The Ranger and Terence follow Terence's footprints until...
Terence spots three sets of bird footprints heading off to the shore.
My parrots! says Terence.
No parrots here, says the Ranger. Pelicans yes, ducks yes, swans yes, cormorants, terns, grebes yes, migratory shorebirds.....
Yes! says Terence.
But the Ranger won't follow bird footprints. They continue to follow Terence's footprints past two more sand dunes until.....they come upon Gaius writing notes, and Katherine reading.
Guess what! says Terence.
Katherine looks up.
I can't do it, says Terence. All the firewood is stuck to the ground.
That's not the reason, says the Ranger. Remember what I told you? No gathering of firewood allowed.
Aha, says Gaius. My apologies. As a matter of fact I had no intention of lighting a fire, having only brought apples, but my companion here packed a bag of potatoes.
Never mind, says Katherine. No harm done. The potatoes will keep until later.
Very good, says the Ranger. Bird watching, are you?
And assessing the filamentous green algae, says Gaius. Care for an apple?
Don't mind if I do, says the Ranger. Will the little chap have one?
NO! says Terence. I'm going to follow my parrots' footsteps.
No parrots here, says the Ranger. Although you might see the odd feral ostrich.
Ostrich! says Gaius. Are you sure you don't mean an emu?
I mean an ostrich says the Ranger. There was a famous bushranger who roamed the Coorong on an ostrich.
You are joking, says Katherine.
No madam, says the Ranger. John Francis Peggotty from County Limerick. He was exceedingly small. He rode through the Coorong stripped to the waist and loaded with stolen gold jewellery. Shot by an angry fisherman. They never found his body. All that jewellery's still out there somewhere.
A likely story says Katherine.
But Terence believes it. He can't wait to tell Saint Roley.
He sneaks away, following the bird footprints as the smart Ranger taught him.
The Ranger leans back, chewing his apple.
Pity about those potatoes.
Do most people bring their own firewood? asks Katherine.
They do, says the Ranger. There's a couple about twenty k's up the coast with a good pile. Interesting types. She's a geologist and oh boy, can he whistle!
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Tuesday, January 30, 2018
What Footprints Are Firewood Is Not
Margaret's meaningful proposition was:
Shall we crack open a bottle?
And Wittgenstein's answer was yes.
So Margaret opens a very large hamper that she has brought down to the beach from the car.
It's in here somewhere, says Margaret, throwing out twigs and a few planks of wood.
You've brought wood, says Wittgenstein.
For our campfire, says Margaret. This is a National Park. We can have a campfire, but we can't gather firewood.
I see, says Wittgenstein. But he doesn't.
I can see that you don't, says Margaret. But if everyone gathered firewood there wouldn't be any.
That would solve the problem, says Wittgenstein.
You're right. Perhaps it already has, says Margaret. But here's the bottle. It's a cleanskin. Open it will you.
Wittgenstein opens the bottle.
What happened to corks?
Corks? says Margaret. No one uses corks these days.
Wittgenstein sighs. There are some things he doesn't remember.
But he remembers corks.
She pours red wine into two plastic beakers.
They drink the red wine, watching the sunset. The sand dunes glow orange, and fade into gray
Wittgenstein becomes expansive. He tells Margaret how he once became overly interested in door knobs.
She is fascinated.
The mulloway waits for the fire.
.......
We shall not be surprised that this happens to Terence.
Terence is looking for firewood, having been told what it is.
He is stomping about in the coastal vegetation.
A stick appears, sticking up out of the sand. Firewood!
He grabs one end and pulls it.
Stop! cries a sharp grown up voice.
I'm not doing anything, says Terence.
Looks to me like you're gathering firewood, says the Ranger.
It won't come out, says Terence.
Then you're lucky, says the Ranger. There's a fine for gathering firewood in the Coorong National Park. You're supposed to bring your own firewood.
Yippee! says Terence.
Yippee! thinks the stick. (Only because it's alive and still growing).
Let's get you back to your family, says the Ranger. Where are they?
Terence looks around. Bum hole! He might be lost.
I might be lost, says Terence.
Never mind, says the Ranger. This is a good chance to teach you a lesson.
I already learned a lesson, says Terence.
A new lesson, says the Ranger. Look at your feet. Good. Now take a step backwards. What do you see?
My same feet, says Terence.
Footprints, says the Ranger. We can follow your footprints back to your camp site.
Not those ones, says Terence, looking at the two footprints he just stepped back from.
Correct, says the Ranger. Not those. The ones behind you.
Terence turns.
A trail of his footprints!
This Ranger is smart.
Shall we crack open a bottle?
And Wittgenstein's answer was yes.
So Margaret opens a very large hamper that she has brought down to the beach from the car.
It's in here somewhere, says Margaret, throwing out twigs and a few planks of wood.
You've brought wood, says Wittgenstein.
For our campfire, says Margaret. This is a National Park. We can have a campfire, but we can't gather firewood.
I see, says Wittgenstein. But he doesn't.
I can see that you don't, says Margaret. But if everyone gathered firewood there wouldn't be any.
That would solve the problem, says Wittgenstein.
You're right. Perhaps it already has, says Margaret. But here's the bottle. It's a cleanskin. Open it will you.
Wittgenstein opens the bottle.
What happened to corks?
Corks? says Margaret. No one uses corks these days.
Wittgenstein sighs. There are some things he doesn't remember.
But he remembers corks.
She pours red wine into two plastic beakers.
They drink the red wine, watching the sunset. The sand dunes glow orange, and fade into gray
Wittgenstein becomes expansive. He tells Margaret how he once became overly interested in door knobs.
She is fascinated.
The mulloway waits for the fire.
.......
We shall not be surprised that this happens to Terence.
Terence is looking for firewood, having been told what it is.
He is stomping about in the coastal vegetation.
A stick appears, sticking up out of the sand. Firewood!
He grabs one end and pulls it.
Stop! cries a sharp grown up voice.
I'm not doing anything, says Terence.
Looks to me like you're gathering firewood, says the Ranger.
It won't come out, says Terence.
Then you're lucky, says the Ranger. There's a fine for gathering firewood in the Coorong National Park. You're supposed to bring your own firewood.
Yippee! says Terence.
Yippee! thinks the stick. (Only because it's alive and still growing).
Let's get you back to your family, says the Ranger. Where are they?
Terence looks around. Bum hole! He might be lost.
I might be lost, says Terence.
Never mind, says the Ranger. This is a good chance to teach you a lesson.
I already learned a lesson, says Terence.
A new lesson, says the Ranger. Look at your feet. Good. Now take a step backwards. What do you see?
My same feet, says Terence.
Footprints, says the Ranger. We can follow your footprints back to your camp site.
Not those ones, says Terence, looking at the two footprints he just stepped back from.
Correct, says the Ranger. Not those. The ones behind you.
Terence turns.
A trail of his footprints!
This Ranger is smart.
Monday, January 29, 2018
Meaningful Propositions
Now I haven't any food, says Terence. They've ruined my apple.
You didn't want an apple, says Katherine. I did bring a bag of potatoes. Are we having a camp fire?
Later, says Gaius. When it gets dark.
I don't like potatoes, says Terence.
We already know that, says Saint Roley. Shut up.
Bizwee, says Terence.
I warned you! says Katherine. Although why it means 'shut up' I can't fathom.
It's Chinese, says the first red necked stint.
Ah, says Gaius. Now that is surprising. Surely you were bred in Siberia?
They don't talk much there, says the second red necked stint.
But in China we heard it a lot, says the first one.
Fascinating, says Gaius. Saint Roley speaks English, and yet he was bred in Saint Malo.
Yes, says Katherine. And Terence speaks English.
I'm not bread! says Terence, I've never been bread.
Not bred, says Gaius. Poured and moulded.
And Saint Roley wasn't, says Terence, not listening to 'poured and moulded', (which is perhaps just as well). He was an egg.
Were you? asks the first red necked stint.
Not that I recall, says Saint Roley. Shall we walk a while together? We might find a few molluscs, or at least some decent vegetation.
Certainly, say the two red necked stints.
Off they stalk, in a dignified manner, two with short legs, one with longer. Brothers. Unless one is a girl.
This is excellent, says Gaius. We have already found two red necked stints, and learned something about them. I must make some notes.
I'm going to read now, until it gets dark, says Katherine.
What do I do? asks Terence.
Gather firewood, says Gaius.
What's firewood? asks Terence.
.......
Meanwhile, some way up the coast, Margaret is scaling and gutting the mulloway.
Wittgenstein is whistling Brahms' Hungarian Dance No.1 and dodging stray fish scales
Very nice, says Margaret.
I have always been unusually adept at whistling long and detailed musical passages, says Wittgenstein.
So I hear, says Margaret. Well, that's very clever. I'm sure Gaius could never have entertained me so well.
A meaningless existential proposition, says Wittgenstein.
Of course it is, says Margaret. What am I thinking? Please whistle some more.
Wittgenstein whistles Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5 until Margaret interrupts him with a more meaningful existential proposition.
You didn't want an apple, says Katherine. I did bring a bag of potatoes. Are we having a camp fire?
Later, says Gaius. When it gets dark.
I don't like potatoes, says Terence.
We already know that, says Saint Roley. Shut up.
Bizwee, says Terence.
I warned you! says Katherine. Although why it means 'shut up' I can't fathom.
It's Chinese, says the first red necked stint.
Ah, says Gaius. Now that is surprising. Surely you were bred in Siberia?
They don't talk much there, says the second red necked stint.
But in China we heard it a lot, says the first one.
Fascinating, says Gaius. Saint Roley speaks English, and yet he was bred in Saint Malo.
Yes, says Katherine. And Terence speaks English.
I'm not bread! says Terence, I've never been bread.
Not bred, says Gaius. Poured and moulded.
And Saint Roley wasn't, says Terence, not listening to 'poured and moulded', (which is perhaps just as well). He was an egg.
Were you? asks the first red necked stint.
Not that I recall, says Saint Roley. Shall we walk a while together? We might find a few molluscs, or at least some decent vegetation.
Certainly, say the two red necked stints.
Off they stalk, in a dignified manner, two with short legs, one with longer. Brothers. Unless one is a girl.
This is excellent, says Gaius. We have already found two red necked stints, and learned something about them. I must make some notes.
I'm going to read now, until it gets dark, says Katherine.
What do I do? asks Terence.
Gather firewood, says Gaius.
What's firewood? asks Terence.
.......
Meanwhile, some way up the coast, Margaret is scaling and gutting the mulloway.
Wittgenstein is whistling Brahms' Hungarian Dance No.1 and dodging stray fish scales
Very nice, says Margaret.
I have always been unusually adept at whistling long and detailed musical passages, says Wittgenstein.
So I hear, says Margaret. Well, that's very clever. I'm sure Gaius could never have entertained me so well.
A meaningless existential proposition, says Wittgenstein.
Of course it is, says Margaret. What am I thinking? Please whistle some more.
Wittgenstein whistles Brahms' Hungarian Dance No. 5 until Margaret interrupts him with a more meaningful existential proposition.
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Spoilt Little Human
The red necked stints remember the old days.
There was no filamentous green algae.
I blame the South East Flows Restoration Project, says one.
Me too, says the other.
Bizui! says the first one.
The second one turns.
It's Terence.
What's bizwee? asks Terence.
Shut up, says the second red necked stint.
I didn't say anything, says Terence. I'm in a bad mood. I stormed off.
Aw, says the first red necked stint. I suppose you're a spoilt little human.
I suppose you're just two stupid parrots, says Terence.
But two stupid parrots are better than no stupid parrot.
He decides to be friendly.
What are you doing?
We're looking for something to eat. The whole area is gunked up with filamentous green algae.
We know, says Terence. Me and Gaius and Saint Roley are here looking. Some birds are missing.
Any birds in particular? asks the first red necked stint.
Not parrots, says Terence.
We're not parrots! says the second one.
But we're not missing, says the first one.
Wah! says Terence. My head doesn't understand this. Would you like to come back to my campsite? Gaius'll tell you who's missing. And he'll give you an apple. Not his apple. My apple.
What's an apple? asks the first red necked stint.
Follow me, guys, says Terence.
He trudges back along the Coorong to where Gaius, Katherine and Saint Roley are setting up camp.
Wonder of wonders! cries Gaius Two red necked stints. Well done, Terence!
What lovely birds, says Katherine. Are they endangered?
The red necked stints look alarmed.
No need to look alarmed, says Gaius. You are only endangered as a species.
Great news! says the first one.
And not as endangered as the Spoon-billed Sandpiper, says Gaius.
Even better, says the second.
He spies Saint Roley, who has had his head down, spreading a towel.
Brother! says the second.
Brothers! says Saint Roley. Welcome. I have travelled from France. Where have you come from?
China, says the first red-necked stint. And I must say, it's a disgrace here. It's supposed to be a Ramsar site, and yet look at all this filamentous green algae.
Is it better in China? asks Saint Roley.
It will be, says the second red necked stint. The Chinese government has announced plans to stop land development along its coasts.
Biswee! says Terence. That means shut up.
Then you mustn't say it, says Katherine.
Where are the apples? asks Terence.
Here, says Gaius. Do you want one?
Terence takes an apple and offers it to his two stupid parrots. They attack it.
Stab and twist. Swurp. Mmm. Not bad.
There was no filamentous green algae.
I blame the South East Flows Restoration Project, says one.
Me too, says the other.
Bizui! says the first one.
The second one turns.
It's Terence.
What's bizwee? asks Terence.
Shut up, says the second red necked stint.
I didn't say anything, says Terence. I'm in a bad mood. I stormed off.
Aw, says the first red necked stint. I suppose you're a spoilt little human.
I suppose you're just two stupid parrots, says Terence.
But two stupid parrots are better than no stupid parrot.
He decides to be friendly.
What are you doing?
We're looking for something to eat. The whole area is gunked up with filamentous green algae.
We know, says Terence. Me and Gaius and Saint Roley are here looking. Some birds are missing.
Any birds in particular? asks the first red necked stint.
Not parrots, says Terence.
We're not parrots! says the second one.
But we're not missing, says the first one.
Wah! says Terence. My head doesn't understand this. Would you like to come back to my campsite? Gaius'll tell you who's missing. And he'll give you an apple. Not his apple. My apple.
What's an apple? asks the first red necked stint.
Follow me, guys, says Terence.
He trudges back along the Coorong to where Gaius, Katherine and Saint Roley are setting up camp.
Wonder of wonders! cries Gaius Two red necked stints. Well done, Terence!
What lovely birds, says Katherine. Are they endangered?
The red necked stints look alarmed.
No need to look alarmed, says Gaius. You are only endangered as a species.
Great news! says the first one.
And not as endangered as the Spoon-billed Sandpiper, says Gaius.
Even better, says the second.
He spies Saint Roley, who has had his head down, spreading a towel.
Brother! says the second.
Brothers! says Saint Roley. Welcome. I have travelled from France. Where have you come from?
China, says the first red-necked stint. And I must say, it's a disgrace here. It's supposed to be a Ramsar site, and yet look at all this filamentous green algae.
Is it better in China? asks Saint Roley.
It will be, says the second red necked stint. The Chinese government has announced plans to stop land development along its coasts.
Biswee! says Terence. That means shut up.
Then you mustn't say it, says Katherine.
Where are the apples? asks Terence.
Here, says Gaius. Do you want one?
Terence takes an apple and offers it to his two stupid parrots. They attack it.
Stab and twist. Swurp. Mmm. Not bad.
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Two On The Shore
Wittgenstein has rolled up his trousers.
Margaret has given him a fishing rod.
The waves are rolling in every few seconds, and he can see through them.
Nothing but water, no fish.
Patience, says Margaret. That's what fishing's about. Patience and solitude. And introspective thinking.
Wittgenstein notes that she hasn't mentioned catching.
Should he keep silent?
That which we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.
He stares at the wild fishless sea.
Sand, says Margaret. I was going to explain it.
Ah yes! So she was! A life saver. Something to speak of.
You will find, says Margaret, when you begin categorising your calcium carbonate particles, that they are derived from broken up marine invertebrates such as.... would you like to hazard a guess?
Crabs? says Wittgenstein. Then he regrets it. No, I don't know. You tell me.
Molluscs, bryozoans, coralline algae, echinoids and foraminifers, says Margaret.
That's five, thinks Wittgenstein. How did I divide up my paper?
However it was, there would have been an even number of squares.
Anything else? he enquires.
NO! shouts Margaret! I don't believe it!
He is shocked. Was it such a foolish question?
But no. Margaret has hooked a mulloway.
Dinner!
........
Meanwhile Katherine and Gaius are having a civil discussion.
Katherine wants to stay at a nice B and B.
Gaius wants to camp in the actual Coorong, close to filamentous green algae, and shorebirds that have come via the East Asian Australasian Flyway.
A Bed and Breakfast will be more comfortable, says Katherine. We could come and go.
Comfort is irrelevant, says Gaius. The nights are warm. We can sleep on the sand.
What would we eat? asks Katherine.
Apples, says Gaius. And Saint Roley can eat molluscs. Terence doesn't need anything.
I need a red drink right NOW, says Terence.
You see, says Katherine.
But Gaius won't be moved.
We shall drink water, says Gaius.
So they head back to the Coorong Lagoon.
It is late afternoon. The sun beats down on the Coorong. The smell is unpleasant.
The filamentous algae is shrinking and crinkling.
A few dead crabs are doing.... not much.
A red necked stint sees another red necked stint in the distance.
Hello! That makes two of us!
Margaret has given him a fishing rod.
The waves are rolling in every few seconds, and he can see through them.
Nothing but water, no fish.
Patience, says Margaret. That's what fishing's about. Patience and solitude. And introspective thinking.
Wittgenstein notes that she hasn't mentioned catching.
Should he keep silent?
That which we cannot speak about we must pass over in silence.
He stares at the wild fishless sea.
Sand, says Margaret. I was going to explain it.
Ah yes! So she was! A life saver. Something to speak of.
You will find, says Margaret, when you begin categorising your calcium carbonate particles, that they are derived from broken up marine invertebrates such as.... would you like to hazard a guess?
Crabs? says Wittgenstein. Then he regrets it. No, I don't know. You tell me.
Molluscs, bryozoans, coralline algae, echinoids and foraminifers, says Margaret.
That's five, thinks Wittgenstein. How did I divide up my paper?
However it was, there would have been an even number of squares.
Anything else? he enquires.
NO! shouts Margaret! I don't believe it!
He is shocked. Was it such a foolish question?
But no. Margaret has hooked a mulloway.
Dinner!
........
Meanwhile Katherine and Gaius are having a civil discussion.
Katherine wants to stay at a nice B and B.
Gaius wants to camp in the actual Coorong, close to filamentous green algae, and shorebirds that have come via the East Asian Australasian Flyway.
A Bed and Breakfast will be more comfortable, says Katherine. We could come and go.
Comfort is irrelevant, says Gaius. The nights are warm. We can sleep on the sand.
What would we eat? asks Katherine.
Apples, says Gaius. And Saint Roley can eat molluscs. Terence doesn't need anything.
I need a red drink right NOW, says Terence.
You see, says Katherine.
But Gaius won't be moved.
We shall drink water, says Gaius.
So they head back to the Coorong Lagoon.
It is late afternoon. The sun beats down on the Coorong. The smell is unpleasant.
The filamentous algae is shrinking and crinkling.
A few dead crabs are doing.... not much.
A red necked stint sees another red necked stint in the distance.
Hello! That makes two of us!
Friday, January 26, 2018
A Scientific Mind
To Gaius's annoyance, Katherine stops in Kingston.
Perhaps she needs the toilet.
But no. She has stopped to show Terence the Giant Lobster.
Is it dead? asks Terence.
No, says Katherine. It's not real. It's like the Big Banana in Queensland. And the Big Tomato
Waste of space, grumbles Gaius. Are we finished? Can we get on now?
While we're stopped we may as well visit the café, says Katherine. And does anyone need the toilet?
Me, says Saint Roley. But I can poo anywhere.
Ahem. Let's leave them to it.
......
Wittegenstein and Margaret have arrived on the Younghusband Peninsula.
They have set up a campsite of sorts, in front of a parabolic sand dune.
Margaret is looking for pipis, and Wittgenstein is doing a task she has set him.
A handful of sand, to be sorted into its various components.
In fact, Margaret was only half serious. But Wittgenstein is persisting.
He is glad he brought a notebook.
He has ripped out a page, divided it into squares by a process of folding and flattening, and laid it out on a beach towel.
He is proud of this method. He should be. He has a scientific mind. Did he not, at one time, work on the design of an aeronautical propellor?
He whistles. He is good at that too.
The sand particles are tiny. There appear to be two main types. Quartz and calcium carbonate.
First he separates the quartz crystals out. This takes longer than expected. Ach! It's because he is whistling, and blowing the particles. Solution. Stop whistling.
He stops.
Margaret comes back with some pipis.
How's it going? asks Margaret. Two piles? Only one of them is interesting.
Which one? asks Wittgenstein.
This one, says Margaret, sweeping the quartz crystals back to where they came from.
Wittgenstein now has one pile of calcium carbonate particles. It's as though he's done nothing.
I heard you whistling before, says Margaret. It was lovely. Perhaps after dinner you might whistle some more.
Now, she continues. I'm going to start fishing, or there won't be any dinner. Would you like to come with me?
Where to? asks Wittgenstein.
To the water, says Margaret. We stand in it and cast our lines out. And while we're waiting for bites, I'll explain how to divide your little pile of sand further.
Witgenstein imagines standing knee deep in water.
It's more than just water. The waves are high energy.
And he only has one pair of trousers.
Perhaps she needs the toilet.
But no. She has stopped to show Terence the Giant Lobster.
Is it dead? asks Terence.
No, says Katherine. It's not real. It's like the Big Banana in Queensland. And the Big Tomato
Waste of space, grumbles Gaius. Are we finished? Can we get on now?
While we're stopped we may as well visit the café, says Katherine. And does anyone need the toilet?
Me, says Saint Roley. But I can poo anywhere.
Ahem. Let's leave them to it.
......
Wittegenstein and Margaret have arrived on the Younghusband Peninsula.
They have set up a campsite of sorts, in front of a parabolic sand dune.
Margaret is looking for pipis, and Wittgenstein is doing a task she has set him.
A handful of sand, to be sorted into its various components.
In fact, Margaret was only half serious. But Wittgenstein is persisting.
He is glad he brought a notebook.
He has ripped out a page, divided it into squares by a process of folding and flattening, and laid it out on a beach towel.
He is proud of this method. He should be. He has a scientific mind. Did he not, at one time, work on the design of an aeronautical propellor?
He whistles. He is good at that too.
The sand particles are tiny. There appear to be two main types. Quartz and calcium carbonate.
First he separates the quartz crystals out. This takes longer than expected. Ach! It's because he is whistling, and blowing the particles. Solution. Stop whistling.
He stops.
Margaret comes back with some pipis.
How's it going? asks Margaret. Two piles? Only one of them is interesting.
Which one? asks Wittgenstein.
This one, says Margaret, sweeping the quartz crystals back to where they came from.
Wittgenstein now has one pile of calcium carbonate particles. It's as though he's done nothing.
I heard you whistling before, says Margaret. It was lovely. Perhaps after dinner you might whistle some more.
Now, she continues. I'm going to start fishing, or there won't be any dinner. Would you like to come with me?
Where to? asks Wittgenstein.
To the water, says Margaret. We stand in it and cast our lines out. And while we're waiting for bites, I'll explain how to divide your little pile of sand further.
Witgenstein imagines standing knee deep in water.
It's more than just water. The waves are high energy.
And he only has one pair of trousers.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
Wrong On So Many Levels
Katherine is driving.
Gaius is consulting his notes.
Well, this is pleasant, says Katherine.
No answer.
It's ages since I went to the Coorong, says Katherine.
Terence is hopeful.
It's the opposite direction, says Terence.
It isn't. I do know that much, says Katherine.
Silence again.
So shorebird numbers are down, says Katherine.
As I have already told you, says Gaius.
Just making conversation, says Katherine.
Talk to me, says Saint Roley.
I shall, says Katherine. Do you read much?
No, says Saint Roley. For that, I rely on others.
He's a role model, says Terence. That's why I call him Saint Roley.
Oh ha ha, laughs Katherine. I thought it was because he was Catholic.
We birds have no religion, says Saint Roley. We are all brothers.
Very good, says Katherine. Brothers and sisters. Is that just birds or do you include other species?
Saint Roley did not know there were other species.
So he doesn't answer. That leaves Terence to converse with Katherine.
What's a wonderland? asks Terence.
All sorts of creatures, and sand dunes and vegetation, says Katherine.
Scary ones, says Terence.
No, says Katherine, not scary ones. Sometimes the creatures are dead though. I remember once going to the Murray Mouth and all the crabs were dead there.
Terence pictures dead crabs spilling out of a horrid brown Mouth.
And wasn't there an attempted rape and murder somewhere out there just recently? says Katherine. Gaius, do you remember?
Gaius looks up.
What was that, Katherine?
Rape and murder, say Katherine, that awful man, and those backpacker girls.
Quite possibly, says Gaius. We must avoid female backpackers.
GAIUS! says Katherine. That is wrong, on so many levels.
A joke, Katherine, says Gaius. They escaped didn't they?
Katherine looks sour.
Saint Roley looks at Terence to see if he is processing the alarming information.
But Terence looks happy.
He might see lots of dead crabs.
Gaius is consulting his notes.
Well, this is pleasant, says Katherine.
No answer.
It's ages since I went to the Coorong, says Katherine.
Terence is hopeful.
It's the opposite direction, says Terence.
It isn't. I do know that much, says Katherine.
Silence again.
So shorebird numbers are down, says Katherine.
As I have already told you, says Gaius.
Just making conversation, says Katherine.
Talk to me, says Saint Roley.
I shall, says Katherine. Do you read much?
No, says Saint Roley. For that, I rely on others.
He's a role model, says Terence. That's why I call him Saint Roley.
Oh ha ha, laughs Katherine. I thought it was because he was Catholic.
We birds have no religion, says Saint Roley. We are all brothers.
Very good, says Katherine. Brothers and sisters. Is that just birds or do you include other species?
Saint Roley did not know there were other species.
So he doesn't answer. That leaves Terence to converse with Katherine.
What's a wonderland? asks Terence.
All sorts of creatures, and sand dunes and vegetation, says Katherine.
Scary ones, says Terence.
No, says Katherine, not scary ones. Sometimes the creatures are dead though. I remember once going to the Murray Mouth and all the crabs were dead there.
Terence pictures dead crabs spilling out of a horrid brown Mouth.
And wasn't there an attempted rape and murder somewhere out there just recently? says Katherine. Gaius, do you remember?
Gaius looks up.
What was that, Katherine?
Rape and murder, say Katherine, that awful man, and those backpacker girls.
Quite possibly, says Gaius. We must avoid female backpackers.
GAIUS! says Katherine. That is wrong, on so many levels.
A joke, Katherine, says Gaius. They escaped didn't they?
Katherine looks sour.
Saint Roley looks at Terence to see if he is processing the alarming information.
But Terence looks happy.
He might see lots of dead crabs.
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
A Woman Of The Old School
What to do? Gaius is ready to leave, with no transport.
He does not feel like cycling all the way to the Coorong in forty degree heat.
He calls Arthur, who does't answer.
What would Arthur do in this situation?
Borrow a car.
Gaius calls Katherine, David Hume's mother.
Gaius! says Katherine. How was the Tour?
Very good, says Gaius.
Are you taking a break now? asks Katherine.
Not at all, says Gaius, in fact that's why I've called you. I need to get out to the Coorong for a few days with Saint Roley. May we borrow your car?
The Coorong! cries Katherine. I do love the Coorong. I shall come with you. When are you thinking of leaving?
ASAP, says Gaius.
Just let me scrape a few things together, says Katherine. And I'll be over in thirty minutes.
Very kind, Katherine, says Gaius, his heart sinking.
......
Thirty minutes. Katherine piles several long sleeved cotton shirts into her suitcase. And two pairs of sensible three quarter length cotton pants. Spare runners, a Cancer Council hat and a spare pair of sunglasses. A novel. The Stone Diaries. At the last minute she adds a bag of Carisma potatoes. Who knows, the potatoes might come in handy.
......
Are we all ready? says Katherine.
We have been ready for thirty minutes, says Gaius. By the way, Terence is coming.
I might have known, says Katherine. Hello, Terence. Looking forward to the Coorong?
No, says Terence. It's going to be scary.
Nonsense, says Katherine. It's a wonderland. Who told you that?
Saint Roley, says Terence.
And where is Saint Roley? asks Katherine.
Here, says Saint Roley. Pleased to meet you. Call me Roley.
I most certainly will, says Katherine. Are you returning to the Coorong?
No, says Saint Roley. I have never been. We are on a mission.
Katherine looks at Gaius. A mission?
Shorebird numbers are down, says Gaius. It may be due to filamentous green algae. We'll soon find out.
Filamentous green algae, says Katherine. Does it smell bad?
Hard to say, at this stage, says Gaius. The Coorong always smells pungent.
Should have brought my nose clips, says Katherine. Well, pile in everyone. I should warn you, my air con is broken.
Forty degrees and her air con is broken.
Luckily Gaius is a stoic. And Terence is made of cement. Saint Roley is an oystercatcher, not to mention a saint, and Katherine is a woman of the old school.
He does not feel like cycling all the way to the Coorong in forty degree heat.
He calls Arthur, who does't answer.
What would Arthur do in this situation?
Borrow a car.
Gaius calls Katherine, David Hume's mother.
Gaius! says Katherine. How was the Tour?
Very good, says Gaius.
Are you taking a break now? asks Katherine.
Not at all, says Gaius, in fact that's why I've called you. I need to get out to the Coorong for a few days with Saint Roley. May we borrow your car?
The Coorong! cries Katherine. I do love the Coorong. I shall come with you. When are you thinking of leaving?
ASAP, says Gaius.
Just let me scrape a few things together, says Katherine. And I'll be over in thirty minutes.
Very kind, Katherine, says Gaius, his heart sinking.
......
Thirty minutes. Katherine piles several long sleeved cotton shirts into her suitcase. And two pairs of sensible three quarter length cotton pants. Spare runners, a Cancer Council hat and a spare pair of sunglasses. A novel. The Stone Diaries. At the last minute she adds a bag of Carisma potatoes. Who knows, the potatoes might come in handy.
......
Are we all ready? says Katherine.
We have been ready for thirty minutes, says Gaius. By the way, Terence is coming.
I might have known, says Katherine. Hello, Terence. Looking forward to the Coorong?
No, says Terence. It's going to be scary.
Nonsense, says Katherine. It's a wonderland. Who told you that?
Saint Roley, says Terence.
And where is Saint Roley? asks Katherine.
Here, says Saint Roley. Pleased to meet you. Call me Roley.
I most certainly will, says Katherine. Are you returning to the Coorong?
No, says Saint Roley. I have never been. We are on a mission.
Katherine looks at Gaius. A mission?
Shorebird numbers are down, says Gaius. It may be due to filamentous green algae. We'll soon find out.
Filamentous green algae, says Katherine. Does it smell bad?
Hard to say, at this stage, says Gaius. The Coorong always smells pungent.
Should have brought my nose clips, says Katherine. Well, pile in everyone. I should warn you, my air con is broken.
Forty degrees and her air con is broken.
Luckily Gaius is a stoic. And Terence is made of cement. Saint Roley is an oystercatcher, not to mention a saint, and Katherine is a woman of the old school.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
It's Going To Be Scary
Next day, early morning.
Wittgenstein is pacing.
What's up? asks Vello.
No need to bring anything, says Wittgenstein. Would you call that an unasserted proposition?
Vello considers. What the dickens is an unasserted proposition?
If so, says Wittgenstein, it is a meaningless statement.
Well, let's say it is, says Vello. Where does that leave you?
I don't know, says Wittgenstein. Do I or don't I?
You're going camping, says David. With a lady. I should think you should take at least a bare minimum.
Which is? asks Wittegnstein wildly.
He runs his long bony fingers through his black hair until it stands vertical.
There is a knock on the door.
Ready, Ludwig? asks Margaret.
Er, yes, says Wittgenstein.
Where are your things then? asks Margaret.
Just a minute, says Wittgenstein. He runs into the spare bedroom, and stuffs a notebook into his pocket.
David hands him a cloth bag, with something soft in it.
Enjoy yourselves, says Vello. Will you be fishing?
Of course, says Margaret. If we don't fish we don't eat.
Neither Vello nor David see the look on Wittgenstein's face as he is leaving.
...
Early morning, at Gaius's house.
Ready, Terence? asks Gaius.
No, says Terence. Why do I have to go?
No one else wants you, says Gaius. Saint Roley and I don't find you to be too much trouble.
But I haven't got my new parrot, says Terence.
You're not getting one, says Saint Roley.
You're getting an old parrot, says Gaius. Who knows where from. But we can't wait about till Farky's prediction comes true.
It's not fair, says Terence. Everyone believes Farky, but not me.
You haven't said anything, says Saint Roley.
Listen, says Terence.
Gaius stops packing and listens. Saint Roley listens too.
They listen for at least thirty seconds.
You still haven't said anything, says Saint Roley.
That's what it's like, says Terence, when I REALLY don't say anything.
Keep on not saying anything, says Saint Roley. We're going to the Coorong and it's going to be scary.
Terence doesn't say anything.
But he doesn't like places that are scary.
Come, says Gaius. I'm ready now, although I'm sure I've forgotten something.
A pencil?
Worse than that, he hasn't thought how he's going to get there.
Wittgenstein is pacing.
What's up? asks Vello.
No need to bring anything, says Wittgenstein. Would you call that an unasserted proposition?
Vello considers. What the dickens is an unasserted proposition?
If so, says Wittgenstein, it is a meaningless statement.
Well, let's say it is, says Vello. Where does that leave you?
I don't know, says Wittgenstein. Do I or don't I?
You're going camping, says David. With a lady. I should think you should take at least a bare minimum.
Which is? asks Wittegnstein wildly.
He runs his long bony fingers through his black hair until it stands vertical.
There is a knock on the door.
Ready, Ludwig? asks Margaret.
Er, yes, says Wittgenstein.
Where are your things then? asks Margaret.
Just a minute, says Wittgenstein. He runs into the spare bedroom, and stuffs a notebook into his pocket.
David hands him a cloth bag, with something soft in it.
Enjoy yourselves, says Vello. Will you be fishing?
Of course, says Margaret. If we don't fish we don't eat.
Neither Vello nor David see the look on Wittgenstein's face as he is leaving.
...
Early morning, at Gaius's house.
Ready, Terence? asks Gaius.
No, says Terence. Why do I have to go?
No one else wants you, says Gaius. Saint Roley and I don't find you to be too much trouble.
But I haven't got my new parrot, says Terence.
You're not getting one, says Saint Roley.
You're getting an old parrot, says Gaius. Who knows where from. But we can't wait about till Farky's prediction comes true.
It's not fair, says Terence. Everyone believes Farky, but not me.
You haven't said anything, says Saint Roley.
Listen, says Terence.
Gaius stops packing and listens. Saint Roley listens too.
They listen for at least thirty seconds.
You still haven't said anything, says Saint Roley.
That's what it's like, says Terence, when I REALLY don't say anything.
Keep on not saying anything, says Saint Roley. We're going to the Coorong and it's going to be scary.
Terence doesn't say anything.
But he doesn't like places that are scary.
Come, says Gaius. I'm ready now, although I'm sure I've forgotten something.
A pencil?
Worse than that, he hasn't thought how he's going to get there.
Monday, January 22, 2018
Spirit Dog
Racing is over.
Margaret walks across to where Team Philosphe is resting.
Terence is with her.
I hear you and Ludwig are going camping, says Vello.
Me? says Terence.
Me, says Margaret. You will NOT be coming.
Is it decided? asks Ludwig.
Yes, says Margaret. I'll pick you up at eight am tomorrow. No need to bring anything.
She has not thought that it may be unwise to tell Wittgenstein not to bring anything.
Sweezus rocks up.
Boss, says Sweezus. Great race.
We didn't disgrace ourselves, says Vello.
What are your plans now? asks David.
Earn some money, says Sweezus.
You could interview Richie, says Vello. That is, if he hasn't disappeared already.
Richie? says David. Does he qualify as a philosopher?
I should say so, says Vello. He came up with the Thirty Six Stratagems.
Humph! says Gaius, who up to now has not said anything.
What? says Vello.
He hardly came up with them, says Gaius. And what useful purpose did they serve?
I know why YOU'RE grumpy, says Margaret.
You don't, says Gaius.
O yes, says Margaret. You think I've invited Ludwig to come camping just to spite you. Well, it's not all about you.
Glad to hear it, says Gaius. As a matter of fact I was thinking of taking a trip out to the Coorong with Saint Roley, and wondering how we might avoid you.
The Coorong is long, Gaius, says Margaret.
Who will have Terence? asks Vello.
Before anyone can answer, Farky bounds up with his pom-pom umbrella askew.
Ask me! says Farky.
Who will have me? says Terence. Is it my new parrot?
Farky is put off his stride.
He had not factored in a new parrot.
Bum bum bumble...
His brain neurons wait for his teeth to give him an answer.
Ding!
You don't get a new parrot.
I NEED one, says Terence.
Bum bum bumble.....
Ding!
You get an old parrot.
How old? asks Terence.
But that is all Farky will say on the subject.
Would you believe it, says Margaret. This dog told me I would find heaven and lose it.
Man! says Sweezus. Wish he told me that kind of stuff.
You will be too late to catch Richie, says Farky.
Fuck! says Sweezus. Is that final?
No, says Farky You get a special dispensation because I believe I'm your spirit dog.
Good boy, says Sweezus, patting his spirit dog before dropping his bike and dashing off to catch Richie.
Margaret walks across to where Team Philosphe is resting.
Terence is with her.
I hear you and Ludwig are going camping, says Vello.
Me? says Terence.
Me, says Margaret. You will NOT be coming.
Is it decided? asks Ludwig.
Yes, says Margaret. I'll pick you up at eight am tomorrow. No need to bring anything.
She has not thought that it may be unwise to tell Wittgenstein not to bring anything.
Sweezus rocks up.
Boss, says Sweezus. Great race.
We didn't disgrace ourselves, says Vello.
What are your plans now? asks David.
Earn some money, says Sweezus.
You could interview Richie, says Vello. That is, if he hasn't disappeared already.
Richie? says David. Does he qualify as a philosopher?
I should say so, says Vello. He came up with the Thirty Six Stratagems.
Humph! says Gaius, who up to now has not said anything.
What? says Vello.
He hardly came up with them, says Gaius. And what useful purpose did they serve?
I know why YOU'RE grumpy, says Margaret.
You don't, says Gaius.
O yes, says Margaret. You think I've invited Ludwig to come camping just to spite you. Well, it's not all about you.
Glad to hear it, says Gaius. As a matter of fact I was thinking of taking a trip out to the Coorong with Saint Roley, and wondering how we might avoid you.
The Coorong is long, Gaius, says Margaret.
Who will have Terence? asks Vello.
Before anyone can answer, Farky bounds up with his pom-pom umbrella askew.
Ask me! says Farky.
Who will have me? says Terence. Is it my new parrot?
Farky is put off his stride.
He had not factored in a new parrot.
Bum bum bumble...
His brain neurons wait for his teeth to give him an answer.
Ding!
You don't get a new parrot.
I NEED one, says Terence.
Bum bum bumble.....
Ding!
You get an old parrot.
How old? asks Terence.
But that is all Farky will say on the subject.
Would you believe it, says Margaret. This dog told me I would find heaven and lose it.
Man! says Sweezus. Wish he told me that kind of stuff.
You will be too late to catch Richie, says Farky.
Fuck! says Sweezus. Is that final?
No, says Farky You get a special dispensation because I believe I'm your spirit dog.
Good boy, says Sweezus, patting his spirit dog before dropping his bike and dashing off to catch Richie.
Sunday, January 21, 2018
Stage Six - Find Heaven And Lose It
The final stage. Street circuit, in Adelaide. Five laps.
It's all over, says Sweezus. All Impey has to do is stay up with the leaders.
Anyone could still win today, says Arthur.
Yeah right, says Sweezus. That'll be André Greipel.
How is it you think you know this? asks Pablo.
See that pom-pom umbrella? says Sweezus. Under it. That's Farky.
So what if it's Farky? says Pablo. Does he know the future?
He predicted Richie's win yesterday, says Sweezus.
But who did not expect Richie to win yesterday? says Pablo.
Okay, I'll give you that, says Sweezus, but today he's predicting Greipel.
I predict Caleb Ewan, says Pablo. I like the chances of the young Pocket.
Pocket Rocket, says Arthur.
Pocket Rocket, says Pablo. How it rolls off the tongue.
Sweezus laughs, so does Arthur, and the moods lifts in Team Condor.
They edge up to the start line.
BANG!
Terence is watching from the sidelines.
He is alone. Margaret has spotted Farky under the pom-pom umbrella.
Terence rips off the sun hat.
He drops it on the ground and stomps on it.
Now he can see. And he doesn't look stupid.
No one will try to kiss him.
No one is paying him any attention.
Wah! He doesn't like it.
He needs a new parrot.
The crows toots and claps and cheers mildly.
Toot toot! Stop that! It's loud. Hurrah. Shush!
Zoom. There goes Tom Jelte Slagter! Dutch chap? Won a few years ago. Remember him? Yeah!
Well he's not winning this year. See that dog under the pom-pom umbrella? Predicted Greipel to win today and Impey to win the Final General Classification.
No way! It's got to be Richie.
Zoom! there goes Vello, followed by David and Gaius.
Go boys! shouts Margaret. Go Ludwig!
Wittgenstein is right behind Gaius, having mastered the art of the slipstream.
He is coasting and dreaming. What does he know about camping? Particularly with a lady. Will she expect him to light a fire? What with? What shall they speak of?
He is passed by several riders. It's obvious he will not win.
Margaret turns her attention to Farky.
Farky. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Gaius thinks I lost you.
Farky stares back at Margaret with predictive intensity.
Ho! says Farky. You will find heaven and lose it!
Sorry about that, says Monski. Farky, that wasn't funny.
Don't you worry, dear, says Margaret. I have no faith at all in predictions.
Farky snorts.
André Greipel and Caleb Ewan power by.
Hard to see a dog's hair between them.
It's all over, says Sweezus. All Impey has to do is stay up with the leaders.
Anyone could still win today, says Arthur.
Yeah right, says Sweezus. That'll be André Greipel.
How is it you think you know this? asks Pablo.
See that pom-pom umbrella? says Sweezus. Under it. That's Farky.
So what if it's Farky? says Pablo. Does he know the future?
He predicted Richie's win yesterday, says Sweezus.
But who did not expect Richie to win yesterday? says Pablo.
Okay, I'll give you that, says Sweezus, but today he's predicting Greipel.
I predict Caleb Ewan, says Pablo. I like the chances of the young Pocket.
Pocket Rocket, says Arthur.
Pocket Rocket, says Pablo. How it rolls off the tongue.
Sweezus laughs, so does Arthur, and the moods lifts in Team Condor.
They edge up to the start line.
BANG!
Terence is watching from the sidelines.
He is alone. Margaret has spotted Farky under the pom-pom umbrella.
Terence rips off the sun hat.
He drops it on the ground and stomps on it.
Now he can see. And he doesn't look stupid.
No one will try to kiss him.
No one is paying him any attention.
Wah! He doesn't like it.
He needs a new parrot.
The crows toots and claps and cheers mildly.
Toot toot! Stop that! It's loud. Hurrah. Shush!
Zoom. There goes Tom Jelte Slagter! Dutch chap? Won a few years ago. Remember him? Yeah!
Well he's not winning this year. See that dog under the pom-pom umbrella? Predicted Greipel to win today and Impey to win the Final General Classification.
No way! It's got to be Richie.
Zoom! there goes Vello, followed by David and Gaius.
Go boys! shouts Margaret. Go Ludwig!
Wittgenstein is right behind Gaius, having mastered the art of the slipstream.
He is coasting and dreaming. What does he know about camping? Particularly with a lady. Will she expect him to light a fire? What with? What shall they speak of?
He is passed by several riders. It's obvious he will not win.
Margaret turns her attention to Farky.
Farky. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Gaius thinks I lost you.
Farky stares back at Margaret with predictive intensity.
Ho! says Farky. You will find heaven and lose it!
Sorry about that, says Monski. Farky, that wasn't funny.
Don't you worry, dear, says Margaret. I have no faith at all in predictions.
Farky snorts.
André Greipel and Caleb Ewan power by.
Hard to see a dog's hair between them.
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Stage Five - Countback
McLaren Vale. Margaret stands near the start line with Terence.
Imagine, snorts Margaret.
I do imagine, says Terence.
But Margaret is annoyed because Gaius believes she lost Farky.
While Terence is imagining life without the STUPID SUN HAT!
He has lost count of the number of spectators who have knelt down before him and pinched his cheeks under the brim.
Bang! The riders ride out of McLaren Vale.
It's another hot day.
Farky stands a short way down the road, disguised as a clown dog.
His clown dog outfit is cool. It includes a pom-pom umbrella. The downside is keeping it up.
Beside him, stands Monski, a clown.
Who'll be the winner? asks Monski.
That one, says Farky, pointing at Richie.
Monski makes a quick pretend phone call and places a large bet on Richie.
Ha ha! The spectators love Monski.
.......
Team Philosophe is feeling more confident.
Ludwig Wittgenstein is cheerful.
I might take up her offer, says Ludwig.
The geology hammer? says David. You should. Is that all she offered?
No, says Ludwig. She offered a trip to the Younghusband Peninsula. Camping.
Are you familiar with camping? asks Vello.
No, says Ludwig.
You'll love it, says Vello. Wont he, Gaius?
Gaius has no opinion whatsoever on the matter.
.......
Baby Pierre is watching the race on TV.
Who's winning? calls his mother.
No one, says Baby Pierre. But I can see Farky, pointing.
Who at? asks his mother.
Richie, says Baby Pierre.
......
Willunga Hill. The final climb.
Sweezus is pedalling like a robot. Pablo breathes hard behind.
Arthur has ice down the back of his jersey.
As do the others.
But here comes Richie, putting on one of his famous grand spurts.
This is his Hill.
He wins easily, and Daryl Impey comes second.
But Daryl Impey wins the ochre jersey on a countback.
A countback.
That can only be maths.
Imagine, snorts Margaret.
I do imagine, says Terence.
But Margaret is annoyed because Gaius believes she lost Farky.
While Terence is imagining life without the STUPID SUN HAT!
He has lost count of the number of spectators who have knelt down before him and pinched his cheeks under the brim.
Bang! The riders ride out of McLaren Vale.
It's another hot day.
Farky stands a short way down the road, disguised as a clown dog.
His clown dog outfit is cool. It includes a pom-pom umbrella. The downside is keeping it up.
Beside him, stands Monski, a clown.
Who'll be the winner? asks Monski.
That one, says Farky, pointing at Richie.
Monski makes a quick pretend phone call and places a large bet on Richie.
Ha ha! The spectators love Monski.
.......
Team Philosophe is feeling more confident.
Ludwig Wittgenstein is cheerful.
I might take up her offer, says Ludwig.
The geology hammer? says David. You should. Is that all she offered?
No, says Ludwig. She offered a trip to the Younghusband Peninsula. Camping.
Are you familiar with camping? asks Vello.
No, says Ludwig.
You'll love it, says Vello. Wont he, Gaius?
Gaius has no opinion whatsoever on the matter.
.......
Baby Pierre is watching the race on TV.
Who's winning? calls his mother.
No one, says Baby Pierre. But I can see Farky, pointing.
Who at? asks his mother.
Richie, says Baby Pierre.
......
Willunga Hill. The final climb.
Sweezus is pedalling like a robot. Pablo breathes hard behind.
Arthur has ice down the back of his jersey.
As do the others.
But here comes Richie, putting on one of his famous grand spurts.
This is his Hill.
He wins easily, and Daryl Impey comes second.
But Daryl Impey wins the ochre jersey on a countback.
A countback.
That can only be maths.
Friday, January 19, 2018
Stage Four - Glorious Happenings
The race starts an hour early, to beat the heat.
The teams stream out of Norwood.
Team Philosophe streams out last.
Why do we do it? groans David.
For the glorious happenings, says Vello. Take yesterday. Who expected Margaret to turn up in her swimsuit?
Not me, says Gaius.
With a fine picnic, says Vello. You should have stayed.
What was in the hamper? asks Gaius.
Sandwiches, says Wittgenstein. Tomato...
Poison! says Gaius.
He speeds up and draws level with Sweezus.
Gaius, says Sweezus. How come you let Farky out yesterday?
It was Margaret, says Gaius. Why?
He's gone missing, says Sweezus.
He'll turn up, says Gaius.
Yeah, right, he'd better, says Sweezus, speeding up to catch Arthur and Pablo.
Gaius drops back.
Wittgenstein is saying: She offered to lend me a geology hammer.
You don't say! says Vello.
Margaret is up to her tricks again, thinks Gaius.
Gaius speeds up.
He passes Team Condor, at such speed he doesn't hear Arthur saying: Winning stratagem number three chapter one?
Or Pablo responding: Is it 'To kill with a borrowed knife'?
And Sweezus laughing.
It's not even funny. Perhaps it's the heat.
Curses on Margaret. She's lost Sweezus's dog. Has she also lost Terence?
(No she hasn't. Terence sank yesterday, momentarily, but she noticed his half submerged hat) .
Gaius draws level with Richie in Birdwood, in time for the sprint.
Richie isn't going for the sprint though. He's talking Strategy with Simon Gerrans.
Cross the sea without the emperor's knowledge, says Richie.
Simon nods. He understands. Winning Stratagem number one chapter one.
The long afternoon unrolls, like a burning hot carpet.
Norton Summit. The temperature reaches forty five degrees.
Everyone is on automatic pilot.
Thung-thung-thung-pedal-thung-wurrrr.......
You could die in this, easily.
Not today though. Thung-pedal-wurrr....
Who are those at the front, with some chance of winning? Sagan? Impey? Sanchez?
Not Gaius. He is ultimately distracted by thoughts of Margaret's poisonous tomato.
How could she? She knows his opinion.
In the end it's only one rider.
Peter Sagan, world champion, swoops through to take the Stage win.
A glorious happening.
The teams stream out of Norwood.
Team Philosophe streams out last.
Why do we do it? groans David.
For the glorious happenings, says Vello. Take yesterday. Who expected Margaret to turn up in her swimsuit?
Not me, says Gaius.
With a fine picnic, says Vello. You should have stayed.
What was in the hamper? asks Gaius.
Sandwiches, says Wittgenstein. Tomato...
Poison! says Gaius.
He speeds up and draws level with Sweezus.
Gaius, says Sweezus. How come you let Farky out yesterday?
It was Margaret, says Gaius. Why?
He's gone missing, says Sweezus.
He'll turn up, says Gaius.
Yeah, right, he'd better, says Sweezus, speeding up to catch Arthur and Pablo.
Gaius drops back.
Wittgenstein is saying: She offered to lend me a geology hammer.
You don't say! says Vello.
Margaret is up to her tricks again, thinks Gaius.
Gaius speeds up.
He passes Team Condor, at such speed he doesn't hear Arthur saying: Winning stratagem number three chapter one?
Or Pablo responding: Is it 'To kill with a borrowed knife'?
And Sweezus laughing.
It's not even funny. Perhaps it's the heat.
Gaius speeds up again. He is fuming.
Curses on Margaret. She's lost Sweezus's dog. Has she also lost Terence?
(No she hasn't. Terence sank yesterday, momentarily, but she noticed his half submerged hat) .
Gaius draws level with Richie in Birdwood, in time for the sprint.
Richie isn't going for the sprint though. He's talking Strategy with Simon Gerrans.
Cross the sea without the emperor's knowledge, says Richie.
Simon nods. He understands. Winning Stratagem number one chapter one.
The long afternoon unrolls, like a burning hot carpet.
Norton Summit. The temperature reaches forty five degrees.
Everyone is on automatic pilot.
Thung-thung-thung-pedal-thung-wurrrr.......
You could die in this, easily.
Not today though. Thung-pedal-wurrr....
Who are those at the front, with some chance of winning? Sagan? Impey? Sanchez?
Not Gaius. He is ultimately distracted by thoughts of Margaret's poisonous tomato.
How could she? She knows his opinion.
In the end it's only one rider.
Peter Sagan, world champion, swoops through to take the Stage win.
A glorious happening.
Thursday, January 18, 2018
Stage Three - Ice Socks
Thursday. If yesterday was hot, today's even hotter.
Stage Three has been shortened for this reason.
Only one lap round Victor Harbour.
Boo! says Terence, who is watching in air-conditioned comfort, at Gaius's house.
Boo! says Farky.
There is a knock on the door.
Farky bounds down the passage. Has Gaius given up the race and come home? Has he brought ...?
But it is Margaret. And she knows where Gaius keeps his spare key.
She bustles in.
I knew it! says Margaret.
She turns off the air conditioning.
She turns off the TV.
You're both coming with me to Victor Harbour, says Margaret.
Yay! says Terence. Wait! No, I'm not allowed to.
It's all right. You'll be with me, says Margaret.
It's too HOT, says Terence.
He knows that because Phil Liggett said so. And the riders had ice socks down their backs.
Hat! says Margaret.
Don't have one, says Terence.
He does, says Farky. It's a sun hat.
Shut up! says Terence. I lost it.
Never mind. I have a spare, says Margaret. Although you may not like it.
And with that, she seizes Terence by the hand, Farky by the collar, and they're on their way to Victor Harbour, in Margaret's white car.
That sucks, says Baby Pierre, who has been left behind in the kitchen.
You should have been more assertive, says his mother.
......
Margaret hums as she drives.
What a nice surprise this will be for Gaius.
She has packed a hamper, and her swimsuit as well.
It will be forty one degrees by the time the riders finish the first and only lap of Victor Harbour.
Gaius will benefit from a swim.
She pictures him swimming, beside her, in his bike knicks.
And is interrupted.
Terence is making a fuss in the back.
What is it?
Clowns. Farky has predicted there will be clowns at Victor Harbour.
Wah! cries Terence.
Stop that nonsense! says Margaret.
She can't stand nonsense.
.......
Meanwhile in Victor Harbour the sea sparkles. Dolphins play in it.
The teams imagine not racing but jumping straight in.
Forty one degrees. The race is nearly over.
Caleb Ewan is all set to win. His team has set him up perfectly.
But something goes wrong.
And suddenly Elio Viviani has got it.
Well, good for Elio Viviani, and guess what, it's going to be forty one degrees again tomorrow.
Everyone heads for the water.
Stage Three has been shortened for this reason.
Only one lap round Victor Harbour.
Boo! says Terence, who is watching in air-conditioned comfort, at Gaius's house.
Boo! says Farky.
There is a knock on the door.
Farky bounds down the passage. Has Gaius given up the race and come home? Has he brought ...?
But it is Margaret. And she knows where Gaius keeps his spare key.
She bustles in.
I knew it! says Margaret.
She turns off the air conditioning.
She turns off the TV.
You're both coming with me to Victor Harbour, says Margaret.
Yay! says Terence. Wait! No, I'm not allowed to.
It's all right. You'll be with me, says Margaret.
It's too HOT, says Terence.
He knows that because Phil Liggett said so. And the riders had ice socks down their backs.
Hat! says Margaret.
Don't have one, says Terence.
He does, says Farky. It's a sun hat.
Shut up! says Terence. I lost it.
Never mind. I have a spare, says Margaret. Although you may not like it.
And with that, she seizes Terence by the hand, Farky by the collar, and they're on their way to Victor Harbour, in Margaret's white car.
That sucks, says Baby Pierre, who has been left behind in the kitchen.
You should have been more assertive, says his mother.
......
Margaret hums as she drives.
What a nice surprise this will be for Gaius.
She has packed a hamper, and her swimsuit as well.
It will be forty one degrees by the time the riders finish the first and only lap of Victor Harbour.
Gaius will benefit from a swim.
She pictures him swimming, beside her, in his bike knicks.
And is interrupted.
Terence is making a fuss in the back.
What is it?
Clowns. Farky has predicted there will be clowns at Victor Harbour.
Wah! cries Terence.
Stop that nonsense! says Margaret.
She can't stand nonsense.
.......
Meanwhile in Victor Harbour the sea sparkles. Dolphins play in it.
The teams imagine not racing but jumping straight in.
Forty one degrees. The race is nearly over.
Caleb Ewan is all set to win. His team has set him up perfectly.
But something goes wrong.
And suddenly Elio Viviani has got it.
Well, good for Elio Viviani, and guess what, it's going to be forty one degrees again tomorrow.
Everyone heads for the water.
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Stage Two - Core Beliefs
Wednesday. It will be hot.
At 11am, the Tour Down Under rolls out of Unley.
Now, says Vello, I want Team Philosophe to focus.
Bit late for a pep talk, says David.
Not at all, says Gaius. Believe in ourselves. That's the spirit.
Wittgenstein hears the last but one sentence.
At the core of every belief lies a belief that is unfounded, says Wittgenstein.
I say! says David. You and I are like-minded on that one.
Don't you start! snaps Vello.
The riders head up through the Adelaide Hills, with varied intentions.
Jaime Castrillo of Team Movistar breaks away, a lone warrior three minutes ahead of the peloton.
Nic Dlomini of Dimension Data is focused on winning King of the Mountain.
Arthur and Pablo of Team Condor are inventing verses, based on the CRAN.
Cold Rice And Noodles, says Pablo.
Crack Red At Night, says Arthur.
You guys, stop that, says Sweezus. Lead me out when we get to Tea Tree Gully.
We already went through Tea Tree Gully, says Pablo.
Mylor then, says Sweezus. I'll try for Sprint Two.
Sweezus speeds up
Cannot Ride After Nothing, says Arthur.
Cierto! says Pablo. Where is the feed zone?
Richie rides by with two of his BMC team mates.
Snow is white on the westward mountains, says Richie.
And waters flash on the long bridge.
But wind and dust bar me from my brothers.
And I cannot help crying. I am so far away.
Hear that? says Pablo.
It's a Stratagem, says Arthur. He wants us to repeat it to Sweezus.
Why? asks Pablo. It is all negative. Like he is losing.
Point at the mulberry tree while cursing the locust tree, says Arthur.
You lose me, says Pablo.
Remove the firewood from under the pot, says Arthur. Take the opportunity to pilfer a goat.
I like these, says Pablo. Perhaps it does not matter the meaning. Which one shall we tell to the captain?
Arthur thinks, probably none.
By now they have entered the feed zone and eaten.
They must now do three laps of Stirling.
At the end of which, who has removed the firewood and pilfered the goat?
Caleb Ewan of Team Michelton-Scott.
(Stratagems are kind of like metaphors).
At 11am, the Tour Down Under rolls out of Unley.
Now, says Vello, I want Team Philosophe to focus.
Bit late for a pep talk, says David.
Not at all, says Gaius. Believe in ourselves. That's the spirit.
Wittgenstein hears the last but one sentence.
At the core of every belief lies a belief that is unfounded, says Wittgenstein.
I say! says David. You and I are like-minded on that one.
Don't you start! snaps Vello.
The riders head up through the Adelaide Hills, with varied intentions.
Jaime Castrillo of Team Movistar breaks away, a lone warrior three minutes ahead of the peloton.
Nic Dlomini of Dimension Data is focused on winning King of the Mountain.
Arthur and Pablo of Team Condor are inventing verses, based on the CRAN.
Cold Rice And Noodles, says Pablo.
Crack Red At Night, says Arthur.
You guys, stop that, says Sweezus. Lead me out when we get to Tea Tree Gully.
We already went through Tea Tree Gully, says Pablo.
Mylor then, says Sweezus. I'll try for Sprint Two.
Sweezus speeds up
Cannot Ride After Nothing, says Arthur.
Cierto! says Pablo. Where is the feed zone?
Richie rides by with two of his BMC team mates.
Snow is white on the westward mountains, says Richie.
And waters flash on the long bridge.
But wind and dust bar me from my brothers.
And I cannot help crying. I am so far away.
Hear that? says Pablo.
It's a Stratagem, says Arthur. He wants us to repeat it to Sweezus.
Why? asks Pablo. It is all negative. Like he is losing.
Point at the mulberry tree while cursing the locust tree, says Arthur.
You lose me, says Pablo.
Remove the firewood from under the pot, says Arthur. Take the opportunity to pilfer a goat.
I like these, says Pablo. Perhaps it does not matter the meaning. Which one shall we tell to the captain?
Arthur thinks, probably none.
By now they have entered the feed zone and eaten.
They must now do three laps of Stirling.
At the end of which, who has removed the firewood and pilfered the goat?
Caleb Ewan of Team Michelton-Scott.
(Stratagems are kind of like metaphors).
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
Stage One - The Fly And The Fly Bottle
Tuesday. The Tour Down Under teams assemble in Port Adelaide.
Bang!
They head north along the Port River Expressway past scenic views of pastures and vineyards, and rusting machinery.
André Greipel is determined to win today. So is Caleb Ewan.
Team Philosophe merely want to do creditably.
Ludwig Wittgenstein is the problem. He is lagging behind, looking vacant.
Gaius, says Vello, drop back, will you. Hurry him up.
Gaius drops back.
How are the legs? asks Gaius.
CRAN! shouts Wittgenstein. It's driving me mad.
Never heard of it, says Gaius. What is it?
That's just it, says Wittgenstein. Is it a stratagem?
What do you know of stratagems? asks Gaius.
NOTHING! says Wittgenstein. I heard some chaps say it. Develop the CRAN.
Slow down! says Gaius.
Is that wise? asks Wittgenstein. Surely the object is to...
As if to prove that the object is to go faster, Daniel Hoegaard speeds by.
Followed by the two Izagirres.
Richie Porte thunders past, and Diego Ulissi.
Why have we stopped when the others are passing? asks Wittgenstein
To clear up this business of CRAN, says Gaius. One should never let a question go unanswered.
He takes out his phone.
Sweezus and Arthur zoom past.
What's up? yells Sweezus.
But he doesn't wait for an answer.
They are nearly at Humbug Scrub, and Sweezus badly wants King of the Mountain.
CRAN, says Gaius. Here we are. It is one of two things.
Which one? asks Ludwig.
I'll let you decide, says Gaius. Get back on your bike. We've lost enough time as it is.
Aie! says Ludwig. Show the fly the way out of the fly bottle!
Pardon? says Gaius.
The aim of philosophy, says Ludwig.
CRAN, says Gaius, ignoring him, is either Calorie Restriction with Adequate Nutrition, or a measurement of uncleaned landed herring.
Wittgenstein is not used to being beaten in the bamboozle department.
But he is bamboozled now.
He rides through Humbug Scrub, like a stunned mullet.
Gaius rides freely.
He thinks, of the two CRANS, it's most likely the herring.
Wittgenstein rides harder. The harder he rides the faster he goes. This makes basic sense. Perhaps that is the best way to view it. Don't think of the CRAN.
He sweats. His legs hurt. He catches up to Vello and David.
Good man! cries Vello.
Of course it doesn't help anyone really.
The winner of Stage One is......André Greipel!
Bang!
They head north along the Port River Expressway past scenic views of pastures and vineyards, and rusting machinery.
André Greipel is determined to win today. So is Caleb Ewan.
Team Philosophe merely want to do creditably.
Ludwig Wittgenstein is the problem. He is lagging behind, looking vacant.
Gaius, says Vello, drop back, will you. Hurry him up.
Gaius drops back.
How are the legs? asks Gaius.
CRAN! shouts Wittgenstein. It's driving me mad.
Never heard of it, says Gaius. What is it?
That's just it, says Wittgenstein. Is it a stratagem?
What do you know of stratagems? asks Gaius.
NOTHING! says Wittgenstein. I heard some chaps say it. Develop the CRAN.
Slow down! says Gaius.
Is that wise? asks Wittgenstein. Surely the object is to...
As if to prove that the object is to go faster, Daniel Hoegaard speeds by.
Followed by the two Izagirres.
Richie Porte thunders past, and Diego Ulissi.
Why have we stopped when the others are passing? asks Wittgenstein
To clear up this business of CRAN, says Gaius. One should never let a question go unanswered.
He takes out his phone.
Sweezus and Arthur zoom past.
What's up? yells Sweezus.
But he doesn't wait for an answer.
They are nearly at Humbug Scrub, and Sweezus badly wants King of the Mountain.
CRAN, says Gaius. Here we are. It is one of two things.
Which one? asks Ludwig.
I'll let you decide, says Gaius. Get back on your bike. We've lost enough time as it is.
Aie! says Ludwig. Show the fly the way out of the fly bottle!
Pardon? says Gaius.
The aim of philosophy, says Ludwig.
CRAN, says Gaius, ignoring him, is either Calorie Restriction with Adequate Nutrition, or a measurement of uncleaned landed herring.
Wittgenstein is not used to being beaten in the bamboozle department.
But he is bamboozled now.
He rides through Humbug Scrub, like a stunned mullet.
Gaius rides freely.
He thinks, of the two CRANS, it's most likely the herring.
Wittgenstein rides harder. The harder he rides the faster he goes. This makes basic sense. Perhaps that is the best way to view it. Don't think of the CRAN.
He sweats. His legs hurt. He catches up to Vello and David.
Good man! cries Vello.
Of course it doesn't help anyone really.
The winner of Stage One is......André Greipel!
Monday, January 15, 2018
Tour Down Under Rest Day- Chaos Stratagem
Early morning, Monday, a rest day.
Wittgenstein is out on the road.
He is inventing a poem.
On a post card once, he read how to do it.
Take a newspaper, choose an article, cut it up into words and phrases, mingle them in a hat.
Ah, but he would have to stop if he should wish to take off his helmet.
Worse, he does not have a newspaper.
He is about to panic when Gaius rides up behind him.
May I join you? says Gaius, (and then) Jumping Jupiter! What's the matter?
Do you have a newspaper? asks Wittgenstein.
No, of course not, says Gaius. If you're after today's schedule, it's not worth the paper it's written on.
Why is that? asks Wittgenstein.
Champagne Happy Hour at the Hilton from four till six, or some such nonsense, says Gaius. I for one won't be going.
Wittgenstein is soothed. Gaius won't be going. They ride on in companionable silence.
They are passed by Ion and Gorka Izagirre, of Team Bahrain-Merida, who are probably brothers.
Ion is saying: One must grit one's teeth, and develop the cran.
Gorka replies: Yes, the cran.
Cran! thinks Wittgenstein. A new word is like a fresh seed sown on the ground of discussion.
Gaius has not heard the new word.
He is thinking of the foolishness of a Happy Hour lasting two hours.
....
And it is foolish.
Ask Sweezus, Arthur and Pablo tomorrow.
But for now they are happy that the Happy Hour lasts for two hours.
Pablo is divulging Richie Porte's stratagem.
Throw out a brick to get a jade gem, says Pablo. It was, I think, chapter five number three.
Brill! says Sweezus. I get that.
What exactly? says Arthur.
There must be two more, says Sweezus.
There will be, says Arthur. Unless the numbering system is the brick.
What is this? says Pablo. Are we thinking it is a trickery?
Good thinking, says Sweezus. Is he here?
Over there, says Arthur.
They wander over to Richie, champagne glasses in hand....
....in time to hear Richie saying to his fellow Team BMC members:
.....and that's Chaos Stratagem, chapter four number one. Keep it quiet.
Wittgenstein is out on the road.
He is inventing a poem.
On a post card once, he read how to do it.
Take a newspaper, choose an article, cut it up into words and phrases, mingle them in a hat.
Ah, but he would have to stop if he should wish to take off his helmet.
Worse, he does not have a newspaper.
He is about to panic when Gaius rides up behind him.
May I join you? says Gaius, (and then) Jumping Jupiter! What's the matter?
Do you have a newspaper? asks Wittgenstein.
No, of course not, says Gaius. If you're after today's schedule, it's not worth the paper it's written on.
Why is that? asks Wittgenstein.
Champagne Happy Hour at the Hilton from four till six, or some such nonsense, says Gaius. I for one won't be going.
Wittgenstein is soothed. Gaius won't be going. They ride on in companionable silence.
They are passed by Ion and Gorka Izagirre, of Team Bahrain-Merida, who are probably brothers.
Ion is saying: One must grit one's teeth, and develop the cran.
Gorka replies: Yes, the cran.
Cran! thinks Wittgenstein. A new word is like a fresh seed sown on the ground of discussion.
Gaius has not heard the new word.
He is thinking of the foolishness of a Happy Hour lasting two hours.
....
And it is foolish.
Ask Sweezus, Arthur and Pablo tomorrow.
But for now they are happy that the Happy Hour lasts for two hours.
Pablo is divulging Richie Porte's stratagem.
Throw out a brick to get a jade gem, says Pablo. It was, I think, chapter five number three.
Brill! says Sweezus. I get that.
What exactly? says Arthur.
There must be two more, says Sweezus.
There will be, says Arthur. Unless the numbering system is the brick.
What is this? says Pablo. Are we thinking it is a trickery?
Good thinking, says Sweezus. Is he here?
Over there, says Arthur.
They wander over to Richie, champagne glasses in hand....
....in time to hear Richie saying to his fellow Team BMC members:
.....and that's Chaos Stratagem, chapter four number one. Keep it quiet.
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Tour Down Under- Neither Here Nor There
Sweezus and Arthur have a late breakfast at Argo in Norwood.
Terence watches them eat, while he drinks his red smoothie.
Arthur bites into his Purple Toast.
Would I like that? asks Terence.
Do you like za'atar? asks Arthur.
Yes.... no.... says Terence. What is it?
A clown walks past and sits down at the next table.
Terence forgets his last question.
Can we go now? asks Terence.
Fucksake, says Sweezus.
The result is that Terence is not allowed to watch the People's Choice Classic in case he sees clowns.
Here he is, in Gaius's kitchen, with Farky, and Baby Pierre.
It's not fair, says Terence.
It's your fault, says Baby Pierre. Clowns don't do bad things.
If you think that, says Terence, how come you're here?
I'm visiting my mother, says Baby Pierre. She's got loose bits.
How loose? asks Terence.
Farky pricks his ears up. His teeth stumps tingle.
......
Wittgenstein is lunching with his Team Philosophe team mates, Vello and David, at Cibo's.
Now, don't panic, Ludwig, says David. Today is neither here nor there. Stage One proper is on Tuesday.
It seems to me, says Ludwig, that it must be either here or there.
It's a saying, says David. Meaning that it's of no importance.
I understand, says Wittgenstein. A nothing will serve just as well as a something if one intends to say nothing about it.
Well said, says Vello. This is not about philosophy.
But what about poetry? says Wittgenstein. I overheard, as I wobbled up Magill Road earlier, Pablo Neruda of Team Condor speaking with a Team BMC member about long and short poems.
Probably Richie, says Vello. Richie is not a good poet.
How would you know? asks David.
A clown walks in and sits down at the next table.
The conversation ceases.
.....
Farky has a new set of teeth, donated by Baby Pierre's mother.
She (Pierre) was a disciple of the Omniscient Stone from whom Farky's last set of teeth was obtained.
Pierre (her real name) was happy to donate them.
Baby Pierre pasted them in with some of Gaius's glue, that was left in a cupboard.
Farky immediately began to feel he knew who would win the People's Choice Classic.
To be fair, many of us had the same feeling.
.....
And the winner was, Peter Sagan, of Team Bora-Hansgrohe!
Second, André Greipel, of Team Lotto-Soudal!
Third, Caleb Ewan the pocket rocket, of team Michelton-Scott, who started his sprint a bit too early.
Farky was right.
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Roads Have Ears
Sunday. The People's Choice Classic Street Circuit is this afternoon.
In the bright morning, the teams are already warming up.
Richie is waiting for Simon Gerrans and Rohan Dennis, his team mates.
But they are late for some reason.
Pablo Neruda rides up.
Hola, Richie! I hear you have written a poem. Thirty-six Stratagems. This is a grand title.
Who told you? asks Richie.
It is all over the village, says Pablo. Sweezus too has written one.
You heard it? asks Richie.
Not yet, says Pablo Neruda. Arthur and me, we wrote several last year. But they were short ones.
Mine's a short one, says Richie.
This gives me a surprise, says Pablo. For thirty-six stratagems one expects longer.
It's short for a reason, says Richie. And I'd value your opinion.
Spill it out, says Pablo.
Wait a tick, says Richie. Roads have ears.
Ludwig Wittgenstein rides by. He appears to be slowing, to listen.
But there is nothing to hear yet. Ludwig continues cycling up Magill road.
Okay, says Richie. It's....well....see what you think of it....
He recites:
In the pure morning near the old ruin
early sunlight paints the trees
my path winds through a sheltered hollow
as I memorise the attacking strategy
favoured by Chiang Jian
number five chapter three
tossing out a brick
to get a jade gem.
Pablo is astonished. What is the meaning?
What do you reckon? asks Richie.
It's apparent that you are influenced by the Middle Tang poets, says Pablo. How much of it is you?
It's a pastiche, says Richie. But do you get the intention?
Si! says Pablo. You are tossing out a brick, I get that much.
Richie is disappointed. Pablo has only half got it. But perhaps it's as well. You don't want to give away your best stratagem just hours before the People's Choice Classic.
Gerrans and Dennis arrive, smelling of coffee.
Pablo and Team BMC head off in opposite directions.
In the bright morning, the teams are already warming up.
Richie is waiting for Simon Gerrans and Rohan Dennis, his team mates.
But they are late for some reason.
Pablo Neruda rides up.
Hola, Richie! I hear you have written a poem. Thirty-six Stratagems. This is a grand title.
Who told you? asks Richie.
It is all over the village, says Pablo. Sweezus too has written one.
You heard it? asks Richie.
Not yet, says Pablo Neruda. Arthur and me, we wrote several last year. But they were short ones.
Mine's a short one, says Richie.
This gives me a surprise, says Pablo. For thirty-six stratagems one expects longer.
It's short for a reason, says Richie. And I'd value your opinion.
Spill it out, says Pablo.
Wait a tick, says Richie. Roads have ears.
Ludwig Wittgenstein rides by. He appears to be slowing, to listen.
But there is nothing to hear yet. Ludwig continues cycling up Magill road.
Okay, says Richie. It's....well....see what you think of it....
He recites:
In the pure morning near the old ruin
early sunlight paints the trees
my path winds through a sheltered hollow
as I memorise the attacking strategy
favoured by Chiang Jian
number five chapter three
tossing out a brick
to get a jade gem.
Pablo is astonished. What is the meaning?
What do you reckon? asks Richie.
It's apparent that you are influenced by the Middle Tang poets, says Pablo. How much of it is you?
It's a pastiche, says Richie. But do you get the intention?
Si! says Pablo. You are tossing out a brick, I get that much.
Richie is disappointed. Pablo has only half got it. But perhaps it's as well. You don't want to give away your best stratagem just hours before the People's Choice Classic.
Gerrans and Dennis arrive, smelling of coffee.
Pablo and Team BMC head off in opposite directions.
Friday, January 12, 2018
Thirty-six Stratagems
Saturday morning. Tour Village.
Sweezus and Arthur rock up.
Richie Porte has been waiting.
Guys! says Richie. Where've you been?
Gold Coast, says Sweezus. Bit light on the training. How's the bones?
All good, says Richie.
I like your blue collar, says Arthur.
Yeah, it's cool, says Sweezus.
Sophos, reads Arthur.
New sponsor, says Richie. Sophos means wisdom.
Like we wouldn't know that, says Sweezus.
Where's Pablo? asks Richie. I've got a new poem.
Dunno. Somewhere, says Sweezus. Snap, though.
YOU got one? says Richie.
Kind of, says Sweezus looking sideways at Arthur.
It's called The Fig Tree, says Arthur. What's yours?
Thirty-six Stratagems, says Richie.
Epic! says Sweezus.
Yeah, well gotta go, says Richie. Team Presentation. Catch you guys later.
Thirty-six Stratagems, says Sweezus. Bugger.
And that's only the title, says Arthur.
......
Later, at the Team Presentation.
Phil Liggett: And now....
Team Philosophe is the last men's team to be presented.
This is tedious, says Vello.
David sighs. It's just part of the show.
Gaius is chatting sub voce to Wittgenstein.
Yes, the Far Eastern Curlew, says Gaius. We had limited success.
Is that one of them? asks Wittgenstein, pointing at Saint Roley.
Oystercatcher, says Gaius. But well-spotted.
TEAM PHILOSOPHE! announces Phil Liggett. First up, we have Vello, the great philospher, aka François-Marie Arouet, aka Voltaire. I'm sure he needs no introduction.
Cheers. Applause.
Vello strides onto the stage, and bows. He is followed by David.
And David Hume! The great empiricist!
Cheers! David bows too.
Ludwig Wittgenstein! A newcomer to Team Philosophe. Let's wish him success in his very first Tour Down Under.
Wittgenstein stands stiffly, trying to look like a fact.
Limited applause.
Lastly, Gaius Plinius Secundus, the team backbone. A superb natural historian and polymath.
Gaius looks modest.
Walks on.
Modest clapping.
Now for the Concert! says Phil Liggett. I know you're all fans of Guy Sebastian!
Guy Sebastian? Oh yes, him......he was in ....what was it.... Eurovision?
Yeah. He wore that cool hat.
Sweezus and Arthur rock up.
Richie Porte has been waiting.
Guys! says Richie. Where've you been?
Gold Coast, says Sweezus. Bit light on the training. How's the bones?
All good, says Richie.
I like your blue collar, says Arthur.
Yeah, it's cool, says Sweezus.
Sophos, reads Arthur.
New sponsor, says Richie. Sophos means wisdom.
Like we wouldn't know that, says Sweezus.
Where's Pablo? asks Richie. I've got a new poem.
Dunno. Somewhere, says Sweezus. Snap, though.
YOU got one? says Richie.
Kind of, says Sweezus looking sideways at Arthur.
It's called The Fig Tree, says Arthur. What's yours?
Thirty-six Stratagems, says Richie.
Epic! says Sweezus.
Yeah, well gotta go, says Richie. Team Presentation. Catch you guys later.
Thirty-six Stratagems, says Sweezus. Bugger.
And that's only the title, says Arthur.
......
Later, at the Team Presentation.
Phil Liggett: And now....
Team Philosophe is the last men's team to be presented.
This is tedious, says Vello.
David sighs. It's just part of the show.
Gaius is chatting sub voce to Wittgenstein.
Yes, the Far Eastern Curlew, says Gaius. We had limited success.
Is that one of them? asks Wittgenstein, pointing at Saint Roley.
Oystercatcher, says Gaius. But well-spotted.
TEAM PHILOSOPHE! announces Phil Liggett. First up, we have Vello, the great philospher, aka François-Marie Arouet, aka Voltaire. I'm sure he needs no introduction.
Cheers. Applause.
Vello strides onto the stage, and bows. He is followed by David.
And David Hume! The great empiricist!
Cheers! David bows too.
Ludwig Wittgenstein! A newcomer to Team Philosophe. Let's wish him success in his very first Tour Down Under.
Wittgenstein stands stiffly, trying to look like a fact.
Limited applause.
Lastly, Gaius Plinius Secundus, the team backbone. A superb natural historian and polymath.
Gaius looks modest.
Walks on.
Modest clapping.
Now for the Concert! says Phil Liggett. I know you're all fans of Guy Sebastian!
Guy Sebastian? Oh yes, him......he was in ....what was it.... Eurovision?
Yeah. He wore that cool hat.
Thursday, January 11, 2018
There Is No Conclusion
The Best Seafood Platter has been eaten.
The shells have been saved.
Saint Roley has vomited.
Boris has come over with a blank piece of paper and Sweezus has signed it.
That's thirty nine dollars they don't have to pay to Boris's family.
Good luck in the Tour Down Under, says Boris shyly.
Thanks, kid, says Sweezus.
Boris goes away.
He was my friend, says Terence.
You've got a nice photo of him, says Unni.
Mama! says the Magpie.
Luckily Boris is too far away to hear it.
We must get our skates on, says Gaius. Team Presentations are on Saturday. Does anyone know a rider called Ludwig?
It'll be that philosopher, says Unni. The tall skinny one.
Wittgenstein! says Gaius. But he's never ridden a bicycle! His only encounter with one left him suicidal.
He hopes it won't be that Ludwig.
Sweezus and Arthur are suddenly serious about the Tour Down Under.
Saturday. The Team Presentations.
Yeah, Richie'll be there, says Sweezus. And Pete Sagan. And Clarkey, and Gerrans.
Richie? says Arthur. Mind if I show him your poem?
It's your poem, says Sweezus. Wait on. How does it go?
Arthur recites it.
The Fig Tree. (We already know it).
Woah! says Sweezus. That's mega out there. If leaves are like fingers. What's the conclusion?
There is no conclusion, says Arthur.
Heavy, says Sweezus. Suck on that, Richie.
......
In Adelaide, the teams have assembled.
The Tour Village is buzzing. And dripping. It's hot.
Team BMC, Team Bora-Hansgrohe, Team Ag2R La Mondiale....
Team EF Education First Drapac p/b Cannondale... yes, that's a new one. An American team. And Clarkey is in it. Simon Clarke, who broke a shoulder in the Vuelta, 2016. Clarkey and three other Aussies, because Aussies are always in shape this time of year.
Ludwig Wittgenstein lopes through the village, avoiding the bikes.
Thump. He bumps into Richie. Richie Porte, who broke a collar bone and pelvis in the Tour de France, 2017.
Mate! says Richie. Watch where you're going!
The world is independent of my will, says Wittgenstein.
What team are you in? asks Richie.
Team Philosophe, says Wittgenstein. One should not stay up on the barren heights of cleverness. I have entered the valleys of silliness temporarily.
Well, good luck mate, says Richie.
Team Philosophe, eh? Old dudes. No chance. But where is Team Condor?
Richie has a poem he wants to run by them.
The shells have been saved.
Saint Roley has vomited.
Boris has come over with a blank piece of paper and Sweezus has signed it.
That's thirty nine dollars they don't have to pay to Boris's family.
Good luck in the Tour Down Under, says Boris shyly.
Thanks, kid, says Sweezus.
Boris goes away.
He was my friend, says Terence.
You've got a nice photo of him, says Unni.
Mama! says the Magpie.
Luckily Boris is too far away to hear it.
We must get our skates on, says Gaius. Team Presentations are on Saturday. Does anyone know a rider called Ludwig?
It'll be that philosopher, says Unni. The tall skinny one.
Wittgenstein! says Gaius. But he's never ridden a bicycle! His only encounter with one left him suicidal.
He hopes it won't be that Ludwig.
Sweezus and Arthur are suddenly serious about the Tour Down Under.
Saturday. The Team Presentations.
Yeah, Richie'll be there, says Sweezus. And Pete Sagan. And Clarkey, and Gerrans.
Richie? says Arthur. Mind if I show him your poem?
It's your poem, says Sweezus. Wait on. How does it go?
Arthur recites it.
The Fig Tree. (We already know it).
Woah! says Sweezus. That's mega out there. If leaves are like fingers. What's the conclusion?
There is no conclusion, says Arthur.
Heavy, says Sweezus. Suck on that, Richie.
......
In Adelaide, the teams have assembled.
The Tour Village is buzzing. And dripping. It's hot.
Team BMC, Team Bora-Hansgrohe, Team Ag2R La Mondiale....
Team EF Education First Drapac p/b Cannondale... yes, that's a new one. An American team. And Clarkey is in it. Simon Clarke, who broke a shoulder in the Vuelta, 2016. Clarkey and three other Aussies, because Aussies are always in shape this time of year.
Ludwig Wittgenstein lopes through the village, avoiding the bikes.
Thump. He bumps into Richie. Richie Porte, who broke a collar bone and pelvis in the Tour de France, 2017.
Mate! says Richie. Watch where you're going!
The world is independent of my will, says Wittgenstein.
What team are you in? asks Richie.
Team Philosophe, says Wittgenstein. One should not stay up on the barren heights of cleverness. I have entered the valleys of silliness temporarily.
Well, good luck mate, says Richie.
Team Philosophe, eh? Old dudes. No chance. But where is Team Condor?
Richie has a poem he wants to run by them.
Wednesday, January 10, 2018
Mama! How A Camera Can Lie
Barney has gone to the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary, to collect Terence and the Magpie.
Unni and Sweezus are at the Surf Life Saving Club, checking out the menu.
Best Seafood Platter on the Gold Coast, 2017, says Unni. We've got to get that.
She reads out what's on it: fresh natural oysters, green lip mussels, battered flathead, panko prawns, salt 'n' pepper calamari, cocktail sauce, lemon wedges.
Yeah, whatever, says Sweezus. Cool.
Arthur'll be here soon, says Unni. With his poem.
About a fig tree, says Sweezus.
Don't worry about it, says Unni. Cheer up. Here comes Barney with Terence.
Terence runs up.
Guess what! says Terence. I went on the Tree Top Challenge!
No kidding! says Unni. That was brave. Did you get any photos?
Yes, says Terence. Listen. Cer-lick! That was a crocodile. And this is Boris.
I can't hear Boris, says Unni.
Do Boris, says Terence to the Magpie.
Mama! squawks Boris.
This isn't fair. Boris never said that. But who's to know? Sometimes a camera can lie.
Can I have a red drink? asks Terence.
Wait for Arthur and Gaius, says Unni. Look Barney, Best Seafood Platter 2017. We're going to get that.
Awesome, says Barney. Yeah Terence had a good time apparently. Kenzi lost him, but he hooked up with a family and they paid for his Tree Top Challenge. It was thirty nine dollars.
Geez, says Unni. Do we owe them thirty nine dollars?
Nope, says Barney. They'll be having lunch here. All they want is an autograph.
Whose? says Unni.
Sweezus's, says Barney. I told them he was in Team Condor. Hope you don't mind, mate.
He doesn't, says Unni. He's looking like that for another reason.
The other reason enters the Surf Life Saving Club.
Bro! says Sweezus.
We made it, says Arthur. Gaius is tying Farky up outside. Is there any Kimchi on the menu?
Unni looks. No.
So you wrote me a poem, says Sweezus. Is it on paper or what?
In my head, say Arthur. And it's not what you're thinking.
What then?
About a Moreton Bay fig tree. And I wrote it how I thought you would write it.
Crappily? says Sweezus.
Kind of, says Arthur. But because it was me, it turned out a lot better.
Yeah well, don't tell it to me now, says Sweezus. We're ordering the Seafood Platter. Green lip mussels, salt 'n' pepper calamari, panko prawns...
Good. I'm starving, says Arthur.
Gaius comes in with a pale-looking Saint Roley.
No one likes to know that they've just ingested six parasites.
What are we having? asks Gaius. Seafood Platter? We must save our shells for Farky. And, is there Kimchi on the menu? We must get Saint Roley to vomit.
Unni and Sweezus are at the Surf Life Saving Club, checking out the menu.
Best Seafood Platter on the Gold Coast, 2017, says Unni. We've got to get that.
She reads out what's on it: fresh natural oysters, green lip mussels, battered flathead, panko prawns, salt 'n' pepper calamari, cocktail sauce, lemon wedges.
Yeah, whatever, says Sweezus. Cool.
Arthur'll be here soon, says Unni. With his poem.
About a fig tree, says Sweezus.
Don't worry about it, says Unni. Cheer up. Here comes Barney with Terence.
Terence runs up.
Guess what! says Terence. I went on the Tree Top Challenge!
No kidding! says Unni. That was brave. Did you get any photos?
Yes, says Terence. Listen. Cer-lick! That was a crocodile. And this is Boris.
I can't hear Boris, says Unni.
Do Boris, says Terence to the Magpie.
Mama! squawks Boris.
This isn't fair. Boris never said that. But who's to know? Sometimes a camera can lie.
Can I have a red drink? asks Terence.
Wait for Arthur and Gaius, says Unni. Look Barney, Best Seafood Platter 2017. We're going to get that.
Awesome, says Barney. Yeah Terence had a good time apparently. Kenzi lost him, but he hooked up with a family and they paid for his Tree Top Challenge. It was thirty nine dollars.
Geez, says Unni. Do we owe them thirty nine dollars?
Nope, says Barney. They'll be having lunch here. All they want is an autograph.
Whose? says Unni.
Sweezus's, says Barney. I told them he was in Team Condor. Hope you don't mind, mate.
He doesn't, says Unni. He's looking like that for another reason.
The other reason enters the Surf Life Saving Club.
Bro! says Sweezus.
We made it, says Arthur. Gaius is tying Farky up outside. Is there any Kimchi on the menu?
Unni looks. No.
So you wrote me a poem, says Sweezus. Is it on paper or what?
In my head, say Arthur. And it's not what you're thinking.
What then?
About a Moreton Bay fig tree. And I wrote it how I thought you would write it.
Crappily? says Sweezus.
Kind of, says Arthur. But because it was me, it turned out a lot better.
Yeah well, don't tell it to me now, says Sweezus. We're ordering the Seafood Platter. Green lip mussels, salt 'n' pepper calamari, panko prawns...
Good. I'm starving, says Arthur.
Gaius comes in with a pale-looking Saint Roley.
No one likes to know that they've just ingested six parasites.
What are we having? asks Gaius. Seafood Platter? We must save our shells for Farky. And, is there Kimchi on the menu? We must get Saint Roley to vomit.
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
The Luck Of The Parasite
Arthur drives smoothly. He is getting quite good.
Gaius is trying to phone Vello.
Saint Roley is on the back seat with Farky.
Farky is whimpering.
Quiet, Farky, says Gaius. I'm trying to make a phone call.
Urm-urm, whimpers Farky.
He wants his new teeth, says Saint Roley.
Where are they? asks Gaius
In my pocket, says Arthur.
Gaius reaches in, and pulls out a handful of mud whelks.
Here, says Gaius. I'll glue them in when we get to Currumbin.
Saint Roley takes the whelks one by one and places them on the seat next to Farky.
Farky scowls at the mud whelks.
One of the whelks sticks his head out.
What is our fate? asks the mud whelk.
Farky says nothing, but his teeth stumps are willing to have a discussion.
Your fate is determined, says the teeth stumps. You'll be glued to us, with Roman superglue. We will always remain your superiors.
That's not going to happen, says the mud whelk. Come out, my brothers!
The other five whelks stick their heads out.
At this very moment, Gaius gets through to Vello.
Vello! It's Gaius
Where are you? says Vello. Do you realise the Tour starts on Saturday?
Of course, says Gaius. I'll be back by Friday. Who else is in our team?
Me, David, and Ludwig says Vello. I'm not very happy about Ludwig. But he'll have to shape up.
Ludwig? says Gaius. Do I know him?
Crackle crackle, says Vello, dropping out.
Ludwig, says Gaius. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
Crunch crunch, comes a sound from the back seat.
When Gaius looks over his shoulder, the mud whelks have vanished.
This may be unfortunate, says Gaius. Or it may be less so. Which one of you ate them?
Not me, says Farky.
Me. I couldn't help myself, says Saint Roley.
Then I suggest you take a purge as soon as you get to Currumbin, says Gaius. The mud whelk is an intermediate host in the life cycle of a parasitic worm that lives in seabirds.
Phew! says Farky. At last something lucky has happened.
Saint Roley is on the back seat with Farky.
Farky is whimpering.
Quiet, Farky, says Gaius. I'm trying to make a phone call.
Urm-urm, whimpers Farky.
He wants his new teeth, says Saint Roley.
Where are they? asks Gaius
In my pocket, says Arthur.
Gaius reaches in, and pulls out a handful of mud whelks.
Here, says Gaius. I'll glue them in when we get to Currumbin.
Saint Roley takes the whelks one by one and places them on the seat next to Farky.
Farky scowls at the mud whelks.
One of the whelks sticks his head out.
What is our fate? asks the mud whelk.
Farky says nothing, but his teeth stumps are willing to have a discussion.
Your fate is determined, says the teeth stumps. You'll be glued to us, with Roman superglue. We will always remain your superiors.
That's not going to happen, says the mud whelk. Come out, my brothers!
The other five whelks stick their heads out.
At this very moment, Gaius gets through to Vello.
Vello! It's Gaius
Where are you? says Vello. Do you realise the Tour starts on Saturday?
Of course, says Gaius. I'll be back by Friday. Who else is in our team?
Me, David, and Ludwig says Vello. I'm not very happy about Ludwig. But he'll have to shape up.
Ludwig? says Gaius. Do I know him?
Crackle crackle, says Vello, dropping out.
Ludwig, says Gaius. I suppose I'll find out soon enough.
Crunch crunch, comes a sound from the back seat.
When Gaius looks over his shoulder, the mud whelks have vanished.
This may be unfortunate, says Gaius. Or it may be less so. Which one of you ate them?
Not me, says Farky.
Me. I couldn't help myself, says Saint Roley.
Then I suggest you take a purge as soon as you get to Currumbin, says Gaius. The mud whelk is an intermediate host in the life cycle of a parasitic worm that lives in seabirds.
Phew! says Farky. At last something lucky has happened.
Monday, January 8, 2018
They Too Are Brothers
The Far Eastern Curlew likes Gaius's haiku.
Ha ha. A sign about rules for a vessel no vessel can see.
For his part, Gaius is impressed that the Far Eastern Curlew comprehends Latin.
Except for the last line, with which he had difficulty.
Understandable really. It was enigmatic.
Saint Roley continues probing the mudflats. He has found (would you believe it?) six mud whelks.
Farky watches, with mounting horror.
Are these to be his new teeth? Round with curly points. Like dog turds.
What could be more embarrassing? And what sort of things will they know?
Only fishy marine things.
Arthur has nothing to do.
He thinks about Sweezus, still surfing at Currumbin. Or perhaps having lunch.
Is it lunch time?
No. It's eleven fifteen.
He calls Sweezus. No answer. He calls Unni.
What? says Unni. Are you on your way back yet?
Yes, says Arthur. We're finished here.
Well done, says Unni. We'll wait for you before we get lunch. Come straight to the surf club.
Okay, says Arthur. Tell Sweezus I wrote him a poem.
What's it about? asks Unni.
A fig tree. Gaius likes it, says Arthur.
Ooh! Remind Gaius about the Tour Down Under! says Unni. Bye Arthur!
Unni says remember the Tour Down Under, says Arthur.
Why? asks Gaius. When is it?
Arthur doesn't know, but he thinks it's quite soonish. He taps on his phone.
It's next Saturday, says Arthur.
Mercury's marbles! says Gaius. What team am I in?
Team Philosphe, I suppose, says Arthur. So, we'd better be going.
Thank goodness you brought the Mini, says Gaius. Come on Saint Roley, Farky. Bring those mud whelks. Let's go.
So you're leaving us, says the Far Eastern Curlew. I might have known. You were our best hope of stopping the Moreton Bay Regional Development.
You are your own best hope, says Gaius. You understand Latin. How are you on chemistry?
Very good on chemistry! says the Far Eastern Curlew. I was born and bred in Siberia.
That's geography, says Gaius. I was thinking about acid sulphates. If they go ahead with dredging these mud flats for a 400 berth marina, acid sulphates will be released from the mudflats into the surrounding environment.
Oh. Thanks for the heads up, says the Far Eastern Curlew. We might make use of that. Goodbye then. Good luck with the Tour. I can't tell you how much I admire the stamina of cyclists.
Nothing compares with what you do, says Gaius. Good luck to you, too.
And to you, Saint Roley, says the Far Eastern Curlew. You are welcome to take the entire six mud whelks as dog teeth. May they bring your dog wisdom.
Many thanks, says Saint Roley. We are all brothers.
The six mud whelks jostle nervously in Arthur's shorts pocket.
They too are brothers.
Ha ha. A sign about rules for a vessel no vessel can see.
For his part, Gaius is impressed that the Far Eastern Curlew comprehends Latin.
Except for the last line, with which he had difficulty.
Understandable really. It was enigmatic.
Saint Roley continues probing the mudflats. He has found (would you believe it?) six mud whelks.
Farky watches, with mounting horror.
Are these to be his new teeth? Round with curly points. Like dog turds.
What could be more embarrassing? And what sort of things will they know?
Only fishy marine things.
Arthur has nothing to do.
He thinks about Sweezus, still surfing at Currumbin. Or perhaps having lunch.
Is it lunch time?
No. It's eleven fifteen.
He calls Sweezus. No answer. He calls Unni.
What? says Unni. Are you on your way back yet?
Yes, says Arthur. We're finished here.
Well done, says Unni. We'll wait for you before we get lunch. Come straight to the surf club.
Okay, says Arthur. Tell Sweezus I wrote him a poem.
What's it about? asks Unni.
A fig tree. Gaius likes it, says Arthur.
Ooh! Remind Gaius about the Tour Down Under! says Unni. Bye Arthur!
Unni says remember the Tour Down Under, says Arthur.
Why? asks Gaius. When is it?
Arthur doesn't know, but he thinks it's quite soonish. He taps on his phone.
It's next Saturday, says Arthur.
Mercury's marbles! says Gaius. What team am I in?
Team Philosphe, I suppose, says Arthur. So, we'd better be going.
Thank goodness you brought the Mini, says Gaius. Come on Saint Roley, Farky. Bring those mud whelks. Let's go.
So you're leaving us, says the Far Eastern Curlew. I might have known. You were our best hope of stopping the Moreton Bay Regional Development.
You are your own best hope, says Gaius. You understand Latin. How are you on chemistry?
Very good on chemistry! says the Far Eastern Curlew. I was born and bred in Siberia.
That's geography, says Gaius. I was thinking about acid sulphates. If they go ahead with dredging these mud flats for a 400 berth marina, acid sulphates will be released from the mudflats into the surrounding environment.
Oh. Thanks for the heads up, says the Far Eastern Curlew. We might make use of that. Goodbye then. Good luck with the Tour. I can't tell you how much I admire the stamina of cyclists.
Nothing compares with what you do, says Gaius. Good luck to you, too.
And to you, Saint Roley, says the Far Eastern Curlew. You are welcome to take the entire six mud whelks as dog teeth. May they bring your dog wisdom.
Many thanks, says Saint Roley. We are all brothers.
The six mud whelks jostle nervously in Arthur's shorts pocket.
They too are brothers.
Sunday, January 7, 2018
Bird And General Wisdom
The Far Eastern Curlews have made themselves scarce, says Gaius.
They'll be lurking, says Saint Roley.
Then we shall draw them out, says Gaius. Arthur, start digging.
I'll do it, says Saint Roley.
He probes in the mud.
A Far Eastern Curlew approaches.
You are a bold one, says Gaius. Will you act as a spokes-bird?
Wark! says the Far Eastern Curlew. I'm just here observing.
We know all about your protection racket, says Gaius. May I say, in the long run, it will be unproductive.
Protection racket? says the Far Eastern Curlew, giving Saint Roley a black look.
Do I need to spell it out? Half of all molluscs surrendered? says Gaius.
You know nothing of Bird Wisdom, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
Saint Roley might beg to differ, says Gaius.
No, says Saint Roley. I know nothing of Bird Wisdom, being an orphan.
There are many forms of wisdom, says Gaius. The more species they cover the better.
In your opinion, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
Naturally, says Gaius.
And Bird Wisdom is? says Arthur.
Take it where you find it, basically, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
But from whom? asks Gaius.
Anyone. We call it karma, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
I see you have cherry picked your wisdom, says Gaius.
Who can do better? asks the Far Eastern Curlew.
I can't, says Saint Roley.
Try this, says Arthur. A friend of mine wrote it.
( A lie. But he wants some feedback, regarding its wisdom).
The Fig Tree.
I perceive the whole tree
I'm like the fig tree
a sentient being
I'm like the leaves
or the cells of which the leaves are composed
but this is only true if leaves are like fingers.
I see, says Gaius, the point being that wisdom is conditional. Your friend is quite good. I wrote a poem once, in the form of a haiku. Now what was it.....? Something about limits....
He remembers:
navem non licet
in regione flava
signum non leget
No vessels allowed in the areas marked in yellow, says the Far Eastern Curlew. Fair enough too. But what does the last line mean?
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. That's the joke. The sign is facing inland. No vessel can read it!
They'll be lurking, says Saint Roley.
Then we shall draw them out, says Gaius. Arthur, start digging.
I'll do it, says Saint Roley.
He probes in the mud.
A Far Eastern Curlew approaches.
You are a bold one, says Gaius. Will you act as a spokes-bird?
Wark! says the Far Eastern Curlew. I'm just here observing.
We know all about your protection racket, says Gaius. May I say, in the long run, it will be unproductive.
Protection racket? says the Far Eastern Curlew, giving Saint Roley a black look.
Do I need to spell it out? Half of all molluscs surrendered? says Gaius.
You know nothing of Bird Wisdom, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
Saint Roley might beg to differ, says Gaius.
No, says Saint Roley. I know nothing of Bird Wisdom, being an orphan.
There are many forms of wisdom, says Gaius. The more species they cover the better.
In your opinion, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
Naturally, says Gaius.
And Bird Wisdom is? says Arthur.
Take it where you find it, basically, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
But from whom? asks Gaius.
Anyone. We call it karma, says the Far Eastern Curlew.
I see you have cherry picked your wisdom, says Gaius.
Who can do better? asks the Far Eastern Curlew.
I can't, says Saint Roley.
Try this, says Arthur. A friend of mine wrote it.
( A lie. But he wants some feedback, regarding its wisdom).
The Fig Tree.
I perceive the whole tree
I'm like the fig tree
a sentient being
I'm like the leaves
or the cells of which the leaves are composed
but this is only true if leaves are like fingers.
I see, says Gaius, the point being that wisdom is conditional. Your friend is quite good. I wrote a poem once, in the form of a haiku. Now what was it.....? Something about limits....
He remembers:
navem non licet
in regione flava
signum non leget
No vessels allowed in the areas marked in yellow, says the Far Eastern Curlew. Fair enough too. But what does the last line mean?
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. That's the joke. The sign is facing inland. No vessel can read it!
Saturday, January 6, 2018
What He Has Lost
What you need is a weapon, says Arthur.
I have a weapon, says Saint Roley. But their beaks are longer.
I mean a real weapon, says Arthur. Come on.
He is about to march Saint Roley to the wetlands to confront his tormentors, when Gaius returns from the shops with the superglue ingredients
Where are you two off to? asks Gaius. I need you to help me find Farky a new set of teeth.
The wetlands, says Arthur.
To solve the mystery of the half molluscs, says Gaius. That of course must be done. But first we should see to Farky. I have an idea. Arthur, where is Farky?
In the Mini, says Arthur. He thinks he's turning into a Magpie.
The sooner we get him new teeth the better says Gaius. Go and get him.
Okay, says Arthur. He goes back to the car.
What's that? asks Saint Roley.
A rubber bone, says Gaius. I bought it for Farky.
Saint Roley says nothing, but he thinks it would make a good weapon.
Arthur comes back with Farky.
Farky sniffs hopefully. Where's the beef tallow?
Couldn't get any, says Gaius. I had to buy beeswax. But this might give you some comfort.
He hands Farky the rubber bone.
A rubber bone does not give Farky comfort. It only serves to remind him of what he has lost.
I'll have it, says Saint Roley.
How will you carry it? asks Gaius.
I'll carry it, says Arthur. It'll make a good weapon.
A weapon won't be needed, surely, says Gaius.
Saint Roley decides to come clean.
The Far Eastern Curlews threatened to kill me if I didn't join their protection racket.
Wonderful! says Gaius. The bird world never fails to surprise me. You intend to retaliate with a rubber bone?
A knife would be better, says Arthur.
Indeed, says Gaius. These birds have been bred in Siberia.
They head off to the wetlands, on foot.
What's your idea? asks Arthur.
Kill two birds, says Gaius. Not literally, of course. But it occurs to me that the shells of molluscs would make excellent teeth. I'm thinking in particular of the single curved tusk shell or scaphopoda. Failing that, a mud whelk has a wider base and would perhaps for that reason be stronger. At the same time we can give the Far Eastern Curlews a productive task, should they care to undertake it.
The idea sounds good to Saint Roley, nutty to Arthur, and ominous to Farky.
I have a weapon, says Saint Roley. But their beaks are longer.
I mean a real weapon, says Arthur. Come on.
He is about to march Saint Roley to the wetlands to confront his tormentors, when Gaius returns from the shops with the superglue ingredients
Where are you two off to? asks Gaius. I need you to help me find Farky a new set of teeth.
The wetlands, says Arthur.
To solve the mystery of the half molluscs, says Gaius. That of course must be done. But first we should see to Farky. I have an idea. Arthur, where is Farky?
In the Mini, says Arthur. He thinks he's turning into a Magpie.
The sooner we get him new teeth the better says Gaius. Go and get him.
Okay, says Arthur. He goes back to the car.
What's that? asks Saint Roley.
A rubber bone, says Gaius. I bought it for Farky.
Saint Roley says nothing, but he thinks it would make a good weapon.
Arthur comes back with Farky.
Farky sniffs hopefully. Where's the beef tallow?
Couldn't get any, says Gaius. I had to buy beeswax. But this might give you some comfort.
He hands Farky the rubber bone.
A rubber bone does not give Farky comfort. It only serves to remind him of what he has lost.
I'll have it, says Saint Roley.
How will you carry it? asks Gaius.
I'll carry it, says Arthur. It'll make a good weapon.
A weapon won't be needed, surely, says Gaius.
Saint Roley decides to come clean.
The Far Eastern Curlews threatened to kill me if I didn't join their protection racket.
Wonderful! says Gaius. The bird world never fails to surprise me. You intend to retaliate with a rubber bone?
A knife would be better, says Arthur.
Indeed, says Gaius. These birds have been bred in Siberia.
They head off to the wetlands, on foot.
What's your idea? asks Arthur.
Kill two birds, says Gaius. Not literally, of course. But it occurs to me that the shells of molluscs would make excellent teeth. I'm thinking in particular of the single curved tusk shell or scaphopoda. Failing that, a mud whelk has a wider base and would perhaps for that reason be stronger. At the same time we can give the Far Eastern Curlews a productive task, should they care to undertake it.
The idea sounds good to Saint Roley, nutty to Arthur, and ominous to Farky.
Friday, January 5, 2018
Empathy Versus Less Empathy
I've brought Farky, says Arthur. He's in the car.
Farky, how is he? asks Gaius.
Not as good as he once was, says Arthur.
.......
Gaius is not shocked when he sees Farky's teeth stumps.
Roman bull glue rarely fails, says Gaius. But when it does, one can always try fish glue.
Noo! growls Farky.
Or Roman superglue, continues Gaius. Made from bitumen, bark pitch and animal grease, such as beef tallow. Soot, sand or crushed quartz can be added.
Farky likes the sounds of beef tallow.
I'll go to the shops, says Gaius, and see what I can find. I imagine you have the teeth somewhere.
No, says Arthur. Only what's left in his mouth.
Gaius bends down to look closely at Farky. Farky bares his gums.
Tragic, says Gaius. Those teeth were irreplaceable.
And yet...... says Farky (or the the teeth stumps).
And yet what?
And yet we retain certain memories of the future, say the teeth stumps.
So do I, says Farky. Unni feeds me on Kimchi, while I long for bones.
Gaius is moved by the simplicity of Farky's longings.
Arthur, says Gaius. I shall fix this. I feel responsible, as it was my bull glue that failed, and the stone teeth were originally prised from the all-knowing stone in my kitchen.
Okay, says Arthur. What can I do?
Persuade Saint Roley to talk to the Mayor, says Gaius.
......
Come on, says Arthur. Talk to the Mayor.
Can't, says Saint Roley. My life is in danger.
Fine, says Arthur. Let's go to the beach.
.......
On the beach, Saint Roley sits beside Arthur.
Saint Roley likes it that Arthur doesn't say anything.
For a while. Then he starts to wonder what Arthur is thinking.
(Arthur is thinking up a poem about a fig tree, in the style of Sweezus, which is hard because Sweezus has little talent for poetry).
Saint Roley has no way to guess this.
Arthur must be waiting to learn why Saint Roley's life is in danger.
There's empathy for you.
Saint Roley can't help himself.
He starts spilling the beans about the half molluscs, and the protection racket he's become part of.
Farky, how is he? asks Gaius.
Not as good as he once was, says Arthur.
.......
Gaius is not shocked when he sees Farky's teeth stumps.
Roman bull glue rarely fails, says Gaius. But when it does, one can always try fish glue.
Noo! growls Farky.
Or Roman superglue, continues Gaius. Made from bitumen, bark pitch and animal grease, such as beef tallow. Soot, sand or crushed quartz can be added.
Farky likes the sounds of beef tallow.
I'll go to the shops, says Gaius, and see what I can find. I imagine you have the teeth somewhere.
No, says Arthur. Only what's left in his mouth.
Gaius bends down to look closely at Farky. Farky bares his gums.
Tragic, says Gaius. Those teeth were irreplaceable.
And yet...... says Farky (or the the teeth stumps).
And yet what?
And yet we retain certain memories of the future, say the teeth stumps.
So do I, says Farky. Unni feeds me on Kimchi, while I long for bones.
Gaius is moved by the simplicity of Farky's longings.
Arthur, says Gaius. I shall fix this. I feel responsible, as it was my bull glue that failed, and the stone teeth were originally prised from the all-knowing stone in my kitchen.
Okay, says Arthur. What can I do?
Persuade Saint Roley to talk to the Mayor, says Gaius.
......
Come on, says Arthur. Talk to the Mayor.
Can't, says Saint Roley. My life is in danger.
Fine, says Arthur. Let's go to the beach.
.......
On the beach, Saint Roley sits beside Arthur.
Saint Roley likes it that Arthur doesn't say anything.
For a while. Then he starts to wonder what Arthur is thinking.
(Arthur is thinking up a poem about a fig tree, in the style of Sweezus, which is hard because Sweezus has little talent for poetry).
Saint Roley has no way to guess this.
Arthur must be waiting to learn why Saint Roley's life is in danger.
There's empathy for you.
Saint Roley can't help himself.
He starts spilling the beans about the half molluscs, and the protection racket he's become part of.
Thursday, January 4, 2018
The Tree Moves No Faster
Arthur drives along the Pacific Highway, without incident.
Because of the holidays, traffic is slow.
He looks in the rear view mirror.
Farky-Magpie appears to be sleeping.
He looks through the windscreen, at the sky.
A Moreton Bay fig edges past him.
If Arthur was the sort of person to a). check out the distance from Currumbin to Moreton Bay, and b). estimate his time of arrival in current traffic conditions, and c). find out when Gaius is meeting the Mayor,
it wouldn't make any difference.
The tree moves no faster.
........
The Mayor is late.
This isn't good enough, fumes Gaius.
It's the holidays, says his personal assistant, René. The Mayor is a family man and a keen fisherman.
That is all very well, says Gaius, but if I can get here on time, so can he.
But you were already in Moreton Bay, says René. He wasn't.
The Mayor hurries in.
Allan Sutherland at your service, says the Mayor. Sorry I'm late. It's the traffic...
.......
The meeting is not going well.
My hands are tied, says the Mayor. Josh Frydenberg approved it. Jackie Trad signed off on it. Moreton Bay is number one for residential land sales approvals, and one of the most financially viable and stable councils in Queensland.
But what about the Far Eastern Curlew? says Gaius.
What about the billionaire developer? says the Mayor. Anyway, it's been put on hold again.
It needs to be stopped, says Gaius. May I bring in Saint Roley? He's hovering outside.
How will that help? asks the Mayor.
He will act as a spokes-bird, says Gaius.
All right, says the Mayor. René, will you please fetch a tea towel.
.......
Arthur arrives just as Gaius is leaving, with a disgruntled Saint Roley.
Arthur! says Gaius. Just the man! But too late, I fear!
What's up? says Arthur.
Saint Roley was to be my spokes-bird, says Gaius, But he was offended by his treatment and refused to say anything. We left without making our case for the Far Eastern Curlew.
They sat me on a tea towel, says Saint Roley. And fed me half a cracker.
It was the half cracker that really upset him, says Gaius. Can't think why.
Saint Roley knows why. The Mayor obviously knows about the curlews' protection racket, and this was a warning. KEEP QUIET OR ELSE.
He can hardly tell Gaius.
Because of the holidays, traffic is slow.
He looks in the rear view mirror.
Farky-Magpie appears to be sleeping.
He looks through the windscreen, at the sky.
A Moreton Bay fig edges past him.
If Arthur was the sort of person to a). check out the distance from Currumbin to Moreton Bay, and b). estimate his time of arrival in current traffic conditions, and c). find out when Gaius is meeting the Mayor,
it wouldn't make any difference.
The tree moves no faster.
........
The Mayor is late.
This isn't good enough, fumes Gaius.
It's the holidays, says his personal assistant, René. The Mayor is a family man and a keen fisherman.
That is all very well, says Gaius, but if I can get here on time, so can he.
But you were already in Moreton Bay, says René. He wasn't.
The Mayor hurries in.
Allan Sutherland at your service, says the Mayor. Sorry I'm late. It's the traffic...
.......
The meeting is not going well.
My hands are tied, says the Mayor. Josh Frydenberg approved it. Jackie Trad signed off on it. Moreton Bay is number one for residential land sales approvals, and one of the most financially viable and stable councils in Queensland.
But what about the Far Eastern Curlew? says Gaius.
What about the billionaire developer? says the Mayor. Anyway, it's been put on hold again.
It needs to be stopped, says Gaius. May I bring in Saint Roley? He's hovering outside.
How will that help? asks the Mayor.
He will act as a spokes-bird, says Gaius.
All right, says the Mayor. René, will you please fetch a tea towel.
.......
Arthur arrives just as Gaius is leaving, with a disgruntled Saint Roley.
Arthur! says Gaius. Just the man! But too late, I fear!
What's up? says Arthur.
Saint Roley was to be my spokes-bird, says Gaius, But he was offended by his treatment and refused to say anything. We left without making our case for the Far Eastern Curlew.
They sat me on a tea towel, says Saint Roley. And fed me half a cracker.
It was the half cracker that really upset him, says Gaius. Can't think why.
Saint Roley knows why. The Mayor obviously knows about the curlews' protection racket, and this was a warning. KEEP QUIET OR ELSE.
He can hardly tell Gaius.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
Future Is Closed
Oi! says Farky. Are you stealing this car?
No, says Arthur. Unni gave me the car keys.
Did she remember I'm in it? asks Farky.
She didn't say, says Arthur. But you should be grateful. You'll see Gaius sooner, and he'll fix your teeth.
To be honest, says Farky, I don't look forward to a mouth full of bull glue.
Arthur sympathises, having swallowed a few nasty mouthfuls himself, in his time.
He looks at Farky in the rear view mirror.
Do I look normal? asks Farky.
Pretty normal, says Arthur.
Farky grins, baring his teeth stumps. Now?
Less normal, says Arthur, swerving to miss a cassowary crossing the road.
Watch it! says Farky. When did you learn to drive?
I didn't, says Arthur. Last time I drove a car was when I had to drive Katherine Hume to Middleton.
How did that go? asks Farky.
I got a new pair of board shorts, says Arthur.
Farky doesn't think to ask why that might have happened.
Anyway, says Arthur, driving's not hard.
He's still looking at Farky.
Did you eat Unni's Magpie? asks Arthur.
No way! says Farky. Why?
I must be hallucinating, says Arthur. Thought I saw feathers.
Hallucinating! This is not what you want of your driver.
Farky shuts up and lies low.
The future is closed for the moment.
........
At the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary, Mama and Papa are watching Boris and Terence do the Tree Top Challenge.
The challenge Boris has chosen is the Croc Shock.
(Fixed to a zipline, you glide swiftly above snapping crocodiles. Nothing bad can happen).
Courage, Boris! shouts Papa.
How embarrassing, says Boris, .
Weee! says Terence, who is right behind Boris, with his camera. Cer-lick! Cer-lick! Cer-lick!
You might as well not do that! shouts Boris.
Terence keeps on cer-licking.
He cer-licks shots of tree tops, shots of the pelican and eel pools, sheep shearing, the Big Fang reptiles, shots of dingoes and snapping crocodiles.
Boris is jealous, because Mama kept his camera, in case he should drop it.
She takes underneath shots of Boris, doing the Tree Top Challenge, so he won't forget his once in a lifetime experience.
No, says Arthur. Unni gave me the car keys.
Did she remember I'm in it? asks Farky.
She didn't say, says Arthur. But you should be grateful. You'll see Gaius sooner, and he'll fix your teeth.
To be honest, says Farky, I don't look forward to a mouth full of bull glue.
Arthur sympathises, having swallowed a few nasty mouthfuls himself, in his time.
He looks at Farky in the rear view mirror.
Do I look normal? asks Farky.
Pretty normal, says Arthur.
Farky grins, baring his teeth stumps. Now?
Less normal, says Arthur, swerving to miss a cassowary crossing the road.
Watch it! says Farky. When did you learn to drive?
I didn't, says Arthur. Last time I drove a car was when I had to drive Katherine Hume to Middleton.
How did that go? asks Farky.
I got a new pair of board shorts, says Arthur.
Farky doesn't think to ask why that might have happened.
Anyway, says Arthur, driving's not hard.
He's still looking at Farky.
Did you eat Unni's Magpie? asks Arthur.
No way! says Farky. Why?
I must be hallucinating, says Arthur. Thought I saw feathers.
Hallucinating! This is not what you want of your driver.
Farky shuts up and lies low.
The future is closed for the moment.
........
At the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary, Mama and Papa are watching Boris and Terence do the Tree Top Challenge.
The challenge Boris has chosen is the Croc Shock.
(Fixed to a zipline, you glide swiftly above snapping crocodiles. Nothing bad can happen).
Courage, Boris! shouts Papa.
How embarrassing, says Boris, .
Weee! says Terence, who is right behind Boris, with his camera. Cer-lick! Cer-lick! Cer-lick!
You might as well not do that! shouts Boris.
Terence keeps on cer-licking.
He cer-licks shots of tree tops, shots of the pelican and eel pools, sheep shearing, the Big Fang reptiles, shots of dingoes and snapping crocodiles.
Boris is jealous, because Mama kept his camera, in case he should drop it.
She takes underneath shots of Boris, doing the Tree Top Challenge, so he won't forget his once in a lifetime experience.
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
Saying It Wrong
Farky lies curled up on the back seat of the Mini, waiting.
Ouch-ee! What's that? The mirror!
He shifts his rear end off the mirror and looks into it.
It's a bit smeary.
But his teeth stumps grin back at him, glinting.
......
Terence doesn't know where the crocs are.
Luckily Mama has a map, which she downloaded earlier.
Crocs are at W13, says Mama. Boris, here's the map. You lead the way.
Boris leads the way, with Terence beside him.
Have you got a camera? asks Boris.
Yes, says Terence. It's a new one.
Mine's new too, says Boris.
Want to see my picture of Barney's arse? says Terence.
WHAT DID YOU SAY? says Mama.
I said it wrong, says Terence.
I should think so, says Papa. Is it the rear end of an animal?
No, says Terence. It's the sound of a picture of Barney's.....
You've got sound? says Boris.
He looks jealous.
Yep, says Terence. When we get to the crocs, I'll show you.
......
Unni and Barney are out surfing the Alley on long boards.
They wait for a wave.
Two surfers floating a few metres behind them draw closer.
Thought it was you, says Sweezus. How come you're here?
Just passing through, says Unni. Truth is, I'm pissed off with Gaius. He's meeting the Mayor this morning but he doesn't want me, he only wants Arthur.
Why me? says Arthur.
......
Cer-lick! says Terence.
Is that it? asks Boris.
Yes, says Terence. Now you do yours.
Boris takes a photo of a saltwater croc with his new camera.
He shows it to Terence.
Show it to my parrot, says Terence.
That doesn't look anything like me, says the Magpie.
......
The longer Farky stares into the mirror the more he looks like the Magpie.
It's freaking him out.
His teeth stumps are tingling.
What can it mean?
Next minute, the Mini door opens and in gets...
Arthur.
And no one else. Only Arthur.
Arthur starts the engine. The Mini jerks backwards out of the car park, then bunny-hops onto the road.
Farky's teeth stumps are unsettled. They didn't expect this would happen.
Ouch-ee! What's that? The mirror!
He shifts his rear end off the mirror and looks into it.
It's a bit smeary.
But his teeth stumps grin back at him, glinting.
......
Terence doesn't know where the crocs are.
Luckily Mama has a map, which she downloaded earlier.
Crocs are at W13, says Mama. Boris, here's the map. You lead the way.
Boris leads the way, with Terence beside him.
Have you got a camera? asks Boris.
Yes, says Terence. It's a new one.
Mine's new too, says Boris.
Want to see my picture of Barney's arse? says Terence.
WHAT DID YOU SAY? says Mama.
I said it wrong, says Terence.
I should think so, says Papa. Is it the rear end of an animal?
No, says Terence. It's the sound of a picture of Barney's.....
You've got sound? says Boris.
He looks jealous.
Yep, says Terence. When we get to the crocs, I'll show you.
......
Unni and Barney are out surfing the Alley on long boards.
They wait for a wave.
Two surfers floating a few metres behind them draw closer.
Thought it was you, says Sweezus. How come you're here?
Just passing through, says Unni. Truth is, I'm pissed off with Gaius. He's meeting the Mayor this morning but he doesn't want me, he only wants Arthur.
Why me? says Arthur.
......
Cer-lick! says Terence.
Is that it? asks Boris.
Yes, says Terence. Now you do yours.
Boris takes a photo of a saltwater croc with his new camera.
He shows it to Terence.
Show it to my parrot, says Terence.
That doesn't look anything like me, says the Magpie.
......
The longer Farky stares into the mirror the more he looks like the Magpie.
It's freaking him out.
His teeth stumps are tingling.
What can it mean?
Next minute, the Mini door opens and in gets...
Arthur.
And no one else. Only Arthur.
Arthur starts the engine. The Mini jerks backwards out of the car park, then bunny-hops onto the road.
Farky's teeth stumps are unsettled. They didn't expect this would happen.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Rain of Rainbow
What's there to do here? asks Unni.
Surfing, says Barney. There's a cool right hand surf break at the Alley.
Surfboards? says Unni.
I can get us two long boards, no problem, says Barney.
What about Terence? says Unni.
Yeah....what time is it? says Barney.
Ten to eight, says Unni.
Okay, says Barney. He can hang out in the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Gates open at eight.
By himself? says Unni.
I know someone who works there, says Barney.
Can I take my camera? asks Terence.
Sure, says Barney. You can cer-lick your little balls off.
Don't say that, says Unni.
Barney takes Terence to the gate of the Sanctuary, which is nearby.
The Magpie comes too, leaving his mirror.
Farky's teeth see no future in going. He curls up in the back seat of the Mini.
At the gate, Barney waves at Kenzi, whom he knows.
Hi, Kenzi! Wanna do us a favour?
Sure, Barney, says Kenzi.
Take this little dude in.
Okay, says Kenzi. What's his name?
Terence! says Terence. And this is my parrot.
No, says Kenzi. It's a Magpie, and these are Rainbow Lorikeets. I'm their ambassador. Here, hold this plate of sugar mix, and they'll come down to you.
The horrid Lorikeets rain down upon Terence. They eat all his sugar mix in a flurry of squawkings and green and red feathers. When the air clears, Barney is gone. So is Kenzi.
That was rubbish, says Terence. What'll we do now?
Let's find a family, says the Magpie.
It's not hard. There are mega-loads of families.
Terence spots a small one.
Mama, Papa and Boris.
Mama is looking at the program.
Look Boris, says Mama. Crocodile photo opportunity. Eight thirty.
Goody, says Boris. And then can we do the Tree Top Challenge?
Papa notices Terence.
Who's this little fellow? asks Papa.
Terence, says Terence.
Are you lost? asks Mama. Because if you are I'll...
No, says the Magpie. We're not lost, we live here.
Like that nice Bindi Irwin? says Mamma.
Yes, says the Magpie, although he has never heard of that nice Bindi Irwin.
Perhaps you'd like to show Boris the crocs, says Papa.
Why not?
Terence would be delighted.
Surfing, says Barney. There's a cool right hand surf break at the Alley.
Surfboards? says Unni.
I can get us two long boards, no problem, says Barney.
What about Terence? says Unni.
Yeah....what time is it? says Barney.
Ten to eight, says Unni.
Okay, says Barney. He can hang out in the Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary. Gates open at eight.
By himself? says Unni.
I know someone who works there, says Barney.
Can I take my camera? asks Terence.
Sure, says Barney. You can cer-lick your little balls off.
Don't say that, says Unni.
Barney takes Terence to the gate of the Sanctuary, which is nearby.
The Magpie comes too, leaving his mirror.
Farky's teeth see no future in going. He curls up in the back seat of the Mini.
At the gate, Barney waves at Kenzi, whom he knows.
Hi, Kenzi! Wanna do us a favour?
Sure, Barney, says Kenzi.
Take this little dude in.
Okay, says Kenzi. What's his name?
Terence! says Terence. And this is my parrot.
No, says Kenzi. It's a Magpie, and these are Rainbow Lorikeets. I'm their ambassador. Here, hold this plate of sugar mix, and they'll come down to you.
The horrid Lorikeets rain down upon Terence. They eat all his sugar mix in a flurry of squawkings and green and red feathers. When the air clears, Barney is gone. So is Kenzi.
That was rubbish, says Terence. What'll we do now?
Let's find a family, says the Magpie.
It's not hard. There are mega-loads of families.
Terence spots a small one.
Mama, Papa and Boris.
Mama is looking at the program.
Look Boris, says Mama. Crocodile photo opportunity. Eight thirty.
Goody, says Boris. And then can we do the Tree Top Challenge?
Papa notices Terence.
Who's this little fellow? asks Papa.
Terence, says Terence.
Are you lost? asks Mama. Because if you are I'll...
No, says the Magpie. We're not lost, we live here.
Like that nice Bindi Irwin? says Mamma.
Yes, says the Magpie, although he has never heard of that nice Bindi Irwin.
Perhaps you'd like to show Boris the crocs, says Papa.
Why not?
Terence would be delighted.
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