser if she has any paint stripper, says Simone. I'm certain she will. At dinner, no one will recognise you. You'll be a new cherub.
She marches off, with Baldy in tow.
Look after my dog! calls Baldy, as he disappears down the stairs.
It's not fair, says Terence. Baldy gets to do everything.
Drat! says Gaius . I forgot to ask him if he found any reference in the Planning Scheme to the Far Eastern Curlew.
See, says Terence.
Perhaps Sweezie and Arthur will take you for a walk this afternoon, says Belle. You could go to the Place du Tertre.
Can I take my dog? asks Terence.
The poodle is smiling. It seems he expects to be taken.
No, says Sweezus. I'm not taking that ugly dog anywhere.
The poodle keeps smiling.
Insane.
What about me? says Saint Roley.
You can come, says Terence. And you can bring your cardboard with the face on.
Sweezus would prefer not to be seen round Montmartre with a bird and large sheet of cardboard with a face on.
His face says so.
Maybe not Saint Roley, says Belle.
He's my parrot, says Terence. Maybe not the cardboard.
It's my cardboard, says Saint Roley.
Saturday, November 25, 2017
Sweet Flea
Belle comes in, with Terence and Saint Roley.
Gaius wakes up. Baldy stops reading.
Flea market! says Belle, dropping a bulging shopping bag down on the table.
We got presents, says Terence. Mine's a dog. His is a painting.
His? says Baldy.
Mine, says Saint Roley. A painting to remind me of my brother.
Let me see it, says Gaius.
Don't freak out, says Belle. It's largish. So's the dog. But I didn't have the heart to refuse them. And I got you something.
You shouldn't have, says Gaius.
It's a tea towel, says Belle. You're right, I shouldn't have. Perhaps we can share it.
Certainly, says Gaius. It's sure to come in handy. What's this! Did you buy two paintings?
No, this is it, says Belle. I suppose you were expecting a bird.
Saint Roley has perched on the top of the painting. The painting is a head and shoulders portrait of a young man. It is painted on cardboard. The young man has neatly brushed hair and a solemn expression.
I suppose... about the eyes... there is a certain likeness, says Gaius.
Wait till you see my DOG! says Terence. It's smiling.
Belle pulls out the dog. A white ceramic poodle with his head one one side, looking upwards and grinning. On its shoulder and down its right side, a spray of painted flowers.
It IS large, says Gaius.
What do I get ? asks Baldy.
You get the DOG, says Terence. Surprise! It's for you because you're not coming.
I don't want it, says Baldy. It'll make me sad every time I look at it because I'm not coming.
Have the painting instead, says Terence.
MY painting! says Saint Roley. Baldy doesn't even have a brother.
Your brother was a bird, says Baldy. Not a person.
So what? says Saint Roley. It's not the PERSON that reminds me of my brother.
I thought it was, says Belle. So why did you let me buy it?
The cardboard, says Saint Roley. My brother floated away on a flat piece of cardboard.
Gaius and Belle look at one another.
Then really, any cardboard would do.
It's sweet, though.
Speaking of which, Sweezus and Arthur come in, with an old fashioned basket.
Nice china dog! says Sweezus. Whoa! Crap painting.
Terence beams. Saint Roley looks daggers.
What have you guys got in the basket? asks Belle.
Macarons, says Arthur. Lemon, caramel and raspberry. We made them.
I don't believe you, says Belle They look too professional.
Yeah, we went to this lady's house, says Sweezus. She runs macaron making classes. And you get a glass of champagne. We had.... several.
I suppose you had to pay for the privilege, says Gaius.
$145.40, but worth it, says Sweezus.
Moneybags! says Belle. Has papa paid you?
Yep! says Sweezus. Try one.
Belle tries a lemon macaron. It's good. She can hardly believe it.
And there are so many. They can't eat all of them. They'll dry out in the basket.
Then she remembers the tea towel.
Gaius wakes up. Baldy stops reading.
Flea market! says Belle, dropping a bulging shopping bag down on the table.
We got presents, says Terence. Mine's a dog. His is a painting.
His? says Baldy.
Mine, says Saint Roley. A painting to remind me of my brother.
Let me see it, says Gaius.
Don't freak out, says Belle. It's largish. So's the dog. But I didn't have the heart to refuse them. And I got you something.
You shouldn't have, says Gaius.
It's a tea towel, says Belle. You're right, I shouldn't have. Perhaps we can share it.
Certainly, says Gaius. It's sure to come in handy. What's this! Did you buy two paintings?
No, this is it, says Belle. I suppose you were expecting a bird.
Saint Roley has perched on the top of the painting. The painting is a head and shoulders portrait of a young man. It is painted on cardboard. The young man has neatly brushed hair and a solemn expression.
I suppose... about the eyes... there is a certain likeness, says Gaius.
Wait till you see my DOG! says Terence. It's smiling.
Belle pulls out the dog. A white ceramic poodle with his head one one side, looking upwards and grinning. On its shoulder and down its right side, a spray of painted flowers.
It IS large, says Gaius.
What do I get ? asks Baldy.
You get the DOG, says Terence. Surprise! It's for you because you're not coming.
I don't want it, says Baldy. It'll make me sad every time I look at it because I'm not coming.
Have the painting instead, says Terence.
MY painting! says Saint Roley. Baldy doesn't even have a brother.
Your brother was a bird, says Baldy. Not a person.
So what? says Saint Roley. It's not the PERSON that reminds me of my brother.
I thought it was, says Belle. So why did you let me buy it?
The cardboard, says Saint Roley. My brother floated away on a flat piece of cardboard.
Gaius and Belle look at one another.
Then really, any cardboard would do.
It's sweet, though.
Speaking of which, Sweezus and Arthur come in, with an old fashioned basket.
Nice china dog! says Sweezus. Whoa! Crap painting.
Terence beams. Saint Roley looks daggers.
What have you guys got in the basket? asks Belle.
Macarons, says Arthur. Lemon, caramel and raspberry. We made them.
I don't believe you, says Belle They look too professional.
Yeah, we went to this lady's house, says Sweezus. She runs macaron making classes. And you get a glass of champagne. We had.... several.
I suppose you had to pay for the privilege, says Gaius.
$145.40, but worth it, says Sweezus.
Moneybags! says Belle. Has papa paid you?
Yep! says Sweezus. Try one.
Belle tries a lemon macaron. It's good. She can hardly believe it.
And there are so many. They can't eat all of them. They'll dry out in the basket.
Then she remembers the tea towel.
Friday, November 24, 2017
The Self And The Other
Simone has to go to a meeting.
Sartre claims he does too.
Belle has gone shopping in Montmartre, with Terence and Saint Roley.
Sweezus and Arthur are goodness knows where.
So Gaius has to mind Baldy.
Gaius is reading an article on the plight of the Far Eastern Curlew on his bed in the small room at the Mistral.
Baldy has climbed up on a boxy red chair to look at himself in the mirror.
This is the last time you'll see me, says Baldy.
I doubt that, says Gaius.
I meant me, says Baldy.
I know, says Gaius. But we're not leaving until tomorrow.
I didn't mean you, says Baldy.
Who then? says Gaius.
Me, says Baldy. It's the last time I'll see me. I have to turn into a proper Parisien. I have to have washes. I have to learn Self and Other.
Lesson One, says Gaius. Don't expect a mirror to show you the Other.
Baldy likes that. It makes more sense than what Simone told him Lesson One was.
That's a good Lesson One, says Baldy. Simone said....
What was it Simone said? Men have appropriated the position of the Self and women are understood to be the objectified Other.
And he was supposed to learn it. And then one day do something about it.
How long before I grow up? asks Baldy.
You will not grow up, says Gaius. Nor will Terence.
Good, says Baldy. That means I don't have to have Lesson Two. I was getting it after dinner.
Really, says Gaius. So you don't know what it is yet.
I know what it's called, says Baldy. Lesson Two: What is an adult?
Interesting question, says Gaius. Or is it? Hmm. The more I think about it the more I think that it isn't. The answer is simple. A mature creature.
Oh, says Baldy. Now I'm sad I don't have to have Lesson Two. Because I know the answer.
It might not be HER answer, says Gaius.
What? says Baldy. Are there two answers?
Yes, says Gaius. More than two, sometimes. Take the Far Eastern Curlew.
I can't, says Baldy.
All right, says Gaius. Take Saint Roley.
I still can't, says Baldy.
As an example, says Gaius.
In that case, says Baldy, I could have taken the Far Eastern Curlew.
True, says Gaius. They do have the same problem.
With two answers, says Baldy.
Let us hope so, says Gaius.
I like talking to you, says Baldy.
Very good, says Gaius. But I'm going to have a short nap now. Would you like to look over these notes while I'm sleeping? See if you can spot any reference to bird life in these Moreton Bay developments plans. If you can, I'll be very surprised.
He hands Baldy a sheaf of notes, and lies down on the bed for a nap in the small room in the Mistral.
Baldy peruses the Moreton Bay Regional Council Planning Scheme.
Every now and then he looks up to see himself doing it, in the mirror.
Sartre claims he does too.
Belle has gone shopping in Montmartre, with Terence and Saint Roley.
Sweezus and Arthur are goodness knows where.
So Gaius has to mind Baldy.
Gaius is reading an article on the plight of the Far Eastern Curlew on his bed in the small room at the Mistral.
Baldy has climbed up on a boxy red chair to look at himself in the mirror.
This is the last time you'll see me, says Baldy.
I doubt that, says Gaius.
I meant me, says Baldy.
I know, says Gaius. But we're not leaving until tomorrow.
I didn't mean you, says Baldy.
Who then? says Gaius.
Me, says Baldy. It's the last time I'll see me. I have to turn into a proper Parisien. I have to have washes. I have to learn Self and Other.
Lesson One, says Gaius. Don't expect a mirror to show you the Other.
Baldy likes that. It makes more sense than what Simone told him Lesson One was.
That's a good Lesson One, says Baldy. Simone said....
What was it Simone said? Men have appropriated the position of the Self and women are understood to be the objectified Other.
And he was supposed to learn it. And then one day do something about it.
How long before I grow up? asks Baldy.
You will not grow up, says Gaius. Nor will Terence.
Good, says Baldy. That means I don't have to have Lesson Two. I was getting it after dinner.
Really, says Gaius. So you don't know what it is yet.
I know what it's called, says Baldy. Lesson Two: What is an adult?
Interesting question, says Gaius. Or is it? Hmm. The more I think about it the more I think that it isn't. The answer is simple. A mature creature.
Oh, says Baldy. Now I'm sad I don't have to have Lesson Two. Because I know the answer.
It might not be HER answer, says Gaius.
What? says Baldy. Are there two answers?
Yes, says Gaius. More than two, sometimes. Take the Far Eastern Curlew.
I can't, says Baldy.
All right, says Gaius. Take Saint Roley.
I still can't, says Baldy.
As an example, says Gaius.
In that case, says Baldy, I could have taken the Far Eastern Curlew.
True, says Gaius. They do have the same problem.
With two answers, says Baldy.
Let us hope so, says Gaius.
I like talking to you, says Baldy.
Very good, says Gaius. But I'm going to have a short nap now. Would you like to look over these notes while I'm sleeping? See if you can spot any reference to bird life in these Moreton Bay developments plans. If you can, I'll be very surprised.
He hands Baldy a sheaf of notes, and lies down on the bed for a nap in the small room in the Mistral.
Baldy peruses the Moreton Bay Regional Council Planning Scheme.
Every now and then he looks up to see himself doing it, in the mirror.
Thursday, November 23, 2017
Feminist Applications
Arthur listens to his voicemails.
Message 1: Arthur, please call me. It's about Baldy.
Message 2: Arthur, please reply!!!
Message 3: Arthur, Baldy's replacement has been a failure. I want Baldy back. Call me.
Message 4: Where's my knife! The police have been round asking questions.
Message 6: Arthur....call me at once! Change of heart. Sorry.
Does she want me to go home? asks Baldy.
She did, then she changed her mind, says Arthur.
Baldy looks stricken.
I'm sure she does, says Belle. I'm going to call her. Give me that phone.
Arthur gives her his phone.
What was that about a knife? asks Belle. Did you take her knife?
No, says Arthur. I don't think that one was from her.
No kidding, says Sweezus.
Belle dials the Virgin's number.
The Virgin answers.
Hello? Arthur?
Belle: No. This is Arthur's phone. It's Belle here.
Virgin: Has something happened to Arthur?
Belle: Surely you'd know if it had?
Virgin: Everyone has such high expectations. But winter is coming. And bad weather.
Belle: You mustn't blame them. Was there a message for Baldy?
Baldy waits, holding his breath.
Virgin: Tell him... err.....tell him there's a vacancy here if he wants it.
Belle: I'll tell him. Baldy you can go home if you want to. Do you want to?
Baldy: Does she miss me?
Belle: He wants to know if you miss him.
The Virgin: I did at first. The replacement was such a little shit, and so heavy, and when I got rid of him... well it was such a relief, but of course ... with Baldy, he was my first, I do feel responsible.
Belle: She did at first. Now she doesn't sound all that keen.
Baldy: Boo hoo. Mama!
Belle: He's crying.
Virgin: Would you consider keeping him a bit longer? I'm feeling so fragile right now.
Belle: We're heading back to Australia tomorrow.
Virgin: Oh, bad luck. For me not for you. It will be summer there. How delightful.
Belle: Perhaps I could ask Simone. She's always said she loves children.
Virgin: Would you, dear. That would help me. And by the way, tell Arthur I recovered the knife.
Belle: What about the police? What happened?
Virgin: Nothing. They let me off with a caution.
Belle: You! Crikey!...... Well, I'll let you know if Simone's up for it. Bye now.
Virgin: Bye, dear. Kisses for Baldy.
Kisses for you, Baldy, says Belle.
Where are they? asks Baldy.
....
Later, at coffee.
Sartre is drinking a lovely espresso.
Simone is holding Baldy, on her lap. She smothers his bright curls with kisses.
You shall have new clothes, says Simone. You'll look like a proper Parisien.
And a wash, says Sartre. All those feathers and lettering have got to come off.
And, says Simone, you shall learn the basics of feminism.
Why do I have to? says Baldy.
That's a good start, says Sartre.
Message 1: Arthur, please call me. It's about Baldy.
Message 2: Arthur, please reply!!!
Message 3: Arthur, Baldy's replacement has been a failure. I want Baldy back. Call me.
Message 4: Where's my knife! The police have been round asking questions.
Message 6: Arthur....call me at once! Change of heart. Sorry.
Does she want me to go home? asks Baldy.
She did, then she changed her mind, says Arthur.
Baldy looks stricken.
I'm sure she does, says Belle. I'm going to call her. Give me that phone.
Arthur gives her his phone.
What was that about a knife? asks Belle. Did you take her knife?
No, says Arthur. I don't think that one was from her.
No kidding, says Sweezus.
Belle dials the Virgin's number.
The Virgin answers.
Hello? Arthur?
Belle: No. This is Arthur's phone. It's Belle here.
Virgin: Has something happened to Arthur?
Belle: Surely you'd know if it had?
Virgin: Everyone has such high expectations. But winter is coming. And bad weather.
Belle: You mustn't blame them. Was there a message for Baldy?
Baldy waits, holding his breath.
Virgin: Tell him... err.....tell him there's a vacancy here if he wants it.
Belle: I'll tell him. Baldy you can go home if you want to. Do you want to?
Baldy: Does she miss me?
Belle: He wants to know if you miss him.
The Virgin: I did at first. The replacement was such a little shit, and so heavy, and when I got rid of him... well it was such a relief, but of course ... with Baldy, he was my first, I do feel responsible.
Belle: She did at first. Now she doesn't sound all that keen.
Baldy: Boo hoo. Mama!
Belle: He's crying.
Virgin: Would you consider keeping him a bit longer? I'm feeling so fragile right now.
Belle: We're heading back to Australia tomorrow.
Virgin: Oh, bad luck. For me not for you. It will be summer there. How delightful.
Belle: Perhaps I could ask Simone. She's always said she loves children.
Virgin: Would you, dear. That would help me. And by the way, tell Arthur I recovered the knife.
Belle: What about the police? What happened?
Virgin: Nothing. They let me off with a caution.
Belle: You! Crikey!...... Well, I'll let you know if Simone's up for it. Bye now.
Virgin: Bye, dear. Kisses for Baldy.
Kisses for you, Baldy, says Belle.
Where are they? asks Baldy.
....
Later, at coffee.
Sartre is drinking a lovely espresso.
Simone is holding Baldy, on her lap. She smothers his bright curls with kisses.
You shall have new clothes, says Simone. You'll look like a proper Parisien.
And a wash, says Sartre. All those feathers and lettering have got to come off.
And, says Simone, you shall learn the basics of feminism.
Why do I have to? says Baldy.
That's a good start, says Sartre.
Wednesday, November 22, 2017
Necessary Squeezes
The TGV arrives at Paris Gare-Montparnasse.
Simone de Beauvoir is waiting for Sartre.
Chocolate, she sniffs, disapprovingly, as she gives him a peck on the cheek.
Sartre flexes his muscles.
She assesses the changes.
Yes, darling. You do look quite fit. You should keep up the cycling.
Hello, Simone! says Belle. We're in Paris for one night. Know any good hotels around here?
We always stay at the Mistral, says Simone. How many are you?
She asks because they seem to have children and extras.
Me, Sweezie, Arthur, Gaius, Terence and Baldy, says Belle. And our little bird, Saint Roley.
Simone takes a look at Saint Roley.
There is brown liquid coming out of his nose.
Has EVERYONE been eating chocolate? asks Simone. Surely on the TGV, they sell healthy alternatives. What about yogurt?
I ate what I was given, says Saint Roley, surprising Simone with his vocal capacity.
Oh! says Simone. Is it a parrot?
No, says Gaius. An oystercatcher, and an intelligent one.
How fascinating, says Simone. I should like to know more. Why don't you all come and stay at the Mistral? Jean Paul will arrange it.
Sartre had been looking forward to parting from his travelling companions. But he sees that the departure must necessarily be delayed.
So they all trundle off to the Mistral, which is close by.
Sartre goes up to reception. A few words are exchanged. A key is obtained.
You're lucky, says Sartre. Everyone wants to stay here. But the smallest room is available for tonight, for 112 euros.
Excellent, says Gaius. Let us go up and settle in.
Come and join us for coffee as soon as you're ready, says Simone.
It is agreed this will happen.
In the small room, everyone is forced to stand close together. It's clear this can't continue.
We'll do shifts, says Sweezus. Arthur and me'll go out.
They are just going out when Belle remembers:
Arthur, first you must call Baldy's mother.
Baldy looks excited. Then sad. Then excited.
Arthur gets out his phone.
As usual, the battery is flat.
Charge it, says Belle Here, use my charger.
Arthur's phone is plugged into a charger, and the charger plugged in at the wall. After a while it becomes apparent that Arthur has a large number of messages and missed calls, from the same number, the number of the Virgin in Le Puy en Velay.
This is surely a sign.
Simone de Beauvoir is waiting for Sartre.
Chocolate, she sniffs, disapprovingly, as she gives him a peck on the cheek.
Sartre flexes his muscles.
She assesses the changes.
Yes, darling. You do look quite fit. You should keep up the cycling.
Hello, Simone! says Belle. We're in Paris for one night. Know any good hotels around here?
We always stay at the Mistral, says Simone. How many are you?
She asks because they seem to have children and extras.
Me, Sweezie, Arthur, Gaius, Terence and Baldy, says Belle. And our little bird, Saint Roley.
Simone takes a look at Saint Roley.
There is brown liquid coming out of his nose.
Has EVERYONE been eating chocolate? asks Simone. Surely on the TGV, they sell healthy alternatives. What about yogurt?
I ate what I was given, says Saint Roley, surprising Simone with his vocal capacity.
Oh! says Simone. Is it a parrot?
No, says Gaius. An oystercatcher, and an intelligent one.
How fascinating, says Simone. I should like to know more. Why don't you all come and stay at the Mistral? Jean Paul will arrange it.
Sartre had been looking forward to parting from his travelling companions. But he sees that the departure must necessarily be delayed.
So they all trundle off to the Mistral, which is close by.
Sartre goes up to reception. A few words are exchanged. A key is obtained.
You're lucky, says Sartre. Everyone wants to stay here. But the smallest room is available for tonight, for 112 euros.
Excellent, says Gaius. Let us go up and settle in.
Come and join us for coffee as soon as you're ready, says Simone.
It is agreed this will happen.
In the small room, everyone is forced to stand close together. It's clear this can't continue.
We'll do shifts, says Sweezus. Arthur and me'll go out.
They are just going out when Belle remembers:
Arthur, first you must call Baldy's mother.
Baldy looks excited. Then sad. Then excited.
Arthur gets out his phone.
As usual, the battery is flat.
Charge it, says Belle Here, use my charger.
Arthur's phone is plugged into a charger, and the charger plugged in at the wall. After a while it becomes apparent that Arthur has a large number of messages and missed calls, from the same number, the number of the Virgin in Le Puy en Velay.
This is surely a sign.
Tuesday, November 21, 2017
A Failed Dream Of Completion
Gaius drops another peanut. It rolls under his seat and stops next to Arthur.
Arthur picks it up. He returns it to Gaius.
Thank you, Arthur, says Gaius. You keep it.
Arthur shoves the peanut into his pocket.
Arthur, says Gaius. What time is our flight out of Paris?
Flight? says Arthur. I don't know. You've got the tickets.
Yes, of course, says Gaius. They'll be in my back pack. Have a look will you.
Arthur has a look in Gaius's back pack.
Spare pair of chinos. Boxers. A tissue with dried beetle blood on it. Several broken Prismalos. Right at the bottom, a wallet of tickets.
Tomorrow morning, says Arthur. That means we've got one night in Paris.
Have we! says Belle. How lovely. Did you hear that Baldy?
Baldy is eating a Twix.
What? says Baldy.
A whole day and night in Paris, says Belle. We can get in touch with your mother.
Ha ha, laughs Terence. He doesn't have a mother.
He does, says Belle. And she has a phone number. Arthur will have it.
Will I? says Arthur.
Yes, says Belle. It'll be in your phone.
Is Baldy going back to Le Poo in Velay, asks Terence?
I think so, says Belle.
It's not Poo in Velay, says Baldy. It's Pwee.
Poo or Pwee, says Terence. Poo and Pwee. Pwee-pwee.
Stop that, says Belle. Baldy has been missing his mother. It's why he keeps crying.
Saint Roley has finished his Mars Bar. It didn't taste at all like a mollusc. He feels sick, and something brown is coming out of his nostrils. He must be, like Baldy, missing his mother.
No one cares about him.
Sartre is taking small bites of his Kit Kat, and looking out of the train window as green streaks whizz by.
That must be Le Parc Naturel Régional du Perche.
So the TGV is not too far from Paris.
What does yours taste like? asks Saint Roley.
Try it, says Sartre.
No thanks, says Saint Roley. Just describe it.
Everyone stops talking to listen. How will an existentialist describe a Kit Kat?
Sartre is irritated, and not willing to give it much thought.
Like a failed dream of completion, says Sartre.
Just like mine, sighs Saint Roley.
Arthur picks it up. He returns it to Gaius.
Thank you, Arthur, says Gaius. You keep it.
Arthur shoves the peanut into his pocket.
Arthur, says Gaius. What time is our flight out of Paris?
Flight? says Arthur. I don't know. You've got the tickets.
Yes, of course, says Gaius. They'll be in my back pack. Have a look will you.
Arthur has a look in Gaius's back pack.
Spare pair of chinos. Boxers. A tissue with dried beetle blood on it. Several broken Prismalos. Right at the bottom, a wallet of tickets.
Tomorrow morning, says Arthur. That means we've got one night in Paris.
Have we! says Belle. How lovely. Did you hear that Baldy?
Baldy is eating a Twix.
What? says Baldy.
A whole day and night in Paris, says Belle. We can get in touch with your mother.
Ha ha, laughs Terence. He doesn't have a mother.
He does, says Belle. And she has a phone number. Arthur will have it.
Will I? says Arthur.
Yes, says Belle. It'll be in your phone.
Is Baldy going back to Le Poo in Velay, asks Terence?
I think so, says Belle.
It's not Poo in Velay, says Baldy. It's Pwee.
Poo or Pwee, says Terence. Poo and Pwee. Pwee-pwee.
Stop that, says Belle. Baldy has been missing his mother. It's why he keeps crying.
Saint Roley has finished his Mars Bar. It didn't taste at all like a mollusc. He feels sick, and something brown is coming out of his nostrils. He must be, like Baldy, missing his mother.
No one cares about him.
Sartre is taking small bites of his Kit Kat, and looking out of the train window as green streaks whizz by.
That must be Le Parc Naturel Régional du Perche.
So the TGV is not too far from Paris.
What does yours taste like? asks Saint Roley.
Try it, says Sartre.
No thanks, says Saint Roley. Just describe it.
Everyone stops talking to listen. How will an existentialist describe a Kit Kat?
Sartre is irritated, and not willing to give it much thought.
Like a failed dream of completion, says Sartre.
Just like mine, sighs Saint Roley.
Monday, November 20, 2017
We Are Our Choices
Crikey! says Belle. Which one of you two is the fuckwit?
Sartre turns and looks over the back of his seat.
Has Sweezus defamed him?
That's the brilliance of the title, says Sweezus. I never say. So it's up to the reader.
Okay, says Belle. I'm going to read the whole thing.
She scans the first page, which is an introduction.
Okay right, just a nice bike ride in the country. Sartre hasn't ridden this far for quite some time. He says so. I ask him when he last rode a bicycle. He says in the war. I say what war was that? He laughs. He says there was only one war. I say which one though. He says world war two. I say gotcha. But he says it was the only one he was in.
The sun is hot. We stop for a drink in a cafe. I say tell me about the war. He says I was a prisoner for nine months in Nancy. I say oh, Nancy. Because I don't know where Nancy is. And he doesn't tell me. Before you were a prisoner, did you do any fighting? I ask him. No, he says, I served as a meteorologist. A meteorologist. How nuts is that? But I say, I suppose someone had to do it. He says yes, we are our choices. I say is that about the weather or being in prison in Nancy? But he doesn't laugh, because this time I've got him, and he isn't happy.
This is very good, Sweezie, says Belle. Balanced. I think papa and David will like it.
Yeah? says Sweezus. Cool. But hey, I want your opinion on something.....
He jumps out of his seat beside Sartre and sits down next to Belle, in the seat vacated by Terence and Baldy.
Terence and Baldy come back from the snack bar, with Arthur.
Terence has two Twix's, a Kit Kat and a Mars Bar. Baldy has a pain au chocolat in a brown paper bag.
Arthur has a pavé au jambon, a sandwich, a box of Pringles and a packet of cacahuétes.
And Sartre's ten euro note, crumpled up in his pocket.
You got a lot for ten euro, says Sartre.
Yes, says Arthur.
He told a LIE, says Terence.
Sartre looks interested.
Sit here, says Sartre, patting the empty seat beside him, meaning Arthur.
Too late. Terence has already sat down. And Baldy has squeezed in beside him.
Anything for me? enquires Gaius.
Peanuts, says Arthur.
Good man, says Gaius, taking the packet.
He rips it open. Several peanuts fall onto his copy of the Moreton Bay Council Planning Scheme.
Here are three chocolate bars, says Terence to Sartre.
Why do I see four? says Sartre.
Because two of them are Twix's says Terence. And the other two are different. You can pick one.
Hmm, which one? says Sartre. Twix, Kit Kat or Mars Bar?
Do I get one? asks Saint Roley.
Okay, says Terence.
Which one tastes most like a mollusc? asks Saint Roley.
The Mars Bar, says Terence. (He doesn't know).
And the next most is the Twix's says Baldy. (He doesn't know either).
Sartre is an intellectual with reasoning capabilities. He suspects they don't know.
But to be on the safe side he chooses the Kit Kat.
Sartre turns and looks over the back of his seat.
Has Sweezus defamed him?
That's the brilliance of the title, says Sweezus. I never say. So it's up to the reader.
Okay, says Belle. I'm going to read the whole thing.
She scans the first page, which is an introduction.
Okay right, just a nice bike ride in the country. Sartre hasn't ridden this far for quite some time. He says so. I ask him when he last rode a bicycle. He says in the war. I say what war was that? He laughs. He says there was only one war. I say which one though. He says world war two. I say gotcha. But he says it was the only one he was in.
The sun is hot. We stop for a drink in a cafe. I say tell me about the war. He says I was a prisoner for nine months in Nancy. I say oh, Nancy. Because I don't know where Nancy is. And he doesn't tell me. Before you were a prisoner, did you do any fighting? I ask him. No, he says, I served as a meteorologist. A meteorologist. How nuts is that? But I say, I suppose someone had to do it. He says yes, we are our choices. I say is that about the weather or being in prison in Nancy? But he doesn't laugh, because this time I've got him, and he isn't happy.
This is very good, Sweezie, says Belle. Balanced. I think papa and David will like it.
Yeah? says Sweezus. Cool. But hey, I want your opinion on something.....
He jumps out of his seat beside Sartre and sits down next to Belle, in the seat vacated by Terence and Baldy.
Terence and Baldy come back from the snack bar, with Arthur.
Terence has two Twix's, a Kit Kat and a Mars Bar. Baldy has a pain au chocolat in a brown paper bag.
Arthur has a pavé au jambon, a sandwich, a box of Pringles and a packet of cacahuétes.
And Sartre's ten euro note, crumpled up in his pocket.
You got a lot for ten euro, says Sartre.
Yes, says Arthur.
He told a LIE, says Terence.
Sartre looks interested.
Sit here, says Sartre, patting the empty seat beside him, meaning Arthur.
Too late. Terence has already sat down. And Baldy has squeezed in beside him.
Anything for me? enquires Gaius.
Peanuts, says Arthur.
Good man, says Gaius, taking the packet.
He rips it open. Several peanuts fall onto his copy of the Moreton Bay Council Planning Scheme.
Here are three chocolate bars, says Terence to Sartre.
Why do I see four? says Sartre.
Because two of them are Twix's says Terence. And the other two are different. You can pick one.
Hmm, which one? says Sartre. Twix, Kit Kat or Mars Bar?
Do I get one? asks Saint Roley.
Okay, says Terence.
Which one tastes most like a mollusc? asks Saint Roley.
The Mars Bar, says Terence. (He doesn't know).
And the next most is the Twix's says Baldy. (He doesn't know either).
Sartre is an intellectual with reasoning capabilities. He suspects they don't know.
But to be on the safe side he chooses the Kit Kat.
Sunday, November 19, 2017
Little Pleasures
Saint Malo. Early morning, at the station.
The TGV train for Paris departs in seven minutes.
Sartre watches as Sweezus dismantles his bike.
Seven minutes, says Sartre. Get a move on.
Done, says Sweezus, zipping the bike bag.
Gaius pats his pockets.
What has he forgotten?
Belle, says Gaius. Did you pack my blue pencil?
It'll be in your back pack, says Belle. And I've got the sharpener. It was on the table next to the Scarabée's legs.
Come on! says Sartre. We're in a first class carriage. Way up the platform.
They start walking, along the platform.
Terence and Baldy are lagging behind, with Saint Roley.
Let's get on NOW, says Terence.
Yes, let's, says Baldy. Then we don't have to walk as far.
No, says Saint Roley. You'll be in the wrong carriage. And you won't have a seat allocation.
Boo hoo, says Terence. Bossy. You're not our Virgin.
Baldy bursts out crying, inexplicably.
Seven minutes later, the TGV pulls out of Saint Malo, with everyone in it.
First class carriage seating is in a 2-1 figuration. Two seats on one side of the aisle, one on the other.
Sartre sits beside Sweezus, with Arthur across the aisle from them.
Belle sits beside Terence and Baldy, who fit into one seat. Gaius is across the aisle from them.
Saint Roley is undecided as to who he will sit on.
He would prefer Belle, as the softest. But she is comforting Baldy, who has an issue.
Belle: We'll sort it out when we get to Paris.
Baldy: (sniff)
Terence: He needs a snack.
Belle: Jean Paul, is there a snack service?
Sartre: Two carriages up. If anyone's going....
Belle: Terence and Baldy are going.
Sartre: Here's 10 euro. Get me one of the Petits Plaisirs on the menu.
Belle: Okay.
Arthur: I'll take them.
Belle: Thanks, Arthur. You're a darling.
Arthur, Terence and Baldy head for the Petits Plaisirs.
Saint Roley flutters onto Belle's lap.
Belle: Big adventure starting!
Saint Roley: Yes. It's scary. I've never been out of Brittany.
Belle: Everywhere's the same in the end.
Saint Roley: Is it? Even the bottom of the ocean?
Belle: I suppose so, but I didn't really mean that.
Sweezus (looking over the back of his seat): Hey Belle?
Belle: What?
Sweezus: Wanna read this, before I show it to his lordship?
Sartre: Ha ha. I think he means me. Don't tell me it's actually finished?
Belle: Thanks, Sweezie, Saint Roley and I will read it together. It'll take our minds off the nature of endings.
Sweezus passes his notebook over the seat and Belle starts reading:
Cycling Through France With Sartre (One of us Being a Fuckwit).
The TGV train for Paris departs in seven minutes.
Sartre watches as Sweezus dismantles his bike.
Seven minutes, says Sartre. Get a move on.
Done, says Sweezus, zipping the bike bag.
Gaius pats his pockets.
What has he forgotten?
Belle, says Gaius. Did you pack my blue pencil?
It'll be in your back pack, says Belle. And I've got the sharpener. It was on the table next to the Scarabée's legs.
Come on! says Sartre. We're in a first class carriage. Way up the platform.
They start walking, along the platform.
Terence and Baldy are lagging behind, with Saint Roley.
Let's get on NOW, says Terence.
Yes, let's, says Baldy. Then we don't have to walk as far.
No, says Saint Roley. You'll be in the wrong carriage. And you won't have a seat allocation.
Boo hoo, says Terence. Bossy. You're not our Virgin.
Baldy bursts out crying, inexplicably.
Seven minutes later, the TGV pulls out of Saint Malo, with everyone in it.
First class carriage seating is in a 2-1 figuration. Two seats on one side of the aisle, one on the other.
Sartre sits beside Sweezus, with Arthur across the aisle from them.
Belle sits beside Terence and Baldy, who fit into one seat. Gaius is across the aisle from them.
Saint Roley is undecided as to who he will sit on.
He would prefer Belle, as the softest. But she is comforting Baldy, who has an issue.
Belle: We'll sort it out when we get to Paris.
Baldy: (sniff)
Terence: He needs a snack.
Belle: Jean Paul, is there a snack service?
Sartre: Two carriages up. If anyone's going....
Belle: Terence and Baldy are going.
Sartre: Here's 10 euro. Get me one of the Petits Plaisirs on the menu.
Belle: Okay.
Arthur: I'll take them.
Belle: Thanks, Arthur. You're a darling.
Arthur, Terence and Baldy head for the Petits Plaisirs.
Saint Roley flutters onto Belle's lap.
Belle: Big adventure starting!
Saint Roley: Yes. It's scary. I've never been out of Brittany.
Belle: Everywhere's the same in the end.
Saint Roley: Is it? Even the bottom of the ocean?
Belle: I suppose so, but I didn't really mean that.
Sweezus (looking over the back of his seat): Hey Belle?
Belle: What?
Sweezus: Wanna read this, before I show it to his lordship?
Sartre: Ha ha. I think he means me. Don't tell me it's actually finished?
Belle: Thanks, Sweezie, Saint Roley and I will read it together. It'll take our minds off the nature of endings.
Sweezus passes his notebook over the seat and Belle starts reading:
Cycling Through France With Sartre (One of us Being a Fuckwit).
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Molecules Of His Brother
Their last night in Saint Malo.
A room in the Hotel Kyriad.
Various sounds. Ticking. Heavy breathing. Scratching. Flutters.
The sea roaring and foaming, crashing onto the stone works outside.
Saint Roley can't sleep. He thinks of the past and the future, the dead and the living.
His brother is out there somewhere. Drowned probably. That is what comes of trusting a pointing god's finger.
And the Scarabée, about whom he has mixed feelings. Where is the Scarabée now?
His body will be in the bin, at the back of Les Embruns. His four unattached legs are in this room somewhere, entangled in hair.
Saint Roley gets up from his place on the floor, and steps softly over Sweezus.
Waaat! mumbles Sweezus.
Saint Roley soothes Sweezus back to sleep with the tips of his feathers.
Or tries to.
Shit! shouts Sweezus. Creepy feathers! Fuck off!
Arthur sits up. Feels in his pocket. Knife. Whose is it? Fork. Pizza cutter. Sticking plaster. He picks at his knee scabs, which always itch worse at night.
Scratch scratch.
Shh! says Terence. Baldy's sleeping.
No, I'm not, says Baldy. I'm thinking.
What about? asks Terence. The curlies?
Curloos, says Baldy. No, not them.
He starts sobbing.
His tears splash on Sartre, but Sartre sleeps soundly.
He dreams of a tree with tree like features. He dreams its branches and roots. Below ground he dreams fungal networks intertwining....
Gaius is restless.
The light bulb sharpener falls out of his pocket, and rolls onto the floor.
Saint Roley tiptoes over, picks it up in his beak and drops it on a low table. Rustle!
Rustle? Why didn't it ting?
He squints in the darkness.
Ah. That's why. He has placed the light bulb on top of the hair clump entwining the legs of the Scarabée.
Somehow this makes him feel better. He lies down again beside Belle.
Swish. Raah! The sea roils outside.
And who is to know that it doesn't contains a few tiny molecules...
... of his brother?
A room in the Hotel Kyriad.
Various sounds. Ticking. Heavy breathing. Scratching. Flutters.
The sea roaring and foaming, crashing onto the stone works outside.
Saint Roley can't sleep. He thinks of the past and the future, the dead and the living.
His brother is out there somewhere. Drowned probably. That is what comes of trusting a pointing god's finger.
And the Scarabée, about whom he has mixed feelings. Where is the Scarabée now?
His body will be in the bin, at the back of Les Embruns. His four unattached legs are in this room somewhere, entangled in hair.
Saint Roley gets up from his place on the floor, and steps softly over Sweezus.
Waaat! mumbles Sweezus.
Saint Roley soothes Sweezus back to sleep with the tips of his feathers.
Or tries to.
Shit! shouts Sweezus. Creepy feathers! Fuck off!
Arthur sits up. Feels in his pocket. Knife. Whose is it? Fork. Pizza cutter. Sticking plaster. He picks at his knee scabs, which always itch worse at night.
Scratch scratch.
Shh! says Terence. Baldy's sleeping.
No, I'm not, says Baldy. I'm thinking.
What about? asks Terence. The curlies?
Curloos, says Baldy. No, not them.
He starts sobbing.
His tears splash on Sartre, but Sartre sleeps soundly.
He dreams of a tree with tree like features. He dreams its branches and roots. Below ground he dreams fungal networks intertwining....
Gaius is restless.
The light bulb sharpener falls out of his pocket, and rolls onto the floor.
Saint Roley tiptoes over, picks it up in his beak and drops it on a low table. Rustle!
Rustle? Why didn't it ting?
He squints in the darkness.
Ah. That's why. He has placed the light bulb on top of the hair clump entwining the legs of the Scarabée.
Somehow this makes him feel better. He lies down again beside Belle.
Swish. Raah! The sea roils outside.
And who is to know that it doesn't contains a few tiny molecules...
... of his brother?
Friday, November 17, 2017
It's Nothing
Saint Roley has fallen asleep in the moules frites bowl.
But he wakes up now.
First cat in space! How did that go?
Arthur doesn't know more than he's already said.
If I recall, says Gaius, Félicette parachuted safely to earth in a capsule. It was 1963. She was a black and white stray cat from Paris.
Good heavens, says Edith. How did she qualify?
Training, says Gaius. She was purchased by the French government. They fitted her head with permanent electrodes.
Stop! cries Saint Roley. That's horrible!
You find it horrible? says Gaius. Three months later they euthanised her to carry out tests on her brain.
That's unforgivable, says Belle. Félicette deserved a medal.
She taps on her phone to find more information: #Félicette first cat in space
Oh cool! There's a crowd funding thinger to raise money for a bronze statue. Who wants to contribute?
No one.
Shall we go? says Sartre. Early start in the morning. I've booked us all on the 6.07.
That IS early, says Belle. Come on Terence and Baldy, come out from under the table. What's the matter?
We were listening, says Terence.
Never mind, says Belle. Félicette will be a statue.
Will she have a Virgin? asks Baldy.
Of course not, says Gaius. She'll be a stand alone cat.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Man up, guys.
We weren't CRYING, says Terence.
I was, says Baldy.
Sartre calls for the bill.
Merde! It's a big one. How did they get through seven bottles?
Eh bien! We are bound by the physical world, and we pay for it.
At least he gets free train tickets, thanks to being a literary giant. First class ones, too.
I'll be going, says Edith. Thanks for the dinner.
My pleasure, says Sartre. It was a novelty, to meet someone who could out-quote me.
Did I do that? asks Edith.
You did, says Sartre. After which you subverted the night's conversation.
Apologies, says Edith.
De rien, says Sartre.
He wonders if anyone understands him.
But he wakes up now.
First cat in space! How did that go?
Arthur doesn't know more than he's already said.
If I recall, says Gaius, Félicette parachuted safely to earth in a capsule. It was 1963. She was a black and white stray cat from Paris.
Good heavens, says Edith. How did she qualify?
Training, says Gaius. She was purchased by the French government. They fitted her head with permanent electrodes.
Stop! cries Saint Roley. That's horrible!
You find it horrible? says Gaius. Three months later they euthanised her to carry out tests on her brain.
That's unforgivable, says Belle. Félicette deserved a medal.
She taps on her phone to find more information: #Félicette first cat in space
Oh cool! There's a crowd funding thinger to raise money for a bronze statue. Who wants to contribute?
No one.
Shall we go? says Sartre. Early start in the morning. I've booked us all on the 6.07.
That IS early, says Belle. Come on Terence and Baldy, come out from under the table. What's the matter?
We were listening, says Terence.
Never mind, says Belle. Félicette will be a statue.
Will she have a Virgin? asks Baldy.
Of course not, says Gaius. She'll be a stand alone cat.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Man up, guys.
We weren't CRYING, says Terence.
I was, says Baldy.
Sartre calls for the bill.
Merde! It's a big one. How did they get through seven bottles?
Eh bien! We are bound by the physical world, and we pay for it.
At least he gets free train tickets, thanks to being a literary giant. First class ones, too.
I'll be going, says Edith. Thanks for the dinner.
My pleasure, says Sartre. It was a novelty, to meet someone who could out-quote me.
Did I do that? asks Edith.
You did, says Sartre. After which you subverted the night's conversation.
Apologies, says Edith.
De rien, says Sartre.
He wonders if anyone understands him.
Thursday, November 16, 2017
Famous Cats And One Less Famous Dog
Belle orders another bottle of Sancerre.
Gaius and Edith look at the menu.
Sartre ponders what Edith said Freud said of cats.
Edith orders a starter of pan fried lettuce and crab topped with scallops.
Gaius orders a rabbit terrine with balsamic reduction.
The wine is poured. There's not really enough in one bottle. Belle orders more.
To make room, Sweezus and Arthur quickly empty their glasses.
Edith beams at Sartre.
I saw your eyes light up at the mention of cats, says Edith. Do you have one?
I do, says Sartre.
Name? asks Edith.
Rien, says Sartre.
How CUTE! says Belle.
Do you have one? asks Sartre.
No, says Edith. I'm more of a dog person.
Me too, says Sweezus. I had a dog once called Farky.
Dear Farky, says Belle. It was awful what happened.
The crab on pan fried lettuce arrives.
Talking of famous people with cats, says Edith, poking at the caviar on top of the scallops, does anyone know what Katy Perry's cat's name is?
Kitty Purry, says Sweezus.
Brilliant! says Belle. Sweezie, how do you even KNOW that?
Twitter, says Sweezus.
Sartre does not like the turn the conversation is taking.
Why has no one asked why his cat is named Rien? This would then lead to a conversation about being and nothingness, his favourite subject. It's all Edith's fault, for bringing up Kitty Purry.
Gaius now has his rabbit terrine. He is about to begin it, when he remembers an interesting cat fact.
I am reminded of Koko the Gorilla, says Gaius. She lived at the San Francisco Zoo, and learned over one thousand signs. She was given a kitten as a pet, and she named it All Ball.
All Ball, says Edith. That's not what you'd expect.
Depends how she picked it, says Arthur.
Indeed, says Sartre. She was probably forced. And if so, it serves as a metaphor for our own existential dilemma. How to avoid the anguish resulting from choices that necessarily limit human freedom.....
What happened to All Ball? asks Edith.
Escaped from the zoo and was run over by a car, says Gaius.
Fuck, says Sweezus. That was hard.
It must have upset Koko. says Belle. Did she say anything. I mean, did she sign?
Sad and Bad, says Gaius. Or words to that effect. She was given another kitten. She called it Lipstick.
That's ridiculous, says Sartre, draining his glass and pouring himself another. Why would a gorilla choose Lipstick?
Her keepers believe it might have something to do with the fact that that the kitten's lips were pinkish, says Gaius, wiping his own lips clean of traces of rabbit.
Cool, says Sweezus.
But unverifiable, as to what Koko was thinking, says Sartre.
True, says Belle. Anyone else got a cat story?
Who was Félicette? asks Arthur.
Dunno, says Sweezus.
First cat in space, says Arthur. She was only up there fifteen minutes.
(He thinks he's read that fact somewhere).
Gaius and Edith look at the menu.
Sartre ponders what Edith said Freud said of cats.
Edith orders a starter of pan fried lettuce and crab topped with scallops.
Gaius orders a rabbit terrine with balsamic reduction.
The wine is poured. There's not really enough in one bottle. Belle orders more.
To make room, Sweezus and Arthur quickly empty their glasses.
Edith beams at Sartre.
I saw your eyes light up at the mention of cats, says Edith. Do you have one?
I do, says Sartre.
Name? asks Edith.
Rien, says Sartre.
How CUTE! says Belle.
Do you have one? asks Sartre.
No, says Edith. I'm more of a dog person.
Me too, says Sweezus. I had a dog once called Farky.
Dear Farky, says Belle. It was awful what happened.
The crab on pan fried lettuce arrives.
Talking of famous people with cats, says Edith, poking at the caviar on top of the scallops, does anyone know what Katy Perry's cat's name is?
Kitty Purry, says Sweezus.
Brilliant! says Belle. Sweezie, how do you even KNOW that?
Twitter, says Sweezus.
Sartre does not like the turn the conversation is taking.
Why has no one asked why his cat is named Rien? This would then lead to a conversation about being and nothingness, his favourite subject. It's all Edith's fault, for bringing up Kitty Purry.
Gaius now has his rabbit terrine. He is about to begin it, when he remembers an interesting cat fact.
I am reminded of Koko the Gorilla, says Gaius. She lived at the San Francisco Zoo, and learned over one thousand signs. She was given a kitten as a pet, and she named it All Ball.
All Ball, says Edith. That's not what you'd expect.
Depends how she picked it, says Arthur.
Indeed, says Sartre. She was probably forced. And if so, it serves as a metaphor for our own existential dilemma. How to avoid the anguish resulting from choices that necessarily limit human freedom.....
What happened to All Ball? asks Edith.
Escaped from the zoo and was run over by a car, says Gaius.
Fuck, says Sweezus. That was hard.
It must have upset Koko. says Belle. Did she say anything. I mean, did she sign?
Sad and Bad, says Gaius. Or words to that effect. She was given another kitten. She called it Lipstick.
That's ridiculous, says Sartre, draining his glass and pouring himself another. Why would a gorilla choose Lipstick?
Her keepers believe it might have something to do with the fact that that the kitten's lips were pinkish, says Gaius, wiping his own lips clean of traces of rabbit.
Cool, says Sweezus.
But unverifiable, as to what Koko was thinking, says Sartre.
True, says Belle. Anyone else got a cat story?
Who was Félicette? asks Arthur.
Dunno, says Sweezus.
First cat in space, says Arthur. She was only up there fifteen minutes.
(He thinks he's read that fact somewhere).
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
The Goal Of All Life
What can possibly happen next?
The salad is thrown out, along with the beetle?
Of course not.
The salad is thrown out, along with the sticky red avocado.
We can't keep this beetle, says mum. Did you say it was Arthur's?
Yes, says Irma.
It's going right back, says mum. Reg, you take the girls out for pizza. Irma, what's Arthur's address?
Hotel Kyriad, says Irma. I was going to take it back in the morning.
I was going to go with you, says Emma.
Too bad, says their mother. I'm going now.
Don't argue with your mother, says Reg.
He didn't need to say that. They hadn't.
So Reg, Emma and Irma head out for the nearest pizzeria, and mum heads in the opposite direction with the disgraced Scarabée, in his specimen jar.
Mum has a name. It is Edith.
Which is why when she knocks on the door of the room in the Hotel Kyriad, and the door is opened by Gaius, he says:
Edith! How nice to see you. I trust Irma arrived home all right?
Gaius! says Edith, looking around the room. Yes she did, but she seems to have accidentally picked up your beetle.
Come in, come in, says Gaius. You are lucky to have caught me. I was just going out to dinner.
Oh, says Edith, disappointed.
Have you eaten? asks Gaius.
No, says Edith. Long story. It's because of this beetle.
Gaius peers at the Scarabée.
It is strangely silent.
Perhaps it is dead.
........
Les Embruns.
Sartre is enjoying his seafood risotto.
Saint Roley is filling up on moules frites. His ideal dinner.
Belle, Sweezus and Arthur are finishing their grilled sole and lobster.
Terence and Baldy are under the table playing Not Yet Founded.
A fun game. So far they have not yet found anything.
Gaius arrives with Edith, and the dead Scarabée.
Greetings all round.
Here's the bad penny, says Gaius, plonking the specimen jar on the table.
Dead! says Sweezus.
Oh dear, says Belle.
My fault, says Edith. I sat him on top of our salad. He wanted so much to live the rest of his life as a beetroot.
Freud said, observes Sartre, (chewing a particularly hard chunk of squid ring), that the goal of all life is death.
A comforting thought, for everyone but the beetle.
He also said, replies Edith, that time spent with cats is never wasted.
Sartre swallows his squid ring rather too quickly.
Is she countering his quote in an intelligent and humorous manner?
Or is she a cat lover? Does she know that he also likes cats?
The salad is thrown out, along with the beetle?
Of course not.
The salad is thrown out, along with the sticky red avocado.
We can't keep this beetle, says mum. Did you say it was Arthur's?
Yes, says Irma.
It's going right back, says mum. Reg, you take the girls out for pizza. Irma, what's Arthur's address?
Hotel Kyriad, says Irma. I was going to take it back in the morning.
I was going to go with you, says Emma.
Too bad, says their mother. I'm going now.
Don't argue with your mother, says Reg.
He didn't need to say that. They hadn't.
So Reg, Emma and Irma head out for the nearest pizzeria, and mum heads in the opposite direction with the disgraced Scarabée, in his specimen jar.
Mum has a name. It is Edith.
Which is why when she knocks on the door of the room in the Hotel Kyriad, and the door is opened by Gaius, he says:
Edith! How nice to see you. I trust Irma arrived home all right?
Gaius! says Edith, looking around the room. Yes she did, but she seems to have accidentally picked up your beetle.
Come in, come in, says Gaius. You are lucky to have caught me. I was just going out to dinner.
Oh, says Edith, disappointed.
Have you eaten? asks Gaius.
No, says Edith. Long story. It's because of this beetle.
Gaius peers at the Scarabée.
It is strangely silent.
Perhaps it is dead.
........
Les Embruns.
Sartre is enjoying his seafood risotto.
Saint Roley is filling up on moules frites. His ideal dinner.
Belle, Sweezus and Arthur are finishing their grilled sole and lobster.
Terence and Baldy are under the table playing Not Yet Founded.
A fun game. So far they have not yet found anything.
Gaius arrives with Edith, and the dead Scarabée.
Greetings all round.
Here's the bad penny, says Gaius, plonking the specimen jar on the table.
Dead! says Sweezus.
Oh dear, says Belle.
My fault, says Edith. I sat him on top of our salad. He wanted so much to live the rest of his life as a beetroot.
Freud said, observes Sartre, (chewing a particularly hard chunk of squid ring), that the goal of all life is death.
A comforting thought, for everyone but the beetle.
He also said, replies Edith, that time spent with cats is never wasted.
Sartre swallows his squid ring rather too quickly.
Is she countering his quote in an intelligent and humorous manner?
Or is she a cat lover? Does she know that he also likes cats?
Tuesday, November 14, 2017
First Time As A Beetroot
Irma walks back to the Hotel Ibis, in the dark.
In one hand, she holds the specimen jar, containing the disabled beetle.
Where are we going? asks the Scarabée.
Hotel, says Irma, shortly.
I only ask, says the Scarabée, because it concerns me.
Ibis, says Irma. Hotel Ibis. That's where we're staying.
We? says the Scarabée.
Me, mum, dad and Emma, says Irma.
Do they know much about beetles? asks the beetle.
No, says Irma.
Beetroots? asks the beetle.
Yep, says Irma. Beetroots, they probably do.
....
She enters the room in which her family is staying.
About time, Irma, says dad. How was the Hip Hop Répétition?
Lame, says Irma, except for one person.
Who? asks her sister.
Arthur, says Irma.
Wow! Was HE there? says Emma. Wish I went.
I went back to his room, says Irma.
IRMA! says mum.
Gaius was there too, and Belle and Sweezus, says Irma. And Jean Paul Sartre.
Ooh! says mum. Sartre. Now I wish I went too.
Very funny, dear, says Reg. What's that in the specimen jar?
Arthur's beetle, says Irma. It's injured.
Let me see, says mum. O my goodness!
It asked me if we know much about beetroots, says Irma.
Probably a slip of the tongue, says dad.
A Freudian slip, says mum. Hello, beetroot. Can you hear me?
YES! cries the Scarabée. I hear you! Now what can I do?
Do? asks mum. I fear there is not much you can do as a two legged beetle.
My goal is to live the rest of my life as a beetroot, says the Scarabée.
So it wasn't a Freudian slip. Mum is charmed.
Then you shall, she says kindly. You know, I suppose, that the beetroot is the taproot portion of the beet plant, and is especially rich in nutrients such as iron and folate. Also manganese, phosphorus, potassium and Vitamin B6, so, extremely healthy.
I do want to be healthy, says the Scarabée.
You shall sit here, on top of our salad, says mum, picking up the Scarabée gently, by his elytra.
She lowers him onto a slice of avocado, which is perched on a lettuce leaf, amongst other leaves, in the salad bowl, which sits on the table waiting for the arrival of Irma before being eaten.
Yuck, mum, says Emma.
Use the salad servers, says mum. Make sure you avoid him.
The Scarabée sits on the avocado. He is nervous.
His first time as a beetroot.
Several drops of orange-red liquid squirt out of an orifice.
It's a Crache-Sang! says Reg.
And it's ruined the salad, says mum.
In one hand, she holds the specimen jar, containing the disabled beetle.
Where are we going? asks the Scarabée.
Hotel, says Irma, shortly.
I only ask, says the Scarabée, because it concerns me.
Ibis, says Irma. Hotel Ibis. That's where we're staying.
We? says the Scarabée.
Me, mum, dad and Emma, says Irma.
Do they know much about beetles? asks the beetle.
No, says Irma.
Beetroots? asks the beetle.
Yep, says Irma. Beetroots, they probably do.
....
She enters the room in which her family is staying.
About time, Irma, says dad. How was the Hip Hop Répétition?
Lame, says Irma, except for one person.
Who? asks her sister.
Arthur, says Irma.
Wow! Was HE there? says Emma. Wish I went.
I went back to his room, says Irma.
IRMA! says mum.
Gaius was there too, and Belle and Sweezus, says Irma. And Jean Paul Sartre.
Ooh! says mum. Sartre. Now I wish I went too.
Very funny, dear, says Reg. What's that in the specimen jar?
Arthur's beetle, says Irma. It's injured.
Let me see, says mum. O my goodness!
It asked me if we know much about beetroots, says Irma.
Probably a slip of the tongue, says dad.
A Freudian slip, says mum. Hello, beetroot. Can you hear me?
YES! cries the Scarabée. I hear you! Now what can I do?
Do? asks mum. I fear there is not much you can do as a two legged beetle.
My goal is to live the rest of my life as a beetroot, says the Scarabée.
So it wasn't a Freudian slip. Mum is charmed.
Then you shall, she says kindly. You know, I suppose, that the beetroot is the taproot portion of the beet plant, and is especially rich in nutrients such as iron and folate. Also manganese, phosphorus, potassium and Vitamin B6, so, extremely healthy.
I do want to be healthy, says the Scarabée.
You shall sit here, on top of our salad, says mum, picking up the Scarabée gently, by his elytra.
She lowers him onto a slice of avocado, which is perched on a lettuce leaf, amongst other leaves, in the salad bowl, which sits on the table waiting for the arrival of Irma before being eaten.
Yuck, mum, says Emma.
Use the salad servers, says mum. Make sure you avoid him.
The Scarabée sits on the avocado. He is nervous.
His first time as a beetroot.
Several drops of orange-red liquid squirt out of an orifice.
It's a Crache-Sang! says Reg.
And it's ruined the salad, says mum.
Monday, November 13, 2017
Exit The Beetle
Trees communicate with one another, says Irma.
If only I'd known that, says Sartre.
Arthur comes out of the bathroom. He has washed off the blood.
He looks the same, due to a mild allergic reaction. His skin is red, where the blood was.
They release chemicals into the air, says Irma. They warn one another of danger.
Cool, says Sweezus. But....hey...?
What? says Irma.
Yeah well, what's the point? says Sweezus. They can't run away.
They can produce poisonous chemicals, says Irma.
True, says Gaius. Poisonous chemicals to deter leaf-eating insects.
What if the danger's a fire? says Sweezus.
Too bad for the insects, says Sartre (a subtle thinker).
You should have washed your face, Arthur, says Belle.
I washed it, says Arthur.
Woah! says Sweezus. You still look the same!
Irma's phone rings.
What? Yes. No. Oh, OKAY, dad!
Seems she has to go. Seems she is not by herself in Saint Malo.
She heads for the door. Should she leave something behind? An excuse to return in the morning.
But Irma is not that type of person.
She would rather take something.
Arthur, for preference. Ha ha. But Arthur won't come. He probably hates her. That's why he went into the bathroom and didn't hear what she said about trees. Yes. So. Take something.
She picks up the specimen jar in which the Scarabée is resting, and thinking hard about beetroots.
The Scarabée is whisked out of the room before he can utter the question.
WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Did you see that? says Belle.
She took my beetle, says Terence.
Our beetle, says Baldy.
Good, says Saint Roley. It was a liability.
True, says Gaius. It was.
I was going to suggest that I eat it, says Saint Roley.
Now you don't need to, says Gaius. It may be just as well. Backyard birds eat insects and bugs, but you are a shorebird.
Speaking of which, says Belle, is anyone hungry? Shall we find a restaurant?
My treat, says Sartre. Les Embruns is nearby. They do moules frites, and an excellent seafood risotto.
Moules frites! That suits Saint Roley.
If only I'd known that, says Sartre.
Arthur comes out of the bathroom. He has washed off the blood.
He looks the same, due to a mild allergic reaction. His skin is red, where the blood was.
They release chemicals into the air, says Irma. They warn one another of danger.
Cool, says Sweezus. But....hey...?
What? says Irma.
Yeah well, what's the point? says Sweezus. They can't run away.
They can produce poisonous chemicals, says Irma.
True, says Gaius. Poisonous chemicals to deter leaf-eating insects.
What if the danger's a fire? says Sweezus.
Too bad for the insects, says Sartre (a subtle thinker).
You should have washed your face, Arthur, says Belle.
I washed it, says Arthur.
Woah! says Sweezus. You still look the same!
Irma's phone rings.
What? Yes. No. Oh, OKAY, dad!
Seems she has to go. Seems she is not by herself in Saint Malo.
She heads for the door. Should she leave something behind? An excuse to return in the morning.
But Irma is not that type of person.
She would rather take something.
Arthur, for preference. Ha ha. But Arthur won't come. He probably hates her. That's why he went into the bathroom and didn't hear what she said about trees. Yes. So. Take something.
She picks up the specimen jar in which the Scarabée is resting, and thinking hard about beetroots.
The Scarabée is whisked out of the room before he can utter the question.
WHERE ARE WE GOING?
Did you see that? says Belle.
She took my beetle, says Terence.
Our beetle, says Baldy.
Good, says Saint Roley. It was a liability.
True, says Gaius. It was.
I was going to suggest that I eat it, says Saint Roley.
Now you don't need to, says Gaius. It may be just as well. Backyard birds eat insects and bugs, but you are a shorebird.
Speaking of which, says Belle, is anyone hungry? Shall we find a restaurant?
My treat, says Sartre. Les Embruns is nearby. They do moules frites, and an excellent seafood risotto.
Moules frites! That suits Saint Roley.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Nuanced Understandings
Plants have an existential predicament, says Irma.
She sits down, next to Arthur.
What might that be? asks Sartre.
Arthur stands up.
They're rooted, says Irma.
She reaches out to stop Arthur leaving. Then thinks better of it.
I see, says Sartre. And what does that mean for the plant, besides the obvious?
So, plants develop a nuanced understanding of their immediate environment, says Irma.
Arthur notices something. She still has the tattoo. His name is still spelled incorrectly.
(It would be. It's a tattoo).
How do we know this? asks Sartre. It is difficult enough trying to see a tree without treeness, let alone getting into its head, or equivalent.
Experiments, says Irma.
Excellent method, says Gaius. Experiments, and the keeping of notes.
He pats his trousers.
Only because he is checking to see if he still has the Virgin's blue pencil. He does.
Plants experience the world differently from us, says Irma,
Is a beetroot a plant? asks the Scarabée.
Part of, says Belle. The delicious part. Did you know they were healthy?
This is not the best answer for the Scarabée.
They can distinguish between different colours of light, says Irma. They are aware of aromas. They know which way is up or down.
Man, says Sweezus. That's awesome. I don't always...
They know when they're being touched, says Irma.
Arthur has moved to the bathroom.
They remember being touched, says Irma.
Arthur goes in.
But they don't remember you, says Irma.
Ah, says Belle. That's lovely. And sad.
It's fascinating, says Sartre. I shall look into it further. As soon as I'm done with topology.
Are you into topology? asks Irma. Me too. Do you know we're the same as a donut?
Actually, I do, says Sartre.
Gaius has pulled out his pencil. The light bulb sharpener drops on the floor.
That's nifty, says Irma, reaching down to pick it up for him.
Yes, says Gaius. It means one always has a pencil sharpener, should one need it. Thank you Irma. I see you still have your tattoo.
This old thing, says Irma, pulling her sleeve down.
ARTHER, says Gaius. Funny way of spelling it. Is it someone you know?
Sort of, says Irma. Emma's got the same one.
I remember now, says Gaius. You and she won Richard Dawkins' sleep competition. Two years ago, was it?
Yeah, says Sweezus. You guys pretended you were eleven.
Eleven! says Sartre. How old were you really?
Thirteen, says Irma.
Crikey. And she's all by herself in Saint Malo. You do the maths.
She sits down, next to Arthur.
What might that be? asks Sartre.
Arthur stands up.
They're rooted, says Irma.
She reaches out to stop Arthur leaving. Then thinks better of it.
I see, says Sartre. And what does that mean for the plant, besides the obvious?
So, plants develop a nuanced understanding of their immediate environment, says Irma.
Arthur notices something. She still has the tattoo. His name is still spelled incorrectly.
(It would be. It's a tattoo).
How do we know this? asks Sartre. It is difficult enough trying to see a tree without treeness, let alone getting into its head, or equivalent.
Experiments, says Irma.
Excellent method, says Gaius. Experiments, and the keeping of notes.
He pats his trousers.
Only because he is checking to see if he still has the Virgin's blue pencil. He does.
Plants experience the world differently from us, says Irma,
Is a beetroot a plant? asks the Scarabée.
Part of, says Belle. The delicious part. Did you know they were healthy?
This is not the best answer for the Scarabée.
They can distinguish between different colours of light, says Irma. They are aware of aromas. They know which way is up or down.
Man, says Sweezus. That's awesome. I don't always...
They know when they're being touched, says Irma.
Arthur has moved to the bathroom.
They remember being touched, says Irma.
Arthur goes in.
But they don't remember you, says Irma.
Ah, says Belle. That's lovely. And sad.
It's fascinating, says Sartre. I shall look into it further. As soon as I'm done with topology.
Are you into topology? asks Irma. Me too. Do you know we're the same as a donut?
Actually, I do, says Sartre.
Gaius has pulled out his pencil. The light bulb sharpener drops on the floor.
That's nifty, says Irma, reaching down to pick it up for him.
Yes, says Gaius. It means one always has a pencil sharpener, should one need it. Thank you Irma. I see you still have your tattoo.
This old thing, says Irma, pulling her sleeve down.
ARTHER, says Gaius. Funny way of spelling it. Is it someone you know?
Sort of, says Irma. Emma's got the same one.
I remember now, says Gaius. You and she won Richard Dawkins' sleep competition. Two years ago, was it?
Yeah, says Sweezus. You guys pretended you were eleven.
Eleven! says Sartre. How old were you really?
Thirteen, says Irma.
Crikey. And she's all by herself in Saint Malo. You do the maths.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
Losing Treeness
Perhaps they'll regrow, says Saint Roley.
The Scarabée looks up at Sartre.
No, I think not, says Sartre.
He thinks not, says Terence.
Not what? asks Baldy.
Perhaps they'll regrow, says Terence.
That would be good, says Baldy.
Except that's what he thinks not, says Terence. Weren't you listening?
Ask Gaius, says Belle. He's the natural historian.
I'm already checking, says Gaius. The legs will not regrow. The consensus seems to be that a beetle can manage with a minimum of three legs, but of course, will be disadvantaged. A beetle with no legs at all must be kept in confinement, on a soft low bed, fed and watered, and prevented from drowning......
CURSES! cries the Scarabée. This is not what I hoped for from life!
Think of the beetroot, says Sartre.
The Scarabée is surprised. He had not asked for advice. What does it mean, anyway?
He may never find out.
Because who should enter but Arthur and Sweezus and Irma.
Irma! cries Belle. What are you doing here?
Just happened to bump into these guys, says Irma. At the Hip Hop Répétition.
Are you here with your family? asks Belle.
No, says Irma. I'm here on my own. What's that on the table? Yuck. Who smashed the beetle?
Our cousin's Virgin, says Terence. Then she was sorry. Look at us, we're on a mission.
You look colourful, says Irma. Oh, hi Gaius!
Irma, says Gaius. How nice. And this is Jean Paul Sartre. He's travelling to Paris with us in the morning.
Jean Paul Sartre, says Irma. The philosopher?
Ahem. Sartre tries to look wise.
You wrote that book we had to read in year eleven, says Irma. The one where you stare at a tree and the tree turns all scary.
La Nauseé, says Belle. I read it too. It was good. Existential. Like he isn't really seeing the tree as a tree but as something terrifying, because it has lost all its treeness.
Yeah! says Irma. I remember. Lost its treeness. Hey, what's that perfume?
Japanese Rose, says Belle.
It's gorgeous, says Irma.
The point is, says Sartre, not liking the frivolous change of subject, everything is gratuitous. To exist is simply to be there. The tree and its roots are just there, each of its qualities being superfluous.
The Scarabée wonders if this sort of thinking might be helpful.
But Irma is offended. She has read What A Plant Knows.
Superfluous, says Irma. It's clear you know nothing of plants.
Enlighten me, says Sartre.
Don't worry. She is about to.
The Scarabée looks up at Sartre.
No, I think not, says Sartre.
He thinks not, says Terence.
Not what? asks Baldy.
Perhaps they'll regrow, says Terence.
That would be good, says Baldy.
Except that's what he thinks not, says Terence. Weren't you listening?
Ask Gaius, says Belle. He's the natural historian.
I'm already checking, says Gaius. The legs will not regrow. The consensus seems to be that a beetle can manage with a minimum of three legs, but of course, will be disadvantaged. A beetle with no legs at all must be kept in confinement, on a soft low bed, fed and watered, and prevented from drowning......
CURSES! cries the Scarabée. This is not what I hoped for from life!
Think of the beetroot, says Sartre.
The Scarabée is surprised. He had not asked for advice. What does it mean, anyway?
He may never find out.
Because who should enter but Arthur and Sweezus and Irma.
Irma! cries Belle. What are you doing here?
Just happened to bump into these guys, says Irma. At the Hip Hop Répétition.
Are you here with your family? asks Belle.
No, says Irma. I'm here on my own. What's that on the table? Yuck. Who smashed the beetle?
Our cousin's Virgin, says Terence. Then she was sorry. Look at us, we're on a mission.
You look colourful, says Irma. Oh, hi Gaius!
Irma, says Gaius. How nice. And this is Jean Paul Sartre. He's travelling to Paris with us in the morning.
Jean Paul Sartre, says Irma. The philosopher?
Ahem. Sartre tries to look wise.
You wrote that book we had to read in year eleven, says Irma. The one where you stare at a tree and the tree turns all scary.
La Nauseé, says Belle. I read it too. It was good. Existential. Like he isn't really seeing the tree as a tree but as something terrifying, because it has lost all its treeness.
Yeah! says Irma. I remember. Lost its treeness. Hey, what's that perfume?
Japanese Rose, says Belle.
It's gorgeous, says Irma.
The point is, says Sartre, not liking the frivolous change of subject, everything is gratuitous. To exist is simply to be there. The tree and its roots are just there, each of its qualities being superfluous.
The Scarabée wonders if this sort of thinking might be helpful.
But Irma is offended. She has read What A Plant Knows.
Superfluous, says Irma. It's clear you know nothing of plants.
Enlighten me, says Sartre.
Don't worry. She is about to.
Friday, November 10, 2017
The Fluidity Of Existence
I have bad news, says Sartre, coming out of the bathroom.
Note, he does not say he has good news as well.
What is it? asks Belle
The Scarabée has had a sharp lesson in the fluidity of existence, says Sartre.
That sounds like good news, says Gaius. The fluidity of existence. Who's next in the shower?
Wait, says Belle. What actually happened?
Sartre holds out the specimen jar. She looks in it.
Ooh! says Belle. Let's get him out of there.
She lifts out the Scarabée, and places him on a low table.
The Scarabée speaks: Who's next in the shower?
Me, says Belle.
You might like to look for my legs, says the Scarabée. There's a chance they'll still be there.
On second thoughts, says Belle, Gaius, you go.
Gaius heads for the bathroom.
He strips and hops into the shower.
There is a big clot of hair like a grey-brown nest over the outlet.
He squats, and checks it for legs.
Luckily, (and this is the good news), the legs are sticking out from the hair clot at various angles.
Should he extract them? Or lift up the whole thing?
The latter. It will save time.
He places the wad of hair and legs on the rim of the vanity basin, and gets back in the shower,
Aah! When did he last have a shower? How pleasant it is.
He eventually comes out of the bathroom.
Well? says Belle. Did you find them? The poor Scarabée is being remarkably philosophical.
He has reached an understanding, says Sartre.
Yes, says Gaius. The legs are here somewhere.
He plonks down the wad of Sartre's hair with four legs visibly protruding.
O heavens! says Belle. Well. I'll leave you guys to it.
She enters the bathroom. And stays in there for ages.
When she emerges, smelling of Japanese Rose, (her favourite shower gel), the Scarabée is still in five parts.
Note, he does not say he has good news as well.
What is it? asks Belle
The Scarabée has had a sharp lesson in the fluidity of existence, says Sartre.
That sounds like good news, says Gaius. The fluidity of existence. Who's next in the shower?
Wait, says Belle. What actually happened?
Sartre holds out the specimen jar. She looks in it.
Ooh! says Belle. Let's get him out of there.
She lifts out the Scarabée, and places him on a low table.
The Scarabée speaks: Who's next in the shower?
Me, says Belle.
You might like to look for my legs, says the Scarabée. There's a chance they'll still be there.
On second thoughts, says Belle, Gaius, you go.
Gaius heads for the bathroom.
He strips and hops into the shower.
There is a big clot of hair like a grey-brown nest over the outlet.
He squats, and checks it for legs.
Luckily, (and this is the good news), the legs are sticking out from the hair clot at various angles.
Should he extract them? Or lift up the whole thing?
The latter. It will save time.
He places the wad of hair and legs on the rim of the vanity basin, and gets back in the shower,
Aah! When did he last have a shower? How pleasant it is.
He eventually comes out of the bathroom.
Well? says Belle. Did you find them? The poor Scarabée is being remarkably philosophical.
He has reached an understanding, says Sartre.
Yes, says Gaius. The legs are here somewhere.
He plonks down the wad of Sartre's hair with four legs visibly protruding.
O heavens! says Belle. Well. I'll leave you guys to it.
She enters the bathroom. And stays in there for ages.
When she emerges, smelling of Japanese Rose, (her favourite shower gel), the Scarabée is still in five parts.
Thursday, November 9, 2017
First Shower
Gaius, Belle and Sartre have arrived in Saint Malo.
It is raining there too.
Where are you staying? asks Sartre.
Hotel Kyriad, says Gaius. You're welcome to share our room, if you'd care to.
Very kind, says Sartre.
Belle unwraps Saint Roley from a fold in her jumper.
At least you're dry, says Belle. How's the Scarabée?
Can't move my legs, says the Scarabée.
....
Sweezus and Arthur are still at the Hip Hop Répétition, with Splosh.
Irma comes over.
Hi Arthur! Remember me?
No, says Arthur.
Irma! says Sweezus. It's Irma.
Irma, says Arthur. Paintball Irma. Fossicker Irma. Debater with Richard Dawkins.
And winner, says Irma. So you do remember.
Yes, says Arthur. You have a twin.
I'm here on my own, says Irma. What're you guys doing?
Leaving tomorrow, says Arthur.
Me too, says Irma. Where are you staying?
Hotel Kyriad, says Sweezus. Come over. Gaius'll be there.
Gaius! says Irma. Okay.
I'll come too, says Splosh.
No, you won't, says Victor. You're in police custody, remember.
So Splosh won't be coming.
.....
Hotel Kyriad.
Gaius opens the door of their room.
It is just as they left it. Baldy's panda long johns are draped over the heater.
I thought I was wearing them! says Baldy.
Ha ha! laughs Terence. You weren't.
Showers everyone, says Belle. Jean Paul, you go first.
Sartre heads for the bathroom, with the specimen jar.
Slam (the bathroom door shuts). Jingle-ting (Sartre places his Rolex on a convenient surface). Grumble (the hot water pipes groan). Woosh (hot water wooshes from the shower head). CURSES! (the Scarabée is soaked and his tiny sticking plasters are loosened.
Disaster!
Best case scenario: His legs won't drop off immediately.
Worst: They will be washed down the outlet.
It is raining there too.
Where are you staying? asks Sartre.
Hotel Kyriad, says Gaius. You're welcome to share our room, if you'd care to.
Very kind, says Sartre.
Belle unwraps Saint Roley from a fold in her jumper.
At least you're dry, says Belle. How's the Scarabée?
Can't move my legs, says the Scarabée.
....
Sweezus and Arthur are still at the Hip Hop Répétition, with Splosh.
Irma comes over.
Hi Arthur! Remember me?
No, says Arthur.
Irma! says Sweezus. It's Irma.
Irma, says Arthur. Paintball Irma. Fossicker Irma. Debater with Richard Dawkins.
And winner, says Irma. So you do remember.
Yes, says Arthur. You have a twin.
I'm here on my own, says Irma. What're you guys doing?
Leaving tomorrow, says Arthur.
Me too, says Irma. Where are you staying?
Hotel Kyriad, says Sweezus. Come over. Gaius'll be there.
Gaius! says Irma. Okay.
I'll come too, says Splosh.
No, you won't, says Victor. You're in police custody, remember.
So Splosh won't be coming.
.....
Hotel Kyriad.
Gaius opens the door of their room.
It is just as they left it. Baldy's panda long johns are draped over the heater.
I thought I was wearing them! says Baldy.
Ha ha! laughs Terence. You weren't.
Showers everyone, says Belle. Jean Paul, you go first.
Sartre heads for the bathroom, with the specimen jar.
Slam (the bathroom door shuts). Jingle-ting (Sartre places his Rolex on a convenient surface). Grumble (the hot water pipes groan). Woosh (hot water wooshes from the shower head). CURSES! (the Scarabée is soaked and his tiny sticking plasters are loosened.
Disaster!
Best case scenario: His legs won't drop off immediately.
Worst: They will be washed down the outlet.
Wednesday, November 8, 2017
Hip Hop Doof Doof
The scabs on Arthur's knees have cracked open.
But he is oblivious. He composes as he cycles:
Après les jours et les saisons
et plusiers raisons
(alcooliques)
je suis tombé de la mezzanine
ma tête comme un aubergine....
doof doof.....
Doof-doof, says Sweezus. Head like an aubergine. That's awesome.
There's more to it, but they have arrived in Saint Malo. They head to La Nouvelle Vague.
Splosh is waiting outside, with Victor, the policeman.
Victor eyes Arthur with suspicion.
What's that on your face, Arthur? asks Victor.
Nothing, says Arthur.
It's blood. You look great, says Splosh. Let's go inside.
How's it been going? asks Sweezus.
I'm in custody, says Splosh. But Victor's a sweetie. What about you?
Heading for Paris in the morning, says Sweezus. Then flying to the Gold Coast.
Wicked! says Splosh. With Gaius?
Yeah, says Sweezus. He's saving the Far Eastern Curlew.
From developers? asks Splosh.
Yeah, I reckon, says Sweezus.
You going in this thing? asks Victor.
Yes, says Arthur. Doof-doof! Mezzanine-aubergine.
Victor shakes his head. Young people.
Splosh buys the drinks. Sparkling water for Victor.
Victor sits down to be entertained by the Open Flow Répétition.
Rappers, slammers and singers.
Ouais, ouais, ouais!
Arthur's on next.
Someone recognises him.
Arthur! Arthur Rimbaud!
It's one of the twins, Irma or Emma.
It's Irma. She's more grown up now.
Arthur's up at the microphone. Doof-doof. Après les saisons... etc.
Falling off the mezzanine, head like an aubergine.
Cool rhyming. It rhymes in English as well.
Le sang coule de mes genoux
tous les deux
ma tête bat trés fort
allongé dans une grotte
ne pas sauver un oiseau
ne crois pas un mot
si tu as entendu
ce serait fou.
Sweezus is not bad at French. He appreciates what Arthur is admitting. That he didn't save Saint Roley, because he'd passed out in a cave.
Irma has realised that she still has a thing for Arthur. Such a cool poet. Is that blood on his face?
The crowd in La Nouvelle Vague murmur and raise their eyebrows.
Pas mal. But no way that was Arthur Rimbaud.
He receives the applause he would have received if he wasn't.
But he is oblivious. He composes as he cycles:
Après les jours et les saisons
et plusiers raisons
(alcooliques)
je suis tombé de la mezzanine
ma tête comme un aubergine....
doof doof.....
Doof-doof, says Sweezus. Head like an aubergine. That's awesome.
There's more to it, but they have arrived in Saint Malo. They head to La Nouvelle Vague.
Splosh is waiting outside, with Victor, the policeman.
Victor eyes Arthur with suspicion.
What's that on your face, Arthur? asks Victor.
Nothing, says Arthur.
It's blood. You look great, says Splosh. Let's go inside.
How's it been going? asks Sweezus.
I'm in custody, says Splosh. But Victor's a sweetie. What about you?
Heading for Paris in the morning, says Sweezus. Then flying to the Gold Coast.
Wicked! says Splosh. With Gaius?
Yeah, says Sweezus. He's saving the Far Eastern Curlew.
From developers? asks Splosh.
Yeah, I reckon, says Sweezus.
You going in this thing? asks Victor.
Yes, says Arthur. Doof-doof! Mezzanine-aubergine.
Victor shakes his head. Young people.
Splosh buys the drinks. Sparkling water for Victor.
Victor sits down to be entertained by the Open Flow Répétition.
Rappers, slammers and singers.
Ouais, ouais, ouais!
Arthur's on next.
Someone recognises him.
Arthur! Arthur Rimbaud!
It's one of the twins, Irma or Emma.
It's Irma. She's more grown up now.
Arthur's up at the microphone. Doof-doof. Après les saisons... etc.
Falling off the mezzanine, head like an aubergine.
Cool rhyming. It rhymes in English as well.
Le sang coule de mes genoux
tous les deux
ma tête bat trés fort
allongé dans une grotte
ne pas sauver un oiseau
ne crois pas un mot
si tu as entendu
ce serait fou.
Sweezus is not bad at French. He appreciates what Arthur is admitting. That he didn't save Saint Roley, because he'd passed out in a cave.
Irma has realised that she still has a thing for Arthur. Such a cool poet. Is that blood on his face?
The crowd in La Nouvelle Vague murmur and raise their eyebrows.
Pas mal. But no way that was Arthur Rimbaud.
He receives the applause he would have received if he wasn't.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Open Flow
I need a head start, says Arthur, eyeing Jeanne Jugan's bike.
Yeah, says Sweezus. I'll go with you.
They set off down the Grand Randonnée, for Saint Malo.
What does he need a head start for? says Gaius.
He just wants to get the best bed, says Belle.
Meanwhile Sartre is coming to terms with his hat.
It is ragged. But at least it will keep the rain off.
Furthermore, he can't ignore that it was unravelled to provide a straw bed for a beetle.
Hop up, says Gaius to Terence and Baldy.
He lifts Terence and Baldy into his basket. (They can't hop up by themselves).
What about me? says Saint Roley. I can't fly all the way to Saint Malo. It's raining.
You're coming with me, says Belle.
What about me? asks the Scarabée.
I shall take you, says Sartre. We have an existential connection. Your bed is a part of my hat.
And you might explain to me how I cannot but be a beetroot, says the Scarabée.
Yes! Sartre will attempt it. He's always up for a challenge.
Coming François-René? asks Belle.
I'll walk back tomorrow, says François-René.
He could have explained the beetroot in terms of Christian semiotics. No one asked him.
So that's the team, back on the Grand Randonnée.
Sweezus and Arthur are half way there already.
Where are we staying? asks Sweezus.
Hotel Kyriad, says Arthur. It's good. No mezzanine for me to fall off.
Is Splosh still there? asks Sweezus.
Don't know, says Arthur. She might be.
Sweezus slows down a little, and calls Splosh.
Hi, says Splosh. I'm at an African fashion photo expo thingy in Saint Malo. Where are you?
On our way to Saint Malo, says Sweezus. Wanna meet up?
OK, says Splosh. There's an Open Flow Hip Hop Répétition rehearsal on at La Nouvelle Vague afterwards. Meet me there.
Cool, says Sweezus.
What's cool? says Arthur.
Hip Hop Open Flow competition, says Sweezus. Wanna go in it?
It's tempting.
Arthur is already thinking of words that describe the inside of his head.....mezzanine.....aubergine..... spleen.....and an irritating rhythm.....
This is getting too weird.
Let's drop back to the others.
Gaius is cycling thoughtfully.
Belle is keeping Saint Roley snuggled warmly inside her jumper.
Terence and Baldy are trying to listen to Sartre who is explaining to the Scarabée the concept of culture as a process of continual reinvention.
But they soon get bored, (as does the Scarabée), because he fails to deliver a concrete example.
Yeah, says Sweezus. I'll go with you.
They set off down the Grand Randonnée, for Saint Malo.
What does he need a head start for? says Gaius.
He just wants to get the best bed, says Belle.
Meanwhile Sartre is coming to terms with his hat.
It is ragged. But at least it will keep the rain off.
Furthermore, he can't ignore that it was unravelled to provide a straw bed for a beetle.
Hop up, says Gaius to Terence and Baldy.
He lifts Terence and Baldy into his basket. (They can't hop up by themselves).
What about me? says Saint Roley. I can't fly all the way to Saint Malo. It's raining.
You're coming with me, says Belle.
What about me? asks the Scarabée.
I shall take you, says Sartre. We have an existential connection. Your bed is a part of my hat.
And you might explain to me how I cannot but be a beetroot, says the Scarabée.
Yes! Sartre will attempt it. He's always up for a challenge.
Coming François-René? asks Belle.
I'll walk back tomorrow, says François-René.
He could have explained the beetroot in terms of Christian semiotics. No one asked him.
So that's the team, back on the Grand Randonnée.
Sweezus and Arthur are half way there already.
Where are we staying? asks Sweezus.
Hotel Kyriad, says Arthur. It's good. No mezzanine for me to fall off.
Is Splosh still there? asks Sweezus.
Don't know, says Arthur. She might be.
Sweezus slows down a little, and calls Splosh.
Hi, says Splosh. I'm at an African fashion photo expo thingy in Saint Malo. Where are you?
On our way to Saint Malo, says Sweezus. Wanna meet up?
OK, says Splosh. There's an Open Flow Hip Hop Répétition rehearsal on at La Nouvelle Vague afterwards. Meet me there.
Cool, says Sweezus.
What's cool? says Arthur.
Hip Hop Open Flow competition, says Sweezus. Wanna go in it?
It's tempting.
Arthur is already thinking of words that describe the inside of his head.....mezzanine.....aubergine..... spleen.....and an irritating rhythm.....
This is getting too weird.
Let's drop back to the others.
Gaius is cycling thoughtfully.
Belle is keeping Saint Roley snuggled warmly inside her jumper.
Terence and Baldy are trying to listen to Sartre who is explaining to the Scarabée the concept of culture as a process of continual reinvention.
But they soon get bored, (as does the Scarabée), because he fails to deliver a concrete example.
Monday, November 6, 2017
Get Going, Guys
Rain drips from dark clouds. The oyster picnic is over.
We must push on, says Gaius. Back to Saint Malo.
In the rain! says Belle. Can't it wait until morning?
Early train, says Gaius. Right, Arthur?
Right, says Arthur. Except I haven't...
Booked it, says Belle. So we're seat hopping?
Allow me, says Sartre. I have a special free train pass. It allows me to make group bookings.
How did you get that? asks François-René.
I was given it, says Sartre.
Who by? asks François-René. (He suspects the French government).
The French government, says Sartre. For services to French literature. I see you look jealous.
Not at all, says François-René.
Of course he's not jealous.
The Scarabée has stopped cursing.
If I was a beetroot, what? says the Scarabée. I don't know. What's the answer?
Cannot but BEETLE, says Terence. Ha ha!
No, says Baldy. That's not right. Cannot but BEETROOT.
Cannot but BE A BEETROOT, says Terence, remembering.
How does that work? asks the Scarabée.
He has much to learn about Terence.
Let's get going, guys, says Sweezus.
I don't have a bike, says Arthur.
It's true, he doesn't. He walked to Cancale with François-René, and borrowed Belle's bike for the last few kilometres, when Saint Roley went missing.
However...
If free train tickets can be fortuitously produced by the French government, a bicycle can be fortuitously borrowed from....
Jeanne Jugan.
Here she comes now, on her rattly, webby old bicycle, black clothes flapping, to return Sartre's hat.
She is only too happy to lend Arthur her bicycle.
But Sartre does not like the look of his hat.
It was not in that condition when it left my possession, says Sartre.
It was when I got it, says Jeanne Jugan.
Sartre has often thought about the indifference of objects, and how they are resistant to whatever significance human consciousness might perceive in them.
He makes an effort to think it again.
We must push on, says Gaius. Back to Saint Malo.
In the rain! says Belle. Can't it wait until morning?
Early train, says Gaius. Right, Arthur?
Right, says Arthur. Except I haven't...
Booked it, says Belle. So we're seat hopping?
Allow me, says Sartre. I have a special free train pass. It allows me to make group bookings.
How did you get that? asks François-René.
I was given it, says Sartre.
Who by? asks François-René. (He suspects the French government).
The French government, says Sartre. For services to French literature. I see you look jealous.
Not at all, says François-René.
Of course he's not jealous.
The Scarabée has stopped cursing.
If I was a beetroot, what? says the Scarabée. I don't know. What's the answer?
Cannot but BEETLE, says Terence. Ha ha!
No, says Baldy. That's not right. Cannot but BEETROOT.
Cannot but BE A BEETROOT, says Terence, remembering.
How does that work? asks the Scarabée.
He has much to learn about Terence.
Let's get going, guys, says Sweezus.
I don't have a bike, says Arthur.
It's true, he doesn't. He walked to Cancale with François-René, and borrowed Belle's bike for the last few kilometres, when Saint Roley went missing.
However...
If free train tickets can be fortuitously produced by the French government, a bicycle can be fortuitously borrowed from....
Jeanne Jugan.
Here she comes now, on her rattly, webby old bicycle, black clothes flapping, to return Sartre's hat.
She is only too happy to lend Arthur her bicycle.
But Sartre does not like the look of his hat.
It was not in that condition when it left my possession, says Sartre.
It was when I got it, says Jeanne Jugan.
Sartre has often thought about the indifference of objects, and how they are resistant to whatever significance human consciousness might perceive in them.
He makes an effort to think it again.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Curse Made Manifest
When will you be leaving Cancale? asks Méen.
Later today, says Arthur.
In that case, goodbye, says Méen. And goodbye, Terence and Baldy, and goodbye, beetle.
A CURSE ON GOODBYES, says the beetle.
He'll come round, says Méen. When his legs grow more comfortable.
Terence picks up his beetle. You'll come round, says Terence.
He's already round, says Baldy. Round and shiny.
Go and say goodbye to the Virgin, says Méen.
Take her cushion, says Maclou.
Arthur takes the cushion.
What's this? says the Virgin. It's dirty! And why is there blood on your face?
It's not real blood says Arthur. It's the curse of the beetle. I've come to say goodbye.
The beetle I stepped on? says the Virgin. He cursed you? The little devil!
Are you all going? asks Butterball, from his place on the Arctic Circle.
Yes! cries Terence. Goodbye.
Goodbye, says Baldy.
Goodbye, cousins, says Butterball.
Okay, that's it for goodbyes, let's fast forward.
Arthur, Terence, Baldy and the beetle return to the oyster picnic.
How's the beetle? asks Belle. Let me see. Oh, look! He's perfect.
CALL THIS PERFECT! splutters the beetle.
Shitty mood he's in, says Sweezus. What's that on your face?
A curse, made manifest, says Arthur.
You look like a savage, says François-René.
He does. And it's strangely exciting.
It reminds François-René of Les Natchez, and the beauty of rituals.
Sit beside me, says François-René.
Show me the beetle, says Gaius.
Sartre comes over as well.
Sartre and Gaius both look down at the beetle, who looks up at them.
WELL? says the beetle. GO AHEAD AND SAY SOMETHING STUPID!
You don't know what it is to be human, says Sartre.
TOO STUPID! says the beetle.
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. A beetle with a sense of humour. Welcome to our team, beetle. But we can't call you beetle.
IDIOT! says the beetle.
That won't do, says Gaius. How about Scarabée?
Yes, says Terence. That's you, Scarabéetle.
He could play Cannot But Bée, says Baldy.
Yay! says Terence, getting down to the beetle. What if you were a .....a....
Go on, ask him, says Baldy.
A beetroot, says Terence.
The Scarabéetle doesn't know the answer. But he would like to.
Later today, says Arthur.
In that case, goodbye, says Méen. And goodbye, Terence and Baldy, and goodbye, beetle.
A CURSE ON GOODBYES, says the beetle.
He'll come round, says Méen. When his legs grow more comfortable.
Terence picks up his beetle. You'll come round, says Terence.
He's already round, says Baldy. Round and shiny.
Go and say goodbye to the Virgin, says Méen.
Take her cushion, says Maclou.
Arthur takes the cushion.
What's this? says the Virgin. It's dirty! And why is there blood on your face?
It's not real blood says Arthur. It's the curse of the beetle. I've come to say goodbye.
The beetle I stepped on? says the Virgin. He cursed you? The little devil!
Are you all going? asks Butterball, from his place on the Arctic Circle.
Yes! cries Terence. Goodbye.
Goodbye, says Baldy.
Goodbye, cousins, says Butterball.
Okay, that's it for goodbyes, let's fast forward.
Arthur, Terence, Baldy and the beetle return to the oyster picnic.
How's the beetle? asks Belle. Let me see. Oh, look! He's perfect.
CALL THIS PERFECT! splutters the beetle.
Shitty mood he's in, says Sweezus. What's that on your face?
A curse, made manifest, says Arthur.
You look like a savage, says François-René.
He does. And it's strangely exciting.
It reminds François-René of Les Natchez, and the beauty of rituals.
Sit beside me, says François-René.
Show me the beetle, says Gaius.
Sartre comes over as well.
Sartre and Gaius both look down at the beetle, who looks up at them.
WELL? says the beetle. GO AHEAD AND SAY SOMETHING STUPID!
You don't know what it is to be human, says Sartre.
TOO STUPID! says the beetle.
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. A beetle with a sense of humour. Welcome to our team, beetle. But we can't call you beetle.
IDIOT! says the beetle.
That won't do, says Gaius. How about Scarabée?
Yes, says Terence. That's you, Scarabéetle.
He could play Cannot But Bée, says Baldy.
Yay! says Terence, getting down to the beetle. What if you were a .....a....
Go on, ask him, says Baldy.
A beetroot, says Terence.
The Scarabéetle doesn't know the answer. But he would like to.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
Ungrateful Curses
Eglise de Saint Méen.
Arthur enters through the back door, with Saint Roley.
Excellent timing, says Méen.
Arthur knows it. The universe knows it too.
He peers down at the beetle, laid out on a cushion.
One head, one thorax, one abdomen, attached. Six legs, two attached, and four separate.
Terence stomps in, with Baldy.
Dead, says Terence. Probably perished.
Too bad, says Baldy.
No, says Méen. He is alive and recoverable. Arthur will do it.
He will. He takes out the box of Bozanimos. And the nail scissors.
Choose, says Arthur. Leopard, crocodile...?
The beetle's eyes glitter with hatred. He says nothing.
Speech will follow, says Méen. Let Terence choose.
I should choose, says Baldy. I lost my bird.
It's my beetle, says Terence.
What if you both choose the same thing? says Arthur.
The universe approves of the question.
Crocodile! say Terence and Baldy at once.
The beetle quivers with anger. He would much prefer leopard.
But the universe doesn't please everyone.
Arthur takes out a crocodile sticking plaster, and snips it into strips with the nail scissors.
Well done! says Méen. You have young eyes. I could never have done that.
Maclou comes in. All going well?
Yes, says Méen. Arthur is here now. He is fixing the beetle.
How do you feel about that, Saint Roley? asks Maclou.
Good, says Saint Roley. He is Terence's beetle, and a beetle of Terence's is a beetle of mine.
Argh! That does not please the beetle.
But the universe rules.
Méen holds a broken piece of beetle leg in place, while Arthur winds a thin strip of crocodile sticking plaster around it, thus joining it on again. Four times they repeat it.
The beetle finds this ultra-annoying. He can't wait for the promised gift of speech.
Spit! He spits beetle-blood onto Arthur's fingers.
All done? says Maclou.
Done, says Arthur, wiping his face with his blood soaked fingers.
Yay! says Terence. He's fixed. Run, beetle!
Wait, says Méen. Maclou and I will give him the gift of speech first.
The saints take off their beanies. Buzz, buzz! Beeeep!
They touch the head of the beetle. Speak, brother beetle.
The universe answers: This shall be.
The beetle speaks: A CURSE ON YOU AND YOUR OFFSPRING! A CURSE ON YOUR CHURCH! A CURSE ON YOUR HISTORY! A CURSE ON YOUR COUNTRY OF ORIGIN!
Steady on, says Méen. You are speaking of Wales.
OKAY! says the beetle. NOT WALES. A CURSE ON THE LEOPARD!
Crocodile, says Arthur.
AND ON YOU! adds the beetle, unkindly.
Arthur enters through the back door, with Saint Roley.
Excellent timing, says Méen.
Arthur knows it. The universe knows it too.
He peers down at the beetle, laid out on a cushion.
One head, one thorax, one abdomen, attached. Six legs, two attached, and four separate.
Terence stomps in, with Baldy.
Dead, says Terence. Probably perished.
Too bad, says Baldy.
No, says Méen. He is alive and recoverable. Arthur will do it.
He will. He takes out the box of Bozanimos. And the nail scissors.
Choose, says Arthur. Leopard, crocodile...?
The beetle's eyes glitter with hatred. He says nothing.
Speech will follow, says Méen. Let Terence choose.
I should choose, says Baldy. I lost my bird.
It's my beetle, says Terence.
What if you both choose the same thing? says Arthur.
The universe approves of the question.
Crocodile! say Terence and Baldy at once.
The beetle quivers with anger. He would much prefer leopard.
But the universe doesn't please everyone.
Arthur takes out a crocodile sticking plaster, and snips it into strips with the nail scissors.
Well done! says Méen. You have young eyes. I could never have done that.
Maclou comes in. All going well?
Yes, says Méen. Arthur is here now. He is fixing the beetle.
How do you feel about that, Saint Roley? asks Maclou.
Good, says Saint Roley. He is Terence's beetle, and a beetle of Terence's is a beetle of mine.
Argh! That does not please the beetle.
But the universe rules.
Méen holds a broken piece of beetle leg in place, while Arthur winds a thin strip of crocodile sticking plaster around it, thus joining it on again. Four times they repeat it.
The beetle finds this ultra-annoying. He can't wait for the promised gift of speech.
Spit! He spits beetle-blood onto Arthur's fingers.
All done? says Maclou.
Done, says Arthur, wiping his face with his blood soaked fingers.
Yay! says Terence. He's fixed. Run, beetle!
Wait, says Méen. Maclou and I will give him the gift of speech first.
The saints take off their beanies. Buzz, buzz! Beeeep!
They touch the head of the beetle. Speak, brother beetle.
The universe answers: This shall be.
The beetle speaks: A CURSE ON YOU AND YOUR OFFSPRING! A CURSE ON YOUR CHURCH! A CURSE ON YOUR HISTORY! A CURSE ON YOUR COUNTRY OF ORIGIN!
Steady on, says Méen. You are speaking of Wales.
OKAY! says the beetle. NOT WALES. A CURSE ON THE LEOPARD!
Crocodile, says Arthur.
AND ON YOU! adds the beetle, unkindly.
Friday, November 3, 2017
Universe Zooms In
Good, that's the passport sorted, says Gaius. Now to find Arthur.
I know where he is, says Saint Roley. He's with Sweezus and Belle eating oysters.
Show me, says Gaius.
What about Baldy and my beetle? says Terence.
No time for that now, says Gaius. Saint Roley, show me the way.
Saint Roley flutters upwards. But he has reckoned without his new microchip.
Ouch! says Saint Roley.
What now? says Gaius.
Hurting, says Saint Roley. Pick me up. I'll point the way.
So Gaius picks up Saint Roley, who points the way.
Terence stamps crossly behind them, without his cousin or his beetle.
......
The oyster picnic has become much more lively.
Belle has obtained more oysters, and more local wine.
Sartre has explained the basics of topology, to François-René.
(You are no different from a donut. In what way? There is a hole going through you).
François-René has admired it. And thought to himself. What do I know that is modern? Well, there is always knot theory.
(Have you heard of the unknot? I have not. It is a closed loop of rope without a knot in it. How simple! Wait, I have not finished. In mathematics, an unknot is the identity element with respect to the knot sum operation).
Sartre frowns, determined to understand it.
Arthur has drunk lots of wine. He understands it.
Sweezus has too. Yeah. He understands it.
I get it, says Belle. A donut is an unknot.
Everyone laughs, because they are two different things, yet the same thing, exactly. Which is funny.
Drop drop drop. The first raindrops fall.
And Gaius appears with Terence, and Saint Roley.
Arthur! says Gaius. We must leave tomorrow for Paris. There are a few things to sort out first.
Yerp! says Arthur.
Arthur! says Belle.
Firstly, says Gaius, train tickets for us from Saint Malo to Paris. Second, Baldy and the beetle to be picked up from the church.
Done, says Arthur. What church?
Saint Roley will show you, says Gaius. It's just round the corner.
Carry me, says Saint Roley. I've been microchipped.
Lucky, says Terence.
Okay. Come on, says Arthur.
My beetle's in pieces, says Terence.
Bring sticking plaster, says Saint Roley.
I've still got that box of jungle ones, says Sweezus. No otters or monkeys, but heaps of others. Take it with you.
They'll be too big for a beetle, says Belle. You'll need scissors.
She produces nail scissors, from her back pack.
Arthur has all he needs now to ressurrect the beetle.
He has a powerful feeling that the universe has zoomed in to focus on this exact moment.
I know where he is, says Saint Roley. He's with Sweezus and Belle eating oysters.
Show me, says Gaius.
What about Baldy and my beetle? says Terence.
No time for that now, says Gaius. Saint Roley, show me the way.
Saint Roley flutters upwards. But he has reckoned without his new microchip.
Ouch! says Saint Roley.
What now? says Gaius.
Hurting, says Saint Roley. Pick me up. I'll point the way.
So Gaius picks up Saint Roley, who points the way.
Terence stamps crossly behind them, without his cousin or his beetle.
......
The oyster picnic has become much more lively.
Belle has obtained more oysters, and more local wine.
Sartre has explained the basics of topology, to François-René.
(You are no different from a donut. In what way? There is a hole going through you).
François-René has admired it. And thought to himself. What do I know that is modern? Well, there is always knot theory.
(Have you heard of the unknot? I have not. It is a closed loop of rope without a knot in it. How simple! Wait, I have not finished. In mathematics, an unknot is the identity element with respect to the knot sum operation).
Sartre frowns, determined to understand it.
Arthur has drunk lots of wine. He understands it.
Sweezus has too. Yeah. He understands it.
I get it, says Belle. A donut is an unknot.
Everyone laughs, because they are two different things, yet the same thing, exactly. Which is funny.
Drop drop drop. The first raindrops fall.
And Gaius appears with Terence, and Saint Roley.
Arthur! says Gaius. We must leave tomorrow for Paris. There are a few things to sort out first.
Yerp! says Arthur.
Arthur! says Belle.
Firstly, says Gaius, train tickets for us from Saint Malo to Paris. Second, Baldy and the beetle to be picked up from the church.
Done, says Arthur. What church?
Saint Roley will show you, says Gaius. It's just round the corner.
Carry me, says Saint Roley. I've been microchipped.
Lucky, says Terence.
Okay. Come on, says Arthur.
My beetle's in pieces, says Terence.
Bring sticking plaster, says Saint Roley.
I've still got that box of jungle ones, says Sweezus. No otters or monkeys, but heaps of others. Take it with you.
They'll be too big for a beetle, says Belle. You'll need scissors.
She produces nail scissors, from her back pack.
Arthur has all he needs now to ressurrect the beetle.
He has a powerful feeling that the universe has zoomed in to focus on this exact moment.
Thursday, November 2, 2017
No Cost To A Friend
Sticking plaster, says Saint Roley.
I've got two, says Terence. See.
Too big for the beetle, says Saint Roley.
We'll deal with that problem later, says Gaius. Right now, we must get you a passport. Come with me.
Can I come? asks Terence.
Yes, says Gaius, since you are the owner.
Of me? says Saint Roley. No one owns me.
Don't quibble, says Gaius. Now where is this place? Who is this person, Tangi?
You'll easily find it, says the Virgin. It's on Rue Bellevue, just round the corner.
Thank you, madam, says Gaius. You have been most helpful.
That's what I'm here for, says the Virgin. Addresses. But don't expect me to patch up your beetle.
Wouldn't dream of it, says Gaius.
He heads out into the street with Terence and Saint Roley.
Soon they are entering the tiny shop of the man called Tangi.
Bonjour, messieurs, says Tangi. How may I help you?
We need a passport in a hurry, says Gaius. We were given your address.
Who by? asks Tangi. One can't be too careful.
The Virgin of the Eglise de Saint Méen, says Gaius.
In that case, says Tangi, I shall be pleased to help you. Is it for the young cherub?
Terence? No, it's for this young bird.
Bien! Bird passports are easy, says Tangi. Falcon or Parrot?
Oystercatcher, says Saint Roley.
Yes, says Tangi. But there are only two passports for birds, Falcon and Parrot. The Falcon Passport is from United Arab Emirates. It lasts three years, costs 130 euros, and the ID number corresponds to the number on the leg ring.
I'm not having a leg ring! says Saint Roley.
It's evident this bird is a parrot, says Tangi.
I want a leg ring! says Terence.
This is not about you, says Gaius. How much is the Parrot Passport?
It's free, says Tangi. It includes a photo, rings (optional), microchip, details of unique markings, and it is authorised by the Security Advisor of the Parrot Society UK.
We'll have that one, says Gaius.
The downside is that there is a great deal of paperwork, says Tangi. Have a seat, while I download the form.
Gaius sits down. What a nuisance. Another time wasting enterprise. Meanwhile the Queensland developers... but what can you do......
Here we are, says Tangi. Four pages. First, who is the owner?
Me, says Saint Roley.
It must be a human, says Tangi.
Me, then, says Gaius. Gaius Plinius Secundus.
Species?
Parrot.
Hatch date?
October 2017.
Significant identifiable details?
He looks like an oystercatcher, says Gaius. That should suffice.
It will, says Tangi. Beak? Feet? Claws? Words spoken?
He has a wide vocabulary, says Gaius. Speak, Saint Roley.
I do, says Saint Roley.
Very good says Tangi. I do. It would be amusing to hear at a wedding. Likes, dislikes?
No one has ever asked these things of Saint Roley.
What does he like? What does he dislike?
I like the scent of potatoes, says Saint Roley. And I dislike the pointing finger of god which pointed my brother towards the horizon where he doubtless perished.
Even Terence is moved by this statement.
Tangi photographs and microchips Saint Roley, fills in the number. No leg ring required.
The form is completed.
Tangi stamps it, with his blurry all purpose stamp.
Thank you. How much do we owe you? asks Gaius.
No cost to a friend of the Virgin, says Tangi.
I've got two, says Terence. See.
Too big for the beetle, says Saint Roley.
We'll deal with that problem later, says Gaius. Right now, we must get you a passport. Come with me.
Can I come? asks Terence.
Yes, says Gaius, since you are the owner.
Of me? says Saint Roley. No one owns me.
Don't quibble, says Gaius. Now where is this place? Who is this person, Tangi?
You'll easily find it, says the Virgin. It's on Rue Bellevue, just round the corner.
Thank you, madam, says Gaius. You have been most helpful.
That's what I'm here for, says the Virgin. Addresses. But don't expect me to patch up your beetle.
Wouldn't dream of it, says Gaius.
He heads out into the street with Terence and Saint Roley.
Soon they are entering the tiny shop of the man called Tangi.
Bonjour, messieurs, says Tangi. How may I help you?
We need a passport in a hurry, says Gaius. We were given your address.
Who by? asks Tangi. One can't be too careful.
The Virgin of the Eglise de Saint Méen, says Gaius.
In that case, says Tangi, I shall be pleased to help you. Is it for the young cherub?
Terence? No, it's for this young bird.
Bien! Bird passports are easy, says Tangi. Falcon or Parrot?
Oystercatcher, says Saint Roley.
Yes, says Tangi. But there are only two passports for birds, Falcon and Parrot. The Falcon Passport is from United Arab Emirates. It lasts three years, costs 130 euros, and the ID number corresponds to the number on the leg ring.
I'm not having a leg ring! says Saint Roley.
It's evident this bird is a parrot, says Tangi.
I want a leg ring! says Terence.
This is not about you, says Gaius. How much is the Parrot Passport?
It's free, says Tangi. It includes a photo, rings (optional), microchip, details of unique markings, and it is authorised by the Security Advisor of the Parrot Society UK.
We'll have that one, says Gaius.
The downside is that there is a great deal of paperwork, says Tangi. Have a seat, while I download the form.
Gaius sits down. What a nuisance. Another time wasting enterprise. Meanwhile the Queensland developers... but what can you do......
Here we are, says Tangi. Four pages. First, who is the owner?
Me, says Saint Roley.
It must be a human, says Tangi.
Me, then, says Gaius. Gaius Plinius Secundus.
Species?
Parrot.
Hatch date?
October 2017.
Significant identifiable details?
He looks like an oystercatcher, says Gaius. That should suffice.
It will, says Tangi. Beak? Feet? Claws? Words spoken?
He has a wide vocabulary, says Gaius. Speak, Saint Roley.
I do, says Saint Roley.
Very good says Tangi. I do. It would be amusing to hear at a wedding. Likes, dislikes?
No one has ever asked these things of Saint Roley.
What does he like? What does he dislike?
I like the scent of potatoes, says Saint Roley. And I dislike the pointing finger of god which pointed my brother towards the horizon where he doubtless perished.
Even Terence is moved by this statement.
Tangi photographs and microchips Saint Roley, fills in the number. No leg ring required.
The form is completed.
Tangi stamps it, with his blurry all purpose stamp.
Thank you. How much do we owe you? asks Gaius.
No cost to a friend of the Virgin, says Tangi.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Rising And Waning
Gaius licks the tip of the Virgin's blue light bulb pencil.
He writes a short note on the back of his hand, about the knees of Timarcha tenebricosa.
T.t knees obs. bleeding. Research nec.
He supposes he should now return the pencil.
You may keep it, says the Virgin.
I wouldn't think of it, says Gaius.
You licked it, says the Virgin.
To Gaius this seems like a non sequitur.
Would now be a good time to bring up the passport?
Jeanne Jugan enters.
Hello Jeanne, says the Virgin. Lost your halo?
Phoo! says Jeanne. Better off without it these days. I've been volunteering.
Nice one, says the Virgin. Wish I could get out more. Got a tissue?
What for? Oh you've got blood on your foot, dear! Here. Let me.
She wipes the beetle blood off with a tissue.
May I keep that tissue? says Gaius.
Certainly, says Jeanne. You are a very thorough scientist. Have you asked the Virgin about the passport?
What's this? says the Virgin.
Oh, he needs a passport for Saint Roley. They're off to the Gold Coast, on another mission. This one's to save the habitat of the Far Eastern Curlew.
Gaius thinks: Thank you Jeanne.
Oh yes? says the Virgin. He imagines I have a passport? I never go ANYWHERE!
Not you, Butterball, says Jeanne. He must have one. He went to the Arctic Circle.
He did have one, says the Virgin. I got it made. It had his photograph on it.
Gaius would like to borrow it. He'd get it altered of course.
That is illegal, says the Virgin. But I can give you the address in Cancale of the man who did Butterball's. Got any paper?
No one has. Jeanne returns to the back room, to ask Méen.
Saint Roley is there, having left the oyster picnic.
You're getting a passport, Saint Roley, says Jeanne.
Am I? says Saint Roley. Does that mean I don't have to fly all the way to Queensland?
It does, says Jeanne Jugan.
What a relief, says Saint Roley.
Jeanne goes back into the chapel with a scrap of paper, and Saint Roley.
Saint Roley! cries Terence. Look what happened to my beetle!
Saint Roley looks at the beetle. It is immobile. Some of its legs are detached.
Up to now, he has had mixed feelings about the beetle.
But he is getting a passport! His star is on the rise, and the beetle's is waning.
He decides to be helpful, and come up with a useful suggestion. Perhaps a sticking plaster. Someone must have one.
I have an idea how to fix him, says Saint Roley.
My clever parrot! says Terence. I love you!
A tender smile from the Virgin.
A demonic snort from the broken Crache-Sang Scarabée.
He writes a short note on the back of his hand, about the knees of Timarcha tenebricosa.
T.t knees obs. bleeding. Research nec.
He supposes he should now return the pencil.
You may keep it, says the Virgin.
I wouldn't think of it, says Gaius.
You licked it, says the Virgin.
To Gaius this seems like a non sequitur.
Would now be a good time to bring up the passport?
Jeanne Jugan enters.
Hello Jeanne, says the Virgin. Lost your halo?
Phoo! says Jeanne. Better off without it these days. I've been volunteering.
Nice one, says the Virgin. Wish I could get out more. Got a tissue?
What for? Oh you've got blood on your foot, dear! Here. Let me.
She wipes the beetle blood off with a tissue.
May I keep that tissue? says Gaius.
Certainly, says Jeanne. You are a very thorough scientist. Have you asked the Virgin about the passport?
What's this? says the Virgin.
Oh, he needs a passport for Saint Roley. They're off to the Gold Coast, on another mission. This one's to save the habitat of the Far Eastern Curlew.
Gaius thinks: Thank you Jeanne.
Oh yes? says the Virgin. He imagines I have a passport? I never go ANYWHERE!
Not you, Butterball, says Jeanne. He must have one. He went to the Arctic Circle.
He did have one, says the Virgin. I got it made. It had his photograph on it.
Gaius would like to borrow it. He'd get it altered of course.
That is illegal, says the Virgin. But I can give you the address in Cancale of the man who did Butterball's. Got any paper?
No one has. Jeanne returns to the back room, to ask Méen.
Saint Roley is there, having left the oyster picnic.
You're getting a passport, Saint Roley, says Jeanne.
Am I? says Saint Roley. Does that mean I don't have to fly all the way to Queensland?
It does, says Jeanne Jugan.
What a relief, says Saint Roley.
Jeanne goes back into the chapel with a scrap of paper, and Saint Roley.
Saint Roley! cries Terence. Look what happened to my beetle!
Saint Roley looks at the beetle. It is immobile. Some of its legs are detached.
Up to now, he has had mixed feelings about the beetle.
But he is getting a passport! His star is on the rise, and the beetle's is waning.
He decides to be helpful, and come up with a useful suggestion. Perhaps a sticking plaster. Someone must have one.
I have an idea how to fix him, says Saint Roley.
My clever parrot! says Terence. I love you!
A tender smile from the Virgin.
A demonic snort from the broken Crache-Sang Scarabée.
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