Let me get this straight, says Victor. You arrived with three crabs, relocated from Henley.
That is correct, says Gaius. And now, as you see, one has died.
I must ask you to retrieve it from the waters of Middleton, says Victor. And dispose of it thoughtfully. If you refuse...
I shall not refuse, says Gaius. Arthur!
Arthur comes over, Monte Carlo crumbs round his mouth.
You like eating biscuits? says Victor.
Sometimes, says Arthur.
After potatoes? says Victor.
A leading question. Arthur notes it, and does not reply.
Lend me your notebook and pen for a minute, says Arthur.
Certainly not. Police property. says Victor. But you might like to tell me what for.
No, says Arthur. I wouldn't. I'll write it down for you.
Victor now has a dilemma.
But these are strange times.
All right, says Victor. One page only. And don't lick the pen!
Arthur lifts his eyebrows. A crumb falls to the sand.
No one licks a pen these days, says Gaius.
Who asked you? says Victor.
He gives Arthur the pen, and the notebook, which is open at a page on which Victor has written:
illegal crabs...3 ...located at Middleton.
illegal gathering (excuse given).....potato race? (no evidence of potatoes observed)
Arthur turns the page and starts making a copy of his poem The Short Tempestuous Life of Alexander-Curly.
Victor looks into the salad bowl where Alexander-Groovy awaits reparation.
Hello? says Victor. Claw missing. What happened?
I'm the lucky one, says Alexander-Groovy.
How so? asks Victor.
The survivor, says Alexander-Groovy. One claw was found and I'm to get it.
Victor is suspicious. A possible motive has arisen.
He needs his notebook back from Arthur.
He looks across to where Arthur is busily scribbling, without (so far) licking his pen.
His eye travels back to Alexander-Groovy who does not look capable of foul play.
Policing is full of traps and riddles.
But.... yes (thinks Victor) .... weren't there three?
He scans the nearby sand, looks under the table.
A crab. Two claws intact. Surrounded by knucklebones.
He gets down on all fours, the better to see.
Thursday, April 30, 2020
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
What Happens Next Is Irrelevant
Gaius is informed of the death of Alexander-Curly.
Terence gives him the news.
Guess what? says Terence.
Just tell me! says Gaius, now on his third paper cup of rosé.
OKAY! says Terence.
Gaius waits.
Remember Alexander-Curly? says Terence.
Of course I do. You stepped on him, as you did Alexander-Times-Roman, says Gaius.
Who? says Terence.
He has forgotten he stepped on Alexander-Times Roman.
Never mind, says Gaius. What about Curly? I imagine he died.
YES! says Terence. He's dead in the salad bowl.
This calls for action, says Gaius. And a decision.
He goes over to Kierkegaard, who is eating a prawn summer roll, next to Lauren
Our low-dose crab has died, says Gaius. That leaves the mid-dose crab, and the control crab.
Two crabs, says Kierkegaard. I see the problem.
Tell me how you see it, says Gaius.
As I see it, says Kierkegaard, whatever happens next is irrelevant.
That's not how I see it, says Gaius. Finish your prawn roll and we'll talk further.
Very well, says Kierkegaard. But I have a board rash which needs seeing to.
He does, says Lauren. And I'll see to it.
All right, says Gaius. Meanwhile, I'll dispose of the crab.
He goes to the salad bowl in which the dead Curly is lying.
Picks him up, throws him into the sea.
Dead Curly floats lopsidedly, washing in and out with the wavelets.
He does not go away.
Sweezus and Arthur are looking out to sea. Should they go surfing?
Don't even think about it, says Belle.
Have a Monte Carlo, says Marie.
She hands them around.
Lauren has put down the knucklebones, to take a Monte Carlo.
Alexander-Red-Hook sidles over.
She is sure she could juggle.
She picks up two knucklebones. Then three.
.......
A policeman approaches. It's Victor.
What's this? asks Victor. A gathering?
No, says Lauren. Legitimate exercise.
Yes, says Belle. We've just had a potato race.
Then where are the potatoes? asks Victor.
We've eaten them, says Marie.
What's in the paper cups? asks Victor.
Nothing, says Arthur.
This is true, at the moment.
Victor is mollified...
UNTIL!
He spots Alexander-Curly floating in the shallows, dead, cracked and declawed.
Evidence!
He takes out his notebook and pen.
Terence gives him the news.
Guess what? says Terence.
Just tell me! says Gaius, now on his third paper cup of rosé.
OKAY! says Terence.
Gaius waits.
Remember Alexander-Curly? says Terence.
Of course I do. You stepped on him, as you did Alexander-Times-Roman, says Gaius.
Who? says Terence.
He has forgotten he stepped on Alexander-Times Roman.
Never mind, says Gaius. What about Curly? I imagine he died.
YES! says Terence. He's dead in the salad bowl.
This calls for action, says Gaius. And a decision.
He goes over to Kierkegaard, who is eating a prawn summer roll, next to Lauren
Our low-dose crab has died, says Gaius. That leaves the mid-dose crab, and the control crab.
Two crabs, says Kierkegaard. I see the problem.
Tell me how you see it, says Gaius.
As I see it, says Kierkegaard, whatever happens next is irrelevant.
That's not how I see it, says Gaius. Finish your prawn roll and we'll talk further.
Very well, says Kierkegaard. But I have a board rash which needs seeing to.
He does, says Lauren. And I'll see to it.
All right, says Gaius. Meanwhile, I'll dispose of the crab.
He goes to the salad bowl in which the dead Curly is lying.
Picks him up, throws him into the sea.
Dead Curly floats lopsidedly, washing in and out with the wavelets.
He does not go away.
Sweezus and Arthur are looking out to sea. Should they go surfing?
Don't even think about it, says Belle.
Have a Monte Carlo, says Marie.
She hands them around.
Lauren has put down the knucklebones, to take a Monte Carlo.
Alexander-Red-Hook sidles over.
She is sure she could juggle.
She picks up two knucklebones. Then three.
.......
A policeman approaches. It's Victor.
What's this? asks Victor. A gathering?
No, says Lauren. Legitimate exercise.
Yes, says Belle. We've just had a potato race.
Then where are the potatoes? asks Victor.
We've eaten them, says Marie.
What's in the paper cups? asks Victor.
Nothing, says Arthur.
This is true, at the moment.
Victor is mollified...
UNTIL!
He spots Alexander-Curly floating in the shallows, dead, cracked and declawed.
Evidence!
He takes out his notebook and pen.
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Flummm-Shh-Shh
Alexander-Curly is moved, to hear his own story.
And how he has died too early.
He hopes Arthur will not forget to write it down.
Arthur has returned to the other end of the table, where Marie is opening the Monte Carlos.
Alexander-Red-Hook looks over the rim of the salad bowl.
How are you doing? she asks.
Arthur made me a poem, says Alexander-Curly.
I heard it, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I was just down there on the sand, waiting for something.
What? asks Alexander-Curly.
The knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
O to have worldly concerns, says Alexander-Curly. You do know I'm dying?
I do dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook. If I had the knucklebones with me, I'd show you a juggle.
You can't juggle! says Alexander-Curly.
I'm quite certain I can, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But when Sweezus put them down, Lauren picked up the knucklebones.
Why would she do that? asks Alexander-Curly, interested even though he is fading.
They're just like the ones she used to have as a girl, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Don't you think that's funny?
Funny haha? asks Alexander-Curly.
Funny mysterious, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Not really, says Alexander-Curly.
Think, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Where did Sweezus get them?
Weren't they in a cardboard box? asks Curly. With the medal?
And the biscuits, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But Sweezus doesn't live here. He's on holiday. Lauren lives here.
Alexander-Curly's head is swimming.
What are you saying?
That they might be HER knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Say he found them, in her shed.
What about the medal? asks Alexander-Curly, faintly.
Lauren has a son, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I believe he and Sweezus are about the same age. It could be his medal.
Alexander-Curly can't get his head around all these details.
And really one ought to die calm.
I'm upsetting you, Curly, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Forget this. I'll follow it up later. For now, how may I soothe you?
Sing me to my rest, mumbles Alexander-Curly.
Of course she will. He is her brother.
Lalalalay... oolayoolay.. flummmmmmmmm....shh.....shh......shh
He dies.
It's exquisite.
And how he has died too early.
He hopes Arthur will not forget to write it down.
Arthur has returned to the other end of the table, where Marie is opening the Monte Carlos.
Alexander-Red-Hook looks over the rim of the salad bowl.
How are you doing? she asks.
Arthur made me a poem, says Alexander-Curly.
I heard it, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I was just down there on the sand, waiting for something.
What? asks Alexander-Curly.
The knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
O to have worldly concerns, says Alexander-Curly. You do know I'm dying?
I do dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook. If I had the knucklebones with me, I'd show you a juggle.
You can't juggle! says Alexander-Curly.
I'm quite certain I can, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But when Sweezus put them down, Lauren picked up the knucklebones.
Why would she do that? asks Alexander-Curly, interested even though he is fading.
They're just like the ones she used to have as a girl, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Don't you think that's funny?
Funny haha? asks Alexander-Curly.
Funny mysterious, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Not really, says Alexander-Curly.
Think, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Where did Sweezus get them?
Weren't they in a cardboard box? asks Curly. With the medal?
And the biscuits, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But Sweezus doesn't live here. He's on holiday. Lauren lives here.
Alexander-Curly's head is swimming.
What are you saying?
That they might be HER knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Say he found them, in her shed.
What about the medal? asks Alexander-Curly, faintly.
Lauren has a son, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I believe he and Sweezus are about the same age. It could be his medal.
Alexander-Curly can't get his head around all these details.
And really one ought to die calm.
I'm upsetting you, Curly, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Forget this. I'll follow it up later. For now, how may I soothe you?
Sing me to my rest, mumbles Alexander-Curly.
Of course she will. He is her brother.
Lalalalay... oolayoolay.. flummmmmmmmm....shh.....shh......shh
He dies.
It's exquisite.
Monday, April 27, 2020
Curly, Died Too Early
Arthur sucks pea dip from the claw and puts it down on the table.
Alexander-Groovy winces.
This tart's brilliant, says Sweezus. Artichoke and ricotta. Want some?
Arthur cuts himself a big slice.
Kierkegaard sees Arthur eating a large slice of tart.
That looks interesting. What's in it?
Artichoke and ricotta, says Arthur. Want some?
Yes please, says Kierkegaard.
Popular tart.
Kierkegaard retires to the back of the table to eat his slice.
His eye falls on the salad bowl in which Alexander-Curly is pining.
Is there anything I can get you? asks Kierkegaard.
A higher being? says Alexander-Curly.
Impossible, at a picnic, says Kierkegaard.
I thought so, says Alexander-Curly. As you see, I am cracked down the middle.
It must be painful, says Kierkegaard.
It is painful, says Alexander-Curly. Perhaps you could write me a poem?
I'm no poet, says Kierkegaard. But I believe Arthur has talent.
Yes! says Alexander-Curly. I remember the golden intentions.
I'll ask him, says Kierkegaard.
He goes over to Arthur.
Curly is dying, says Kierkegaard. He requests a poem. I put your name forward.
Thanks, says Arthur, burping up minted pea.
Arthur heads to the end of the table.
It's not far.
What kind of poem? asks Arthur. Violent? Regretful?
Yes, says Alexander-Curly. And I'd like it written out in my font.
Okay, says Arthur. That should be easy.
Alexander-Curly waits for his last (and only) poem.
The Short Tempestuous Life of Alexander-Curly, begins Arthur.
Emerged from the sand
into the cruel light of SCIENCE
I volunteered without reck.
From then I denied my true nature.
I lurked in the depths of a salad bowl.
Transported,
in a bus, the top salad bowl
of three, luckily.
The bottom one was broken.
(that WAS lucky), sighs Alexander-Curly)
Tumbled in violent waves
in search of a higher being
my claw detached, as was the claw of my brother.
One was found.
Now he will have it.
For I being stepped on, have cracked.
Sing all!
For Alexander-Curly.
He died too early.
Alexander-Groovy winces.
This tart's brilliant, says Sweezus. Artichoke and ricotta. Want some?
Arthur cuts himself a big slice.
Kierkegaard sees Arthur eating a large slice of tart.
That looks interesting. What's in it?
Artichoke and ricotta, says Arthur. Want some?
Yes please, says Kierkegaard.
Popular tart.
Kierkegaard retires to the back of the table to eat his slice.
His eye falls on the salad bowl in which Alexander-Curly is pining.
Is there anything I can get you? asks Kierkegaard.
A higher being? says Alexander-Curly.
Impossible, at a picnic, says Kierkegaard.
I thought so, says Alexander-Curly. As you see, I am cracked down the middle.
It must be painful, says Kierkegaard.
It is painful, says Alexander-Curly. Perhaps you could write me a poem?
I'm no poet, says Kierkegaard. But I believe Arthur has talent.
Yes! says Alexander-Curly. I remember the golden intentions.
I'll ask him, says Kierkegaard.
He goes over to Arthur.
Curly is dying, says Kierkegaard. He requests a poem. I put your name forward.
Thanks, says Arthur, burping up minted pea.
Arthur heads to the end of the table.
It's not far.
What kind of poem? asks Arthur. Violent? Regretful?
Yes, says Alexander-Curly. And I'd like it written out in my font.
Okay, says Arthur. That should be easy.
Alexander-Curly waits for his last (and only) poem.
The Short Tempestuous Life of Alexander-Curly, begins Arthur.
Emerged from the sand
into the cruel light of SCIENCE
I volunteered without reck.
From then I denied my true nature.
I lurked in the depths of a salad bowl.
Transported,
in a bus, the top salad bowl
of three, luckily.
The bottom one was broken.
(that WAS lucky), sighs Alexander-Curly)
Tumbled in violent waves
in search of a higher being
my claw detached, as was the claw of my brother.
One was found.
Now he will have it.
For I being stepped on, have cracked.
Sing all!
For Alexander-Curly.
He died too early.
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Going Well With A Radish
Terence goes back to tell Alexander-Red-Hook that she can't have the knucklebones.
Sweezus doesn't love you as much as you thought, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence didn't know this would be how she'd perceive it.
He DOES! says Terence. I knew he'd give them to me.
But he didn't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. How do you explain that?
Terence thinks back.
He can't explain that.
What did you actually say? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Can you have the knucklebones, because you won them, says Terence.
Meaning me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Of course he doesn't love ME. You should have asked if you could borrow them.
Okay, says Terence.
He heads back to the picnic table, where everyone else is.
This is a lovely dip, Lauren, says Belle. What is it?
Pea and mint, says Lauren. It goes well with a radish.
Yes, I was just going to try that, says Belle.
She picks up a radish.
Is that a tomato? asks Gaius, aghast.
No, a radish, says Belle.
I should have known, says Gaius. Different colour entirely.
He takes a radish and dips it. Cer-runch! Very nice!
Sweezus has his eye on a tart (artichoke and salted ricotta).
He puts down the knucklebones, takes a knife, cuts a large slice.
Terence regards the knucklebones.
He could just take them.
But Lauren has picked them up now.
These are exactly like my old ones, says Lauren.
She throws them up. Tries to catch them. Oops. One has dropped into the pea and mint dip.
It sinks to the bottom.
I'll get it, says Arthur, who has drunk enough low alcohol rosé to make him reckless.
Arthur picks up the claw, which is destined for Alexander-Groovy when Gaius finds the fish glue.
Arthur dips the claw in the dip.
Of course a claw won't work properly without being attached to a carpus.
Arthur has to work it himself.
He prises the claw open, getting pea dip all over his fingers.
He can feel the lost knucklebone, somewhere in the mushy green conglomeration.
Yes, he has got it.
But the claw is open at too wide an angle to pick up a knucklebone.
Arthur has to manually close it.
At last the knucklebone is lifted free of the pea and mint dip.
It's covered with dip, though.
Arthur sucks it, and gives it back to Lauren.
Thanks dear, says Lauren.
Groovy hopes he will not suck the claw.
Sweezus doesn't love you as much as you thought, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence didn't know this would be how she'd perceive it.
He DOES! says Terence. I knew he'd give them to me.
But he didn't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. How do you explain that?
Terence thinks back.
He can't explain that.
What did you actually say? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Can you have the knucklebones, because you won them, says Terence.
Meaning me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Of course he doesn't love ME. You should have asked if you could borrow them.
Okay, says Terence.
He heads back to the picnic table, where everyone else is.
This is a lovely dip, Lauren, says Belle. What is it?
Pea and mint, says Lauren. It goes well with a radish.
Yes, I was just going to try that, says Belle.
She picks up a radish.
Is that a tomato? asks Gaius, aghast.
No, a radish, says Belle.
I should have known, says Gaius. Different colour entirely.
He takes a radish and dips it. Cer-runch! Very nice!
Sweezus has his eye on a tart (artichoke and salted ricotta).
He puts down the knucklebones, takes a knife, cuts a large slice.
Terence regards the knucklebones.
He could just take them.
But Lauren has picked them up now.
These are exactly like my old ones, says Lauren.
She throws them up. Tries to catch them. Oops. One has dropped into the pea and mint dip.
It sinks to the bottom.
I'll get it, says Arthur, who has drunk enough low alcohol rosé to make him reckless.
Arthur picks up the claw, which is destined for Alexander-Groovy when Gaius finds the fish glue.
Arthur dips the claw in the dip.
Of course a claw won't work properly without being attached to a carpus.
Arthur has to work it himself.
He prises the claw open, getting pea dip all over his fingers.
He can feel the lost knucklebone, somewhere in the mushy green conglomeration.
Yes, he has got it.
But the claw is open at too wide an angle to pick up a knucklebone.
Arthur has to manually close it.
At last the knucklebone is lifted free of the pea and mint dip.
It's covered with dip, though.
Arthur sucks it, and gives it back to Lauren.
Thanks dear, says Lauren.
Groovy hopes he will not suck the claw.
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Nor The Wisdom Of Solomon
Kierkegaard steps back.
I'll perform Reiki on it, later, says Lauren. Right now there's the picnic.
Perhaps, says Kierkegaard.
His board rash feels worse. It could be from her raspy fingers or because he's been running.
Can we move these salad bowls? asks Lauren. And this unattached claw?
Wait, says Gaius. Where's the ruler?
Here, says Lauren. Can't you do that later?
Time is of the essence, says Gaius. This crab is failing. It would be a pity to waste the claw on a dying one. But if it's his, he shall have it.
Gaius hoists Alexander-Curly out of the salad bowl he has been put in.
He measures the tendon sticking out from the broken off carpus.
He examines Curly's empty propodus.
If only I had a skewer, says Gaius. I could poke it in and obtain an exact measure.
Noooo! cries Alexander-Curly.
It's the first word he has spoken since being stepped on.
I won't have a skewer inserted into my propodus!
Excellent A coherent sentence!
I will! says Alexander-Groovy. I'll endure the skewer!
Perhaps this proves that the claw belongs to Alexander-Groovy.
Perhaps it doesn't.
Gaius has no time to weigh up the matter. Nor has he the wisdom of Solomon.
And the picnic is being put on the table regardless.
Gaius makes a decision.
Groovy is having the claw.
Unfortunately, to reattach it requires the fish glue which is in his back pack (he hopes) on the floor in Lauren's kitchen.
The spring green frittata smells good. So do the pork and chorizo picnic pies.
Groovy can wait a bit longer.
Belle is pouring the wine.
It's very low in alcohol, says Belle, So drink as much as you like.
Or more, says Arthur, to Sweezus.
Huh? says Sweezus, idly throwing up knucklebones, and catching them on the back of his hand.
Hey! says Terence. Alexander-Red-Hook wants the knucklebones. She WON them!
But no way will Sweezus give the knucklebones up to a crab.
I'll perform Reiki on it, later, says Lauren. Right now there's the picnic.
Perhaps, says Kierkegaard.
His board rash feels worse. It could be from her raspy fingers or because he's been running.
Can we move these salad bowls? asks Lauren. And this unattached claw?
Wait, says Gaius. Where's the ruler?
Here, says Lauren. Can't you do that later?
Time is of the essence, says Gaius. This crab is failing. It would be a pity to waste the claw on a dying one. But if it's his, he shall have it.
Gaius hoists Alexander-Curly out of the salad bowl he has been put in.
He measures the tendon sticking out from the broken off carpus.
He examines Curly's empty propodus.
If only I had a skewer, says Gaius. I could poke it in and obtain an exact measure.
Noooo! cries Alexander-Curly.
It's the first word he has spoken since being stepped on.
I won't have a skewer inserted into my propodus!
Excellent A coherent sentence!
I will! says Alexander-Groovy. I'll endure the skewer!
Perhaps this proves that the claw belongs to Alexander-Groovy.
Perhaps it doesn't.
Gaius has no time to weigh up the matter. Nor has he the wisdom of Solomon.
And the picnic is being put on the table regardless.
Gaius makes a decision.
Groovy is having the claw.
Unfortunately, to reattach it requires the fish glue which is in his back pack (he hopes) on the floor in Lauren's kitchen.
The spring green frittata smells good. So do the pork and chorizo picnic pies.
Groovy can wait a bit longer.
Belle is pouring the wine.
It's very low in alcohol, says Belle, So drink as much as you like.
Or more, says Arthur, to Sweezus.
Huh? says Sweezus, idly throwing up knucklebones, and catching them on the back of his hand.
Hey! says Terence. Alexander-Red-Hook wants the knucklebones. She WON them!
But no way will Sweezus give the knucklebones up to a crab.
Friday, April 24, 2020
Catching The Sunlight
And this is what happens.
Kierkegaard wins.
It's the first time he's won anything in ages. Maybe ever.
Sweezus comes second.
He is relieved, because it means he gets to keep the knucklebones.
Belle and Arthur jog in, together, winning the Monte Carlos.
Your knee's bleeding, says Lauren. You need to wash it.
Later, says Arthur. After we've eaten.
Aren't you full of potatoes? asks Lauren.
No, Arthur is not.
Gaius and Marie have not arrived yet.
We'll wait for them before starting the picnic, says Lauren. Meanwhile, look who won our little competition!
The four finishers look.
Terence is wearing the medal. He sees them all looking. He twirls in the sand. The medal swings grandly, catching the sunlight. Terence steps on a crab.
Ouu! Crack. It was Alexander-Curly, who was lying exhausted near the leg of the table.
Lauren picks him up, and places him in one of the salad bowls. Let's hope she's picked the right one.
Terence is sorry he stepped on Alexander-Curly.
He's lost people's attention.
He shuffles away from the table, and sits down on the sand, next to Alexander-Red-Hook, who looks gloomy as well.
What happened? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Is Curly all right?
How should I know? asks Terence. I just won a medal.
I won the knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But where are they?
Where? asks Terence.
Sweezus has got them, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Ask for a turn, says Terence. He'll let you.
You ask him, says Alexander-Red-Hook. He likes you.
He LOVES me, says Terence. He caught me when I fell off my palace.
There you go, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence makes his way across to the table.
Gaius and Marie have come back.
Gaius is peering into the salad bowl at his third to last subject, and asking:
Were you medium or low?
Alexander-Curly can't remember.
Which bowl were you in? Red or Burnt Sienna?
It's no good, Curly won't answer.
Ask Kierkegaard. He should know.
But Kierkegaard is full of himself at the moment (as well as potatoes). He is explaining to Lauren how many he ate. And still he came first. It's a wonder!
She is rubbing his tummy.
Not for the potatoes, but the board rash, which is partly exposed.
Kierkegaard wins.
It's the first time he's won anything in ages. Maybe ever.
Sweezus comes second.
He is relieved, because it means he gets to keep the knucklebones.
Belle and Arthur jog in, together, winning the Monte Carlos.
Your knee's bleeding, says Lauren. You need to wash it.
Later, says Arthur. After we've eaten.
Aren't you full of potatoes? asks Lauren.
No, Arthur is not.
Gaius and Marie have not arrived yet.
We'll wait for them before starting the picnic, says Lauren. Meanwhile, look who won our little competition!
The four finishers look.
Terence is wearing the medal. He sees them all looking. He twirls in the sand. The medal swings grandly, catching the sunlight. Terence steps on a crab.
Ouu! Crack. It was Alexander-Curly, who was lying exhausted near the leg of the table.
Lauren picks him up, and places him in one of the salad bowls. Let's hope she's picked the right one.
Terence is sorry he stepped on Alexander-Curly.
He's lost people's attention.
He shuffles away from the table, and sits down on the sand, next to Alexander-Red-Hook, who looks gloomy as well.
What happened? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Is Curly all right?
How should I know? asks Terence. I just won a medal.
I won the knucklebones, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But where are they?
Where? asks Terence.
Sweezus has got them, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Ask for a turn, says Terence. He'll let you.
You ask him, says Alexander-Red-Hook. He likes you.
He LOVES me, says Terence. He caught me when I fell off my palace.
There you go, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence makes his way across to the table.
Gaius and Marie have come back.
Gaius is peering into the salad bowl at his third to last subject, and asking:
Were you medium or low?
Alexander-Curly can't remember.
Which bowl were you in? Red or Burnt Sienna?
It's no good, Curly won't answer.
Ask Kierkegaard. He should know.
But Kierkegaard is full of himself at the moment (as well as potatoes). He is explaining to Lauren how many he ate. And still he came first. It's a wonder!
She is rubbing his tummy.
Not for the potatoes, but the board rash, which is partly exposed.
Thursday, April 23, 2020
Why Run For A Medal?
Go! says Lauren.
She and Terence and the crabs run round the table.
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are remarkably fast.
Being declawed (by one claw) is no disadvantage when running round a table.
I win, says Alexander-Curly.
Dead heat, says Alexander-Groovy.
We haven't FINISHED! says Terence. We have to go round the table again.
No one told US, says Alexander-Groovy. Our energy's almost expended.
You can't split the first prize, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I vote we keep going.
Me too, says Lauren. Keep going.
They run round the table again.
Lauren comes first, without really trying.
Terence comes second.
No one wants this. Not Terence, not Alexander-Red-Hook, who covets the knucklebones, but has come third, and would win the Monte Carlos.
Keep going, says Terence.
Until HE wins, says Alexander-Curly.
Until everyone stops cheating, says Terence.
I wasn't cheating, says Lauren. But I'll give myself a handicap.
This seems fair.
Third time round the table.
Lauren hasn't even started. Terence is neck and neck with Alexander-Red-Hook, who slows when she realises that Groovy and Curly have faltered.
Terence wins. Red-Hook comes second.
I win the medal! says Terence.
I win the knucklebones, says Red-Hook.
Lauren, who has passed Groovy and Curly at the northwest corner, wins the Monte Carlos.
It's the best of all possible results.
But time is short, because Terence only gets to wear the medal until the potato competitors come back.
Belle has been first to reach the furthest potato, due to her tactic, which was: don't bother with the earlier potatoes.
She is well in front on the way back.
She is nibbling the furthest potato. It's cold and unappetising.
She takes small bites, then spits them out sideways.
Arthur is not far behind her. He admires her for cheating.
He has not picked up any potatoes, himself.
Belle turns to see by how much she is winning.
Not much. Arthur is gaining.
She lets him draw level.
Do you want the medal? asks Belle. Or the knucklebones?
Neither, says Arthur. I hate cold potatoes.
Me too, says Belle. And there's a delicious picnic waiting for us.
What's in it? asks Arthur.
Spring green frittata, guacamole with jalapeno and corn chips, mini pork and chorizo picnic pies, prawn and avocado Vietnamese summer rolls, Edenvale Sparkling Rosé and Edenvale Blanc de Blanc, says Belle.
This sounds tempting to Arthur, whose knee is bleeding. Why run for a medal?
He and Belle begin jogging
Kierkegaard races by, swallowing hard lumps of cold potato that haven't gone down yet.
Sweezus is close at his heels.
At this rate Kierkegaard will win the medal.
And Sweezus will win his own knucklebones
She and Terence and the crabs run round the table.
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are remarkably fast.
Being declawed (by one claw) is no disadvantage when running round a table.
I win, says Alexander-Curly.
Dead heat, says Alexander-Groovy.
We haven't FINISHED! says Terence. We have to go round the table again.
No one told US, says Alexander-Groovy. Our energy's almost expended.
You can't split the first prize, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I vote we keep going.
Me too, says Lauren. Keep going.
They run round the table again.
Lauren comes first, without really trying.
Terence comes second.
No one wants this. Not Terence, not Alexander-Red-Hook, who covets the knucklebones, but has come third, and would win the Monte Carlos.
Keep going, says Terence.
Until HE wins, says Alexander-Curly.
Until everyone stops cheating, says Terence.
I wasn't cheating, says Lauren. But I'll give myself a handicap.
This seems fair.
Third time round the table.
Lauren hasn't even started. Terence is neck and neck with Alexander-Red-Hook, who slows when she realises that Groovy and Curly have faltered.
Terence wins. Red-Hook comes second.
I win the medal! says Terence.
I win the knucklebones, says Red-Hook.
Lauren, who has passed Groovy and Curly at the northwest corner, wins the Monte Carlos.
It's the best of all possible results.
But time is short, because Terence only gets to wear the medal until the potato competitors come back.
Belle has been first to reach the furthest potato, due to her tactic, which was: don't bother with the earlier potatoes.
She is well in front on the way back.
She is nibbling the furthest potato. It's cold and unappetising.
She takes small bites, then spits them out sideways.
Arthur is not far behind her. He admires her for cheating.
He has not picked up any potatoes, himself.
Belle turns to see by how much she is winning.
Not much. Arthur is gaining.
She lets him draw level.
Do you want the medal? asks Belle. Or the knucklebones?
Neither, says Arthur. I hate cold potatoes.
Me too, says Belle. And there's a delicious picnic waiting for us.
What's in it? asks Arthur.
Spring green frittata, guacamole with jalapeno and corn chips, mini pork and chorizo picnic pies, prawn and avocado Vietnamese summer rolls, Edenvale Sparkling Rosé and Edenvale Blanc de Blanc, says Belle.
This sounds tempting to Arthur, whose knee is bleeding. Why run for a medal?
He and Belle begin jogging
Kierkegaard races by, swallowing hard lumps of cold potato that haven't gone down yet.
Sweezus is close at his heels.
At this rate Kierkegaard will win the medal.
And Sweezus will win his own knucklebones
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Bad Idea To Be First
Things move fast.
Arthur and Kierkegaard surf in.
Lauren and Gaius come down to the beach with a ruler.
The potatoes are set out at intervals, all the way to the track leading out of the sand hills.
They are cool now, but that can't be helped.
Arthur has a scraped knee and Kierkegaard has developed a board rash.
Which won't stop them competing.
Terence has arranged the prizes on the table in order of merit.
Medal, knucklebones, Monte Carlos.
Sweezus has told him to remove the Monte Carlos, which are not a prize.
Belle has persuaded Sweezus that whoever wins the Monte Carlos is sure to share them, so they may as well be a prize.
Sweezus has conceded.
The race can begin.
Now who's going in it?
Sweezus, Arthur, Kierkegaard, Belle, Marie and Gaius.
Not Terence. He is in charge of the crabs, and the prizes.
Not Lauren. She will stay here and judge the winner.
Because the competitors will have to run back.
Go! says Lauren.
The competitors race off, towards the first potato.
Sweezus is the first one to reach it. He picks it up, and stuffs it into his mouth. He keeps running.
He realises something.
Bad idea to be the first one to reach the second potato unless he's finished eating the first potato.
He slows. Marie races past him.
She reaches the second potato, picking it up on the run.
She begins to eat it, in short sharp bites, but she is in no hurry to be first to the third potato.
Meanwhile, back at the prize table, Terence is fiddling with the medal.
It's not fair, says Alexander-Groovy.
That's what I was thinking, says Terence. I can't win it.
None of us can win it, says Alexander-Curly.
I could, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But no one asked me.
What's this about? asks Lauren, who has nothing to do at the moment.
Terence explains that it's not fair because none of them can win the medal.
Or these lovely knuckle bones, says Lauren. I had some just like them when I was at school.
What did you do with them? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Lauren shows them. Throw one up, pick up another one while the first one is still in the air. Throw up those two, pick up another one, and so one until you've picked up all five.
The crabs marvel.
You still look glum, Terence, says Lauren. I know, why don't we run our own race? You, me and the crabs, round the table. Winner gets to wear the medal until the others come back.
Yay! says Terence.
He is determined to win it. He has the best chance. Two of the crabs are declawed and Red-Hook and Lauren will probably let him win, being females.
Arthur and Kierkegaard surf in.
Lauren and Gaius come down to the beach with a ruler.
The potatoes are set out at intervals, all the way to the track leading out of the sand hills.
They are cool now, but that can't be helped.
Arthur has a scraped knee and Kierkegaard has developed a board rash.
Which won't stop them competing.
Terence has arranged the prizes on the table in order of merit.
Medal, knucklebones, Monte Carlos.
Sweezus has told him to remove the Monte Carlos, which are not a prize.
Belle has persuaded Sweezus that whoever wins the Monte Carlos is sure to share them, so they may as well be a prize.
Sweezus has conceded.
The race can begin.
Now who's going in it?
Sweezus, Arthur, Kierkegaard, Belle, Marie and Gaius.
Not Terence. He is in charge of the crabs, and the prizes.
Not Lauren. She will stay here and judge the winner.
Because the competitors will have to run back.
Go! says Lauren.
The competitors race off, towards the first potato.
Sweezus is the first one to reach it. He picks it up, and stuffs it into his mouth. He keeps running.
He realises something.
Bad idea to be the first one to reach the second potato unless he's finished eating the first potato.
He slows. Marie races past him.
She reaches the second potato, picking it up on the run.
She begins to eat it, in short sharp bites, but she is in no hurry to be first to the third potato.
Meanwhile, back at the prize table, Terence is fiddling with the medal.
It's not fair, says Alexander-Groovy.
That's what I was thinking, says Terence. I can't win it.
None of us can win it, says Alexander-Curly.
I could, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But no one asked me.
What's this about? asks Lauren, who has nothing to do at the moment.
Terence explains that it's not fair because none of them can win the medal.
Or these lovely knuckle bones, says Lauren. I had some just like them when I was at school.
What did you do with them? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Lauren shows them. Throw one up, pick up another one while the first one is still in the air. Throw up those two, pick up another one, and so one until you've picked up all five.
The crabs marvel.
You still look glum, Terence, says Lauren. I know, why don't we run our own race? You, me and the crabs, round the table. Winner gets to wear the medal until the others come back.
Yay! says Terence.
He is determined to win it. He has the best chance. Two of the crabs are declawed and Red-Hook and Lauren will probably let him win, being females.
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Rules Of Potato
Sweezie! What's in the box? asks Belle.
Prizes, says Sweezus.
Prizes, that's so sweet, says Belle.
What sort of prizes? asks Marie.
Sweezus plonks the box on the fold up table and takes off the lid.
Biscuits. And knuckle bones. And a medal for coming first in the hundred metres (a long time ago).
Some of it's old stuff, says Sweezus. But the biscuits are new.
Monte Carlos, says Belle.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Couldn't get macarons.
Your favourite, says Belle. Never mind. Monte Carlos are good. Look. We've got the potatoes.
Cool, says Sweezus. How do we run this?
Ask Marie, says Belle. It was her idea in the first place.
Um, says Marie. I thought we could do it one of three ways. One, a race to eat the most potatoes, in situ.
That's not a race, says Sweezus.
Okay, says Marie. Two, we can run to an end point with the potatoes, and then eat the potatoes,
What's three? asks Sweezus. (He's giving up his old knuckle bones for this, it'd better be worth it).
Three, says Marie. Set potatoes along the course at intervals, first one to reach the first potato picks it up and starts eating it, while still running. The others keep running until they reach the second potato and so on.
Far out! says Sweezus. Let's go with three.
They'll be sandy, says Belle.
Thought of that, says Marie.
She whips out some paper plates which were tucked into a side pocket of the picnic basket.
Want me to set up the potatoes? asks Sweezus.
Would you? says Belle. We'll set up the rest of the picnic. O, and if you catch Arthur and Kierkegaard's attention, call them in.
No worries, says Sweezus.
He heads off with the paper plates, and the potatoes.
Belle looks at Marie.
He's really got into it!
I know, says Marie. Monte Carlos!
And this old medal, says Belle. I'd love to know how he won it.
Prizes, says Sweezus.
Prizes, that's so sweet, says Belle.
What sort of prizes? asks Marie.
Sweezus plonks the box on the fold up table and takes off the lid.
Biscuits. And knuckle bones. And a medal for coming first in the hundred metres (a long time ago).
Some of it's old stuff, says Sweezus. But the biscuits are new.
Monte Carlos, says Belle.
Yeah, says Sweezus. Couldn't get macarons.
Your favourite, says Belle. Never mind. Monte Carlos are good. Look. We've got the potatoes.
Cool, says Sweezus. How do we run this?
Ask Marie, says Belle. It was her idea in the first place.
Um, says Marie. I thought we could do it one of three ways. One, a race to eat the most potatoes, in situ.
That's not a race, says Sweezus.
Okay, says Marie. Two, we can run to an end point with the potatoes, and then eat the potatoes,
What's three? asks Sweezus. (He's giving up his old knuckle bones for this, it'd better be worth it).
Three, says Marie. Set potatoes along the course at intervals, first one to reach the first potato picks it up and starts eating it, while still running. The others keep running until they reach the second potato and so on.
Far out! says Sweezus. Let's go with three.
They'll be sandy, says Belle.
Thought of that, says Marie.
She whips out some paper plates which were tucked into a side pocket of the picnic basket.
Want me to set up the potatoes? asks Sweezus.
Would you? says Belle. We'll set up the rest of the picnic. O, and if you catch Arthur and Kierkegaard's attention, call them in.
No worries, says Sweezus.
He heads off with the paper plates, and the potatoes.
Belle looks at Marie.
He's really got into it!
I know, says Marie. Monte Carlos!
And this old medal, says Belle. I'd love to know how he won it.
Monday, April 20, 2020
The Look And The Good
Gaius, we need that table, says Belle.
Of course, says Gaius. I had thought to be finished by now, but something unexpected has happened.
What's that? asks Belle.
Two crabs are declawed, says Gaius. Terence found one claw. I'm now trying to determine which crab it belongs to.
Did you ask them? asks Belle.
They both claimed it, says Gaius. As is only natural. I'm measuring the length of exposed tendon to determine the truth.
You don't have a ruler, says Marie.
There are other ways of measuring, says Gaius. But you're right. I should have a ruler.
These potatoes are hot, says Marie. Can you give us one end of the table?
Certainly, says Gaius. I might go up to the shop and see if Lauren has a ruler. Will you keep an eye on the crabs?
Sure, says Marie, putting the hot potatoes next to the salad bowls of the hapless boy crabs.
Where's the third one? asks Belle. There are meant to be three of them.
I'm down here, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
At least you're in one piece, says Belle. Would you like to go back in your bowl now?
I don't think I'm allowed to, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
You're the control crab, says Belle.
Nevertheless, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We should all be returned to our bowls at the same time.
Good thinking, says Belle. But would you like to be up on the table?
Yes, please, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Belle lifts her up.
Alexander-Red-Hook regards her two declawed brothers. And the claw, which belongs to one of them.
You both want it? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
They nod (which is awkward for crabs).
You realise it'll be an impediment, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It may stop the new claw from growing.
We've thought about that already, says Alexander-Groovy.
We won't last that long, says Alexander-Curly. May as well have the short term benefit.
Which is? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Neither of them dares to say mating.
The look, says Alexander-Groovy, lamely.
And the balance, says Alexander-Curly.
Balance. A universal good.
Meanwhile, the potatoes are cooling. And where are the competitors?
Arthur is surfing the waves. Kierkegaard also.
Sweezus isn't. He is approaching the picnic table, from a faraway spot down the beach where a track divides the sand dunes.
He carries a brown cardboard box, with things in it.
Of course, says Gaius. I had thought to be finished by now, but something unexpected has happened.
What's that? asks Belle.
Two crabs are declawed, says Gaius. Terence found one claw. I'm now trying to determine which crab it belongs to.
Did you ask them? asks Belle.
They both claimed it, says Gaius. As is only natural. I'm measuring the length of exposed tendon to determine the truth.
You don't have a ruler, says Marie.
There are other ways of measuring, says Gaius. But you're right. I should have a ruler.
These potatoes are hot, says Marie. Can you give us one end of the table?
Certainly, says Gaius. I might go up to the shop and see if Lauren has a ruler. Will you keep an eye on the crabs?
Sure, says Marie, putting the hot potatoes next to the salad bowls of the hapless boy crabs.
Where's the third one? asks Belle. There are meant to be three of them.
I'm down here, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
At least you're in one piece, says Belle. Would you like to go back in your bowl now?
I don't think I'm allowed to, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
You're the control crab, says Belle.
Nevertheless, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We should all be returned to our bowls at the same time.
Good thinking, says Belle. But would you like to be up on the table?
Yes, please, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Belle lifts her up.
Alexander-Red-Hook regards her two declawed brothers. And the claw, which belongs to one of them.
You both want it? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
They nod (which is awkward for crabs).
You realise it'll be an impediment, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It may stop the new claw from growing.
We've thought about that already, says Alexander-Groovy.
We won't last that long, says Alexander-Curly. May as well have the short term benefit.
Which is? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Neither of them dares to say mating.
The look, says Alexander-Groovy, lamely.
And the balance, says Alexander-Curly.
Balance. A universal good.
Meanwhile, the potatoes are cooling. And where are the competitors?
Arthur is surfing the waves. Kierkegaard also.
Sweezus isn't. He is approaching the picnic table, from a faraway spot down the beach where a track divides the sand dunes.
He carries a brown cardboard box, with things in it.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Faith In The Future
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are not happy.
Their claws will grow back, but not during the course of the experiment.
Which means never.
The experiment: Ingest microplastics in varied concentrations and die.
It had seemed so straightforward.
No mating, moans Alexander-Groovy.
He only said 'disadvantage', says Alexander-Curly.
But we're already at a huge disadvantage, says Alexander-Groovy. We're in separate bowls.
And who would we mate with? asks Alexander-Curly.
Red-Hook? says Alexander-Groovy. No way.
They both imagine pulling Alexander-Red-Hook towards them (with what?) and inserting their gonopods into her underside.
As a possibility, it doesn't stand up.
Not that she would let them.
The two crabs lose their faith in the future.
And it's about to get worse.
Terence catches up.
Look what I found!
It's a claw, one of theirs, probably.
Excellent, says Gaius. Well done, Terence. One of you crabs is in luck. The question is, which one of you is it?
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly look at the claw in question.
Me, says Alexander-Groovy.
Or me, says Alexander-Curly.
I feared as much, says Gaius. But perhaps we can come to a definitive answer. For instance, the length of the exposed tendons may give us a clue.
This is a specialised subject. We'll let Gaius pursue it.
Look!
Here comes Belle with a picnic basket, and Marie with a tupperware container, the contents of which are obscured by condensation, but they could well turn out to be roasted jacket potatoes.
Their claws will grow back, but not during the course of the experiment.
Which means never.
The experiment: Ingest microplastics in varied concentrations and die.
It had seemed so straightforward.
No mating, moans Alexander-Groovy.
He only said 'disadvantage', says Alexander-Curly.
But we're already at a huge disadvantage, says Alexander-Groovy. We're in separate bowls.
And who would we mate with? asks Alexander-Curly.
Red-Hook? says Alexander-Groovy. No way.
They both imagine pulling Alexander-Red-Hook towards them (with what?) and inserting their gonopods into her underside.
As a possibility, it doesn't stand up.
Not that she would let them.
The two crabs lose their faith in the future.
And it's about to get worse.
Terence catches up.
Look what I found!
It's a claw, one of theirs, probably.
Excellent, says Gaius. Well done, Terence. One of you crabs is in luck. The question is, which one of you is it?
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly look at the claw in question.
Me, says Alexander-Groovy.
Or me, says Alexander-Curly.
I feared as much, says Gaius. But perhaps we can come to a definitive answer. For instance, the length of the exposed tendons may give us a clue.
This is a specialised subject. We'll let Gaius pursue it.
Look!
Here comes Belle with a picnic basket, and Marie with a tupperware container, the contents of which are obscured by condensation, but they could well turn out to be roasted jacket potatoes.
Saturday, April 18, 2020
My Poor Brothers!
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly have washed up on the shore, near to Terence.
Something's MISSING! says Terence.
Two somethings, says Alexander-Groovy.
They have each lost a claw.
Don't worry, says Terence. Gaius has fish glue.
What use is fish glue? asks Alexander-Curly.
It's GLUE, says Terence. For sticking things on with.
But we've lost our claws, in the ocean, says Alexander-Groovy.
And we're not going out there again, says Alexander-Curly.
Well I'm not allowed to, says Terence.
Nothing to be done.
Swoosh--- urp.....swoosh---urp....
What are those things on the sand, that washed in with the tide?
A few small pebbles, green lettuce sea weed, a string of polyps, and a tiny dead crab with a tiny dead claw still attached.
Bingo! says Terence.
He picks up the tiny dead crab, and breaks off the tiny dead claw.
Who wants this one?
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are disgusted.
Does Terence have no sense of size?
Alexander-Red-Hook appears, having walked sideways all the way from the spot where Gaius is waiting.
Oh NO! says Alexander-Red-Hook, assessing the losses.
But look! says Terence, displaying the minuscule claw.
She ignores it.
My poor brothers! What happened!
We are declawed! says Alexander-Groovy. And Terence isn't helping.
Why should he? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Come back with me and show Gaius.
They set off to show Gaius.
Terence picks up the sea lettuce and the string of sea polyps. And follows behind.
Gaius is placing the salad bowls and the breakfast bowl on the fold up table, in readiness.
Alexander-Red-Hook speaks first.
We have good news and bad news.
I see, says Gaius.
He does see. He does not need the details.
The claws will regrow says Gaius. But slowly, and not in the course of the experiment. The question is, will the current loss of your claws affect it?
Yes, says Alexander-Groovy.
Indeed, says Gaius. Declawed crabs are likely to suffer disadvantages in self defence, feeding and mating. On the bright side, none of these disadvantages apply to your situation.
If he thinks this will make them feel better, he's wrong.
Something's MISSING! says Terence.
Two somethings, says Alexander-Groovy.
They have each lost a claw.
Don't worry, says Terence. Gaius has fish glue.
What use is fish glue? asks Alexander-Curly.
It's GLUE, says Terence. For sticking things on with.
But we've lost our claws, in the ocean, says Alexander-Groovy.
And we're not going out there again, says Alexander-Curly.
Well I'm not allowed to, says Terence.
Nothing to be done.
Swoosh--- urp.....swoosh---urp....
What are those things on the sand, that washed in with the tide?
A few small pebbles, green lettuce sea weed, a string of polyps, and a tiny dead crab with a tiny dead claw still attached.
Bingo! says Terence.
He picks up the tiny dead crab, and breaks off the tiny dead claw.
Who wants this one?
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are disgusted.
Does Terence have no sense of size?
Alexander-Red-Hook appears, having walked sideways all the way from the spot where Gaius is waiting.
Oh NO! says Alexander-Red-Hook, assessing the losses.
But look! says Terence, displaying the minuscule claw.
She ignores it.
My poor brothers! What happened!
We are declawed! says Alexander-Groovy. And Terence isn't helping.
Why should he? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Come back with me and show Gaius.
They set off to show Gaius.
Terence picks up the sea lettuce and the string of sea polyps. And follows behind.
Gaius is placing the salad bowls and the breakfast bowl on the fold up table, in readiness.
Alexander-Red-Hook speaks first.
We have good news and bad news.
I see, says Gaius.
He does see. He does not need the details.
The claws will regrow says Gaius. But slowly, and not in the course of the experiment. The question is, will the current loss of your claws affect it?
Yes, says Alexander-Groovy.
Indeed, says Gaius. Declawed crabs are likely to suffer disadvantages in self defence, feeding and mating. On the bright side, none of these disadvantages apply to your situation.
If he thinks this will make them feel better, he's wrong.
Friday, April 17, 2020
Why Is U Green?
The two crabs climb onto Arthur's surfboard.
One at each end.
Good for balance, but bad for conversation.
Arthur sits up.
Were you looking for us? asks Alexander-Curly.
Yes and no, says Arthur.
What does that mean? asks Alexander-Groovy.
It was on the agenda, says Arthur.
What else was? asks Alexander-Curly.
Killing time, says Arthur. Remembering a poem I wrote once. It had all the vowels.
Show me a poem that doesn't have all the vowels, says Alexander-Groovy.
It wasn't just that, says Arthur. The first line matched each vowel to a colour.
The crabs look intrigued.
A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue, says Arthur.
That's good, says Alexander-Groovy. But why is U green?
Don't remember, says Arthur. I was probably drunk when I wrote it.
That explains why the vowels are in the wrong order, says Alexander- Curly.
Arthur agrees. Yes it does.
He feels a swell underneath him. A sucking. He turns to see a very large wave.
It is U green . Viridian! Peaceful! Little sheep grazing on it.
(The sheep are imaginary).
Arthur readies himself. Too bad for the crabs.
He finds the sweet spot and paddles until the wave picks him up for a white water take off.
E white! O blue!
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are thrown off the surfboard and whirled in the burbling crashing thundering upside down water.
Not the kind of water crabs like.
Arthur pulls up smoothly in the foamy shallows not far from Gaius.
Find them? asks Gaius.
They're on their way, says Arthur.
They are, but not as we know them.
In the chaos, they have each lost a claw.
One at each end.
Good for balance, but bad for conversation.
Arthur sits up.
Were you looking for us? asks Alexander-Curly.
Yes and no, says Arthur.
What does that mean? asks Alexander-Groovy.
It was on the agenda, says Arthur.
What else was? asks Alexander-Curly.
Killing time, says Arthur. Remembering a poem I wrote once. It had all the vowels.
Show me a poem that doesn't have all the vowels, says Alexander-Groovy.
It wasn't just that, says Arthur. The first line matched each vowel to a colour.
The crabs look intrigued.
A black, E white, I red, U green, O blue, says Arthur.
That's good, says Alexander-Groovy. But why is U green?
Don't remember, says Arthur. I was probably drunk when I wrote it.
That explains why the vowels are in the wrong order, says Alexander- Curly.
Arthur agrees. Yes it does.
He feels a swell underneath him. A sucking. He turns to see a very large wave.
It is U green . Viridian! Peaceful! Little sheep grazing on it.
(The sheep are imaginary).
Arthur readies himself. Too bad for the crabs.
He finds the sweet spot and paddles until the wave picks him up for a white water take off.
E white! O blue!
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are thrown off the surfboard and whirled in the burbling crashing thundering upside down water.
Not the kind of water crabs like.
Arthur pulls up smoothly in the foamy shallows not far from Gaius.
Find them? asks Gaius.
They're on their way, says Arthur.
They are, but not as we know them.
In the chaos, they have each lost a claw.
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Deus Ex Machina
Arthur appears, with a surfboard, and a fold-up table.
Just the man, says Gaius. But why the table?
Arthur unfolds the table.
For the potato eating comp, says Arthur. Belle asked me to bring it.
Wonderful, says Gaius. But right now, we have a crisis.
Terence? asks Arthur.
( Perhaps he has drowned?)
No, not Terence, says Gaius. Victor turned up and began laying down the law. While we were dealing with Victor, the crabs escaped into the water. Kierkegaard waded in to retrieve them and in the process became involved in a philosophical discussion. The upshot is, our control crab is willing to return, but the other two are now on a quest to find a higher crab being.
Somewhere out there? says Arthur, pointing vaguely.
Yes, says Gaius. As you have turned up like a deus ex machina, perhaps you wouldn't mind paddling out on your surfboard and persuading them to come back.
Sure, says Arthur.
This is better than minding the crabs in their salad bowls. They could be anywhere.
He paddles out, passing Kierkegaard, who is just coming in.
Arthur keeps paddling, out beyond the last wave.
This could be where the crabs are.
There is plenty of time. He'll just wait.
Meanwhile on the ocean floor beneath him, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are dejected.
They had met a Blue Swimmer. A big one.
They had followed him here.
They had asked him if he knew the whereabouts of a higher being.
He had said: Bugger off. Find your own!
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly had felt hard done by. They had been TRYING!
Let's go back, says Alexander-Curly.
Yes, let's, says Alexander-Groovy. If the higher being is a true higher being, it'll find US.
They rise through the green water together.
And surface beside Arthur's board.
Arthur has been trying to remember a poem he wrote once.
O blue, U green
( inspired by the scenery)
How did it go? he says loudly.
The crabs answer.
Not too well, Arthur. Lucky you're here.
Just the man, says Gaius. But why the table?
Arthur unfolds the table.
For the potato eating comp, says Arthur. Belle asked me to bring it.
Wonderful, says Gaius. But right now, we have a crisis.
Terence? asks Arthur.
( Perhaps he has drowned?)
No, not Terence, says Gaius. Victor turned up and began laying down the law. While we were dealing with Victor, the crabs escaped into the water. Kierkegaard waded in to retrieve them and in the process became involved in a philosophical discussion. The upshot is, our control crab is willing to return, but the other two are now on a quest to find a higher crab being.
Somewhere out there? says Arthur, pointing vaguely.
Yes, says Gaius. As you have turned up like a deus ex machina, perhaps you wouldn't mind paddling out on your surfboard and persuading them to come back.
Sure, says Arthur.
This is better than minding the crabs in their salad bowls. They could be anywhere.
He paddles out, passing Kierkegaard, who is just coming in.
Arthur keeps paddling, out beyond the last wave.
This could be where the crabs are.
There is plenty of time. He'll just wait.
Meanwhile on the ocean floor beneath him, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly are dejected.
They had met a Blue Swimmer. A big one.
They had followed him here.
They had asked him if he knew the whereabouts of a higher being.
He had said: Bugger off. Find your own!
Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly had felt hard done by. They had been TRYING!
Let's go back, says Alexander-Curly.
Yes, let's, says Alexander-Groovy. If the higher being is a true higher being, it'll find US.
They rise through the green water together.
And surface beside Arthur's board.
Arthur has been trying to remember a poem he wrote once.
O blue, U green
( inspired by the scenery)
How did it go? he says loudly.
The crabs answer.
Not too well, Arthur. Lucky you're here.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
It Seemed Simple Then It Didn't
Gaius is beginning to wonder if he should retrieve the three crabs himself.
Terence has wandered away, looking for pebbles.
Kierkgaard has seen a wave forming, and is paddling towards it.
Yes, nothing else for it.
Gaius stands up.
He walks into the water, in his green Crocs.
That's what's good about Crocs. They are waterproof.
He treads carefully, aware that he could crush a crab.
Alexander-Red-Hook floats up, and taps on his shin with her claw.
Ah, says Gaius There you are. Have you considered?
It seemed simple, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Then it didn't.
How so? asks Gaius, who is always interested to hear the thoughts of other creatures when not otherwise distracted.
How do I make a decision? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. In my own best interests? In the interests of the three of us? In the interests of science?
Go on, says Gaius.
Kierkegaard set us thinking about a higher crab, says Alexander-Red-Hook. For me, the higher crab was hypothetical, but the others are now besotted.
Besotted? says Gaius. Do I understand they now worship a higher crab being?
Not yet, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But they are besotted with the idea of seeing him. They are now on a quest.
Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. How far have they got?
Hard to say, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But they went that way.
She points out to sea.
Drat, says Gaius. If I could only get Kierkegaard's attention, I could alert him.
What would he do? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. He is a beginner. He looks where he is going, not under the water. That takes an expert.
If only Arthur were here, says Gaius. Arthur is reliable, AND an expert surfer. At least I suppose so. He does it enough.
And where has Arthur been anyway? He was meant to take charge of the crabs, for one day. He agreed to.
Indeed he did.
So he could turn up any minute.
Terence has wandered away, looking for pebbles.
Kierkgaard has seen a wave forming, and is paddling towards it.
Yes, nothing else for it.
Gaius stands up.
He walks into the water, in his green Crocs.
That's what's good about Crocs. They are waterproof.
He treads carefully, aware that he could crush a crab.
Alexander-Red-Hook floats up, and taps on his shin with her claw.
Ah, says Gaius There you are. Have you considered?
It seemed simple, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Then it didn't.
How so? asks Gaius, who is always interested to hear the thoughts of other creatures when not otherwise distracted.
How do I make a decision? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. In my own best interests? In the interests of the three of us? In the interests of science?
Go on, says Gaius.
Kierkegaard set us thinking about a higher crab, says Alexander-Red-Hook. For me, the higher crab was hypothetical, but the others are now besotted.
Besotted? says Gaius. Do I understand they now worship a higher crab being?
Not yet, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But they are besotted with the idea of seeing him. They are now on a quest.
Jumping Jupiter! says Gaius. How far have they got?
Hard to say, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But they went that way.
She points out to sea.
Drat, says Gaius. If I could only get Kierkegaard's attention, I could alert him.
What would he do? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. He is a beginner. He looks where he is going, not under the water. That takes an expert.
If only Arthur were here, says Gaius. Arthur is reliable, AND an expert surfer. At least I suppose so. He does it enough.
And where has Arthur been anyway? He was meant to take charge of the crabs, for one day. He agreed to.
Indeed he did.
So he could turn up any minute.
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Being A Higher Being
Kierkegaard wades out again.
The crabs are still there.
I take it you're interested in my infinite qualitative distinction, says Kierkegaard.
We'd like to know what it is, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And if it pertains to us, adds Alexander-Groovy.
It pertains to us all, says Kierkegaard. Except, wait..... maybe it doesn't.
Because we're crabs? asks Alexander-Curly.
Try us, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Kierkegaard thinks before speaking. How can he put this to crabs?
Do you acknowledge the existence of a higher being? asks Kierkegaard.
A higher crab? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Um, yes, says Kierkegaard. I ought to have said "higher crab".
I don't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Not since I had that hectic glimpse of the after life.
On the bus? says Kierkegaard. I don't blame you. What about the others?
Me? Yes, says Alexander-Groovy.
Me too, says Alexander-Curly.
Then I do, as a hypothetical, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And what are its attributes? asks Kierkegaard.
It looks like a crab? says Alexander-Curly.
But higher, says Alexander-Groovy.
Shallow thinking, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Shallow thinking! Surely not the attribute of a higher crab? says Kierkegaard. Although don't let me influence you.
You misunderstand me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. My companions are shallow. They have never considered the attributes of a higher crab, that is obvious.
And you have? asks Kierkegaard.
Yes, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Just now. How long does it take to come up with an intelligent answer?
Kierkegaard is impressed, whatever her answer.
Go on, says Kierkegaard.
As finite and temporal beings, says Alexander-Red-Hook, we can never fully understand the infinite and eternal qualities of a supreme being.
I was going to say that, says Alexander-Groovy.
So was I, says Alexander-Curly.
And why not? It was clever.
Kierkegaard thinks the same. In fact is sounds exactly like the idea he has waded out to elucidate.
He does not need to be here.
He turns.
He didn't even ask us if we were coming back, says Alexander-Groovy
So much for being a smart arse, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
The crabs are still there.
I take it you're interested in my infinite qualitative distinction, says Kierkegaard.
We'd like to know what it is, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And if it pertains to us, adds Alexander-Groovy.
It pertains to us all, says Kierkegaard. Except, wait..... maybe it doesn't.
Because we're crabs? asks Alexander-Curly.
Try us, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Kierkegaard thinks before speaking. How can he put this to crabs?
Do you acknowledge the existence of a higher being? asks Kierkegaard.
A higher crab? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Um, yes, says Kierkegaard. I ought to have said "higher crab".
I don't, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Not since I had that hectic glimpse of the after life.
On the bus? says Kierkegaard. I don't blame you. What about the others?
Me? Yes, says Alexander-Groovy.
Me too, says Alexander-Curly.
Then I do, as a hypothetical, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And what are its attributes? asks Kierkegaard.
It looks like a crab? says Alexander-Curly.
But higher, says Alexander-Groovy.
Shallow thinking, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Shallow thinking! Surely not the attribute of a higher crab? says Kierkegaard. Although don't let me influence you.
You misunderstand me, says Alexander-Red-Hook. My companions are shallow. They have never considered the attributes of a higher crab, that is obvious.
And you have? asks Kierkegaard.
Yes, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Just now. How long does it take to come up with an intelligent answer?
Kierkegaard is impressed, whatever her answer.
Go on, says Kierkegaard.
As finite and temporal beings, says Alexander-Red-Hook, we can never fully understand the infinite and eternal qualities of a supreme being.
I was going to say that, says Alexander-Groovy.
So was I, says Alexander-Curly.
And why not? It was clever.
Kierkegaard thinks the same. In fact is sounds exactly like the idea he has waded out to elucidate.
He does not need to be here.
He turns.
He didn't even ask us if we were coming back, says Alexander-Groovy
So much for being a smart arse, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Monday, April 13, 2020
I Just Say I Didn't Say When
Terence plods into the water.
Hey, says Alexander-Red-Hook. You're not meant to be here.
I know, says Terence. Look at my feet.
He wiggles his knees and his bottom.
His feet sink in deeper.
This is nice of you, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Sinking? asks Terence.
Coming out here to retrieve us, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
I didn't, says Terence.
And it isn't, says Alexander-Curly. We don't want to go back.
No, we don't, says Alexander-Groovy.
You don't have to, says Terence.
See? says Alexander-Groovy.
I do, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I promised.
Do what I do, says Terence.
What do you do? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Whatever I want, says Terence.
About promises, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence thinks, as the water rises up to his waistband, or rather his waistband approaches the water.
I add something, says Terence.
A caveat? says Alexander-Red-Hook.
No, says Terence, I just say I didn't say when.
I suppose I didn't say when, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
So you can stay out here until when, says Terence. And no one can stop you.
You, however, says Kierkegaard, must come in immediately.
Bumhole! Kierkegaard has waded out to fetch Terence, before he has stopped sinking.
And you crabs, says Kierkegaard. While I'm out here, what are you thinking?
I realise I didn't say when, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
No one knows WHEN, says Kierkegaard. The question is, can you make the infinite qualitative distinction?
Woo! What does that mean?
The crabs would like to know, but not Terence.
Kierkegaard lifts Terence out of his sinkhole.
Squeeeelch! Slup!
And carries him back to the shore.
He deposits him next to Gaius, who is waiting beside the empty salad bowls.
Any news? asks Gaius, ignoring Terence, for which Terence is glad.
I'm just going back to explain the infinite qualitative distinction to them, says Kierkegaard. They appear to be interested.
Before you do, why not undo your leg rope, says Gaius.
Ah yes, Kierkegaard had the feeling that something was holding him back
Hey, says Alexander-Red-Hook. You're not meant to be here.
I know, says Terence. Look at my feet.
He wiggles his knees and his bottom.
His feet sink in deeper.
This is nice of you, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Sinking? asks Terence.
Coming out here to retrieve us, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
I didn't, says Terence.
And it isn't, says Alexander-Curly. We don't want to go back.
No, we don't, says Alexander-Groovy.
You don't have to, says Terence.
See? says Alexander-Groovy.
I do, says Alexander-Red-Hook. I promised.
Do what I do, says Terence.
What do you do? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.
Whatever I want, says Terence.
About promises, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Terence thinks, as the water rises up to his waistband, or rather his waistband approaches the water.
I add something, says Terence.
A caveat? says Alexander-Red-Hook.
No, says Terence, I just say I didn't say when.
I suppose I didn't say when, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
So you can stay out here until when, says Terence. And no one can stop you.
You, however, says Kierkegaard, must come in immediately.
Bumhole! Kierkegaard has waded out to fetch Terence, before he has stopped sinking.
And you crabs, says Kierkegaard. While I'm out here, what are you thinking?
I realise I didn't say when, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
No one knows WHEN, says Kierkegaard. The question is, can you make the infinite qualitative distinction?
Woo! What does that mean?
The crabs would like to know, but not Terence.
Kierkegaard lifts Terence out of his sinkhole.
Squeeeelch! Slup!
And carries him back to the shore.
He deposits him next to Gaius, who is waiting beside the empty salad bowls.
Any news? asks Gaius, ignoring Terence, for which Terence is glad.
I'm just going back to explain the infinite qualitative distinction to them, says Kierkegaard. They appear to be interested.
Before you do, why not undo your leg rope, says Gaius.
Ah yes, Kierkegaard had the feeling that something was holding him back
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Never Mind Academic
Excellent display of surfing, says Gaius. I thought you were a beginner.
Belle gave me a valuable lesson, says Kierkegaard. Look where you're going. That helps immensely.
Wonderful, says Gaius. But we now have a problem with our crabs.
Where are they? asks Kierkegaard, seeing the crab bowls are empty.
Victor threatened to take them into custody, says Gaius.
Does he have the right? asks Kierkegaard.
He is a policeman, says Gaius.
I see he is a policeman, says Kierkegaard. My question is more academic.
Never mind academic, says Victor. Where are those crabs?
They got FREE! says Terence.
Surely that's not a crime, says Gaius.
Depends if they had assistance, says Victor.
Either way, says Gaius, it's a nuisance. Terence, did you see where they went?
Into the water, says Terence.
Everyone looks to the spots in the water where tell-tale bubbles rise up.
I don't have time for this, says Victor. So I'll let you off with a caution.
What is the gist of the caution? asks Gaius.
Stay at home, says Victor. Wash your hands. Keep two metres apart. Don't bring crabs here from Henley.
Very specific, says Gaius.
Victor walks off, knowing he's done his duty.
Under the sea, the sand stirs. The bubbles stop rising. Tops of carapaces appear. Eyes also.
Has he gone? asks Alexander-Curly.
I think so, says Alexander-Groovy.
So we can go back? says Alexander-Curly.
When we're ready, says Alexander-Groovy. But it's nice here.
Alexander-Red-Hook looks dreamy.
No one would notice three extra crabs at Middleton would they? We'd just blend in.
Woah! If SHE thinks that, and she is the control crab, why not the others?
Let's all live a bit longer.
No more experiment!
But...... she promised!
Belle gave me a valuable lesson, says Kierkegaard. Look where you're going. That helps immensely.
Wonderful, says Gaius. But we now have a problem with our crabs.
Where are they? asks Kierkegaard, seeing the crab bowls are empty.
Victor threatened to take them into custody, says Gaius.
Does he have the right? asks Kierkegaard.
He is a policeman, says Gaius.
I see he is a policeman, says Kierkegaard. My question is more academic.
Never mind academic, says Victor. Where are those crabs?
They got FREE! says Terence.
Surely that's not a crime, says Gaius.
Depends if they had assistance, says Victor.
Either way, says Gaius, it's a nuisance. Terence, did you see where they went?
Into the water, says Terence.
Everyone looks to the spots in the water where tell-tale bubbles rise up.
I don't have time for this, says Victor. So I'll let you off with a caution.
What is the gist of the caution? asks Gaius.
Stay at home, says Victor. Wash your hands. Keep two metres apart. Don't bring crabs here from Henley.
Very specific, says Gaius.
Victor walks off, knowing he's done his duty.
Under the sea, the sand stirs. The bubbles stop rising. Tops of carapaces appear. Eyes also.
Has he gone? asks Alexander-Curly.
I think so, says Alexander-Groovy.
So we can go back? says Alexander-Curly.
When we're ready, says Alexander-Groovy. But it's nice here.
Alexander-Red-Hook looks dreamy.
No one would notice three extra crabs at Middleton would they? We'd just blend in.
Woah! If SHE thinks that, and she is the control crab, why not the others?
Let's all live a bit longer.
No more experiment!
But...... she promised!
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Incriminating Sentences
There are more people on the beach now.
Walking their dogs.
Looking out for policemen.
Belle has gone back to Lauren's shop.
Gaius has come down to check on the crabs, who are being responsibly looked after by Arthur.
But there is only Terence, sitting next to the crabs.
Correction. Not only Terence.
A policeman is standing beside him, looking down.
They're EXPERIMENT CRABS, Terence is saying. Don't you know SCIENCE?
Hello officer, says Gaius. Oh it's you, Victor. You do get around.
This is one of the hot spots, says Victor. Bruny is closed. They sent me here because I know most of the locals, of which you're not one.
I can explain, says Gaius.
You do that, says Victor.
Gaius explains that he is only there because Kierkegaard, who is his right hand man when Arthur is unavailable, which Arthur is, because Arthur is here at Middleton surfing with Sweezus and Belle and Marie and has been for some time, wished to join them, having been issued an invitation by Belle, and therefore he thought .....
Cut it out, interrupts Victor. If you think you can bamboozle me with a long sentence, I should warn you that I have done a training course in long sentences and have learned to detect incriminating statements however well concealed they may be, and you have incriminated not only yourself but your companions, several times over, and furthermore I must ask you to declare the origin of these crabs.
What a bad mood Victor seems to be in.
Gaius hopes to mollify his old acquaintance. But he must tell the truth.
Henley, says Gaius.
Aha! says Victor. These crabs are REMOVED CRABS. I shall have to take them into custody.
Terence has been listening in silence. He doesn't like Victor.
What's going on? whispers Alexander-Red-Hook.
Victor wants to make you into custard! says Terence.
Let us go, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We promise to come back.
Terence tips the bowls over, and Alexander-Red-Hook, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly head for the sea.
Be free, says Terence.
The crabs swim out a short distance and then bury themselves in the sand, just in time to avoid being grazed by the surfboard of Kierkegaard who is gliding to shore before gracefully dismounting.
Walking their dogs.
Looking out for policemen.
Belle has gone back to Lauren's shop.
Gaius has come down to check on the crabs, who are being responsibly looked after by Arthur.
But there is only Terence, sitting next to the crabs.
Correction. Not only Terence.
A policeman is standing beside him, looking down.
They're EXPERIMENT CRABS, Terence is saying. Don't you know SCIENCE?
Hello officer, says Gaius. Oh it's you, Victor. You do get around.
This is one of the hot spots, says Victor. Bruny is closed. They sent me here because I know most of the locals, of which you're not one.
I can explain, says Gaius.
You do that, says Victor.
Gaius explains that he is only there because Kierkegaard, who is his right hand man when Arthur is unavailable, which Arthur is, because Arthur is here at Middleton surfing with Sweezus and Belle and Marie and has been for some time, wished to join them, having been issued an invitation by Belle, and therefore he thought .....
Cut it out, interrupts Victor. If you think you can bamboozle me with a long sentence, I should warn you that I have done a training course in long sentences and have learned to detect incriminating statements however well concealed they may be, and you have incriminated not only yourself but your companions, several times over, and furthermore I must ask you to declare the origin of these crabs.
What a bad mood Victor seems to be in.
Gaius hopes to mollify his old acquaintance. But he must tell the truth.
Henley, says Gaius.
Aha! says Victor. These crabs are REMOVED CRABS. I shall have to take them into custody.
Terence has been listening in silence. He doesn't like Victor.
What's going on? whispers Alexander-Red-Hook.
Victor wants to make you into custard! says Terence.
Let us go, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We promise to come back.
Terence tips the bowls over, and Alexander-Red-Hook, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly head for the sea.
Be free, says Terence.
The crabs swim out a short distance and then bury themselves in the sand, just in time to avoid being grazed by the surfboard of Kierkegaard who is gliding to shore before gracefully dismounting.
Friday, April 10, 2020
Where You Look Is Where You Go
Belle appears, behind Terence.
Who's that out there? asks Belle.
Sweezus, says Terence.
No, the other one, says Belle.
He's getting rescued, says Terence.
It's Kierkegaard, isn't it, says Belle. I thought Sweezie was giving him lessons.
He is, says Terence. Don't fall off and drown.
What about Keep your leg rope attached to your leg? says Belle.
What leg rope? asks Terence.
Belle points out the leg rope, on the surfboard that just skidded in.
Woop! says Terence. Does that mean I can go on a surfboard?
Only on the sand, says Belle.
Sweezus drags Kierkegaard to the shore, spluttering and wheezing.
Well done! says Belle.
Yeah, thanks, says Sweezus.
Leg rope, says Belle.
Sweezus realises that her Well done had been ironic.
I should've given him a few more pointers, says Sweezus.
Maybe I shall, says Belle, while you take these potatoes up to Lauren's.
She hands Sweezus a bag of potatoes.
An entire freakin' bag, says Sweezus. Didn't they have loose ones?
It's cheaper to buy a bag, says Belle. And we're having potato eating races, remember?
Sweezus shoulders the five kilo bag.
He heads off, in the direction of Lauren's.
Kierkegaard opens his stinging eyes to see Belle standing in front of him, sans potatoes.
Would you like me to give you some pointers? asks Belle.
Kierkegaard feels warm liquid streaming out of his nose.
Maybe later, says Kierkegaard.
She hands him a tissue.
Okay later, says Belle. But tell me what happened. Did he give you ANY training?
Paddle out, kneel and stand up, says Kierkegaard. No doubt I stood up too quickly.
Let me show you something, says Belle.
She drags the surfboard away from the shallows.
She lies on it, pretending to paddle.
Then she lifts up her chest.
See this? says Belle.
Ahem. Of course he sees it.
She quickly brings herself up to a crouching position and swings her legs through.
Then she stands, placing one foot in front of the other, both feet on the midline.
She looks seaward.
Where you look is where you go, says Belle.
Kierkegaard thinks that is inspiring.
He should write it down.
Who's that out there? asks Belle.
Sweezus, says Terence.
No, the other one, says Belle.
He's getting rescued, says Terence.
It's Kierkegaard, isn't it, says Belle. I thought Sweezie was giving him lessons.
He is, says Terence. Don't fall off and drown.
What about Keep your leg rope attached to your leg? says Belle.
What leg rope? asks Terence.
Belle points out the leg rope, on the surfboard that just skidded in.
Woop! says Terence. Does that mean I can go on a surfboard?
Only on the sand, says Belle.
Sweezus drags Kierkegaard to the shore, spluttering and wheezing.
Well done! says Belle.
Yeah, thanks, says Sweezus.
Leg rope, says Belle.
Sweezus realises that her Well done had been ironic.
I should've given him a few more pointers, says Sweezus.
Maybe I shall, says Belle, while you take these potatoes up to Lauren's.
She hands Sweezus a bag of potatoes.
An entire freakin' bag, says Sweezus. Didn't they have loose ones?
It's cheaper to buy a bag, says Belle. And we're having potato eating races, remember?
Sweezus shoulders the five kilo bag.
He heads off, in the direction of Lauren's.
Kierkegaard opens his stinging eyes to see Belle standing in front of him, sans potatoes.
Would you like me to give you some pointers? asks Belle.
Kierkegaard feels warm liquid streaming out of his nose.
Maybe later, says Kierkegaard.
She hands him a tissue.
Okay later, says Belle. But tell me what happened. Did he give you ANY training?
Paddle out, kneel and stand up, says Kierkegaard. No doubt I stood up too quickly.
Let me show you something, says Belle.
She drags the surfboard away from the shallows.
She lies on it, pretending to paddle.
Then she lifts up her chest.
See this? says Belle.
Ahem. Of course he sees it.
She quickly brings herself up to a crouching position and swings her legs through.
Then she stands, placing one foot in front of the other, both feet on the midline.
She looks seaward.
Where you look is where you go, says Belle.
Kierkegaard thinks that is inspiring.
He should write it down.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Motion Makes You Creative
It's a glorious morning at Middleton.
Kierkegaard is having a lesson from Sweezus.
An old surfboard lies flat on the sand.
He lies flat on it.
Now, says Sweezus. Up on your knees. Now standing. Awesome dude, you're ready.
They head for the middling waves.
Paddle out. Wait for a good one.
Kierkegaard wonders if his life has been wasted up to this moment.
He wonders aloud.
Yeah, says Sweezus. This is the best. Waves and water. Motion. Makes you creative.
I have been creative, says Kierkegaard. But this feels like not having to be creative.
Whatever, says Sweezus, looking over his shoulder.
A big roller is coming.
Ready? says Sweezus. Remember what I taught you?
Yes, says Kierkegaard.
He stands up, too quickly.
He tumbles off the surfboard.
Gurgling, angry bubbles. Water stings in his nose. His ears hurt.
Sweezus has successfully surfed to the shore.
He sees Terence, who has been arranging the crab bowls on the sand.
Hey little buddy, says Sweezus. Did Belle get the potatoes?
Yes, says Terence. But there was fighting.
No way! For potatoes? asks Sweezus.
We got the last bag, says Terence.
Bag? says Sweezus. How many did she think we'd need. Weren't there any loose ones?
How do I know? says Terence.
What's up with the crabs? asks Sweezus. They look agitated.
Terence bends down to look at the crabs.
What is it? asks Terence.
Alexander-Red-Hook has been gazing out to sea.
She has felt a wave of nostalgia. O how she would love once again to....
But then she has seen..... what's that?..... an arm waving.
And a old surfboard with no one on it has just skidded in.
Shit! Kierkegaard! says Sweezus, forgetting all about the potatoes.
Kierkegaard is having a lesson from Sweezus.
An old surfboard lies flat on the sand.
He lies flat on it.
Now, says Sweezus. Up on your knees. Now standing. Awesome dude, you're ready.
They head for the middling waves.
Paddle out. Wait for a good one.
Kierkegaard wonders if his life has been wasted up to this moment.
He wonders aloud.
Yeah, says Sweezus. This is the best. Waves and water. Motion. Makes you creative.
I have been creative, says Kierkegaard. But this feels like not having to be creative.
Whatever, says Sweezus, looking over his shoulder.
A big roller is coming.
Ready? says Sweezus. Remember what I taught you?
Yes, says Kierkegaard.
He stands up, too quickly.
He tumbles off the surfboard.
Gurgling, angry bubbles. Water stings in his nose. His ears hurt.
Sweezus has successfully surfed to the shore.
He sees Terence, who has been arranging the crab bowls on the sand.
Hey little buddy, says Sweezus. Did Belle get the potatoes?
Yes, says Terence. But there was fighting.
No way! For potatoes? asks Sweezus.
We got the last bag, says Terence.
Bag? says Sweezus. How many did she think we'd need. Weren't there any loose ones?
How do I know? says Terence.
What's up with the crabs? asks Sweezus. They look agitated.
Terence bends down to look at the crabs.
What is it? asks Terence.
Alexander-Red-Hook has been gazing out to sea.
She has felt a wave of nostalgia. O how she would love once again to....
But then she has seen..... what's that?..... an arm waving.
And a old surfboard with no one on it has just skidded in.
Shit! Kierkegaard! says Sweezus, forgetting all about the potatoes.
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
Reality Has Collided
It's the next morning.
Kierkegaard emerges from Lauren's back room where he slept.
He is no longer wearing the skull shorts but another pair that Lauren has given him.
They belong to her son Bob, aka Surfing-with-Whales.
Orange, with tigers and panthers.
Before that they belonged to Sweezus, who lent them to Surfing-With-Whales after the incident with Nietzsche who, having borrowed them, returned them with an incriminating stain.
Lauren removed it (the stain) but Bob refused henceforth to wear them.
Nice shorts, says Arthur.
Lauren's washing the other ones, says Kierkegaard.
Did you empty your pockets? asks Arthur.
Of course he did. And Arthur knows that, because of what happened last night.
The shorts had passed across his line of vision, carried by someone. Arthur had followed that someone into the laundry. She was turning out the pockets. Nothing was there.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. I emptied out the pockets, to save my precious Regine from a soaking.
A picture of her? asks Arthur.
Yes. Would you like to see it? asks Kierkegaard.
Not really, says Arthur. I'd prefer to imagine her, dry and precious.
So would I , says Kierkegaard. But it's too late now. Reality has collided.
Sure, says Arthur. Are you going surfing this morning?
I'd love to, says Kierkegaard. But I have obligations.
Gaius asked me to take over the crabs for today, says Arthur.
Wonderful, says Kierkegaard, You agreed to?
Not exactly, says Arthur. They'll be on the beach. I can still go surfing.
Sweezus is up now, drinking Up-and-Go from a carton.
Gaius is checking on the crabs.
Marie, Belle and Terence have left early to buy potatoes.
Lauren appears with a load of wet washing, looking surprisingly cheerful.
Kierkegaard emerges from Lauren's back room where he slept.
He is no longer wearing the skull shorts but another pair that Lauren has given him.
They belong to her son Bob, aka Surfing-with-Whales.
Orange, with tigers and panthers.
Before that they belonged to Sweezus, who lent them to Surfing-With-Whales after the incident with Nietzsche who, having borrowed them, returned them with an incriminating stain.
Lauren removed it (the stain) but Bob refused henceforth to wear them.
Nice shorts, says Arthur.
Lauren's washing the other ones, says Kierkegaard.
Did you empty your pockets? asks Arthur.
Of course he did. And Arthur knows that, because of what happened last night.
The shorts had passed across his line of vision, carried by someone. Arthur had followed that someone into the laundry. She was turning out the pockets. Nothing was there.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. I emptied out the pockets, to save my precious Regine from a soaking.
A picture of her? asks Arthur.
Yes. Would you like to see it? asks Kierkegaard.
Not really, says Arthur. I'd prefer to imagine her, dry and precious.
So would I , says Kierkegaard. But it's too late now. Reality has collided.
Sure, says Arthur. Are you going surfing this morning?
I'd love to, says Kierkegaard. But I have obligations.
Gaius asked me to take over the crabs for today, says Arthur.
Wonderful, says Kierkegaard, You agreed to?
Not exactly, says Arthur. They'll be on the beach. I can still go surfing.
Sweezus is up now, drinking Up-and-Go from a carton.
Gaius is checking on the crabs.
Marie, Belle and Terence have left early to buy potatoes.
Lauren appears with a load of wet washing, looking surprisingly cheerful.
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Cannot-but-be Explained
It's late at night.
Everyone who sleeps is asleep.
Crabs don't. Terence doesn't.
Terence is explaining a game to the crabs.
The game is Cannot-but-be.
And why Cannot-but-be?
Because earlier, Terence introduced the word BE.
( If we remember, it went like this:
You can't SPEND a day. What then? How about BE?
Alexander-Red-Hook has taken this as a piece of existential wisdom and suggested to Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly that they should ask to go to the beach and just be.
Terence has been pleased that Alexander-Red-Hook has approved the word BE.
Perhaps they could play Cannot-but-be.
Alexander-Red-Hook has asked how to play it.)
Someone asks a question, says Terence. But it has to be the right question.
Give an example, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
What if you were a BEE? says Terence.
I don't know, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Would I then know the right question?
Terence is delighted.
Yes, you would! Cannot-but BEE! You're good already!
The other crabs aren't sure that they've got it.
But Terence's excitement has woken Marie.
She lies awake thinking.
Potato eating races. Where did that idea come from?
She pokes Belle, in the sleeping bag beside her.
What is it? mumbles Belle.
We need to buy some potatoes, says Marie.
Sweezus stirs.
He had been dreaming of racing barefoot through sand hills, clutching hot potatoes.
Yeouch!
Arthur stirs. Uuh. Wassamatter?
Dream, mutters Sweezus. Hot potatoes.
He goes back to sleep, having turned over.
Arthur is wide awake now. What time is it? Four in the morning.
He sees something weird. It's his shorts moving across his line of vision. Not the ones he is wearing. The old ones, that Kierkegaard borrowed.
They are heading towards Lauren's laundry.
Arthur stands up, intending to follow.
Everyone who sleeps is asleep.
Crabs don't. Terence doesn't.
Terence is explaining a game to the crabs.
The game is Cannot-but-be.
And why Cannot-but-be?
Because earlier, Terence introduced the word BE.
( If we remember, it went like this:
You can't SPEND a day. What then? How about BE?
Alexander-Red-Hook has taken this as a piece of existential wisdom and suggested to Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly that they should ask to go to the beach and just be.
Terence has been pleased that Alexander-Red-Hook has approved the word BE.
Perhaps they could play Cannot-but-be.
Alexander-Red-Hook has asked how to play it.)
Someone asks a question, says Terence. But it has to be the right question.
Give an example, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
What if you were a BEE? says Terence.
I don't know, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Would I then know the right question?
Terence is delighted.
Yes, you would! Cannot-but BEE! You're good already!
The other crabs aren't sure that they've got it.
But Terence's excitement has woken Marie.
She lies awake thinking.
Potato eating races. Where did that idea come from?
She pokes Belle, in the sleeping bag beside her.
What is it? mumbles Belle.
We need to buy some potatoes, says Marie.
Sweezus stirs.
He had been dreaming of racing barefoot through sand hills, clutching hot potatoes.
Yeouch!
Arthur stirs. Uuh. Wassamatter?
Dream, mutters Sweezus. Hot potatoes.
He goes back to sleep, having turned over.
Arthur is wide awake now. What time is it? Four in the morning.
He sees something weird. It's his shorts moving across his line of vision. Not the ones he is wearing. The old ones, that Kierkegaard borrowed.
They are heading towards Lauren's laundry.
Arthur stands up, intending to follow.
Monday, April 6, 2020
Bad Outcome Friday
It's late in the evening.
Lauren brings out the white wine.
There are several intellectual discussions proceeding.
......
Gaius and Arthur
Gaius: Just one day, is all I'm asking.
Arthur: What will Kierkegaard do?
Gaius: Surf with the young ones.
Arthur: I'm a young one, remember.
Gaius: I remember that you're dependable.
Arthur: Kierkegaard knows what he's doing.
Gaius: Not always. He forgot to bring pencils.
Arthur: You mean you forgot to bring pencils. Don't worry. Lauren's got some.
Gaius: There, now you see what I mean..
.....
Sweezus, Belle and Marie
Sweezus: Huuuuh!
Belle: Buck up, Sweezie! It's only Tuesday.
Sweezus: Followed by Wednesday, Thursday and freaking Bad Outcome Friday.
Marie: We'll think of something nice to do on Friday.
Belle: Yes, how about a picnic?
Marie: And races.
Sweezus: What sort of races.
Marie: I don't know. Any races.
Belle: Potato eating races?
Sweezus: Potato eating races?
Marie: What fun. With cooked potatoes?
Belle. Yes. Cooked. With the skins on.
Sweezus: Awesome. Count me in.
....
Kierkegaard and Lauren
Kierkegaard: I call it the recollection and repetition dichotomy.
Lauren: And that is?
Kierkegaard: When ideality and reality collide, that's when repetition appears.
Lauren: Would you like a top up?
Kierkegaard: Thank you. Oh wait, I hope you haven't misunderstood me.
Lauren: No dear, I haven't.
Kierkegaard (alarmed): That's enough!
Lauren: So you have problems with reality.
Kierkegaard: It's not actually me. These are intellectual musings. In my writings I use a false name.
Lauren: How sweet. What is it?
Kierkegaard: Constantine Constantius.
Lauren: I see. Very clever.
Kierkegaard: So you're beginning to understand me?
Lauren: Yes. It's exactly like Reiki.
.......
Terence and Alexander-Red-Hook
Alexander-Red-Hook: About tomorrow.
Terence: What about tomorrow?
Alexander-Red-Hook: We'd like to spend the day by the sea.
Terence: You can't SPEND a day.
Alexander-Red-Hook: Another word then.
Terence: How about BE?
Lauren brings out the white wine.
There are several intellectual discussions proceeding.
......
Gaius and Arthur
Gaius: Just one day, is all I'm asking.
Arthur: What will Kierkegaard do?
Gaius: Surf with the young ones.
Arthur: I'm a young one, remember.
Gaius: I remember that you're dependable.
Arthur: Kierkegaard knows what he's doing.
Gaius: Not always. He forgot to bring pencils.
Arthur: You mean you forgot to bring pencils. Don't worry. Lauren's got some.
Gaius: There, now you see what I mean..
.....
Sweezus, Belle and Marie
Sweezus: Huuuuh!
Belle: Buck up, Sweezie! It's only Tuesday.
Sweezus: Followed by Wednesday, Thursday and freaking Bad Outcome Friday.
Marie: We'll think of something nice to do on Friday.
Belle: Yes, how about a picnic?
Marie: And races.
Sweezus: What sort of races.
Marie: I don't know. Any races.
Belle: Potato eating races?
Sweezus: Potato eating races?
Marie: What fun. With cooked potatoes?
Belle. Yes. Cooked. With the skins on.
Sweezus: Awesome. Count me in.
....
Kierkegaard and Lauren
Kierkegaard: I call it the recollection and repetition dichotomy.
Lauren: And that is?
Kierkegaard: When ideality and reality collide, that's when repetition appears.
Lauren: Would you like a top up?
Kierkegaard: Thank you. Oh wait, I hope you haven't misunderstood me.
Lauren: No dear, I haven't.
Kierkegaard (alarmed): That's enough!
Lauren: So you have problems with reality.
Kierkegaard: It's not actually me. These are intellectual musings. In my writings I use a false name.
Lauren: How sweet. What is it?
Kierkegaard: Constantine Constantius.
Lauren: I see. Very clever.
Kierkegaard: So you're beginning to understand me?
Lauren: Yes. It's exactly like Reiki.
.......
Terence and Alexander-Red-Hook
Alexander-Red-Hook: About tomorrow.
Terence: What about tomorrow?
Alexander-Red-Hook: We'd like to spend the day by the sea.
Terence: You can't SPEND a day.
Alexander-Red-Hook: Another word then.
Terence: How about BE?
Sunday, April 5, 2020
No Easter This Year
Lauren and Kierkegaard return to the table.
All the pizza is gone.
Anyone for fruit? asks Lauren. I have apples.
Not me, says Terence. I had one on the bus.
Yes and choked, says Gaius.
I still am choking, says Terence,
He coughs.
Are you sure that's caused by an apple? asks Belle.
Can we take his temperature? asks Marie.
Sure, says Lauren. I've got one of those contactless ones.
She goes to the bathroom to get it.
Did you get the crabs sorted out? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. Seawater in, crabs in, microplastics added, in medium and low doses.
That's nice of you, says Marie. No high doses.
The two crabs with the highest concentrations have died already, says Gaius.
There's nothing nice about that, says Belle.
They did volunteer, says Gaius.
They complied, says Kierkegaard.
May as well be honest.
Lauren comes back with the contactless thermometer. She points it at Terence's head.
Twenty degrees. That can't be right.
She places her hand on his forehead.
Terence coughs. C-hah!
He feels cold, says Lauren.
I DON'T! says Terence.
Don't worry little buddy, says Sweezus. That's probably your normal. Let me check out the normal temperature range for cement.
He taps on his smart phone.
Between ten and thirty four degrees, says Sweezus.
Wah! says Terence.
It's cool. You're right in the middle, says Sweezus.
Cheer up, says Lauren. Would you like me to find you a chocolate?
Yeah thanks, says Sweezus.
I meant Terence, says Lauren.
He's not allowed chocolate, says Belle.
I am if I don't eat it, says Terence.
I'll eat it, says Arthur.
So Lauren gets out a milk chocolate bunny she was planning to sell before Easter, but can't now she's closed.
May as well eat it, says Lauren. No proper Easter this year.
Sweezus, who had been scowling at the milk chocolate bunny, brightens up.
All the pizza is gone.
Anyone for fruit? asks Lauren. I have apples.
Not me, says Terence. I had one on the bus.
Yes and choked, says Gaius.
I still am choking, says Terence,
He coughs.
Are you sure that's caused by an apple? asks Belle.
Can we take his temperature? asks Marie.
Sure, says Lauren. I've got one of those contactless ones.
She goes to the bathroom to get it.
Did you get the crabs sorted out? asks Gaius.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. Seawater in, crabs in, microplastics added, in medium and low doses.
That's nice of you, says Marie. No high doses.
The two crabs with the highest concentrations have died already, says Gaius.
There's nothing nice about that, says Belle.
They did volunteer, says Gaius.
They complied, says Kierkegaard.
May as well be honest.
Lauren comes back with the contactless thermometer. She points it at Terence's head.
Twenty degrees. That can't be right.
She places her hand on his forehead.
Terence coughs. C-hah!
He feels cold, says Lauren.
I DON'T! says Terence.
Don't worry little buddy, says Sweezus. That's probably your normal. Let me check out the normal temperature range for cement.
He taps on his smart phone.
Between ten and thirty four degrees, says Sweezus.
Wah! says Terence.
It's cool. You're right in the middle, says Sweezus.
Cheer up, says Lauren. Would you like me to find you a chocolate?
Yeah thanks, says Sweezus.
I meant Terence, says Lauren.
He's not allowed chocolate, says Belle.
I am if I don't eat it, says Terence.
I'll eat it, says Arthur.
So Lauren gets out a milk chocolate bunny she was planning to sell before Easter, but can't now she's closed.
May as well eat it, says Lauren. No proper Easter this year.
Sweezus, who had been scowling at the milk chocolate bunny, brightens up.
Saturday, April 4, 2020
Meant As A Sign
Lauren returns with the two salad bowls. One red, one burnt sienna.
Now I must get this right, says Kierkegaard. Which crab goes in which?
I was in the blue one, says Alexander-Groovy. It's broken.
Of course, says Kierkegaard. Will you mind being in the red one?
He might, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Our friend died in it, remember.
I don't mind at all, says Alexander-Groovy.
Good, says Kierkegaard. Mind over matter.
Water first? asks Lauren.
Crab first, says Kierkegaard.
He finds he likes making scientific decisions.
Alexander-Groovy gets in.
Kierkegaard covers him with water.
O that feels nice.
Lovely sea water, with only the usual amount of pollution.
But then he remembers. Microplastics have not yet been added.
Kierkegaard is fiddling about in his pocket.
Lauren is watching.
Kierkegaard pulls out a bag of tiny plastic bits and pieces.
Teaspoon? says Kierkegaard.
Was that the precious thing in your pocket? asks Lauren.
No, says Kierkegaard. I mean yes.
It wasn't, but he hopes to mislead her.
No, I mean yes. Lauren has heard that before. There must be something else in his pocket.
She fetches a teaspoon.
Wait, says Kierkegaard. I just need to confirm that I'm giving the right dose to this crab.
Alexander-Groovy had the medium concentration, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And I had the lowest, says Alexander-Curly.
So the one with the highest concentration of microplastics in the water died first, says Lauren.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. What a pity he died of something else entirely.
The glass shard, says Lauren. Yes, I see that was a pity. But perhaps it was meant as a sign.
A sign was not required, says Kierkegaard. A simple death from toxic ingestion would have been sufficient.
Nevertheless, it happened, says Lauren.
Can we get on with it? asks Alexander-Curly. If there's too much time lag between me and him getting into our seawater, the experiment will have no significance.
It may have no significance already, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
But Kierkegaard, proud of the scientific rigour he has just demonstrated to Lauren, is not having that.
Now I must get this right, says Kierkegaard. Which crab goes in which?
I was in the blue one, says Alexander-Groovy. It's broken.
Of course, says Kierkegaard. Will you mind being in the red one?
He might, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Our friend died in it, remember.
I don't mind at all, says Alexander-Groovy.
Good, says Kierkegaard. Mind over matter.
Water first? asks Lauren.
Crab first, says Kierkegaard.
He finds he likes making scientific decisions.
Alexander-Groovy gets in.
Kierkegaard covers him with water.
O that feels nice.
Lovely sea water, with only the usual amount of pollution.
But then he remembers. Microplastics have not yet been added.
Kierkegaard is fiddling about in his pocket.
Lauren is watching.
Kierkegaard pulls out a bag of tiny plastic bits and pieces.
Teaspoon? says Kierkegaard.
Was that the precious thing in your pocket? asks Lauren.
No, says Kierkegaard. I mean yes.
It wasn't, but he hopes to mislead her.
No, I mean yes. Lauren has heard that before. There must be something else in his pocket.
She fetches a teaspoon.
Wait, says Kierkegaard. I just need to confirm that I'm giving the right dose to this crab.
Alexander-Groovy had the medium concentration, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
And I had the lowest, says Alexander-Curly.
So the one with the highest concentration of microplastics in the water died first, says Lauren.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. What a pity he died of something else entirely.
The glass shard, says Lauren. Yes, I see that was a pity. But perhaps it was meant as a sign.
A sign was not required, says Kierkegaard. A simple death from toxic ingestion would have been sufficient.
Nevertheless, it happened, says Lauren.
Can we get on with it? asks Alexander-Curly. If there's too much time lag between me and him getting into our seawater, the experiment will have no significance.
It may have no significance already, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
But Kierkegaard, proud of the scientific rigour he has just demonstrated to Lauren, is not having that.
Friday, April 3, 2020
Imagine Yourself
Lauren looks into the bucket of sea water.
There are beads at the bottom, mixed with sand.
Should we pick them out first? asks Lauren.
No need , says Kierkegaard. I'll decant the sea water into the ....um.... where are the salad bowls?
Draining by the sink, says Lauren. I'll get them.
She goes to get them.
Kierkegaard waits near the crabs.
Not long now, says Kierkegaard. You'll be back in your bowls in a minute.
But they are not listening. They are debating a question.
The small fish (unlucky) has remembered some more of his tale.
The Golden Crab married a king's daughter. A princess!
His listeners did not expect that.
Alexander-Red-Hook asks why the king would allow it.
The small fish (unlucky) replies that these things happen.
But he knows that's not right.
I bet he was called Golden Crab for a reason, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Like because he was golden? says Alexander-Groovy.
No, more significant, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Perhaps he could produce gold, somehow?
That's it, says the small fish (unlucky). The Golden Crab made the king a garden with three fountains that played gold, diamonds and brilliants.
In return for the daughter, says Alexander-Groovy. Good deal, that.
Depends on the crab's personality, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
What was he like? asks Alexander-Curly.
I don't know, says the small fish (unlucky).
A story can return to you backwards.
The small fish (unlucky) remembers the initial incident, before all the excitement.
A fisherman catches a crab, brings it home for his wife to cook for dinner. Her skirt is tucked up, because she's been busy. Let your skirt down, says the crab. I can see your feet.
This changes everything. It was that kind of crab.
Imagine yourself the poor princess.
Even Kierkegaard (who is listening) can.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
They'll All Be Dead Shortly
Arthur leaves the crabs, and goes back to the table, for more pizza.
How're they doing? asks Sweezus.
Good, says Arthur. I gave them a last line for their poem.
What's this? asks Gaius. What poem?
He ought to know. But he hasn't been listening.
Eulogy for one of the dead ones, says Arthur.
Dear me, says Gaius. They'll all be dead shortly, and all at the same time, ruining the experiment. Where's that sea water?
Still in the bucket, says Lauren.
I'll do it, says Kierkegaard.
He stands up.
I'll help you, says Lauren.
How nice is Lauren?
Not so nice that she's given up trying to pry into his pocket.
They leave the table and head for the bucket.
What was it? asks Sweezus, wiping his tee shirt, which he's dripped pizza sauce on.
What was what? asks Arthur.
Come on, Arthur! says Belle. The last line of the poem you gave them.
A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.
That's beautiful, says Marie. It reminds me of an ancient Greek story, the Golden Crab.
Apparently the fish told it to them, says Arthur. Crab by day, man by night, eagle whenever it wanted.
Heavy, says Sweezus.
Not heavy, says Marie. Erotic.
No way! says Sweezus.
It marries a king's daughter, says Marie.
The crab does? says Sweezus. How's that work?
Man by night, says Marie.
What did it do in the day time? asks Belle.
Went in tournaments, says Marie. I don't know what it dressed up as, but one day the princess's mother burned its shell when it was out jousting.
That should've fixed everything, says Sweezus. It would have had to keep being a man.
But it was crab in the daytime! shouts Terence.
We're upsetting Terence, says Belle.
Maybe it was jousting at night, says Arthur. Did they do that?
I'm sure they did, says Belle, looking at Terence.
But Terence has remembered the eagle that the crab could turn into whenever it wanted.
So he is quite happy.
How're they doing? asks Sweezus.
Good, says Arthur. I gave them a last line for their poem.
What's this? asks Gaius. What poem?
He ought to know. But he hasn't been listening.
Eulogy for one of the dead ones, says Arthur.
Dear me, says Gaius. They'll all be dead shortly, and all at the same time, ruining the experiment. Where's that sea water?
Still in the bucket, says Lauren.
I'll do it, says Kierkegaard.
He stands up.
I'll help you, says Lauren.
How nice is Lauren?
Not so nice that she's given up trying to pry into his pocket.
They leave the table and head for the bucket.
What was it? asks Sweezus, wiping his tee shirt, which he's dripped pizza sauce on.
What was what? asks Arthur.
Come on, Arthur! says Belle. The last line of the poem you gave them.
A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.
That's beautiful, says Marie. It reminds me of an ancient Greek story, the Golden Crab.
Apparently the fish told it to them, says Arthur. Crab by day, man by night, eagle whenever it wanted.
Heavy, says Sweezus.
Not heavy, says Marie. Erotic.
No way! says Sweezus.
It marries a king's daughter, says Marie.
The crab does? says Sweezus. How's that work?
Man by night, says Marie.
What did it do in the day time? asks Belle.
Went in tournaments, says Marie. I don't know what it dressed up as, but one day the princess's mother burned its shell when it was out jousting.
That should've fixed everything, says Sweezus. It would have had to keep being a man.
But it was crab in the daytime! shouts Terence.
We're upsetting Terence, says Belle.
Maybe it was jousting at night, says Arthur. Did they do that?
I'm sure they did, says Belle, looking at Terence.
But Terence has remembered the eagle that the crab could turn into whenever it wanted.
So he is quite happy.
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
Golden Intentions
Terence goes back to the table.
What's going on with the crabs? asks Belle.
They're waiting for the fish to remember some crab deeds, says Terence.
Then what? asks Sweezus, taking his third slice of pizza.
The fish will tell the crabs what the deeds are, says Terence.
Then what will they do? asks Marie.
The last verse of the poem, says Terence.
What poem? asks Arthur, playing with a string of mozzarella.
Go and ask them, say Terence.
Arthur goes over.
Who are you? asks the small fish (unlucky).
A poet who's given up poetry, says Arthur.
You've got a cheese whisker, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Arthur runs his hand over his chin.So he has. He eats it.
You may as well go, says Alexander-Groovy. We've got this.
I only came over to listen, says Arthur.
Listen, then, says Alexander-Red-Hook. This fish knows a story about crab deeds.
I do, says the small fish (unlucky). There was this Golden Crab once. He was a crab by day and a man by night, and he turned into an eagle whenever he wanted.
How about that? says Alexander-Red-Hook. Now all we have to do is make it the last verse of the poem.
What's the rest of it? asks Arthur.
Alexander-Groovy (the author) recites a short version:
Alexander-Retro the boldest among us
Lies in a bin
Pierced with glass shards
Sharp and celestial blue
blah blah blah the boldest among us
Though his deeds were few.
I see, says Arthur. You want to make the Golden Crab connection.
Right, says Alexander-Groovy. But how? He didn't do any of that stuff.
A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.
All three living crabs love this. So does the small fish (unlucky).
Who doesn't have Golden intentions?
What's going on with the crabs? asks Belle.
They're waiting for the fish to remember some crab deeds, says Terence.
Then what? asks Sweezus, taking his third slice of pizza.
The fish will tell the crabs what the deeds are, says Terence.
Then what will they do? asks Marie.
The last verse of the poem, says Terence.
What poem? asks Arthur, playing with a string of mozzarella.
Go and ask them, say Terence.
Arthur goes over.
Who are you? asks the small fish (unlucky).
A poet who's given up poetry, says Arthur.
You've got a cheese whisker, says Alexander-Red-Hook.
Arthur runs his hand over his chin.So he has. He eats it.
You may as well go, says Alexander-Groovy. We've got this.
I only came over to listen, says Arthur.
Listen, then, says Alexander-Red-Hook. This fish knows a story about crab deeds.
I do, says the small fish (unlucky). There was this Golden Crab once. He was a crab by day and a man by night, and he turned into an eagle whenever he wanted.
How about that? says Alexander-Red-Hook. Now all we have to do is make it the last verse of the poem.
What's the rest of it? asks Arthur.
Alexander-Groovy (the author) recites a short version:
Alexander-Retro the boldest among us
Lies in a bin
Pierced with glass shards
Sharp and celestial blue
blah blah blah the boldest among us
Though his deeds were few.
I see, says Arthur. You want to make the Golden Crab connection.
Right, says Alexander-Groovy. But how? He didn't do any of that stuff.
A crab by day, with Golden intentions, says Arthur.
All three living crabs love this. So does the small fish (unlucky).
Who doesn't have Golden intentions?
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