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.