Lets We Forget

Generally my pineapples are a conservative lot. Imagine my surprise when I saw this week's pineapple turn up for his photo shoot with a paper medal bearing the words LETS WE FORGET.

What's this, Pineapple? I said. Can't you spell?

Course I can, said Pineapple flippantly. I'm protesting that's all.

What do you have to protest about? I asked.

All this Remembrancing, said the Pineapple. Remembrancing the War. All this Gratitude. We Pineapples are sick of it.

Don't you feel grateful to the soldiers who sacrificed their lives so that you could be free? I asked, astonished.

No, said the Pineapple. We're Pineapples, what freedom have we got? We always end up getting eaten.

That's quite true, I admitted. I hadn't thought of that. But at least you enjoy free and fair elections.

The Pineapple was taken aback.

That's not much, he muttered.

And you can join a local library and borrow books for nothing, I persisted. I remember a colleague of yours, the Intellectual Pineapple, who was very taken with the novels of Victor Hugo.

Hmm, said the Pineapple. Was he?

Yes, I said. He was a very soft-hearted Pineapple. I was fond of him.

Are you fond of me? asked the Pineapple.

It's harder to become fond of a Politically Incorrect Pineapple, I said.

What if, said the Politically Incorrect Pineapple, I was to say that I couldn't spell?

Heartless

Yes, the Indignant Liberal Pineapple looks like a slug. Whoever heard of a pineapple that can't stand up? It's just lying there on the kitchen bench, yellow, or sickly bronze. It probably isn't even indignant, if the truth be known.

As for the other pineapple, my beloved Intellectual, he is down to 6 bite-sized pieces, in the fridge. It seems heartless to eat a pineapple that has read Victor Hugo, but, what can you do?
At least I have now written a funny poem about him for Colin's birthday card. Is it really funny? I don't know. Would it be wrong of me to show it to you, before Colin sees it? I don't know. So I will. Don't laugh. I mean, no, you may laugh.

Thoughts of an Intellectual Pineapple.

I never thought before being et
That I the chance would ever get
To read a book with glasses on
Although of eyes I have not one.
This just shows one never knows.

That's it. I hope I have succeeded in imagining the syntax of a pineapple. I hope have not been patronising, but have given him the dignity that he deserves. None of what happened to him since the day he entered my life has been his fault.

Essences

What is the essence of a photograph? What it is? Or what it is of?

Pineapple essence: I made a copy of the photograph of the Intellectual Pineapple wearing glasses and reading The Toilers of the Sea. I wanted to make a funny birthday card for Colin. I had to load it on to a memory stick and walk to Officeworks and get it printed out. I was glad the girl who printed it didn't see what it was. Next I took it home and stuck it on a card. Then I had to think of something to say to make it funny. And I couldn't. Because Colin may not have read The Toilers of the Sea.

Baby essence: Claire asked me to send her some photos of Chris as a baby. I guess she wanted to see if he looked like Ben. Or if Ben looked like him, since Chris came first. I found the old photo album and picked out three black and white ones. In two of them I was holding Chris and in the third one Allan was. We looked so young I fell in love with us.

More pineapple essence: This week's pineapple from the Central Market wouldn't stand up. It had no firm basis to stand on. I was trying to think of a personality for it, for the photograph. I decided it looked like a voter. So I placed it next to the front page of the Independent Weekly, as though it were looking at the headline, "What Did He Know and When Did He Know It?" which refers to the Treasurer Kevin Foley. The pineapple looked smugly indignant. I called the pineapple Indignant Liberal Pineapple, and loaded it on to my Facebook. I fear the pineapple now, for we are yet to eat it.

Rainer Maria Rilke

What would the Intellectual Pineapple make of Rainer Maria Rilke, I wonder?

Unfortunately, it will be hard to find out, as there is only a quarter of him left, but we can try.

Pineapple, what do you think of Rilke?

..t ...ch! Brr...

This isn't working. However I may be able to channel him.....

Yes.....he's coming through....

Hello.....I am the Intellectual Pineapple......do you have a question for me?

Yes. What do you think of Rainer Maria Rilke?

That depends. Is she a woman with a man's name or a man with a woman's name?

He is a man with a man's name. He altered his first name from Rene to Rainer on the advice of his psychoanalyst girlfriend, because Rene sounded too feminine.

What? I may be just a pineapple, but, shouldn't she have advised him to go the whole hog?

You mean get rid of Maria as well?

Of course I mean get rid of Maria as well. Didn't it occur to either of them that Maria was more feminine than Rene?

I don't know. Maybe it wasn't allowed. Perhaps it was disrespectful. Anyway, Pineapple, you are avoiding the question : What do you think of Rilke?

I admire him, he must have been very modern in his day. He tries to get to the very essence of things, their inner quiddity, so to speak. I was impressed by his description of the exposed wall. I should be interested to read some of his poems.

What a shame there is only one quarter of you left.

Yes, that is a shame. How am I, by the way?

Delicious. One of the best.

Thank you. Well I shall go now. Just one thing...

What?

What was the girlfriend's name?

Lou.

The Intellectual Pineapple.

Every week we buy a pineapple from the Central Market. Every week we take a photograph of our pineapple before we eat it.

This week's pineapple was wearing reading glasses, and looking at the cover of Victor Hugo's Toilers of the Sea. I called it the Intellectual Pineapple.

That was on Friday. Since then, I have found myself reading the final chapters of The Toilers of the Sea through the eyes of the Intellectual Pineapple.

This hasn't been much of a problem as The Intellectual Pineapple and I see pretty much eye to eye on most things.

We worried as Gilliatt faced the dangers of the storm. We trembled as he escaped the clutches of the Giant Squid ( for that is what it was), we shivered as he discovered the skeleton of Captain Clubin in an underwater cave, covered with dead crabs, which had eaten his flesh. We exulted when Gilliatt found the leather belt containing the seventy thousand francs. And we looked forward to his marriage to the beautiful Deruchette on his return home.

But it all went horribly wrong, for Deruchette had meanwhile fallen in love with the handsome new rector, who had just come into a fortune. The Pineapple remained confident. So what, said the Pineapple. She'll marry Gilliatt. She promised.

He couldn't believe it when Gilliatt did the noble thing, helped the young couple marry secretly and sail to England, and then drowned himself.

That's no way to behave, said the Intellectual Pineapple. Dammit, I identified with him!