It's a three hour train journey.
By Sydney Central, a major issue will have been resolved.
Sweezus: Terence's in a bad mood.
Arthur: Good idea he had, though.
Sweezus: Which was?
Arthur: Using bum feathers. But we wouldn't use bum feathers. We'd use stiff ones.
Sweezus: Brilliant. We thread feathers through the open weave of the hessian. But hey, wait... it's cut into squares. So's the lining.
Arthur: Easy fixed. Cut the squares into circles. They'll be smaller, but that means less Sea Salt in each one and that means more profits.
Sweezus: Genius, dude!
Arthur takes the scissors out of his pocket and starts cutting.
Terence comes back.
Sweezus: Awesome idea, little buddy. We're going with the feathers. We just need one to test out the concept. Go and ask Saint Roley.
Arthur: Ask for a stiff one.
Terence goes back to Saint Roley.
Terence: How would you like to be my new parrot?
Saint Roley: Why?
Terence: Because then I could make you do something.
Saint Roley: Why not just ask me?
Terence: Can I have a bum feather? A stiff one.
Lydia: Ha ha! That's so funny. Hear that, Tilly?
Tilly: Yes. Ha ha! So funny. Bum feathers aren't stiff.
Saint Roley: Tell me about it. Anyway, what's it going to be used for?
Terence: Tying up the Sea Salt.
Saint Roley: One feather now, but where will it end?
Good question.
I'll go over, says Tilly. I might have something.
Don't! says Terence.
Why not? asks Tilly.
Terence won't say.
Tilly gets up and moves down the train to where Sweezus and Arthur are sitting.
Hey, says Sweezus.
Hey, says Tilly. You need something to tie up your famous Sea Salt?
Yeah, says Sweezus. Maybe a feather.
That's a terrible idea, says Tilly. How about trying this ecofriendly twine?
Cool! says Sweezus.
And it is. Half an hour later a prototype package of Prognosticating Sea Salt has been manufactured.
It looks amazing.
Through a hole in the hessian, a PVC swan's eye looks out, knowingly, below twin loops of rough hairy twine.
Saturday, March 31, 2018
Friday, March 30, 2018
Easter Angst On The Train
Early next morning the Riobamba team waits at the Newcastle Interchange.
When the Sydney train comes, they get on the train.
Gaius sits with Simon, in order to continue a discussion that began on the platform.
It seems that five hundred and sixty eight acres have been put up for sale in the Galapagos Islands, a province of Ecuador. A purchase plan is being crowd funded by locals.
They talk about this.
Sweezus sits with Arthur, in order to figure out a means of securing the hessian bags and the PVC swan lining so the Prognosticating Sea Salt won't fall out. Possibly with eco-friendly twine or something.
They talk about this.
Lydia, Tilly and Buzz are texting.
Terence and Saint Roley share a seat next to Lydia.
Move over, says Terence.
Can't, says Saint Roley.
Got any snacks? asks Terence.
No, says Saint Roley.
This trip is rubbish already, says Terence.
You're in a bad mood, says Saint Roley. Is it because you don't have a parrot?
No, says Terence.
Lydia looks up.
It's Easter. Would you like a chocolate?
She gives him a small Lindt Gold Bunny.
Nobody told me it was Easter, says Terence.
That's ... says Saint Roley.
Because nobody got me a present? says Terence.
Because at Easter you die, says Saint Roley. No wait, not exactly. Not you.
You would be the worst parrot ever, says Terence. You should be glad I refused you.
I refused YOU, says Saint Roley.
What's this about? asks Lydia. He doesn't die, does he?
Not till he's older, says Saint Roley.
NOW you tell me! says Terence. I'm going.
He gets up, clutching his small Lindt Gold Bunny.
He stomps up to Sweezus.
You don't want that, do you? says Sweezus.
It's EASTER! says Terence. And I die when I'm older.
Who told you? says Sweezus.
No one, says Terence. I always know it's Easter.
You don't, says Arthur. But seeing you're here, what should we tie this up with?
Spaghetti, says Terence. Saint Roley's bum feathers. Your stupid hair.
No way, says Sweezus. Go back and sit with Buzz and Tilly.
They hate me, says Terence. And they hate you and Arthur.
He is making this up. Buzz and Tilly are eco-biology students.
They don't hate anyone.
(Except for unscrupulous developers).
When the Sydney train comes, they get on the train.
Gaius sits with Simon, in order to continue a discussion that began on the platform.
It seems that five hundred and sixty eight acres have been put up for sale in the Galapagos Islands, a province of Ecuador. A purchase plan is being crowd funded by locals.
They talk about this.
Sweezus sits with Arthur, in order to figure out a means of securing the hessian bags and the PVC swan lining so the Prognosticating Sea Salt won't fall out. Possibly with eco-friendly twine or something.
They talk about this.
Lydia, Tilly and Buzz are texting.
Terence and Saint Roley share a seat next to Lydia.
Move over, says Terence.
Can't, says Saint Roley.
Got any snacks? asks Terence.
No, says Saint Roley.
This trip is rubbish already, says Terence.
You're in a bad mood, says Saint Roley. Is it because you don't have a parrot?
No, says Terence.
Lydia looks up.
It's Easter. Would you like a chocolate?
She gives him a small Lindt Gold Bunny.
Nobody told me it was Easter, says Terence.
That's ... says Saint Roley.
Because nobody got me a present? says Terence.
Because at Easter you die, says Saint Roley. No wait, not exactly. Not you.
You would be the worst parrot ever, says Terence. You should be glad I refused you.
I refused YOU, says Saint Roley.
What's this about? asks Lydia. He doesn't die, does he?
Not till he's older, says Saint Roley.
NOW you tell me! says Terence. I'm going.
He gets up, clutching his small Lindt Gold Bunny.
He stomps up to Sweezus.
You don't want that, do you? says Sweezus.
It's EASTER! says Terence. And I die when I'm older.
Who told you? says Sweezus.
No one, says Terence. I always know it's Easter.
You don't, says Arthur. But seeing you're here, what should we tie this up with?
Spaghetti, says Terence. Saint Roley's bum feathers. Your stupid hair.
No way, says Sweezus. Go back and sit with Buzz and Tilly.
They hate me, says Terence. And they hate you and Arthur.
He is making this up. Buzz and Tilly are eco-biology students.
They don't hate anyone.
(Except for unscrupulous developers).
Thursday, March 29, 2018
I Can't Sleep For The Noise Of The Frogs
I suppose we should find a hotel for the night, says Gaius. Any suggestions?
How's your budget? asks Simon.
Limited, says Gaius. I'm paying for everything until the money rolls in from the sale of the Sea Salt.
I understand that, says Simon. You could all sleep on the floor in my office. I'm sure no one would notice.
Wonderful, says Gaius.
But it isn't.
The office is small.
And their bicycles are already in it, along with a desk, and the bell frogs.
But it's late. And there's an early start planned for the morning.
Gaius lies down on the floor.
Sweezus places the hessian sack on the desk.
Arthur takes out the knife that he borrowed from the beachside café.
He starts cutting. Scissors would have been better. He scratches the desk.
The scratching noise awakens the bell frogs, in a sexual way.
They start puffing their throats out and making suggestive blurk-blurk sounds.
Gaius sits up.
No chance of sleeping, says Gaius. I may as well learn a bit of Spanish. Saint Roley, come here.
Saint Roley had been quietly reading his poem, Saint Roley The Good.
He stops reading and hops over to where Gaius is sitting.
Cómo estás? says Saint Roley.
He learned it from Lydia.
Where is the what? asks Gaius.
It's not where is the anything, says Saint Roley. It's how are you?
I can't sleep for the mating calls of these bell frogs, says Gaius.
Try that in Spanish, says Saint Roley.
You are a hard task master, says Gaius. All right. I'll try it in Latin, and then you can help me convert it. Errr..... non posse dormire propter sonitum ranarum.
That will do without further changes, says Saint Roley. Any Spanish person would know you were complaining about the noise of the frogs.
Are you certain of that? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Saint Roley. The frogs have stopped calling.
But they are not Spanish, says Gaius.
There you go, says Saint Roley. Even they understand it.
HE can't speak Spanish, says Terence. And the frogs have stopped talking because I poked their fat throats with a pencil.
Sweezus looks into the box, to see if Terence has damaged the bell frogs.
But no, they are simply lying down, trembling.
All thoughts of mating have fled.
How's your budget? asks Simon.
Limited, says Gaius. I'm paying for everything until the money rolls in from the sale of the Sea Salt.
I understand that, says Simon. You could all sleep on the floor in my office. I'm sure no one would notice.
Wonderful, says Gaius.
But it isn't.
The office is small.
And their bicycles are already in it, along with a desk, and the bell frogs.
But it's late. And there's an early start planned for the morning.
Gaius lies down on the floor.
Sweezus places the hessian sack on the desk.
Arthur takes out the knife that he borrowed from the beachside café.
He starts cutting. Scissors would have been better. He scratches the desk.
The scratching noise awakens the bell frogs, in a sexual way.
They start puffing their throats out and making suggestive blurk-blurk sounds.
Gaius sits up.
No chance of sleeping, says Gaius. I may as well learn a bit of Spanish. Saint Roley, come here.
Saint Roley had been quietly reading his poem, Saint Roley The Good.
He stops reading and hops over to where Gaius is sitting.
Cómo estás? says Saint Roley.
He learned it from Lydia.
Where is the what? asks Gaius.
It's not where is the anything, says Saint Roley. It's how are you?
I can't sleep for the mating calls of these bell frogs, says Gaius.
Try that in Spanish, says Saint Roley.
You are a hard task master, says Gaius. All right. I'll try it in Latin, and then you can help me convert it. Errr..... non posse dormire propter sonitum ranarum.
That will do without further changes, says Saint Roley. Any Spanish person would know you were complaining about the noise of the frogs.
Are you certain of that? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Saint Roley. The frogs have stopped calling.
But they are not Spanish, says Gaius.
There you go, says Saint Roley. Even they understand it.
HE can't speak Spanish, says Terence. And the frogs have stopped talking because I poked their fat throats with a pencil.
Sweezus looks into the box, to see if Terence has damaged the bell frogs.
But no, they are simply lying down, trembling.
All thoughts of mating have fled.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
Up Up Up Up
Lydia enters the café.
There's a pencil sticking out of her pocket.
May I borrow the pencil? asks Saint Roley.
Sure, says Lydia. But I do want it back.
This is the secret to keeping a pencil.
Not everyone knows it.
She does.
Saint Roley starts to write down the poem the bell frogs made for him. Saint Roley The Good.
^ ^ ^ ^.
What's that? says Terence looking at the notebook. Up Up Up Up?
Saint Roley looks doubtful.
Help him, Arthur, says Gaius. You're good at this sort of thing.
Are you a poet? asks Simon.
Yes, says Arthur. But I've given it up temporarily to go into business.
You can still help me, says Saint Roley, giving Arthur the pencil.
He whispers the rest of the poem. Arthur writes it down.
Odds are, when it's done, Arthur will pocket the pencil
Now we're all here, says Simon, let's run through our itinerary.
What about Tilly and Buzz? says Lydia.
Who are Tilly and Buzz? asks Gaius.
Two more student team members, says Simon. I've already filled them in. Right, tomorrow we catch an early train to Sydney Central. Then straight to the airport where we board our flight for Los Angeles. Thirteen hours forty minutes. A four hour stop in LA, then we fly on to Houston, a three and half hour flight. Then straight on to Mariscal Sucre International, which takes five hours fifteen minutes. That's us in Quito. Then off to Riobamba by bus. And that's it. Any questions?
Sweezus zones out at Houston. Sounds like a shitload of flying.
Arthur isn't listening at all.
He is writing:
Saint Roley the good
He did not eat us
Although he could.
He shows it to Saint Roley.
Capitals, says Saint Roley. Each word begins with a capital. Could you write it again?
You should've said so before, says Arthur.
He writes it all out again.
Then he pockets the pencil.
Terence glances at the paper.
Up Up Up Up, says Terence. That means you're up yourself.
It doesn't SAY that, says Saint Roley.
No it doesn't, says Sweezus. It's a tribute. It means the frogs thought highly of Saint Roley.
Ha ha. Frogs don't think highly, says Terence. Remember what happened in the overhead locker?
Yes, says Saint Roley. The Growling Grass Frog did a red vomit.
See? says Terence.
Saint Roley sighs.
What's up with Terence?
Perhaps he just needs a new parrot.
There's a pencil sticking out of her pocket.
May I borrow the pencil? asks Saint Roley.
Sure, says Lydia. But I do want it back.
This is the secret to keeping a pencil.
Not everyone knows it.
She does.
Saint Roley starts to write down the poem the bell frogs made for him. Saint Roley The Good.
^ ^ ^ ^.
What's that? says Terence looking at the notebook. Up Up Up Up?
Saint Roley looks doubtful.
Help him, Arthur, says Gaius. You're good at this sort of thing.
Are you a poet? asks Simon.
Yes, says Arthur. But I've given it up temporarily to go into business.
You can still help me, says Saint Roley, giving Arthur the pencil.
He whispers the rest of the poem. Arthur writes it down.
Odds are, when it's done, Arthur will pocket the pencil
Now we're all here, says Simon, let's run through our itinerary.
What about Tilly and Buzz? says Lydia.
Who are Tilly and Buzz? asks Gaius.
Two more student team members, says Simon. I've already filled them in. Right, tomorrow we catch an early train to Sydney Central. Then straight to the airport where we board our flight for Los Angeles. Thirteen hours forty minutes. A four hour stop in LA, then we fly on to Houston, a three and half hour flight. Then straight on to Mariscal Sucre International, which takes five hours fifteen minutes. That's us in Quito. Then off to Riobamba by bus. And that's it. Any questions?
Sweezus zones out at Houston. Sounds like a shitload of flying.
Arthur isn't listening at all.
He is writing:
Saint Roley the good
He did not eat us
Although he could.
He shows it to Saint Roley.
Capitals, says Saint Roley. Each word begins with a capital. Could you write it again?
You should've said so before, says Arthur.
He writes it all out again.
Then he pockets the pencil.
Terence glances at the paper.
Up Up Up Up, says Terence. That means you're up yourself.
It doesn't SAY that, says Saint Roley.
No it doesn't, says Sweezus. It's a tribute. It means the frogs thought highly of Saint Roley.
Ha ha. Frogs don't think highly, says Terence. Remember what happened in the overhead locker?
Yes, says Saint Roley. The Growling Grass Frog did a red vomit.
See? says Terence.
Saint Roley sighs.
What's up with Terence?
Perhaps he just needs a new parrot.
Tuesday, March 27, 2018
All The Credit
Arthur has found the swan's eye.
He holds it up in front of Sweezus.
Opinion? says Arthur.
It should go on the outside, says Terence.
Not your opinion, says Arthur.
Sweezus considers.
Too good, says Sweezus.
That's what I'm thinking, says Arthur. Maybe we should ditch the hessian and just use the lining.
Terence scowls. That was his opinion.
What's this about? asks Simon.
Marketing, says Gaius. The lads are keen to get the optimum packaging for their sea salt.
But isn't that PVC ? asks Simon. It might contaminate the sea salt.
Neither Arthur nor Sweezus has thought of this difficulty.
And they don't want to think of it now.
Saint Roley comes into the café, with a notebook.
Anyone got a pencil?
No one has.
What do you need it for? asks Gaius.
To write down a poem before I forget it, says Saint Roley. A poem about me.
Say it, says Terence.
Saint Roley doesn't like to, in front of his friends and Dr Clulow.
He hesitates.
He's shy, says Terence. I'm not. Here's a poem about me:
Terence is tough
He sinks in the sand
But he comes up again
He rescues a swan
Someone takes it
And someone cuts it up with a knife
The eye is the best part
That's my opinion
But I'm not allowed to say it
Then Arthur says it.
Is that it? asks Gaius. You need to work on the rhyme scheme.
It rhymes with it, says Terence.
Good point little buddy, says Sweezus. But how about this for an ending?
Then Arthur says it
And gets all the credit.
I was just going to say that, says Terence.
He holds it up in front of Sweezus.
Opinion? says Arthur.
It should go on the outside, says Terence.
Not your opinion, says Arthur.
Sweezus considers.
Too good, says Sweezus.
That's what I'm thinking, says Arthur. Maybe we should ditch the hessian and just use the lining.
Terence scowls. That was his opinion.
What's this about? asks Simon.
Marketing, says Gaius. The lads are keen to get the optimum packaging for their sea salt.
But isn't that PVC ? asks Simon. It might contaminate the sea salt.
Neither Arthur nor Sweezus has thought of this difficulty.
And they don't want to think of it now.
Saint Roley comes into the café, with a notebook.
Anyone got a pencil?
No one has.
What do you need it for? asks Gaius.
To write down a poem before I forget it, says Saint Roley. A poem about me.
Say it, says Terence.
Saint Roley doesn't like to, in front of his friends and Dr Clulow.
He hesitates.
He's shy, says Terence. I'm not. Here's a poem about me:
Terence is tough
He sinks in the sand
But he comes up again
He rescues a swan
Someone takes it
And someone cuts it up with a knife
The eye is the best part
That's my opinion
But I'm not allowed to say it
Then Arthur says it.
Is that it? asks Gaius. You need to work on the rhyme scheme.
It rhymes with it, says Terence.
Good point little buddy, says Sweezus. But how about this for an ending?
Then Arthur says it
And gets all the credit.
I was just going to say that, says Terence.
Monday, March 26, 2018
In Search Of An Eye
The Riobamba team is in the library café.
We fly out from Sydney tomorrow, says Simon.
All right if we leave our bikes here? asks Gaius.
Of course, says Simon. You can leave them in my office.
Thank you, says Gaius. Are your bell frogs coming?
No, says Simon. There are restrictions on bringing animals into Ecuador. And we don't need them.
What about Saint Roley? asks Terence.
He has his own passport, says Gaius.
It's a Parrot Passport, says Terence.
Very good, says Simon. So we're all set. We're just taking the basics. We can buy tools when we get there.
Tools? says Sweezus.
Yes, for constructing new habitats says Simon. You and Arthur will be used to that, working with Gaius.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Kind of. Yeah, whatever.
He looks at Arthur.
Arthur appears unconcerned.
Any of you speak Spanish? asks Simon. Donde esta la rana?
It got away, says Terence. Oops!
Far out! says Sweezus. Did you understand that?
NO, says Terence.
What got away? asks Gaius.
Nothing, says Terence.
Sweezus puts two and two together. Years ago, Terence fell off the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, a crazy construction, embellished with exotic carvings and animal images, including yeah, tortoises, chameleons and parrots. Terence would have heard passers-by talking. And Saint Joseph would've cursed him in Spanish. Bastardo! So of course the little bugger knows Spanish. But hey. He doesn't want anyone to know that he knows it. Okay. That's cool.
Where is the frog? says Gaius, who has been slowly translating the Spanish via its roots in the Latin.
Bravo, says Simon. Hopefully we'll be able to use that phrase in Riobamba.
Perhaps in the plural, says Gaius. I look forward to it. So does Arthur.
He says this because Arthur is not paying attention.
Arthur is rifling through a pile of plastic inflatable swan squares, in search of an eye.
We fly out from Sydney tomorrow, says Simon.
All right if we leave our bikes here? asks Gaius.
Of course, says Simon. You can leave them in my office.
Thank you, says Gaius. Are your bell frogs coming?
No, says Simon. There are restrictions on bringing animals into Ecuador. And we don't need them.
What about Saint Roley? asks Terence.
He has his own passport, says Gaius.
It's a Parrot Passport, says Terence.
Very good, says Simon. So we're all set. We're just taking the basics. We can buy tools when we get there.
Tools? says Sweezus.
Yes, for constructing new habitats says Simon. You and Arthur will be used to that, working with Gaius.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Kind of. Yeah, whatever.
He looks at Arthur.
Arthur appears unconcerned.
Any of you speak Spanish? asks Simon. Donde esta la rana?
It got away, says Terence. Oops!
Far out! says Sweezus. Did you understand that?
NO, says Terence.
What got away? asks Gaius.
Nothing, says Terence.
Sweezus puts two and two together. Years ago, Terence fell off the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, a crazy construction, embellished with exotic carvings and animal images, including yeah, tortoises, chameleons and parrots. Terence would have heard passers-by talking. And Saint Joseph would've cursed him in Spanish. Bastardo! So of course the little bugger knows Spanish. But hey. He doesn't want anyone to know that he knows it. Okay. That's cool.
Where is the frog? says Gaius, who has been slowly translating the Spanish via its roots in the Latin.
Bravo, says Simon. Hopefully we'll be able to use that phrase in Riobamba.
Perhaps in the plural, says Gaius. I look forward to it. So does Arthur.
He says this because Arthur is not paying attention.
Arthur is rifling through a pile of plastic inflatable swan squares, in search of an eye.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
A World Containing My Brother
The augmented Riobamba team has gone to the university library café, for a quick lunch.
Saint Roley remains in Simon's office, with the four bell frogs.
His tray of molluscs is almost defrosted.
The bell frogs have finished their mice.
Would any of you care for a slightly chilled mollusc? asks Saint Roley.
We all would, says a green and gold bell frog.
Do help yourselves, says Saint Roley.
One by one they hop out of their box.
They start gobbling the molluscs.
I'm surprised that you like them, says Saint Roley, taking one for himself.
In captivity, says a bell frog, you like what you're given.
I see, says Saint Roley.
We dream of crickets, fruit flies and maggots, says one.
Silkworms, says the second.
Flies, beetles and mealworms, says the third.
Cockroaches, locusts, water snails and earthworms, says the fourth. What do you dream of?
I dream of a world still containing my brother, says Saint Roley. He floated away towards the horizon, off the coast of Brittany.
That is sad, says the fourth bell frog. We ourselves have been ninety percent depleted, and have lost many relatives.
Are you part of the team going to Riobamba? asks Saint Roley.
We don't believe so, says the first frog. No passports.
I have a Parrot Passport, says Saint Roley. They are easy to come by in France.
How urbane you are, says the second frog. Do you speak Spanish?
Molusca, says Saint Roley.
What does that mean? asks the third frog.
Mollusc, says Saint Roley.
The frogs laugh. Herp! Herp! Herp! It's nearly the same!
Let us make him a poem, says the first frog.
No need, says Saint Roley.
But we would like to, says the fourth frog. We admire you, and wish to immortalise you in verse.
Okay, go ahead, says Saint Roley.
Saint Roley waits. The frogs put their heads together.
Eventually the first frog clears his throat and recites:
SAINT ROLEY THE GOOD.
Saint Roley The Good
Did He Eat Us? NO! Although He Could.
We Who Lost Ninety Percent Of Our Brothers
Through Development Schemes.
He Shared With Us His Last Mollusc
And We Shared Our Dreams.
He Taught Us Spanish.
And Then Told Us How
Should We Go To France
We Might Buy Parrot Passports
So We Love Him Now.
We Wish Him Safe Journey,
Saint Roley The Good.
He Did Not Eat Us
Although He Could.
Saint Roley is moved by the tribute.
He hopes to remember it long enough for someone with paper and pencil to write it down.
Saint Roley remains in Simon's office, with the four bell frogs.
His tray of molluscs is almost defrosted.
The bell frogs have finished their mice.
Would any of you care for a slightly chilled mollusc? asks Saint Roley.
We all would, says a green and gold bell frog.
Do help yourselves, says Saint Roley.
One by one they hop out of their box.
They start gobbling the molluscs.
I'm surprised that you like them, says Saint Roley, taking one for himself.
In captivity, says a bell frog, you like what you're given.
I see, says Saint Roley.
We dream of crickets, fruit flies and maggots, says one.
Silkworms, says the second.
Flies, beetles and mealworms, says the third.
Cockroaches, locusts, water snails and earthworms, says the fourth. What do you dream of?
I dream of a world still containing my brother, says Saint Roley. He floated away towards the horizon, off the coast of Brittany.
That is sad, says the fourth bell frog. We ourselves have been ninety percent depleted, and have lost many relatives.
Are you part of the team going to Riobamba? asks Saint Roley.
We don't believe so, says the first frog. No passports.
I have a Parrot Passport, says Saint Roley. They are easy to come by in France.
How urbane you are, says the second frog. Do you speak Spanish?
Molusca, says Saint Roley.
What does that mean? asks the third frog.
Mollusc, says Saint Roley.
The frogs laugh. Herp! Herp! Herp! It's nearly the same!
Let us make him a poem, says the first frog.
No need, says Saint Roley.
But we would like to, says the fourth frog. We admire you, and wish to immortalise you in verse.
Okay, go ahead, says Saint Roley.
Saint Roley waits. The frogs put their heads together.
Eventually the first frog clears his throat and recites:
SAINT ROLEY THE GOOD.
Saint Roley The Good
Did He Eat Us? NO! Although He Could.
We Who Lost Ninety Percent Of Our Brothers
Through Development Schemes.
He Shared With Us His Last Mollusc
And We Shared Our Dreams.
He Taught Us Spanish.
And Then Told Us How
Should We Go To France
We Might Buy Parrot Passports
So We Love Him Now.
We Wish Him Safe Journey,
Saint Roley The Good.
He Did Not Eat Us
Although He Could.
Saint Roley is moved by the tribute.
He hopes to remember it long enough for someone with paper and pencil to write it down.
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Species Sticking Together
Lydia returns from her lecture, to feed the green and gold bell frogs.
She has brought three defrosted dead mice.
Gaius is snoozing, but wakes up when Lydia says loudly:
Oh! One frog's gone missing.
Saint Roley, who had been keeping an eye on the green and gold bell frogs, knows there were four.
He backs away from the box, knowing he'll be the number one suspect if one is thought to be missing.
I only saw four, says Gaius. One may have escaped before we got here.
At last Dr Clulow returns to the office.
Gaius Plinius Secundus, great to see you, says Dr Clulow. I'm a big fan of yours.
Indeed, says Gaius. Likewise, Dr Clulow.
Call me Simon, says Dr Clulow.
This is my companion, Saint Roley, says Gaius, indicating Saint Roley.
He appears to be starving, says Simon. Lydia, could you rustle up some molluscs?
The four bell frogs prick up their ears.
Molluscs. How come he gets molluscs while we have to share three defrosted dead mice?
They say nothing however. At least they weren't eaten by the orange-beaked predator.
The world of academia is tough. Best to keep a low profile.
Thank you, says Saint Roley. I'm glad my earlier restraint will be rewarded.
Restraint? Don't tell me you were tempted to eat my green and gold bell frogs? laughs Simon.
I was, says Saint Roley. But we endangered species should stick together.
If only humans had the same attitude, says Simon.
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. That's a good one.
Lydia comes back with a tray of frozen molluscs.
Behind her are Arthur and Sweezus and Terence, who had been looking for Gaius.
Your friends are here, says Lydia.
Guess what! says Terence.
Terence saw a frog, says Sweezus. In the corridor.
Don't I know you guys? says Simon. Tour de France? Team Condor?
That's us, says Sweezus. So what's happening? Are we going to Ecuador?
I am, says Simon. So is Lydia and two other students. I'd be honoured if Gaius joined us, but really, funding only stretches so far....
We shall be funding ourselves, says Gaius. Arthur and Sweezus have a burgeoning business, selling fortune-telling Sea Salt. No doubt soon the profits will start rolling in.
Fascinating, says Simon. I've just taken a small delivery of pool salt for Riobamba. Must make sure our salts don't get mixed up.
They won't, says Arthur.
If Arthur says they won't, they won't, says Gaius. No one could be more reliable.
She has brought three defrosted dead mice.
Gaius is snoozing, but wakes up when Lydia says loudly:
Oh! One frog's gone missing.
Saint Roley, who had been keeping an eye on the green and gold bell frogs, knows there were four.
He backs away from the box, knowing he'll be the number one suspect if one is thought to be missing.
I only saw four, says Gaius. One may have escaped before we got here.
At last Dr Clulow returns to the office.
Gaius Plinius Secundus, great to see you, says Dr Clulow. I'm a big fan of yours.
Indeed, says Gaius. Likewise, Dr Clulow.
Call me Simon, says Dr Clulow.
This is my companion, Saint Roley, says Gaius, indicating Saint Roley.
He appears to be starving, says Simon. Lydia, could you rustle up some molluscs?
The four bell frogs prick up their ears.
Molluscs. How come he gets molluscs while we have to share three defrosted dead mice?
They say nothing however. At least they weren't eaten by the orange-beaked predator.
The world of academia is tough. Best to keep a low profile.
Thank you, says Saint Roley. I'm glad my earlier restraint will be rewarded.
Restraint? Don't tell me you were tempted to eat my green and gold bell frogs? laughs Simon.
I was, says Saint Roley. But we endangered species should stick together.
If only humans had the same attitude, says Simon.
Ha ha, laughs Gaius. That's a good one.
Lydia comes back with a tray of frozen molluscs.
Behind her are Arthur and Sweezus and Terence, who had been looking for Gaius.
Your friends are here, says Lydia.
Guess what! says Terence.
Terence saw a frog, says Sweezus. In the corridor.
Don't I know you guys? says Simon. Tour de France? Team Condor?
That's us, says Sweezus. So what's happening? Are we going to Ecuador?
I am, says Simon. So is Lydia and two other students. I'd be honoured if Gaius joined us, but really, funding only stretches so far....
We shall be funding ourselves, says Gaius. Arthur and Sweezus have a burgeoning business, selling fortune-telling Sea Salt. No doubt soon the profits will start rolling in.
Fascinating, says Simon. I've just taken a small delivery of pool salt for Riobamba. Must make sure our salts don't get mixed up.
They won't, says Arthur.
If Arthur says they won't, they won't, says Gaius. No one could be more reliable.
Friday, March 23, 2018
Provenance Of The Swan
The last time we saw Terence, he was wading into the sea.
He had spotted a plastic bag floating, and forgotten what usually happens when he wades into the sea.
His little cement legs start sinking in the soft sand of the shallows.
They sink to a certain depth and then stop sinking, due to equalisation of pressures.
And Terence is stuck.
The plastic bag floats away, never to be made into authenticated lining.
Terence calls out to the nearest person.
Help, I'm sinking!
The nearest person turns around.
She had been helping her toddler onto an inflatable swan. She lifts the toddler off again.
She turns and waves to a lifeguard. The lifeguard runs down to where Terence is up to his knees in the sand and.... squelch...... yanks him out safely.
Wah! cries the toddler.
It should be me who says that, says Terence.
But the toddler is moaning because Swan has floated away.
I'll get it, says the lifeguard. She wades out strongly.
She retrieves the inflatable swan and returns it to the mother.
These are not sensible beach toys, says the lifeguard. They float off too easily. Imagine if your toddler had been on it.
Yes, says the mother. I was imagining it. We don't want this swan anymore, do we Olly?
Olly does want it.
Wah!
We'll go and buy an icecream, says Olly's mother. You can choose it.
Olly brightens. Olly goes off with her mother.
Now what am I supposed to do with this inflatable swan? asks the lifeguard.
I'll have it, says Terence. Is it made of plastic?
I guess so, says the life guard. But I can't let you have it. It's dangerous.
Not for me, says Terence.
You're probably right, says the lifeguard, but I can't risk it.
I know! says Terence. Let the air out. Then I can have it.
No, says lifeguard. It goes in the bin.
What's up? says Sweezus who has finished his third beer and discovered that Terence is missing, and come down to find him in the shallows negotiating the fate of an inflatable swan with a lifeguard.
It's plastic, says Terence. I retrieved it out of the sea.
Actually I did, says the life guard.
Cool. Can we have it? asks Sweezus. We recycle found sea plastic as lining for our new product, Prognosticating Sea Salt.
That sounds ethical, says the life guard. Go ahead, take it.
Thanks, says Sweezus. We're gonna stamp each piece of lining with its provenance. Like.... where it was found and maybe who found it.
Well, my name's Céline, says the lifeguard.
Sweezus deflates the swan and takes it back to the café where Arthur is waiting.
Will Arthur approve it? Or will he think it's not the right sort of plastic?
Because frankly it isn't.
But no, it's okay by Arthur. He borrows a knife from a tin on the counter and starts cutting the swan into pieces.
Watched with chagrin by Olly, as she eats her vanilla ice cream.
He had spotted a plastic bag floating, and forgotten what usually happens when he wades into the sea.
His little cement legs start sinking in the soft sand of the shallows.
They sink to a certain depth and then stop sinking, due to equalisation of pressures.
And Terence is stuck.
The plastic bag floats away, never to be made into authenticated lining.
Terence calls out to the nearest person.
Help, I'm sinking!
The nearest person turns around.
She had been helping her toddler onto an inflatable swan. She lifts the toddler off again.
She turns and waves to a lifeguard. The lifeguard runs down to where Terence is up to his knees in the sand and.... squelch...... yanks him out safely.
Wah! cries the toddler.
It should be me who says that, says Terence.
But the toddler is moaning because Swan has floated away.
I'll get it, says the lifeguard. She wades out strongly.
She retrieves the inflatable swan and returns it to the mother.
These are not sensible beach toys, says the lifeguard. They float off too easily. Imagine if your toddler had been on it.
Yes, says the mother. I was imagining it. We don't want this swan anymore, do we Olly?
Olly does want it.
Wah!
We'll go and buy an icecream, says Olly's mother. You can choose it.
Olly brightens. Olly goes off with her mother.
Now what am I supposed to do with this inflatable swan? asks the lifeguard.
I'll have it, says Terence. Is it made of plastic?
I guess so, says the life guard. But I can't let you have it. It's dangerous.
Not for me, says Terence.
You're probably right, says the lifeguard, but I can't risk it.
I know! says Terence. Let the air out. Then I can have it.
No, says lifeguard. It goes in the bin.
What's up? says Sweezus who has finished his third beer and discovered that Terence is missing, and come down to find him in the shallows negotiating the fate of an inflatable swan with a lifeguard.
It's plastic, says Terence. I retrieved it out of the sea.
Actually I did, says the life guard.
Cool. Can we have it? asks Sweezus. We recycle found sea plastic as lining for our new product, Prognosticating Sea Salt.
That sounds ethical, says the life guard. Go ahead, take it.
Thanks, says Sweezus. We're gonna stamp each piece of lining with its provenance. Like.... where it was found and maybe who found it.
Well, my name's Céline, says the lifeguard.
Sweezus deflates the swan and takes it back to the café where Arthur is waiting.
Will Arthur approve it? Or will he think it's not the right sort of plastic?
Because frankly it isn't.
But no, it's okay by Arthur. He borrows a knife from a tin on the counter and starts cutting the swan into pieces.
Watched with chagrin by Olly, as she eats her vanilla ice cream.
Thursday, March 22, 2018
I Would Prefer A Mollusc
Gaius arrives at the University of Newcastle with Saint Roley.
A student strolls by.
Where might I find the Ecology Department? asks Gaius.
You want the School of Environmental and Life Sciences, says the student. I'm going there now.
How very fortunate, says Gaius. Do you know Dr Clulow?
I'm in his team, says the student. We're going to Ecuador to help construct the habitat for the endangered Riobamba.
That's a type of frog, adds the student.
Thank you. I know a great deal about frogs, says Gaius.
Oh, sorry, says the student. I suppose you're a professor or something?
No, says Gaius. Not a professor. But I write on many subjects. You may have read my Natural History. But possibly you haven't. There is an abundance of literature on the subject. In my day there was very little.....
Saint Roley is feeling left out of the conversation.
He decides to butt in.
Until recently we had our own Growling Grass Frog, says Saint Roley. But it ate a red-back spider and died.
The student is surprised.
You speak! says the student.
I do, says Saint Roley.
I should have introduced you, says Gaius. This is Saint Roley. An oystercatcher. He was born in Saint Malo.
I'm Lydia, says the student. And you?
Gaius Plinius Secundus, says Gaius.
Crumbs, says Lydia. Are you Spanish?
Ha ha no! says Gaius. A Roman.
Because we need people on the team that speak Spanish, says Lydia. I'm doing a crash course.
Saint Roley has a smattering of Spanish, says Gaius. Try him.
Cómo estás? says Lydia.
I would prefer a mollusc, says Saint Roley.
Was that the answer? asks Lydia. I asked how you were?
I didn't know the Spanish for mollusc, says Saint Roley.
Nor do I, says Lydia. She takes out her phone. Easy. Molusca.
They have now arrived at the School of Environmental and Life Sciences.
Dr Clulow races out through the door. He stops when he sees Gaius.
Ah! Do go in! I'm just chasing up a delivery. Look after him, Lydia.
He dashes off to chase up his delivery.
He seemed to know me, says Gaius. That's promising.
Wait here in the office, says Lydia. With the green and gold bell frogs.
She goes out, because she's late for a lecture and it's not really her job to look after anyone unless it's a bell frog.
Gaius looks into the box containing the green and gold bell frogs.
There are four of them, happily reclining.
No signs of chitridiomycosis. Must have had the weak pool salt treatment.
Gaius sits down. He leans back and dozes off in a reverie. It has been a long morning.
Zzz.
Saint Roley hops over to the box of fat green and gold bell frogs.
They look up at his orange beak warily.
A student strolls by.
Where might I find the Ecology Department? asks Gaius.
You want the School of Environmental and Life Sciences, says the student. I'm going there now.
How very fortunate, says Gaius. Do you know Dr Clulow?
I'm in his team, says the student. We're going to Ecuador to help construct the habitat for the endangered Riobamba.
That's a type of frog, adds the student.
Thank you. I know a great deal about frogs, says Gaius.
Oh, sorry, says the student. I suppose you're a professor or something?
No, says Gaius. Not a professor. But I write on many subjects. You may have read my Natural History. But possibly you haven't. There is an abundance of literature on the subject. In my day there was very little.....
Saint Roley is feeling left out of the conversation.
He decides to butt in.
Until recently we had our own Growling Grass Frog, says Saint Roley. But it ate a red-back spider and died.
The student is surprised.
You speak! says the student.
I do, says Saint Roley.
I should have introduced you, says Gaius. This is Saint Roley. An oystercatcher. He was born in Saint Malo.
I'm Lydia, says the student. And you?
Gaius Plinius Secundus, says Gaius.
Crumbs, says Lydia. Are you Spanish?
Ha ha no! says Gaius. A Roman.
Because we need people on the team that speak Spanish, says Lydia. I'm doing a crash course.
Saint Roley has a smattering of Spanish, says Gaius. Try him.
Cómo estás? says Lydia.
I would prefer a mollusc, says Saint Roley.
Was that the answer? asks Lydia. I asked how you were?
I didn't know the Spanish for mollusc, says Saint Roley.
Nor do I, says Lydia. She takes out her phone. Easy. Molusca.
They have now arrived at the School of Environmental and Life Sciences.
Dr Clulow races out through the door. He stops when he sees Gaius.
Ah! Do go in! I'm just chasing up a delivery. Look after him, Lydia.
He dashes off to chase up his delivery.
He seemed to know me, says Gaius. That's promising.
Wait here in the office, says Lydia. With the green and gold bell frogs.
She goes out, because she's late for a lecture and it's not really her job to look after anyone unless it's a bell frog.
Gaius looks into the box containing the green and gold bell frogs.
There are four of them, happily reclining.
No signs of chitridiomycosis. Must have had the weak pool salt treatment.
Gaius sits down. He leans back and dozes off in a reverie. It has been a long morning.
Zzz.
Saint Roley hops over to the box of fat green and gold bell frogs.
They look up at his orange beak warily.
Wednesday, March 21, 2018
Saving Plastic
Arthur has had his idea.
He has sped up to ride beside Sweezus.
The hessian bags will need lining, says Arthur. Otherwise the salt will fall out.
How come? says Sweezus.
Through the open weave, says Arthur. I saw some fall out just now.
But the Sea Salt's in a plastic bag, says Sweezus. In my back pack.
Not all of it, says Arthur. Remember what happened in the plane?
Yeah, says Sweezus. You ate half my muffin.
Then he remembers the rest of it. How the flight attendant never saw her prognostication. And why.
Yep, I remember, says Sweezus. So, lining, you reckon?
Yes, says Arthur. My idea is... what to use for the lining.
What? says Sweezus.
It's cheap, says Arthur, and ecologically responsible.
Dickhead, says Sweezus. Just tell me.
Plastic retrieved from the sea, says Arthur. Re-used as lining.
Sweezus likes it.
Cool! says Sweezus. Each piece could be stamped as authentic. Like, with where it came from. Dudes that buy it'll know they're doing good for the planet.
Like insurance, says Arthur. In case the Sea Salt doesn't work. At least they get something.
You're a marketing genius, says Sweezus.
Arthur is beginning to think that he is.
Hear that? says Terence.
But Saint Roley didn't hear that. He is up ahead with Gaius, perched on his back pannier.
Almost there, says Gaius. Now where is this University?
He stops at the side of the road.
Sweezus and Arthur catch up.
Gaius is tapping his smart phone to call up a map.
That way, says Gaius. He points towards a built up part of the city.
You go ahead, says Sweezus. We'll meet you there in a couple of hours. Just gotta do something.
Oh. All right, says Gaius. Perhaps it's for the best. I shall find Dr Clulow and see how the land lies. Meet us in the Ecology Department.
He cycles off with Saint Roley in the direction of the Uni.
Sweezus and Arthur head for the beach.
It doesn't take long to get there.
They decide to have a beer at a beachside café before starting the hard work of looking for prototype plastic.
They are on their third, when Terence decides to go down to the beach by himself and start looking.
He sees a plastic bag floating.
There's one! He wades into the sea.
He has sped up to ride beside Sweezus.
The hessian bags will need lining, says Arthur. Otherwise the salt will fall out.
How come? says Sweezus.
Through the open weave, says Arthur. I saw some fall out just now.
But the Sea Salt's in a plastic bag, says Sweezus. In my back pack.
Not all of it, says Arthur. Remember what happened in the plane?
Yeah, says Sweezus. You ate half my muffin.
Then he remembers the rest of it. How the flight attendant never saw her prognostication. And why.
Yep, I remember, says Sweezus. So, lining, you reckon?
Yes, says Arthur. My idea is... what to use for the lining.
What? says Sweezus.
It's cheap, says Arthur, and ecologically responsible.
Dickhead, says Sweezus. Just tell me.
Plastic retrieved from the sea, says Arthur. Re-used as lining.
Sweezus likes it.
Cool! says Sweezus. Each piece could be stamped as authentic. Like, with where it came from. Dudes that buy it'll know they're doing good for the planet.
Like insurance, says Arthur. In case the Sea Salt doesn't work. At least they get something.
You're a marketing genius, says Sweezus.
Arthur is beginning to think that he is.
Hear that? says Terence.
But Saint Roley didn't hear that. He is up ahead with Gaius, perched on his back pannier.
Almost there, says Gaius. Now where is this University?
He stops at the side of the road.
Sweezus and Arthur catch up.
Gaius is tapping his smart phone to call up a map.
That way, says Gaius. He points towards a built up part of the city.
You go ahead, says Sweezus. We'll meet you there in a couple of hours. Just gotta do something.
Oh. All right, says Gaius. Perhaps it's for the best. I shall find Dr Clulow and see how the land lies. Meet us in the Ecology Department.
He cycles off with Saint Roley in the direction of the Uni.
Sweezus and Arthur head for the beach.
It doesn't take long to get there.
They decide to have a beer at a beachside café before starting the hard work of looking for prototype plastic.
They are on their third, when Terence decides to go down to the beach by himself and start looking.
He sees a plastic bag floating.
There's one! He wades into the sea.
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
The Zeitgeist
Would anyone have understood the message, had it been noticed?
^ ^ ^
There were not enough grains of sea salt.
Ideally it would have looked more like this
^ ^ ^
. . .
Here the dots would represent the grains of sea salt that fell through the open weave of the hessian sacking onto the Central Coast Highway.
Or a simple L N would suffice. L for lining. N for necessity.
But what does it matter? The sea salt lies on the road for an instant.
The wind blows it away.
..........
Sweezus is level with Gaius.
Terence can now see Saint Roley, if he looks left.
You don't know Spanish, says Terence.
Did you get your own bike? says Saint Roley.
No, says Terence. You said I wouldn't.
And I was right, says Saint Roley.
So what, says Terence.
Just being helpful, says Saint Roley.
Terence doesn't think that Saint Roley is being helpful.
He pats the hessian again, hoping there might be more spiders concealed in the folds.
Then he would catch one, and train it to speak Spanish. If it was good enough, it might be his new parrot. It would be better than Saint Roley.
Time passes in sweet contemplation of this.
Arthur is cycling behind Sweezus, watching idly.
This time, when Terence pats the hessian, Arthur sees flakes of sea salt fall out.
It will only be a matter of time before Arthur comes up with L N.
Or N L, which is the same thing, the necessity for adequate lining.
Thus works the zeitgeist.
It happens.
Arthur has an idea.
^ ^ ^
There were not enough grains of sea salt.
Ideally it would have looked more like this
^ ^ ^
. . .
Here the dots would represent the grains of sea salt that fell through the open weave of the hessian sacking onto the Central Coast Highway.
Or a simple L N would suffice. L for lining. N for necessity.
But what does it matter? The sea salt lies on the road for an instant.
The wind blows it away.
..........
Sweezus is level with Gaius.
Terence can now see Saint Roley, if he looks left.
You don't know Spanish, says Terence.
Did you get your own bike? says Saint Roley.
No, says Terence. You said I wouldn't.
And I was right, says Saint Roley.
So what, says Terence.
Just being helpful, says Saint Roley.
Terence doesn't think that Saint Roley is being helpful.
He pats the hessian again, hoping there might be more spiders concealed in the folds.
Then he would catch one, and train it to speak Spanish. If it was good enough, it might be his new parrot. It would be better than Saint Roley.
Time passes in sweet contemplation of this.
Arthur is cycling behind Sweezus, watching idly.
This time, when Terence pats the hessian, Arthur sees flakes of sea salt fall out.
It will only be a matter of time before Arthur comes up with L N.
Or N L, which is the same thing, the necessity for adequate lining.
Thus works the zeitgeist.
It happens.
Arthur has an idea.
Monday, March 19, 2018
The Unseen Message
The plane has landed.
The flight attendant has been taken away, to get her spider bite seen to.
The Growling Grass Frog has been disposed of.
The hessian sack has escaped being placed in the bag labelled Dangerous Substances.
Gaius, Arthur and Sweezus are on the train to Redfern, to pick up three bikes.
Gaius contemplates the hole in his team, now it is frogless.
I blame myself, says Gaius. I should have fed him. He was invaluable.
You can always get another one, says Arthur.
That frog had the gift of speech, says Gaius. He would have been useful in Riobamba.
Only if he could speak Spanish, says Sweezus. Could he speak Spanish?
We'll never know, says Gaius.
Saint Roley looks at Terence, remembering something.
Where was your palace? asks Saint Roley.
Barcelona, says Terence.
Why don't you remind Gaius, says Saint Roley.
I will if I get my own bike, says Terence.
You won't get it, says Saint Roley.
Saint Roley is right.
They get off at Redfern and hire three touring bikes from Omafiets Dutch Bicycles.
Each bike comes with rear panniers, helmet, lock, pump and spare tube.
They set off towards Manly, Terence on Sweezus's back pannier, with the hessian.
He hates it because all he can see is Sweezus's boardshorts moving up and down or if he turns his head left he can see Arthur's knees moving and if he turns right he can't see anything but he can hear Gaius talking to Saint Roley and Saint Roley is pretending that he knows a few words of Spanish.
Adios amigos, says Saint Roley.
Not sure that remark will be well received by the endangered Riobamba marsupial frogs, says Gaius.
They take the Palm Beach ferry to Wagstaff and head on towards Terrigal.
Be good if we could stop, mutters Sweezus.
Si, says Saint Roley. Pero non podemus.
Terence pats the hessian sack which is folded beneath him, to prevent his bum cracking.
A few grains of sea salt fall onto the Central Coast Highway forming three symbols.
^ ^ ^
A message about the importance of using proper packaging.
The flight attendant has been taken away, to get her spider bite seen to.
The Growling Grass Frog has been disposed of.
The hessian sack has escaped being placed in the bag labelled Dangerous Substances.
Gaius, Arthur and Sweezus are on the train to Redfern, to pick up three bikes.
Gaius contemplates the hole in his team, now it is frogless.
I blame myself, says Gaius. I should have fed him. He was invaluable.
You can always get another one, says Arthur.
That frog had the gift of speech, says Gaius. He would have been useful in Riobamba.
Only if he could speak Spanish, says Sweezus. Could he speak Spanish?
We'll never know, says Gaius.
Saint Roley looks at Terence, remembering something.
Where was your palace? asks Saint Roley.
Barcelona, says Terence.
Why don't you remind Gaius, says Saint Roley.
I will if I get my own bike, says Terence.
You won't get it, says Saint Roley.
Saint Roley is right.
They get off at Redfern and hire three touring bikes from Omafiets Dutch Bicycles.
Each bike comes with rear panniers, helmet, lock, pump and spare tube.
They set off towards Manly, Terence on Sweezus's back pannier, with the hessian.
He hates it because all he can see is Sweezus's boardshorts moving up and down or if he turns his head left he can see Arthur's knees moving and if he turns right he can't see anything but he can hear Gaius talking to Saint Roley and Saint Roley is pretending that he knows a few words of Spanish.
Adios amigos, says Saint Roley.
Not sure that remark will be well received by the endangered Riobamba marsupial frogs, says Gaius.
They take the Palm Beach ferry to Wagstaff and head on towards Terrigal.
Be good if we could stop, mutters Sweezus.
Si, says Saint Roley. Pero non podemus.
Terence pats the hessian sack which is folded beneath him, to prevent his bum cracking.
A few grains of sea salt fall onto the Central Coast Highway forming three symbols.
^ ^ ^
A message about the importance of using proper packaging.
Sunday, March 18, 2018
Connoisseur of Vomit
Objects have fallen from an overhead locker.
The flight attendant runs up.
She sees Terence, a hessian sack, an inert frog, two thin legs, and lumps of red vomit.
Whose are these? asks the flight attendant.
Ours, says Gaius. I opened the locker on hearing a knocking sound.
Oh! says the flight attendant. An infant! What was he doing in the overhead locker?
Yes, what was I doing? says Terence. I should have my own seat.
And you will, says the flight attendant. Thank goodness you're not hurt. But this is a dead frog.
Let me see it, says Gaius.
He examines the Growling Grass Frog, and the vomit.
This is tell-tale vomit, says Gaius.
Sweezus looks at the vomit. He has seen plenty worse. It's small vomit.
Put two and two together, says Gaius.
Arthur is a connoisseur of vomit.
The frog's eaten a red-back, says Arthur.
When? asks the flight attendant.
The answer is important for passenger safety.
This morning, says Sweezus. In the shed. When I was looking for hessian.
As for the hessian, says the flight attendant, I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate it. There may be more spiders. And I'll dispose of the frog. Don't touch it. I'll get some gloves.
What does that mean, dispose of? asks Terence.
She returns before anyone can think of a comforting answer.
Right, says the flight attendant. Stand back.
She reaches down with a rubber-gloved hand to pick up the dead Growling Grass Frog.
She drops him into a plastic bag full of passenger rubbish.
Goes away. Comes back with larger bag, marked Dangerous Substances.
We really need this hessian, says Sweezus. Can we have it back when we get to Sydney?
You'll need to request it in writing, says the flight attendant. Listing your reasons.
It's prototype hessian for marketing purposes, says Arthur. We're cutting it into small bags and stamping each bag with words.
What words? asks the flight attendant.
Prognosticating Sea Salt, says Arthur.
No kidding! says the flight attendant. Is that a thing now?
It's a totally new thing, says Sweezus.
Wow! says the flight attendant. Have you got any on you?
Yep, says Sweezus. Want to try some?
She does.
He gives her what amounts to half a teaspoonful.
What do I do?
Scatter it, says Sweezus, and see what it tells you.
She scatters it on the hessian bag.
It disappears through the loose weave of the sacking.
A lesson for later.
You can't blame the Sea Salt. It tried.
B for bite of a red-back spider.
Ouch-Dammit! cries the flight attendant.
The flight attendant runs up.
She sees Terence, a hessian sack, an inert frog, two thin legs, and lumps of red vomit.
Whose are these? asks the flight attendant.
Ours, says Gaius. I opened the locker on hearing a knocking sound.
Oh! says the flight attendant. An infant! What was he doing in the overhead locker?
Yes, what was I doing? says Terence. I should have my own seat.
And you will, says the flight attendant. Thank goodness you're not hurt. But this is a dead frog.
Let me see it, says Gaius.
He examines the Growling Grass Frog, and the vomit.
This is tell-tale vomit, says Gaius.
Sweezus looks at the vomit. He has seen plenty worse. It's small vomit.
Put two and two together, says Gaius.
Arthur is a connoisseur of vomit.
The frog's eaten a red-back, says Arthur.
When? asks the flight attendant.
The answer is important for passenger safety.
This morning, says Sweezus. In the shed. When I was looking for hessian.
As for the hessian, says the flight attendant, I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate it. There may be more spiders. And I'll dispose of the frog. Don't touch it. I'll get some gloves.
What does that mean, dispose of? asks Terence.
She returns before anyone can think of a comforting answer.
Right, says the flight attendant. Stand back.
She reaches down with a rubber-gloved hand to pick up the dead Growling Grass Frog.
She drops him into a plastic bag full of passenger rubbish.
Goes away. Comes back with larger bag, marked Dangerous Substances.
We really need this hessian, says Sweezus. Can we have it back when we get to Sydney?
You'll need to request it in writing, says the flight attendant. Listing your reasons.
It's prototype hessian for marketing purposes, says Arthur. We're cutting it into small bags and stamping each bag with words.
What words? asks the flight attendant.
Prognosticating Sea Salt, says Arthur.
No kidding! says the flight attendant. Is that a thing now?
It's a totally new thing, says Sweezus.
Wow! says the flight attendant. Have you got any on you?
Yep, says Sweezus. Want to try some?
She does.
He gives her what amounts to half a teaspoonful.
What do I do?
Scatter it, says Sweezus, and see what it tells you.
She scatters it on the hessian bag.
It disappears through the loose weave of the sacking.
A lesson for later.
You can't blame the Sea Salt. It tried.
B for bite of a red-back spider.
Ouch-Dammit! cries the flight attendant.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
Spiders On a Plane
In the shed, red-back spiders lurk in dark places.
They would not call it lurking, but living the good life, in a shed.
Sweezus steps into the shed. Checks out the corners. Picks up an old hessian sack.
A few red-backs scatter. The Growling Grass Frog has followed Sweezus in hopes of a dinner.
Plong! He leaps and lands on a red-back. Squeerrsh!
He eats it. It tastes horrible.
He resolves not to try another.
Sweezus examines the sack.
It is dirty.
He carries it inside.
Needs a wash, says Sweezus. We got time?
No, says Gaius. We need to get to the airport as soon as possible.
Okay, says Sweezus. I'll have to bring it as is.
He stuffs it into his back pack.
Did you check it for spiders? asks Gaius.
Nah, says Sweezus. There weren't any.
.......
It's not fair, says Terence.
It's not, agrees Saint Roley. But life is not always fair.
Blurk! says the Growling Grass Frog, sicking up two spider legs and a red portion of abdomen.
Now it's WORSE! says Terence.
They are in the overhead locker, because Arthur only booked three tickets.
........
Sydney and then what? says Sweezus, chewing his Jetstar muffin.
Bicycles, says Gaius. It's only one hundred and sixty three kilometres to Newcastle.
Thought we were in a hurry, says Sweezus.
We can do it in four hours, says Gaius. And it's cheaper than flying.
Yeah? says Sweezus, looking at Arthur.
Arthur is sleeping.
Sweezus elbows Arthur.
Arthur wakes up.
You've got a muffin, says Arthur.
Did you want one? says Sweezus. Have half of mine.
Arthur takes half a muffin.
Sweezus decides not to ask him whether flying to Newcastle would have been more expensive.
What's the point now?
Bang bang!
A loud knocking sound comes from the overhead locker.
Gaius stands up, because he has the aisle seat. He opens the locker.
A hessian sack falls out, followed by a dead frog, and Terence.
They would not call it lurking, but living the good life, in a shed.
Sweezus steps into the shed. Checks out the corners. Picks up an old hessian sack.
A few red-backs scatter. The Growling Grass Frog has followed Sweezus in hopes of a dinner.
Plong! He leaps and lands on a red-back. Squeerrsh!
He eats it. It tastes horrible.
He resolves not to try another.
Sweezus examines the sack.
It is dirty.
He carries it inside.
Needs a wash, says Sweezus. We got time?
No, says Gaius. We need to get to the airport as soon as possible.
Okay, says Sweezus. I'll have to bring it as is.
He stuffs it into his back pack.
Did you check it for spiders? asks Gaius.
Nah, says Sweezus. There weren't any.
.......
It's not fair, says Terence.
It's not, agrees Saint Roley. But life is not always fair.
Blurk! says the Growling Grass Frog, sicking up two spider legs and a red portion of abdomen.
Now it's WORSE! says Terence.
They are in the overhead locker, because Arthur only booked three tickets.
........
Sydney and then what? says Sweezus, chewing his Jetstar muffin.
Bicycles, says Gaius. It's only one hundred and sixty three kilometres to Newcastle.
Thought we were in a hurry, says Sweezus.
We can do it in four hours, says Gaius. And it's cheaper than flying.
Yeah? says Sweezus, looking at Arthur.
Arthur is sleeping.
Sweezus elbows Arthur.
Arthur wakes up.
You've got a muffin, says Arthur.
Did you want one? says Sweezus. Have half of mine.
Arthur takes half a muffin.
Sweezus decides not to ask him whether flying to Newcastle would have been more expensive.
What's the point now?
Bang bang!
A loud knocking sound comes from the overhead locker.
Gaius stands up, because he has the aisle seat. He opens the locker.
A hessian sack falls out, followed by a dead frog, and Terence.
Friday, March 16, 2018
Sweet Oblivion
It's dark in the compost bin.
This is the end of me, says the Red Parrot Potato. No hope of renewal.
The rosemary is pungent but silent.
The vine cuttings have already shut down.
The gai choi speaks, although it is wilting:
Ni yao bu yao gen wo tiaowu?
Chinese!
What could it be saying?
The Red Parrot Potato does not know Chinese.
With his last brain sparks he imagines what it might be, based on their mutual circumstances.
To be compost is noble?
Yesss, sighs the Red Parrot Potato, exhaling his last noxious fumes.
The gai choi trembles. Her dying leaves stretch forth to embrace the Red Parrot Potato.
He feels it. Ahh! A lovely tickle.
What does it matter that he did not know she was asking: Would you like to dance with me?
Which is even more beautiful.
Ai!
Let's go back inside.
Arthur and Sweezus get off the bus and cross the road to Gaius's house.
They enter.
Gaius is packing.
Terence runs up to Sweezus.
My potato DIED!
Bad luck, little buddy, says Sweezus. Did you plant it? It might have sprouted.
It was cooked, says Gaius. It would never have sprouted. It's in the green bin. Arthur, I need you to book our flights to Sydney. Pick the cheapest.
Okay, says Arthur. Give me your credit card.
Arthur can't be bothered to do any research. He books tickets for Gaius, himself and Sweezus.
Done, says Arthur.
What's the damage? asks Gaius.
Seven hundred, says Arthur.
Astonishing, says Gaius. You boys can pay me back later.
Yeah, says Sweezus. When our profits come in. You got any hessian you don't want?
Look in the shed, says Gaius. But watch out for red-backs!
Red-backs! The Growling Grass Frog hops out to the shed behind Sweezus.
The red-backs don't know what's coming.
Ai-ee!
This is the end of me, says the Red Parrot Potato. No hope of renewal.
The rosemary is pungent but silent.
The vine cuttings have already shut down.
The gai choi speaks, although it is wilting:
Ni yao bu yao gen wo tiaowu?
Chinese!
What could it be saying?
The Red Parrot Potato does not know Chinese.
With his last brain sparks he imagines what it might be, based on their mutual circumstances.
To be compost is noble?
Yesss, sighs the Red Parrot Potato, exhaling his last noxious fumes.
The gai choi trembles. Her dying leaves stretch forth to embrace the Red Parrot Potato.
He feels it. Ahh! A lovely tickle.
What does it matter that he did not know she was asking: Would you like to dance with me?
Which is even more beautiful.
Ai!
Let's go back inside.
Arthur and Sweezus get off the bus and cross the road to Gaius's house.
They enter.
Gaius is packing.
Terence runs up to Sweezus.
My potato DIED!
Bad luck, little buddy, says Sweezus. Did you plant it? It might have sprouted.
It was cooked, says Gaius. It would never have sprouted. It's in the green bin. Arthur, I need you to book our flights to Sydney. Pick the cheapest.
Okay, says Arthur. Give me your credit card.
Arthur can't be bothered to do any research. He books tickets for Gaius, himself and Sweezus.
Done, says Arthur.
What's the damage? asks Gaius.
Seven hundred, says Arthur.
Astonishing, says Gaius. You boys can pay me back later.
Yeah, says Sweezus. When our profits come in. You got any hessian you don't want?
Look in the shed, says Gaius. But watch out for red-backs!
Red-backs! The Growling Grass Frog hops out to the shed behind Sweezus.
The red-backs don't know what's coming.
Ai-ee!
Thursday, March 15, 2018
The Future Is Compost
Gaius opens his front door. Faint music floats through the corridor.
Go in, says Gaius, to the Growling Grass Frog and Saint Roley.
They go in.
Gaius turns back to check his mail box.
Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog reach the kitchen.
TERENCE! cries Kobo. Turn that TV off.
The music continues.
Gaius comes in.
Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, says Gaius, sorting his mail. And one free pen.
Right, says Gaius. Newcastle.
Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog follow the music.
Terence is watching TV.
Beside him, on a low table, is a bowl, from which a sour smell is coming.
The Growling Grass Frog hops over.
He is so hungry. Perhaps it is food.
He pokes it. May I try some?
NOO! cries Terence. It's my Red Parrot Potato!
Alas. How the mighty are fallen. The Red Parrot Potato, star of Candide but a few nights ago, is a black slime ball. His red feathers droop over the bowl. His peduncles have dropped out and dried up.
Saint Roley looks at Terence. Never mind. It will soon be Easter.
Wah! cries Terence. Something bad always happens!
What's done is done, says Saint Roley. Remember my brother. I have recently learned that he may have undergone a renewal.
(Wishful thinking. But there you are. That's how the mind works).
The Red Parrot Potato doesn't want a renewal.
He would rather be out of the story.
Gaius comes in.
Terence, what are you doing here? asks Gaius.
Watching Baby Jake, says Terence. He's a magic baby. He's on a jungle adventure.
And what's this! cries Gaius. That old potato!
He picks up the bowl, and heads to the bin in the kitchen.
Not here, please, says Kobo.
Gaius takes the bowl outside and scrapes the potato, red feathers and peduncles into the green bin.
Red Parrot Potato lies amongst the dead rosemary branches, vine cuttings and unwanted gai choi.
The future is compost.
Baby Jake is finished. Terence runs into the kitchen.
The bowl is high up on the counter. He can't see what's in it.
Now, says Gaius. Flights to Newcastle. He taps on his phone.
Titan's testicles! says Gaius. That's expensive. I'll try Sydney. Hmm. That's still expensive. I'll get Arthur to book it. Where IS Arthur?
Arthur and Sweezus have delivered Margaret's car back to Margaret.
Now they have no transport.
In the city, they wait for a bus.
A bus comes.
They board the bus.
Arthur explains to the driver that they have no money.
Who would not believe Arthur?
The driver says, Okay, no worries. Get on.
Go in, says Gaius, to the Growling Grass Frog and Saint Roley.
They go in.
Gaius turns back to check his mail box.
Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog reach the kitchen.
TERENCE! cries Kobo. Turn that TV off.
The music continues.
Gaius comes in.
Rubbish, rubbish, rubbish, says Gaius, sorting his mail. And one free pen.
Right, says Gaius. Newcastle.
Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog follow the music.
Terence is watching TV.
Beside him, on a low table, is a bowl, from which a sour smell is coming.
The Growling Grass Frog hops over.
He is so hungry. Perhaps it is food.
He pokes it. May I try some?
NOO! cries Terence. It's my Red Parrot Potato!
Alas. How the mighty are fallen. The Red Parrot Potato, star of Candide but a few nights ago, is a black slime ball. His red feathers droop over the bowl. His peduncles have dropped out and dried up.
Saint Roley looks at Terence. Never mind. It will soon be Easter.
Wah! cries Terence. Something bad always happens!
What's done is done, says Saint Roley. Remember my brother. I have recently learned that he may have undergone a renewal.
(Wishful thinking. But there you are. That's how the mind works).
The Red Parrot Potato doesn't want a renewal.
He would rather be out of the story.
Gaius comes in.
Terence, what are you doing here? asks Gaius.
Watching Baby Jake, says Terence. He's a magic baby. He's on a jungle adventure.
And what's this! cries Gaius. That old potato!
He picks up the bowl, and heads to the bin in the kitchen.
Not here, please, says Kobo.
Gaius takes the bowl outside and scrapes the potato, red feathers and peduncles into the green bin.
Red Parrot Potato lies amongst the dead rosemary branches, vine cuttings and unwanted gai choi.
The future is compost.
Baby Jake is finished. Terence runs into the kitchen.
The bowl is high up on the counter. He can't see what's in it.
Now, says Gaius. Flights to Newcastle. He taps on his phone.
Titan's testicles! says Gaius. That's expensive. I'll try Sydney. Hmm. That's still expensive. I'll get Arthur to book it. Where IS Arthur?
Arthur and Sweezus have delivered Margaret's car back to Margaret.
Now they have no transport.
In the city, they wait for a bus.
A bus comes.
They board the bus.
Arthur explains to the driver that they have no money.
Who would not believe Arthur?
The driver says, Okay, no worries. Get on.
Wednesday, March 14, 2018
Shape Shifting
It's now just a short drive to Adelaide.
Arthur drops Gaius at home, and follows Sweezus to Katherine's.
Sweezus parks the car in the driveway, and knocks on Katherine's door.
Hi Katherine. Brought your car back.
Thank you, dear, says Katherine. How is Gaius?
Okay. Why wouldn't he be? asks Sweezus.
I left him rather abruptly, says Katherine, and then Margaret had that little mishap.
He's moving on, says Sweezus. Going to Ecuador.
Newcastle, says Katherine.
Not according to the Sea Salt, says Sweezus.
Sea Salt? says Katherine.
From the sea, says Sweezus.
Obviously, says Katherine, but how can it have an opinion?
Would you like to try some? asks Sweezus. It's new. Not even on the market. We have to get bags printed and stuff.
I'll try it, says Katherine. Although I don't normally use it.
You sprinkle it and see what letter it forms, says Sweezus.
What fun, says Katherine. I remember doing that with the peel of an apple. You peeled the apple, then threw the peel over your shoulder and the apple peel gave you the first letter of the name of the person you would marry. It was always a C. No wait, an S, a J sometimes. But it was certainly limited.....
This is salt, says Sweezus. It can do any letter. Or the shape of a country.
How exciting, says Katherine. I shall have some. How much are you asking for a sprinkle?
Sweezus hesitates. It's not in a hessian bag yet. It's in a old plastic bag from the sea.
For you.... says Sweezus, still hesitating.
Be bold! says Katherine. How much?
Arthur is sick of waiting for Sweezus. He comes up.
Fifty dollars, says Arthur.
That's a bit excessive, says Katherine.
We brought your car back, says Arthur.
Good heavens, says Katherine. What have I been thinking? Have a hundred. Did you have to buy petrol?
Yes, says Arthur.
And another fifty, says Katherine. Wait here and I'll get it, and something to put the salt in.
She goes inside, and comes back with the money and an egg cup.
Sweezus takes the cash and pours a tiny amount of Prognosticating Sea Salt into the egg cup.
She takes a pinch, and sprinkles it onto the back of her hand. It forms a salt heap.
She shakes it onto the floor.
The salt is uncooperative.
She moves it aside with her shoe.
That's a J, says Arthur.
Katherine looks down. The sweep of her foot has rearranged the salt into the shape of a J, the first initial of Joseph Hume, her dead husband.
Joseph! says Katherine. Or Italy.
Or a fish hook.
Arthur drops Gaius at home, and follows Sweezus to Katherine's.
Sweezus parks the car in the driveway, and knocks on Katherine's door.
Hi Katherine. Brought your car back.
Thank you, dear, says Katherine. How is Gaius?
Okay. Why wouldn't he be? asks Sweezus.
I left him rather abruptly, says Katherine, and then Margaret had that little mishap.
He's moving on, says Sweezus. Going to Ecuador.
Newcastle, says Katherine.
Not according to the Sea Salt, says Sweezus.
Sea Salt? says Katherine.
From the sea, says Sweezus.
Obviously, says Katherine, but how can it have an opinion?
Would you like to try some? asks Sweezus. It's new. Not even on the market. We have to get bags printed and stuff.
I'll try it, says Katherine. Although I don't normally use it.
You sprinkle it and see what letter it forms, says Sweezus.
What fun, says Katherine. I remember doing that with the peel of an apple. You peeled the apple, then threw the peel over your shoulder and the apple peel gave you the first letter of the name of the person you would marry. It was always a C. No wait, an S, a J sometimes. But it was certainly limited.....
This is salt, says Sweezus. It can do any letter. Or the shape of a country.
How exciting, says Katherine. I shall have some. How much are you asking for a sprinkle?
Sweezus hesitates. It's not in a hessian bag yet. It's in a old plastic bag from the sea.
For you.... says Sweezus, still hesitating.
Be bold! says Katherine. How much?
Arthur is sick of waiting for Sweezus. He comes up.
Fifty dollars, says Arthur.
That's a bit excessive, says Katherine.
We brought your car back, says Arthur.
Good heavens, says Katherine. What have I been thinking? Have a hundred. Did you have to buy petrol?
Yes, says Arthur.
And another fifty, says Katherine. Wait here and I'll get it, and something to put the salt in.
She goes inside, and comes back with the money and an egg cup.
Sweezus takes the cash and pours a tiny amount of Prognosticating Sea Salt into the egg cup.
She takes a pinch, and sprinkles it onto the back of her hand. It forms a salt heap.
She shakes it onto the floor.
The salt is uncooperative.
She moves it aside with her shoe.
That's a J, says Arthur.
Katherine looks down. The sweep of her foot has rearranged the salt into the shape of a J, the first initial of Joseph Hume, her dead husband.
Joseph! says Katherine. Or Italy.
Or a fish hook.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Done Is Done
Back in Steamers Café, Arthur and Sweezus are discussing marketing ideas.
Hessian bags, says Sweezus. Tied up with seaweed.
Hand printed, says Arthur. The bags, not the sea weed.
Yeah, says Sweezus. PROGNOSTICATING SEA SALT.
How about SEE SALT? says Gaius. With a double-E.
Not classy, says Sweezus.
Arthur agrees.
Only trying to be helpful, says Gaius.
You could think up some examples, says Sweezus. Like, how it works.
We were doing that in the car, says Arthur. The Growling Grass Frog scattered salt on Gaius's chinos and the salt formed an E.
Meaning? says Sweezus.
We're going to Ecuador, says Gaius. I wasn't going to tell you until it was confirmed.
Ecuador? How come? says Sweezus. If that's true, this Sea Salt's freakin' freak-balls!
It doesn't have to work, says Arthur.
I beg to differ, says Gaius. You should only market it if it works.
Exactly, says Arthur. We're selling a dream. But it's also real sea salt.
I get you, says Sweezus. It works.
It is at this point that Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog appear with the three Chocolate Tool Boxes.
Gifts from the chocolate shop, says the Growling Grass Frog. One for each human.
What is this? says Gaius, picking one up. Chocolate shaped as tools. Who dreamed that up?
The chocolate shop man, says the Growling Grass Frog. He wants you to spread the word about his chocolate.
I think I already did, says Arthur. A few years ago. Does he make that Vegemite Fudge?
I don't know, says the Growling Grass Frog, I only tried his new Easter egg. But it wasn't for frogs.
I didn't try it, says Saint Roley. I became despondent.
What about? asks Gaius.
Death and renewal, says Saint Roley.
Precious little of that in a chocolate shop, surely, says Gaius.
But...out at sea, says Saint Roley. My poor brother.
What's done is done, says the Growling Grass Frog. Look at these tools. A saw, pliers, hammer, spanner and a screwdriver.
Your general knowledge is remarkable, says Gaius.
I was born in the Coorong, says the Growling Grass Frog. Test me on weapons.
Everyone laughs, even though weapons aren't funny.
But it's true, what's done is done.
Even if it's your brother.
Saint Roley cheers up.
Hessian bags, says Sweezus. Tied up with seaweed.
Hand printed, says Arthur. The bags, not the sea weed.
Yeah, says Sweezus. PROGNOSTICATING SEA SALT.
How about SEE SALT? says Gaius. With a double-E.
Not classy, says Sweezus.
Arthur agrees.
Only trying to be helpful, says Gaius.
You could think up some examples, says Sweezus. Like, how it works.
We were doing that in the car, says Arthur. The Growling Grass Frog scattered salt on Gaius's chinos and the salt formed an E.
Meaning? says Sweezus.
We're going to Ecuador, says Gaius. I wasn't going to tell you until it was confirmed.
Ecuador? How come? says Sweezus. If that's true, this Sea Salt's freakin' freak-balls!
It doesn't have to work, says Arthur.
I beg to differ, says Gaius. You should only market it if it works.
Exactly, says Arthur. We're selling a dream. But it's also real sea salt.
I get you, says Sweezus. It works.
It is at this point that Saint Roley and the Growling Grass Frog appear with the three Chocolate Tool Boxes.
Gifts from the chocolate shop, says the Growling Grass Frog. One for each human.
What is this? says Gaius, picking one up. Chocolate shaped as tools. Who dreamed that up?
The chocolate shop man, says the Growling Grass Frog. He wants you to spread the word about his chocolate.
I think I already did, says Arthur. A few years ago. Does he make that Vegemite Fudge?
I don't know, says the Growling Grass Frog, I only tried his new Easter egg. But it wasn't for frogs.
I didn't try it, says Saint Roley. I became despondent.
What about? asks Gaius.
Death and renewal, says Saint Roley.
Precious little of that in a chocolate shop, surely, says Gaius.
But...out at sea, says Saint Roley. My poor brother.
What's done is done, says the Growling Grass Frog. Look at these tools. A saw, pliers, hammer, spanner and a screwdriver.
Your general knowledge is remarkable, says Gaius.
I was born in the Coorong, says the Growling Grass Frog. Test me on weapons.
Everyone laughs, even though weapons aren't funny.
But it's true, what's done is done.
Even if it's your brother.
Saint Roley cheers up.
Monday, March 12, 2018
Death And The Tool Box
Murray Bridge. Arthur pulls up outside Steamers Café.
Sweezus pulls up behind him.
Coffee break, says Arthur.
Cool, says Sweezus.
They all go inside.
Arthur and Sweezus order cold drip coffees and a flat white for Gaius.
Saint Roley edges up to the Growling Grass Frog, under the table.
You look happy, says Saint Roley.
I am happy, says the Growling Grass Frog.
It suits you, says Saint Roley. Makes you plump and juicy.
I know you're hungry, says the Growling Grass Frog. What say we go exploring?
Okay, says Saint Roley.
They hop out of Steamers together.
Know much about Easter? asks Saint Roley.
Pfft! Hee-hee! laughs the Growling Grass Frog.
Why are you laughing? asks Saint Roley.
Saints should know about Easter, says the Growling Grass Frog. You're a saint. And that means...
What? asks Saint Roley.
They walk past a chocolate shop.
Chocolate, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Saint Roley is puzzled. Sweezus said fish and eggs but not chocolate.
Let's go in, says Saint Roley.
Welcome to my chocolate shop, says Ian Pithers. Are you with a human?
Not at the moment, says Saint Roley. I'm just here with him.
I was going to say the same thing, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Ian Pithers is charmed by their honesty. Would they care to sample a chocolate?
We don't know, says Saint Roley.
I've been experimenting with a new chocolate egg, for Easter, says Ian Pithers.
Easter? says Saint Roley.
Easter and Egg, says the Growling Grass Frog. I've had luck with E-words this morning. I'll try one.
Ian Pithers brings out a tray of waxy brown half-eggs, striped with gold and silver.
Before I try one, says Saint Roley, may I ask a question?
Go ahead, says Ian Pithers.
What is Easter? asks Saint Roley.
A reconciliation of opposites, says Ian Pithers. Fasting and chocolate. Profit and loss. Spring and autumn. The life cycle. Death and renewal.
A thoughtful and wide-ranging answer
But Saint Roley is saddened, thinking of his drowned brother. What if he had a renewal that nobody noticed?
He heads for the door.
I'll try one, says the Growling Grass Frog. He tries one.
Urk! It's the worst thing he's tasted since he ate that black jelly, that time.
You don't like it, says Ian Pithers. Don't tell anyone.
I should be honest, says the Growling Grass Frog.
It's really for humans, says Ian Pithers. Are you travelling with humans?
Yes, all the way to Riobamba, says the Growling Grass Frog.
You don't say? says Ian Pithers. Tell you what, I'll give you some free samples to give to your humans. Perhaps they'll spread the word about my chocolates. Are they men, your companions?
Yes, says the Growling Grass Frog. I suppose so.
The Chocolate Tool Box, says Ian Pithers. Men love them.
He brings out three Chocolate Tool Boxes.
The Growling Grass Frog feels that life is becoming richer by the moment.
Balancing the three Chocolate Tool Boxes, he hurries after Saint Roley.
Sweezus pulls up behind him.
Coffee break, says Arthur.
Cool, says Sweezus.
They all go inside.
Arthur and Sweezus order cold drip coffees and a flat white for Gaius.
Saint Roley edges up to the Growling Grass Frog, under the table.
You look happy, says Saint Roley.
I am happy, says the Growling Grass Frog.
It suits you, says Saint Roley. Makes you plump and juicy.
I know you're hungry, says the Growling Grass Frog. What say we go exploring?
Okay, says Saint Roley.
They hop out of Steamers together.
Know much about Easter? asks Saint Roley.
Pfft! Hee-hee! laughs the Growling Grass Frog.
Why are you laughing? asks Saint Roley.
Saints should know about Easter, says the Growling Grass Frog. You're a saint. And that means...
What? asks Saint Roley.
They walk past a chocolate shop.
Chocolate, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Saint Roley is puzzled. Sweezus said fish and eggs but not chocolate.
Let's go in, says Saint Roley.
Welcome to my chocolate shop, says Ian Pithers. Are you with a human?
Not at the moment, says Saint Roley. I'm just here with him.
I was going to say the same thing, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Ian Pithers is charmed by their honesty. Would they care to sample a chocolate?
We don't know, says Saint Roley.
I've been experimenting with a new chocolate egg, for Easter, says Ian Pithers.
Easter? says Saint Roley.
Easter and Egg, says the Growling Grass Frog. I've had luck with E-words this morning. I'll try one.
Ian Pithers brings out a tray of waxy brown half-eggs, striped with gold and silver.
Before I try one, says Saint Roley, may I ask a question?
Go ahead, says Ian Pithers.
What is Easter? asks Saint Roley.
A reconciliation of opposites, says Ian Pithers. Fasting and chocolate. Profit and loss. Spring and autumn. The life cycle. Death and renewal.
A thoughtful and wide-ranging answer
But Saint Roley is saddened, thinking of his drowned brother. What if he had a renewal that nobody noticed?
He heads for the door.
I'll try one, says the Growling Grass Frog. He tries one.
Urk! It's the worst thing he's tasted since he ate that black jelly, that time.
You don't like it, says Ian Pithers. Don't tell anyone.
I should be honest, says the Growling Grass Frog.
It's really for humans, says Ian Pithers. Are you travelling with humans?
Yes, all the way to Riobamba, says the Growling Grass Frog.
You don't say? says Ian Pithers. Tell you what, I'll give you some free samples to give to your humans. Perhaps they'll spread the word about my chocolates. Are they men, your companions?
Yes, says the Growling Grass Frog. I suppose so.
The Chocolate Tool Box, says Ian Pithers. Men love them.
He brings out three Chocolate Tool Boxes.
The Growling Grass Frog feels that life is becoming richer by the moment.
Balancing the three Chocolate Tool Boxes, he hurries after Saint Roley.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
A Tabula Rasa
But, says Arthur reasonably, it's an E, not an R for Riobamba.
I was about to explain, says Gaius.
E for Endangered, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Good guess, says Gaius. But E is also for Ecuador, in which country lies Riobamba, home of the Riobamba marsupial frog.
Also endangered, says Arthur.
Arthur, you surprise me, says Gaius. Have you engaged in your own amphibian research?
No, says Arthur. I meant E is for Endangered as well as for Ecuador. And for any number of E-words.
Further proof, if it were needed, says Gaius.
What of? asks Arthur.
The empty promise of your prognosticating salt business, says Gaius.
Enterprise, says Arthur.
All right, enterprise, says Gaius. I see where you're going.
Ecuador? says Arthur.
Here is a good test, says Gaius. Will we or will we not be invited to Ecuador?
Arthur looks vacant.
The Growling Grass Frog takes out more salt.
He really wants to be invited to Ecuador.
Can he influence the fall of the salt?
I'll scatter it on this brown paper bag, says the Growling Grass Frog.
No, don't, says Gaius. I was planning to transfer my filamentous green algae to that.
Use mine, says Arthur. He chucks his empty vanilla slice bag over his shoulder.
It lands delicately on the back seat, a tabula rasa.
The Growling Grass Frog prays a silent prayer to the map gods.
He hopes there are map gods.
If there are they must know the shape of the country of Ecuador.
If they wish to prove their existence, (and of course, they may not) they will influence the fall of the salt into the shape of the country of Ecuador.
The map gods (putative) have an idea in their heads of all the world's borders.
It's one thing to know it.
It's another thing to draw it in salt.
There are two map gods (that we know of), Map and Gog.
One does the borders, one does the cities.
Map spreads the salt roughly in the shape of a biscuit.
Gog sticks his gog-pointer smack in the middle.
That's Riobamba.
They withdraw. It's now up to the readers.
Done, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Gaius turns and looks over his shoulder.
Jumping Jupiter!
Even he cannot deny that the salt has formed a perfect picture of Ecuador, with Riobamba in the middle.
It looks as though, when he gets to Newcastle University, his hopes will come to fruition.
Their research team will invite him to travel to Ecuador and participate in the habitat translocation of the Riobamba marsupial frog.
Arthur will crow, if he tells him.
Let Arthur find out soon enough.
I was about to explain, says Gaius.
E for Endangered, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Good guess, says Gaius. But E is also for Ecuador, in which country lies Riobamba, home of the Riobamba marsupial frog.
Also endangered, says Arthur.
Arthur, you surprise me, says Gaius. Have you engaged in your own amphibian research?
No, says Arthur. I meant E is for Endangered as well as for Ecuador. And for any number of E-words.
Further proof, if it were needed, says Gaius.
What of? asks Arthur.
The empty promise of your prognosticating salt business, says Gaius.
Enterprise, says Arthur.
All right, enterprise, says Gaius. I see where you're going.
Ecuador? says Arthur.
Here is a good test, says Gaius. Will we or will we not be invited to Ecuador?
Arthur looks vacant.
The Growling Grass Frog takes out more salt.
He really wants to be invited to Ecuador.
Can he influence the fall of the salt?
I'll scatter it on this brown paper bag, says the Growling Grass Frog.
No, don't, says Gaius. I was planning to transfer my filamentous green algae to that.
Use mine, says Arthur. He chucks his empty vanilla slice bag over his shoulder.
It lands delicately on the back seat, a tabula rasa.
The Growling Grass Frog prays a silent prayer to the map gods.
He hopes there are map gods.
If there are they must know the shape of the country of Ecuador.
If they wish to prove their existence, (and of course, they may not) they will influence the fall of the salt into the shape of the country of Ecuador.
The map gods (putative) have an idea in their heads of all the world's borders.
It's one thing to know it.
It's another thing to draw it in salt.
There are two map gods (that we know of), Map and Gog.
One does the borders, one does the cities.
Map spreads the salt roughly in the shape of a biscuit.
Gog sticks his gog-pointer smack in the middle.
That's Riobamba.
They withdraw. It's now up to the readers.
Done, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Gaius turns and looks over his shoulder.
Jumping Jupiter!
Even he cannot deny that the salt has formed a perfect picture of Ecuador, with Riobamba in the middle.
It looks as though, when he gets to Newcastle University, his hopes will come to fruition.
Their research team will invite him to travel to Ecuador and participate in the habitat translocation of the Riobamba marsupial frog.
Arthur will crow, if he tells him.
Let Arthur find out soon enough.
Saturday, March 10, 2018
The Future Is E
Sorry, says Saint Roley, hopping back again.
Yeah okay, says Sweezus. It's the feathers.
I try to keep them clean, says Saint Roley.
It's not that, says Sweezus. It's more the ugh factor.
Ugh factor? says Saint Roley.
Shouldn't've said that, says Sweezus. Bad mood.
Want some more cake? asks Saint Roley?
Is there any more? asks Sweezus.
No, says Saint Roley.
They drive on in silence.
Until.
Easter, says Sweezus. That's why the bad mood.
What is Easter? asks Saint Roley.
An extra long weekend, says Sweezus.
What for? asks Saint Roley.
Nothing, says Sweezus.
Is there food? asks Saint Roley.
Sweezus doesn't want to think about it in that sort of detail, but he owes it to Saint Roley.
Fish, says Sweezus.
Can't be too bad, says Saint Roley.
Eggs, adds Sweezus.
When is it? asks Saint Roley.
Dunno. Soon. It's always different, says Sweezus.
Saint Roley resolves to find out more about Easter.
But not from him.
.........
There's a better mood in the other vehicle. (Katherine's)
Gaius is explaining the Newcastle research to Arthur in detail.
I assume you'll be coming, says Gaius.
Sure, says Arthur. Are we driving?
No, says Gaius. We'll fly. Then hire bicycles.
One for me? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
Here's one for you, says Gaius.
Huh? says the Growling Grass Frog.
Take some more salt out.
The Growling Grass Frog takes out a handful of salt.
Scatter it, says Gaius.
Where? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
Good question, says Gaius. That shows you are an intelligent pupil. Hop into the front with it.
It's difficult to do, holding salt, but the Growling Grass Frog does it.
Scatter it over my chinos, says Gaius. The right one, so Arthur can see it.
Scatter.
Now let us look at the picture, says Gaius.
The prognosticating sea salt has formed an E on the right leg of Gaius's chinos.
E, says Gaius. Can you all see that?
Arthur glances down. Yes. The Frog, too, can see it.
I was hoping for an R, says Gaius. But an E will do nicely. Arthur you can have a degree of faith in your sea salt.
R? says Arthur.
For Riobamba, says Gaius.
This means nothing to Arthur.
The sea salt says nothing, being sea salt.
But the Growling Grass Frog is excited. The Riobamba are his endangered cousins.
Endangered cousins.
That starts with E.
Yeah okay, says Sweezus. It's the feathers.
I try to keep them clean, says Saint Roley.
It's not that, says Sweezus. It's more the ugh factor.
Ugh factor? says Saint Roley.
Shouldn't've said that, says Sweezus. Bad mood.
Want some more cake? asks Saint Roley?
Is there any more? asks Sweezus.
No, says Saint Roley.
They drive on in silence.
Until.
Easter, says Sweezus. That's why the bad mood.
What is Easter? asks Saint Roley.
An extra long weekend, says Sweezus.
What for? asks Saint Roley.
Nothing, says Sweezus.
Is there food? asks Saint Roley.
Sweezus doesn't want to think about it in that sort of detail, but he owes it to Saint Roley.
Fish, says Sweezus.
Can't be too bad, says Saint Roley.
Eggs, adds Sweezus.
When is it? asks Saint Roley.
Dunno. Soon. It's always different, says Sweezus.
Saint Roley resolves to find out more about Easter.
But not from him.
.........
There's a better mood in the other vehicle. (Katherine's)
Gaius is explaining the Newcastle research to Arthur in detail.
I assume you'll be coming, says Gaius.
Sure, says Arthur. Are we driving?
No, says Gaius. We'll fly. Then hire bicycles.
One for me? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
Here's one for you, says Gaius.
Huh? says the Growling Grass Frog.
Take some more salt out.
The Growling Grass Frog takes out a handful of salt.
Scatter it, says Gaius.
Where? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
Good question, says Gaius. That shows you are an intelligent pupil. Hop into the front with it.
It's difficult to do, holding salt, but the Growling Grass Frog does it.
Scatter it over my chinos, says Gaius. The right one, so Arthur can see it.
Scatter.
Now let us look at the picture, says Gaius.
The prognosticating sea salt has formed an E on the right leg of Gaius's chinos.
E, says Gaius. Can you all see that?
Arthur glances down. Yes. The Frog, too, can see it.
I was hoping for an R, says Gaius. But an E will do nicely. Arthur you can have a degree of faith in your sea salt.
R? says Arthur.
For Riobamba, says Gaius.
This means nothing to Arthur.
The sea salt says nothing, being sea salt.
But the Growling Grass Frog is excited. The Riobamba are his endangered cousins.
Endangered cousins.
That starts with E.
Friday, March 9, 2018
Millennial Nonsense
Katherine's car.
Arthur is driving, with Gaius in the passenger seat.
They are both eating vanilla slices.
In the back, the Growling Grass Frog sits on the Sea Salt.
Is it wise to eat while you're driving? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Arthur. It promotes clear thinking. Chew, think, chew, bingo.
Is this some new kind of millennial nonsense? asks Gaius. Like prognosticating Sea Salt?
Could make a fortune, says Arthur.
You would need to include a set of instructions, says Gaius. How best to scatter the salt, and on what type of surface. And then how to interpret the fall.
You'd know, being an old Roman, says Arthur. The Romans were expert interpreters.
Gaius can't help feeling flattered.
Frog! says Gaius.
Me? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
Yes, you, says Gaius. Must I keep calling you Growling Grass Frog?
I prefer it, says the Growling Grass Frog.
All right, says Gaius. Now here is a task for you. Let's see if you're up to it.
Anyone told you about sharing? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
What's this? asks Gaius.
He wants some cake, says Arthur.
How remiss of me, says Gaius. There is cake for you, at the end of it, Growling Grass Frog.
The Growling Grass Frog is pleased that his ploy worked.
What is my task?
Open the bag of Sea Salt, take some and scatter it on the seat. Not too much.
The Growling Grass Frog scatters some salt on the seat.
Describe what you see, says Gaius.
I see a bird feeding cake to a man, and a man feeding cake to a bird, says the Growling Grass Frog.
Would that man by any chance be Sweezus? asks Gaius. And would the bird be Saint Roley?
Yes, says the Growling Grass Frog.
That's pretty impressive, says Arthur.
Wishful thinking, says Gaius.
.......
Margaret's car.
Sweezus is driving.
Saint Roley is in the back, breaking the vanilla slice into segments.
He prongs a segment with his beak and leans forward for Sweezus to grab it.
Thanks, says Sweezus. Have some yourself.
Don't like it, says Saint Roley.
He sighs.
What's up? asks Sweezus, his mouth full of icing, flaky pastry and custard.
What I really feel like eating is... uh.... never mind, says Saint Roley.
Spit it out, says Sweezus.
The Growling Grass Frog, says Saint Roley.
Thought so, says Sweezus. That why you volunteered to come with me?
Yes, says Saint Roley.
Sensing sympathy, he hops up onto Sweezus's shoulder.
Bad idea. Sweezus freezes.
Thursday, March 8, 2018
Prognosticating Sea Salt
Arthur! Sweezus! says Gaius. I assume you have transport.
Nice to see you too, says Sweezus.
Yes of course, nice to see you, says Gaius. I assume you have already retrieved Margaret's car.
No, says Arthur. We're driving Katherine's. We stopped at the Granites.
Whatever for? says Gaius. Time is of the essence. Do you have a plastic bag for the algae? What's that you've got there?
Nothing, says Sweezus.
Looks like common sea salt, says Gaius. Tip it out will you. The plastic bag will do nicely
No way, says Sweezus. This is my new business venture.
Our new business venture, says Arthur.
Okay, our business venture, says Sweezus. But that means you have to come up with ideas.
I already have one, says Arthur. Call it Prognosticating Sea Salt. You scatter it and read the future in the random arrangement of particles.
Awesome, bro! says Sweezus.
Prognostications are generally inaccurate when made by an untrained person, says Gaius. You would need to give detailed instructions.
Too easy, says Sweezus.
Saint Roley alights on the beach towel.
Good, says Gaius. Now we can go. Where is ...?
Cravaaark! says the Growling Grass Frog.
They load Gaius's things into Katherine's boot and head off towards Adelaide.
They have not gone far when.....
Stop! says Gaius. We've forgotten about Margaret's car.
Screeeee. Arthur performs a screeching u-turn and they head back to Kingston.
Margaret's car is still parked outside the bakery.
A country bakery. Why not buy buns?
Sweezus goes in with some money. He assesses the buns.
Vanilla slices, kitchener buns, finger buns, chocolate eclairs, iced donuts, fruit scones, chocolate chip scones, anzacs, funny face biscuits....
He buys three vanilla slices.
In the one bag, okay? asks the woman behind the counter.
No, one in one and two in another, says Sweezus. We're picking up someone's car.
The one who was involved in the fight the other day? asks the woman. Is she okay?
Good as, says Sweezus.
He goes out with the vanilla slices.
He gets back into Katherine's car.
Here you are Gaius, says Sweezus. Vanilla slice in a separate paper bag.
And Margaret's car keys, says Arthur.
What's this? asks Gaius. You do know I don't have a licence.
Bugger.
Who could predict that?
That means Sweezus has to drive Margaret's car back to Adelaide.
He and Gaius swap paper bags.
Nice to see you too, says Sweezus.
Yes of course, nice to see you, says Gaius. I assume you have already retrieved Margaret's car.
No, says Arthur. We're driving Katherine's. We stopped at the Granites.
Whatever for? says Gaius. Time is of the essence. Do you have a plastic bag for the algae? What's that you've got there?
Nothing, says Sweezus.
Looks like common sea salt, says Gaius. Tip it out will you. The plastic bag will do nicely
No way, says Sweezus. This is my new business venture.
Our new business venture, says Arthur.
Okay, our business venture, says Sweezus. But that means you have to come up with ideas.
I already have one, says Arthur. Call it Prognosticating Sea Salt. You scatter it and read the future in the random arrangement of particles.
Awesome, bro! says Sweezus.
Prognostications are generally inaccurate when made by an untrained person, says Gaius. You would need to give detailed instructions.
Too easy, says Sweezus.
Saint Roley alights on the beach towel.
Good, says Gaius. Now we can go. Where is ...?
Cravaaark! says the Growling Grass Frog.
They load Gaius's things into Katherine's boot and head off towards Adelaide.
They have not gone far when.....
Stop! says Gaius. We've forgotten about Margaret's car.
Screeeee. Arthur performs a screeching u-turn and they head back to Kingston.
Margaret's car is still parked outside the bakery.
A country bakery. Why not buy buns?
Sweezus goes in with some money. He assesses the buns.
Vanilla slices, kitchener buns, finger buns, chocolate eclairs, iced donuts, fruit scones, chocolate chip scones, anzacs, funny face biscuits....
He buys three vanilla slices.
In the one bag, okay? asks the woman behind the counter.
No, one in one and two in another, says Sweezus. We're picking up someone's car.
The one who was involved in the fight the other day? asks the woman. Is she okay?
Good as, says Sweezus.
He goes out with the vanilla slices.
He gets back into Katherine's car.
Here you are Gaius, says Sweezus. Vanilla slice in a separate paper bag.
And Margaret's car keys, says Arthur.
What's this? asks Gaius. You do know I don't have a licence.
Bugger.
Who could predict that?
That means Sweezus has to drive Margaret's car back to Adelaide.
He and Gaius swap paper bags.
Wednesday, March 7, 2018
Dreams Of Floating
The shark pupils chase the dolphins. Woo-hoo.
They catch them. Yerk. Dolphin parts everywhere.
The Great White Teacher takes advantage of the ensuing carnage and swims after Sweezus, who has tumbled gracefully off his surfboard into the shallows.
A quick word, says the Great White Teacher.
Sure, says Sweezus. What's up?
A little sideline of mine, says the Great White Teacher. Sea Salt. I believe they use it in cafés.
Yeah, they do, says Sweezus, who recently noticed a jar of Sea Salt in a café next to the Organic Pepper.
I don't suppose, says the Great White Teacher, you'd be interested in taking this further? I can't do my own marketing, but I do feel it has potential.
Needs a good jar and label, says Sweezus. In that plastic bag, it could be anything.
That would be your job, says the Great White Teacher. Fifty fifty?
Sixty forty, says Sweezus. There's heaps of salt in the sea.
And plastic bags, says the Great White Teacher.
Arthur comes up, dripping sea water.
Catch you later, says the Great White Teacher, before swimming off.
What's that white stuff? asks Arthur, only to be disappointed.
As they stand in the shallows, two birds fly over.
One is Saint Roley.
He drops down beside the two surfers.
Grandpa Marx drops down too.
Grandpa Marx sees the packet of Sea Salt.
So, the Great White Teacher is up to his capitalist ways again.
But Saint Roley speaks first.
Why are you two procrastinating? Gaius is stranded. For all he knows Margaret has been murdered.
But she hasn't, adds Grandpa Marx. And he needs to get to Newcastle pronto.
Pronto, says Sweezus. How come?
Saint Roley explains the research which has resulted in a seventy percent improvement in the survival rate of threatened amphibians, as he understands it.
Arthur looks into the future.
Sweezus looks too.
Newcastle. That's near some pretty good beaches.
Okay, says Sweezus. Whereabouts is he?
......
Gaius is where he has been for too long.
He is not used to being so static while others buzz about him. How long has he been on this cursed and bad smelling beach picking up strands of filamentous green algae? This all comes of not having a bicycle. He will hire one in Newcastle.
He says so to the Growling Grass Frog.
The Growling Grass Frog's dreams of floating in slightly salty water at the university are augmented by side dreams of riding a bicycle though autumnal parklands teeming with a wide range of insects.
Vroom. Rurr.
A car stops at the side of the Princes Highway, two doors slam, and footsteps crunch closer.
They catch them. Yerk. Dolphin parts everywhere.
The Great White Teacher takes advantage of the ensuing carnage and swims after Sweezus, who has tumbled gracefully off his surfboard into the shallows.
A quick word, says the Great White Teacher.
Sure, says Sweezus. What's up?
A little sideline of mine, says the Great White Teacher. Sea Salt. I believe they use it in cafés.
Yeah, they do, says Sweezus, who recently noticed a jar of Sea Salt in a café next to the Organic Pepper.
I don't suppose, says the Great White Teacher, you'd be interested in taking this further? I can't do my own marketing, but I do feel it has potential.
Needs a good jar and label, says Sweezus. In that plastic bag, it could be anything.
That would be your job, says the Great White Teacher. Fifty fifty?
Sixty forty, says Sweezus. There's heaps of salt in the sea.
And plastic bags, says the Great White Teacher.
Arthur comes up, dripping sea water.
Catch you later, says the Great White Teacher, before swimming off.
What's that white stuff? asks Arthur, only to be disappointed.
As they stand in the shallows, two birds fly over.
One is Saint Roley.
He drops down beside the two surfers.
Grandpa Marx drops down too.
Grandpa Marx sees the packet of Sea Salt.
So, the Great White Teacher is up to his capitalist ways again.
But Saint Roley speaks first.
Why are you two procrastinating? Gaius is stranded. For all he knows Margaret has been murdered.
But she hasn't, adds Grandpa Marx. And he needs to get to Newcastle pronto.
Pronto, says Sweezus. How come?
Saint Roley explains the research which has resulted in a seventy percent improvement in the survival rate of threatened amphibians, as he understands it.
Arthur looks into the future.
Sweezus looks too.
Newcastle. That's near some pretty good beaches.
Okay, says Sweezus. Whereabouts is he?
......
Gaius is where he has been for too long.
He is not used to being so static while others buzz about him. How long has he been on this cursed and bad smelling beach picking up strands of filamentous green algae? This all comes of not having a bicycle. He will hire one in Newcastle.
He says so to the Growling Grass Frog.
The Growling Grass Frog's dreams of floating in slightly salty water at the university are augmented by side dreams of riding a bicycle though autumnal parklands teeming with a wide range of insects.
Vroom. Rurr.
A car stops at the side of the Princes Highway, two doors slam, and footsteps crunch closer.
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Cyclists Avoid Being Eaten
Perhaps the term numerous sharks was alarmist.
In fact there are three.
Sweezus and Arthur have almost reached the outer bar.
Three Great White Sharks swim beneath them.
One, the teacher, is looking upwards as an example to the other two, who are under instruction.
The Great White Teacher: Humans are not the preferred prey of our species.
First pupil: But look, there is blood on the knee of that human.
Great White Teacher: Look again.
Second pupil: It's a scab! It's only a scab!
Great White Teacher: Good spotting. Now look at the legs of the other one.
First pupil: No scabs.
Great White Teacher: Good. He has no scabs. Let us....wait, those legs look familiar. Stay down here for a minute. I shall go up.
He zooms up.
Fuck! says Sweezus. A shark!
I knew it was you, says the Great White Teacher. Do you recall our previous meeting?
No, says Sweezus. You guys all look the same.
I'm sorry you think that, says the Great White Teacher. It shows a great lack of observation.
Arthur looks down at his knees.
Don't worry, says the Great White Teacher. Scabs don't attract us.
Pity, says Arthur. Fear gets me going.
Us? says Sweezus. Are there more of you down there?
Two more, says the Great White Teacher. They are my pupils, as I once was when you saved your dog Farky from being eaten. How is Farky?
Sweezus has recovered his cool. He answers the question.
He's into predicting the future, says Sweezus. He's good, too.
Not that good, says Arthur. He predicted Terence would get an old parrot.
Yeah, he didn't get that right, says Sweezus. He didn't get any parrot.
The pupils are sick of waiting under the water watching legs paddle and hearing snatches of reminiscence.
They surface.
Can we go now?
Yes, says the Great White Teacher. We can go now. A wave is approaching. I predict our two surfers will catch it.
Sweezus turns. The teacher is right. A wave is approaching.
He and Arthur both catch it.
Second pupil: Neither of them had hairs on their legs, I noticed.
Great White Teacher: They are cyclists. Not that it's relevant. Still, good spotting.
First pupil: A dolphin! I see a dolphin.
Great White Teacher: That's more like it. Go! Go! Go!
In fact there are three.
Sweezus and Arthur have almost reached the outer bar.
Three Great White Sharks swim beneath them.
One, the teacher, is looking upwards as an example to the other two, who are under instruction.
The Great White Teacher: Humans are not the preferred prey of our species.
First pupil: But look, there is blood on the knee of that human.
Great White Teacher: Look again.
Second pupil: It's a scab! It's only a scab!
Great White Teacher: Good spotting. Now look at the legs of the other one.
First pupil: No scabs.
Great White Teacher: Good. He has no scabs. Let us....wait, those legs look familiar. Stay down here for a minute. I shall go up.
He zooms up.
Fuck! says Sweezus. A shark!
I knew it was you, says the Great White Teacher. Do you recall our previous meeting?
No, says Sweezus. You guys all look the same.
I'm sorry you think that, says the Great White Teacher. It shows a great lack of observation.
Arthur looks down at his knees.
Don't worry, says the Great White Teacher. Scabs don't attract us.
Pity, says Arthur. Fear gets me going.
Us? says Sweezus. Are there more of you down there?
Two more, says the Great White Teacher. They are my pupils, as I once was when you saved your dog Farky from being eaten. How is Farky?
Sweezus has recovered his cool. He answers the question.
He's into predicting the future, says Sweezus. He's good, too.
Not that good, says Arthur. He predicted Terence would get an old parrot.
Yeah, he didn't get that right, says Sweezus. He didn't get any parrot.
The pupils are sick of waiting under the water watching legs paddle and hearing snatches of reminiscence.
They surface.
Can we go now?
Yes, says the Great White Teacher. We can go now. A wave is approaching. I predict our two surfers will catch it.
Sweezus turns. The teacher is right. A wave is approaching.
He and Arthur both catch it.
Second pupil: Neither of them had hairs on their legs, I noticed.
Great White Teacher: They are cyclists. Not that it's relevant. Still, good spotting.
First pupil: A dolphin! I see a dolphin.
Great White Teacher: That's more like it. Go! Go! Go!
Monday, March 5, 2018
Little Danger Of Dying
In transit.
Saint Roley flies over the sand dunes.
It is early and some of the native vegetation looks like the hair of a woman.
Perhaps it is Margaret, murdered and buried, or buried alive and being eaten slowly by ants.
But there are too many of these hapless Margarets.
Saint Roley flies on.
.......
In transit.
Grandpa Marx has woken from his post-prandial stupor.
The fish and chips last evening were good.
Now it is morning and he is returning to the campsite to see Terence.
He passes Saint Roley.
They stop, drop, and converse on the sand.
.......
Also in transit.
Sweezus is checking out a surf app.
Sweezus: The better waves break on the outer bar, so it's a long paddle.
Arthur: Sharks?
Sweezus: Yeah plenty.
Arthur: That's good.
.......
At the campsite.
Gaius's phone is dead, and he has no way to charge it.
Saint Roley has not yet come back.
Gaius decides to walk up to the Princes Highway.
The Growling Grass Frog waits in the sand dunes.
He dreams of the glorious future.
He is at the Newcastle University with Gaius. He is swimming in a slightly salty solution. His heart beats slowly. There is little danger of dying.
......
Gaius comes back.
Well, says Gaius, I met the Ranger, which was fortuitous. He tells me Margaret has returned to Adelaide with a couple in a Toyota. Her car is still in Kingston. It's up to me to retrieve it. I asked him to call Arthur.
Who is Arthur? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
A reliable young man, says Gaius. All we need do now is wait for him to turn up. The Ranger will give him our coordinates.
......
The reliable young man is now at the Granites, paddling to the outer bar.
Beside him is another reliable young man, just as fit and reckless.
Below them are numerous sharks.
Saint Roley flies over the sand dunes.
It is early and some of the native vegetation looks like the hair of a woman.
Perhaps it is Margaret, murdered and buried, or buried alive and being eaten slowly by ants.
But there are too many of these hapless Margarets.
Saint Roley flies on.
.......
In transit.
Grandpa Marx has woken from his post-prandial stupor.
The fish and chips last evening were good.
Now it is morning and he is returning to the campsite to see Terence.
He passes Saint Roley.
They stop, drop, and converse on the sand.
.......
Also in transit.
Sweezus is checking out a surf app.
Sweezus: The better waves break on the outer bar, so it's a long paddle.
Arthur: Sharks?
Sweezus: Yeah plenty.
Arthur: That's good.
.......
At the campsite.
Gaius's phone is dead, and he has no way to charge it.
Saint Roley has not yet come back.
Gaius decides to walk up to the Princes Highway.
The Growling Grass Frog waits in the sand dunes.
He dreams of the glorious future.
He is at the Newcastle University with Gaius. He is swimming in a slightly salty solution. His heart beats slowly. There is little danger of dying.
......
Gaius comes back.
Well, says Gaius, I met the Ranger, which was fortuitous. He tells me Margaret has returned to Adelaide with a couple in a Toyota. Her car is still in Kingston. It's up to me to retrieve it. I asked him to call Arthur.
Who is Arthur? asks the Growling Grass Frog.
A reliable young man, says Gaius. All we need do now is wait for him to turn up. The Ranger will give him our coordinates.
......
The reliable young man is now at the Granites, paddling to the outer bar.
Beside him is another reliable young man, just as fit and reckless.
Below them are numerous sharks.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
Seventy Plus Ten
Katherine may be, like, seventy, but she does have a surf rack.
Arthur had forgotten.
Cool, says Sweezus, going back inside to pick up a couple of surfboards.
And coming out again.
It is dark, hardly even the morning.
Know the way? asks Sweezus.
Yes, says Arthur. Up the freeway to Murray Bridge, then Tailem Bend, Meningie, Coorong, where we locate Gaius, on to Kingston to pick up Margaret's car, drive back in two vehicles. In a straightforward world, that is.
Yeah, but it isn't, agrees Sweezus.
No it isn't, says Arthur.
The morning turns purple. They are now on the freeway. Arthur drives fast.
.......
Gaius is waking up in the Coorong, to the sounds of his new acquaintance.
Craawark.
The sun has not yet risen over the sandhills. The sand is cool, the dune shadows are long.
Saint Roley has been awake for ages. What is there to eat?
He has assessed the Growling Grass Frog as too risky, for several reasons:
1. The Growling Grass Frog is ten centimetres long.
2. The Growling Grass Frog is a brother, although not a bird brother.
3. Gaius has invited the Growling Grass Frog to come with him to Newcastle, and he has accepted.
4. The Growling Grass Frog is awake.
Good morning, says Saint Roley.
Crawaark! Good morning, says the Growling Grass Frog. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I am joyous.
That's the attitude, says Gaius. I should take a leaf out of your book and feel joyous as well, but I am worried about Margaret. Perhaps she has met with foul play.
Saint Roley has a brain wave.
I'll go and look for her, says Saint Roley. I'll fly over the sand dunes, and follow the road to Kingston, then report back to you.
Good man, says Gaius. I'll wait here with the Growling Grass Frog. I shall fill him in on the current dangers that threaten the amphibian community.
Saint Roley flies off.
Gaius explains how the chytridiomycosis fungus releases zoospores into frogs' skin, disrupting the flow of electrolytes and resulting in a heart attack.
The Growling Grass Frog's day becomes ninety percent less joyous.
In other words, he is only ten percent joyous.
But, says Gaius, if a simple preventative measure is taken, elevating salt levels in the water very slightly, an increased survival rate of seventy percent can be expected.
The Growling Grass Frog's joy level leaps back up to eighty.
(Seventy plus ten).
Arthur had forgotten.
Cool, says Sweezus, going back inside to pick up a couple of surfboards.
And coming out again.
It is dark, hardly even the morning.
Know the way? asks Sweezus.
Yes, says Arthur. Up the freeway to Murray Bridge, then Tailem Bend, Meningie, Coorong, where we locate Gaius, on to Kingston to pick up Margaret's car, drive back in two vehicles. In a straightforward world, that is.
Yeah, but it isn't, agrees Sweezus.
No it isn't, says Arthur.
The morning turns purple. They are now on the freeway. Arthur drives fast.
.......
Gaius is waking up in the Coorong, to the sounds of his new acquaintance.
Craawark.
The sun has not yet risen over the sandhills. The sand is cool, the dune shadows are long.
Saint Roley has been awake for ages. What is there to eat?
He has assessed the Growling Grass Frog as too risky, for several reasons:
1. The Growling Grass Frog is ten centimetres long.
2. The Growling Grass Frog is a brother, although not a bird brother.
3. Gaius has invited the Growling Grass Frog to come with him to Newcastle, and he has accepted.
4. The Growling Grass Frog is awake.
Good morning, says Saint Roley.
Crawaark! Good morning, says the Growling Grass Frog. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. I am joyous.
That's the attitude, says Gaius. I should take a leaf out of your book and feel joyous as well, but I am worried about Margaret. Perhaps she has met with foul play.
Saint Roley has a brain wave.
I'll go and look for her, says Saint Roley. I'll fly over the sand dunes, and follow the road to Kingston, then report back to you.
Good man, says Gaius. I'll wait here with the Growling Grass Frog. I shall fill him in on the current dangers that threaten the amphibian community.
Saint Roley flies off.
Gaius explains how the chytridiomycosis fungus releases zoospores into frogs' skin, disrupting the flow of electrolytes and resulting in a heart attack.
The Growling Grass Frog's day becomes ninety percent less joyous.
In other words, he is only ten percent joyous.
But, says Gaius, if a simple preventative measure is taken, elevating salt levels in the water very slightly, an increased survival rate of seventy percent can be expected.
The Growling Grass Frog's joy level leaps back up to eighty.
(Seventy plus ten).
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Not Being In Two Places
Several drinks later, the conversation turns to Gaius's rescue.
I can't drive, because of my ankle, says Margaret. Otherwise I would go, of course. And anyway how would I get there?
David will go in my car, says Katherine.
No, mother, says David. Much as I would like to, the show must come first.
I'll go, says Terence.
Ha ha, laughs Raelene. I bet he can drive too, the little monkey.
I can drive, says Terence. But I'm not allowed to. When I grow up I'll....
He remembers who he will be when he grows up.
Sweezus is downing his third ale.
Don't look at me, little buddy. And you can't go. You're the star of the play.
He's irreplaceable, says Vello.
I'll go, says Arthur. Give me the car keys.
It seems like a good resolution.
He's driven Katherine's car before.
Don't go now, says Sweezus. Cops are out, breath testing.
Might lose my licence, says Arthur.
This comforts the women. They think:
Arthur is sensible. Arthur must have a licence.
Katherine gives Arthur the car keys.
Margaret gives him her car keys as well.
Can't drive two cars at once, says Arthur.
Yeah okay, says Sweezus. I'll come with you.
Aren't you boys lovely, says Margaret. Do give my apologies to Gaius. Make sure he knows I lost my memory. It wasn't intentional.
Yep, says Sweezus. We'll tell him. See ya, Terence.
I wish you weren't lovely, says Terence.
It's not fair, because he is in the play with his potato and they are both irreplaceable so he can't go in Katherine's car with Sweezus and Arthur to rescue Gaius and Saint Roley and he wants to, but if he can't go he wishes Sweezus and Arthur couldn't go either and anyway they're not LOVELY.
The Red Parrot Potato tries a few words of comfort.
You can't be in two places at once, says the Red Parrot Potato.
You can, says Terence. You just did it.
That wasn't the same thing at all, says the Red Parrot Potato. I was two potatoes in the the same place at once. To be honest, I didn't think anyone would notice.
I wish I could do maths, says Terence.
.......
Leave early? says Arthur.
Early, says Sweezus. Does her car have a surfboard rack?
Don't think so, says Arthur.
Yeah it wouldn't, says Sweezus. She must be like, seventy.
I can't drive, because of my ankle, says Margaret. Otherwise I would go, of course. And anyway how would I get there?
David will go in my car, says Katherine.
No, mother, says David. Much as I would like to, the show must come first.
I'll go, says Terence.
Ha ha, laughs Raelene. I bet he can drive too, the little monkey.
I can drive, says Terence. But I'm not allowed to. When I grow up I'll....
He remembers who he will be when he grows up.
Sweezus is downing his third ale.
Don't look at me, little buddy. And you can't go. You're the star of the play.
He's irreplaceable, says Vello.
I'll go, says Arthur. Give me the car keys.
It seems like a good resolution.
He's driven Katherine's car before.
Don't go now, says Sweezus. Cops are out, breath testing.
Might lose my licence, says Arthur.
This comforts the women. They think:
Arthur is sensible. Arthur must have a licence.
Katherine gives Arthur the car keys.
Margaret gives him her car keys as well.
Can't drive two cars at once, says Arthur.
Yeah okay, says Sweezus. I'll come with you.
Aren't you boys lovely, says Margaret. Do give my apologies to Gaius. Make sure he knows I lost my memory. It wasn't intentional.
Yep, says Sweezus. We'll tell him. See ya, Terence.
I wish you weren't lovely, says Terence.
It's not fair, because he is in the play with his potato and they are both irreplaceable so he can't go in Katherine's car with Sweezus and Arthur to rescue Gaius and Saint Roley and he wants to, but if he can't go he wishes Sweezus and Arthur couldn't go either and anyway they're not LOVELY.
The Red Parrot Potato tries a few words of comfort.
You can't be in two places at once, says the Red Parrot Potato.
You can, says Terence. You just did it.
That wasn't the same thing at all, says the Red Parrot Potato. I was two potatoes in the the same place at once. To be honest, I didn't think anyone would notice.
I wish I could do maths, says Terence.
.......
Leave early? says Arthur.
Early, says Sweezus. Does her car have a surfboard rack?
Don't think so, says Arthur.
Yeah it wouldn't, says Sweezus. She must be like, seventy.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Randomness Of Survival
Vello has invited the audience to stay for a quick Q and A.
Most have filed out. But several remain, including Raelene, Margaret and Katherine.
Any questions? asks Vello.
Raelene puts her hand up. So do two others.
Vello chooses one of the others.
First questioner: My question is for the little guy.
Terence, says Vello. Pay attention.
Terence is twirling his red parrot potato. He stops.
First questioner: How many potatoes played the Sad Stories?
Terence: One.
First questioner: So how come we saw two Kings of Poland?
Terence: My potato does maths.
Vello: Next question?
Second Questioner: There were two potatoes. We saw them.
Velo: That's not a question. Are there any sensible questions?
Me! says Raelene.
Ah, you! says Vello. You called out First World Problems. That was extremely helpful. What is your question?
Raelene: What is the aim of Candide?
Vello: As I am the author, I shall leave David to answer that one.
David: The aim is to show the folly of believing that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. And to suggest an alternative philosophy. Although I'm not sure Vello succeeded in explaining it properly.
Raelene: What is it?
Vello: Simply to cultivate your own garden.
Raelene: Do you grow your own potatoes?
Vello: Pshaw! Of course not.
Katherine: It was my potato originally. It was cooked on Margaret's campfire, along with two others.
First Questioner: So was that....?
Margaret: No, Gaius ate the two others.
Vello: That just goes to show the randomness of survival.
Raelene: If your aim was to teach us to cultivate our own garden, how come no one said it?
Vello: The production this year was more experimental. You must admit the audience loved the potato.
Raelene: All five of them.
Red Parrot Potato: Thank you.
The organisers are fuming. There was not supposed to be a Q and A afterwards. The tent is needed for the next show. They have to leave NOW.
Vello invites the stragglers to join him and David for a drink under the dark paper lanterns, next to the Piglet.
Most of them have better things to do.
But not Katherine, Raelene and Margaret.
They sit on uncomfortable boxes.
It is only now that Sweezus and Arthur turn up.
Shit! have we missed it? asks Sweezus. How'd it go?
Excellently, says Vello. Thanks in part to this lady.
He indicates Raelene.
This is Raelene, says Margaret. She floored me in the Kingston bakery after I knocked out her partner. I lost my memory for a while and have only recently recovered it.
Awesome, says Sweezus. What did you forget?
My car, says Margaret. And Gaius. He is still stuck back there in the Coorong, with his algae.
Terence looks up from the red drink that Vello has bought him.
Now what will happen?
But no one thinks of a rescue.
Arthur saunters across the bar.
Most have filed out. But several remain, including Raelene, Margaret and Katherine.
Any questions? asks Vello.
Raelene puts her hand up. So do two others.
Vello chooses one of the others.
First questioner: My question is for the little guy.
Terence, says Vello. Pay attention.
Terence is twirling his red parrot potato. He stops.
First questioner: How many potatoes played the Sad Stories?
Terence: One.
First questioner: So how come we saw two Kings of Poland?
Terence: My potato does maths.
Vello: Next question?
Second Questioner: There were two potatoes. We saw them.
Velo: That's not a question. Are there any sensible questions?
Me! says Raelene.
Ah, you! says Vello. You called out First World Problems. That was extremely helpful. What is your question?
Raelene: What is the aim of Candide?
Vello: As I am the author, I shall leave David to answer that one.
David: The aim is to show the folly of believing that all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. And to suggest an alternative philosophy. Although I'm not sure Vello succeeded in explaining it properly.
Raelene: What is it?
Vello: Simply to cultivate your own garden.
Raelene: Do you grow your own potatoes?
Vello: Pshaw! Of course not.
Katherine: It was my potato originally. It was cooked on Margaret's campfire, along with two others.
First Questioner: So was that....?
Margaret: No, Gaius ate the two others.
Vello: That just goes to show the randomness of survival.
Raelene: If your aim was to teach us to cultivate our own garden, how come no one said it?
Vello: The production this year was more experimental. You must admit the audience loved the potato.
Raelene: All five of them.
Red Parrot Potato: Thank you.
The organisers are fuming. There was not supposed to be a Q and A afterwards. The tent is needed for the next show. They have to leave NOW.
Vello invites the stragglers to join him and David for a drink under the dark paper lanterns, next to the Piglet.
Most of them have better things to do.
But not Katherine, Raelene and Margaret.
They sit on uncomfortable boxes.
It is only now that Sweezus and Arthur turn up.
Shit! have we missed it? asks Sweezus. How'd it go?
Excellently, says Vello. Thanks in part to this lady.
He indicates Raelene.
This is Raelene, says Margaret. She floored me in the Kingston bakery after I knocked out her partner. I lost my memory for a while and have only recently recovered it.
Awesome, says Sweezus. What did you forget?
My car, says Margaret. And Gaius. He is still stuck back there in the Coorong, with his algae.
Terence looks up from the red drink that Vello has bought him.
Now what will happen?
But no one thinks of a rescue.
Arthur saunters across the bar.
Thursday, March 1, 2018
First World Problems
Candide.
It is dark in the tent.
The lights come up.
Vello comes on.
The story so far, says Vello. Candide and Martin have reached Padua and are dining tonight at an inn.
There are five Kings in the dining room, each with a different Sad Story.
The part of the Kings will be played by an infant, the Sad Stories by different potatoes.
I must ask you to turn your mobile phones off.
And enjoy the production!
Applause.
He goes off and comes back on again with David. They sit at a table.
Silence.
Terence comes on. He is wearing the purple silk shirt that Belle found in the cupboard. He looks like a magician. He is holding a stick.
On the end of the stick, dangling by a string is a potato.
Gentlemen, says Candide (Vello). How do you come to be Kings?
Terence: Here is my Sad Story.
Potato: My name is Achmet the Third. My nephew dethroned me and had the throats of my viziers cut.
Candide: That wasn't you.
Potato: Wasn't it?
Candide (in a stage whisper): It's the wrong potato.
Muffled laughter.
Terence: Woo! Sorry.
Terence walks off stage fast with the wrong potato, and comes back with what could be a different potato.
Second Potato: My name is Charles Edward, King of England.The hearts of my followers were torn out and used to beat their faces.
Audience member: It's the same potato!
Katherine: Shhh!
Terence goes off, and returns with two potatoes.
Third Potato: I am King Ivan of Poland. I have lost my hereditary dominions.
Fourth Potato: Me too. I lost my kingdom twice and now submit to providence.
Terence goes off, with the two potatoes.
He returns with the Red Parrot Potato, the final Sad Story.
Red Parrot Potato: I am King Theodore. Cooked in a campfire, rescued, expert at maths. I got ONE sum wrong. Now I haven't a farthing to my name and have scarcely a servant.
First world problems! shouts Raelene.
Raelene! says Margaret.
The audience erupts into laughter.
Looks like Vello's production of Candide will be a success.
It is dark in the tent.
The lights come up.
Vello comes on.
The story so far, says Vello. Candide and Martin have reached Padua and are dining tonight at an inn.
There are five Kings in the dining room, each with a different Sad Story.
The part of the Kings will be played by an infant, the Sad Stories by different potatoes.
I must ask you to turn your mobile phones off.
And enjoy the production!
Applause.
He goes off and comes back on again with David. They sit at a table.
Silence.
Terence comes on. He is wearing the purple silk shirt that Belle found in the cupboard. He looks like a magician. He is holding a stick.
On the end of the stick, dangling by a string is a potato.
Gentlemen, says Candide (Vello). How do you come to be Kings?
Terence: Here is my Sad Story.
Potato: My name is Achmet the Third. My nephew dethroned me and had the throats of my viziers cut.
Candide: That wasn't you.
Potato: Wasn't it?
Candide (in a stage whisper): It's the wrong potato.
Muffled laughter.
Terence: Woo! Sorry.
Terence walks off stage fast with the wrong potato, and comes back with what could be a different potato.
Second Potato: My name is Charles Edward, King of England.The hearts of my followers were torn out and used to beat their faces.
Audience member: It's the same potato!
Katherine: Shhh!
Terence goes off, and returns with two potatoes.
Third Potato: I am King Ivan of Poland. I have lost my hereditary dominions.
Fourth Potato: Me too. I lost my kingdom twice and now submit to providence.
Terence goes off, with the two potatoes.
He returns with the Red Parrot Potato, the final Sad Story.
Red Parrot Potato: I am King Theodore. Cooked in a campfire, rescued, expert at maths. I got ONE sum wrong. Now I haven't a farthing to my name and have scarcely a servant.
First world problems! shouts Raelene.
Raelene! says Margaret.
The audience erupts into laughter.
Looks like Vello's production of Candide will be a success.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
