Well, said Belle et Bonne, I'm adopted, so that makes me doubly lucky. But anyway, you have a famous father too.
Not that famous, said Jesus.
Are you kidding? said Belle et Bonne.
Oh him, said Jesus. A misunderstanding after the event. I guess you could say I'm adopted too. So, what's Voltaire like as a dad?
He's great, said Belle et Bonne. A little difficult sometimes. You just have to humour him.
Mmm. Same, said Jesus.
Marie came in with the tea.
Would anyone like a hot cross bun? she asked.
Yes please, said Belle et Bonne.
No thanks, said Jesus.
Oh sorry, said Marie. I should have thought.
It's not that, said Jesus. It's because I hate peel.
Then you're in luck, said Marie. These ones are choc chip.
Yum, said Jesus.
They drank tea and munched choc chip easter buns in silence for a while.
Oh by the way, said Marie, I'm following you on Twitter.
Me too, said Belle et Bonne. We love your moon tweets. They're so... over the top.
Yeah, said Jesus. I really try to let my self go. Did you like last night's one? "Full frown-faced moon breaks free of tarry custard-rimmed cloud-flake only to be obscured again by dragon's claw".
We fell about in admiration, said Belle et Bonne.
Showing posts with label Voltaire. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Voltaire. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Famous Father
The next morning, Marie's phone rang.
Hello it's me again, said Jesus.
Yes? said Marie.
Two things, said Jesus. One, will we be camping?
Yes, said Marie. If it's fine we'll be camping.
The only thing is, said Jesus, I've bought so much chocolate my backpack is full.
Well don't bring it all, said Marie. What's the other thing?
I'd really like to meet Belle et Bonne before we go. Can I come over?
Alright, said Marie. Come over.
Half an hour later Jesus knocked on the door. Belle et Bonne opened it.
Hello, said Jesus. Are you Belle et Bonne?
Yes, she replied. You must be Jesus. Nice to meet you. Come in. Marie's making a cup of tea.
Well this is nice, Said Jesus.
Yes it is nice, said Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne, began Jesus, how did you get such an awesome name?
It's a nickname my papa gave me. It means beautiful and good.
I know that, said Jesus. I remember my schoolboy French. And you are very beautiful, so I imagine you are good.
Thank you. Papa thinks so, said Belle et Bonne.
Who is your papa? asked Jesus.
Don't you know? He's Voltaire the famous philosopher. He goes by the nickname of The VeloDrone, for the purposes of his cycling magazine.
Jesus was impressed.
Voltaire! he exclaimed. You're so lucky to have such a famous father!
Hello it's me again, said Jesus.
Yes? said Marie.
Two things, said Jesus. One, will we be camping?
Yes, said Marie. If it's fine we'll be camping.
The only thing is, said Jesus, I've bought so much chocolate my backpack is full.
Well don't bring it all, said Marie. What's the other thing?
I'd really like to meet Belle et Bonne before we go. Can I come over?
Alright, said Marie. Come over.
Half an hour later Jesus knocked on the door. Belle et Bonne opened it.
Hello, said Jesus. Are you Belle et Bonne?
Yes, she replied. You must be Jesus. Nice to meet you. Come in. Marie's making a cup of tea.
Well this is nice, Said Jesus.
Yes it is nice, said Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne, began Jesus, how did you get such an awesome name?
It's a nickname my papa gave me. It means beautiful and good.
I know that, said Jesus. I remember my schoolboy French. And you are very beautiful, so I imagine you are good.
Thank you. Papa thinks so, said Belle et Bonne.
Who is your papa? asked Jesus.
Don't you know? He's Voltaire the famous philosopher. He goes by the nickname of The VeloDrone, for the purposes of his cycling magazine.
Jesus was impressed.
Voltaire! he exclaimed. You're so lucky to have such a famous father!
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Waiting for Beckett
The VeloDrone was showing someone around the office. Belle et Bonne looked up.
And this is where it all happens, said the VeloDrone, pointing in her general direction.
Aha, said the stranger. Where what all happens?
Oh, said The VeloDrone, emails come in, emails go out, you know.
Papa! said Belle et Bonne.
Oh, hello my dear. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Samuel Beckett. He has kindly agreed to write an article for Velosophy. This is my adopted daughter, Belle et Bonne.
Pleased to meet you Samuel, said Belle et Bonne. Are you THE Samuel Beckett?
I am indeed, said Samuel Beckett. And you must be THE Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne giggled. Yes I am, she declared. And papa is THE VeloDrone. Also THE Voltaire, she added.
Oh said Samuel Beckett, turning to The VeloDrone. I didn't realise you were THE Voltaire. And do you ride THE bicycle?
Of course, said The VeloDrone. As do you.
Yes, said Samuel Beckett. I am a dedicated bicyclist. At least I was until I got this stiff leg.
Belle et Bonne looked at him sharply, but he did not appear to be making a lewd suggestion.
You have a stiff leg? she said. How unfortunate. Does that mean you can no longer ride a bicycle?
Au contraire, said Samuel Beckett, who was rather good at French. It simply means that I can only pedal with one foot.
Does not the stiff leg act as a sort of brake? asked Belle et Bonne.
Certainly not, said Samuel Beckett. But you are pre-empting my story. My article for Velosophy will explain in full what I do with my stiff leg when riding.
Oh good, said Belle et Bonne, looking sideways at her papa. I can't wait.
And this is where it all happens, said the VeloDrone, pointing in her general direction.
Aha, said the stranger. Where what all happens?
Oh, said The VeloDrone, emails come in, emails go out, you know.
Papa! said Belle et Bonne.
Oh, hello my dear. Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Samuel Beckett. He has kindly agreed to write an article for Velosophy. This is my adopted daughter, Belle et Bonne.
Pleased to meet you Samuel, said Belle et Bonne. Are you THE Samuel Beckett?
I am indeed, said Samuel Beckett. And you must be THE Belle et Bonne.
Belle et Bonne giggled. Yes I am, she declared. And papa is THE VeloDrone. Also THE Voltaire, she added.
Oh said Samuel Beckett, turning to The VeloDrone. I didn't realise you were THE Voltaire. And do you ride THE bicycle?
Of course, said The VeloDrone. As do you.
Yes, said Samuel Beckett. I am a dedicated bicyclist. At least I was until I got this stiff leg.
Belle et Bonne looked at him sharply, but he did not appear to be making a lewd suggestion.
You have a stiff leg? she said. How unfortunate. Does that mean you can no longer ride a bicycle?
Au contraire, said Samuel Beckett, who was rather good at French. It simply means that I can only pedal with one foot.
Does not the stiff leg act as a sort of brake? asked Belle et Bonne.
Certainly not, said Samuel Beckett. But you are pre-empting my story. My article for Velosophy will explain in full what I do with my stiff leg when riding.
Oh good, said Belle et Bonne, looking sideways at her papa. I can't wait.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Velosophy
Welcome to the first edition of Velosophy. I am David Hume, Le Bon David, as the French are pleased to call me. In this magazine my friend Voltaire and I intend to explore some of the fascinating philosophical issues that arise when a man rides a bicycle. I shall go first.
Here is a man, riding his bicycle along a beach. Or let us say, there is such a man. For now all there is to prove that there is a man riding his bicycle along a beach are the tracks that his tyres make in the sand.
And here is the sun. But he may not look at the sun. All that the man has to prove there is a sun in the sky is a shining path upon the sea, all aglitter, and the miniscule shadows of the tracks of his tyres in the sand.
And now the man is thinking of a pretty puzzle. What are the colours of the sea? He may only describe the colours in terms of the impressions that they make upon his senses. And what if he has never seen anything the colour of the colours that he sees make up the colours of the sea? He must do his best. Let us listen to his thoughts:
(But we cannot listen to his thoughts. All we have are the tracks of his bicycle tyres in the sand, and a shining path of glittering light leading from our eyes across the water to a point on the horizon that is directly below the position where we imagine that the sun he may not look at is in the sky.)
We must imagine his thoughts. We must also imagine that he is riding south, with the sun on his shoulder, if we wish him to come up with better colour images than shiny, and grey. No, he must be riding south, and look! he must be crunching these tiny white fingernail shells as he goes, crunch crackle crunch. He looks at the sea, the thick sensuous roll of foam like boiling sugar. It spreads and forms a lacy bridal train that dissolves into flecks of disappointed bubbles.
The wet sand is blue, the shallows like the juice of lemons. The water deepens fast, becoming plum. Farther out, it looks a virulent pondweed green. White fingernails of foam rise and run. Beyond the green, it's inky blacky blue.
But with what degree of certainty can he claim this to be true?
*
Next week my good friend Voltaire will venture to amuse you in his new persona as The VeloDrone. Until then, happy cycling!
Here is a man, riding his bicycle along a beach. Or let us say, there is such a man. For now all there is to prove that there is a man riding his bicycle along a beach are the tracks that his tyres make in the sand.
And here is the sun. But he may not look at the sun. All that the man has to prove there is a sun in the sky is a shining path upon the sea, all aglitter, and the miniscule shadows of the tracks of his tyres in the sand.
And now the man is thinking of a pretty puzzle. What are the colours of the sea? He may only describe the colours in terms of the impressions that they make upon his senses. And what if he has never seen anything the colour of the colours that he sees make up the colours of the sea? He must do his best. Let us listen to his thoughts:
(But we cannot listen to his thoughts. All we have are the tracks of his bicycle tyres in the sand, and a shining path of glittering light leading from our eyes across the water to a point on the horizon that is directly below the position where we imagine that the sun he may not look at is in the sky.)
We must imagine his thoughts. We must also imagine that he is riding south, with the sun on his shoulder, if we wish him to come up with better colour images than shiny, and grey. No, he must be riding south, and look! he must be crunching these tiny white fingernail shells as he goes, crunch crackle crunch. He looks at the sea, the thick sensuous roll of foam like boiling sugar. It spreads and forms a lacy bridal train that dissolves into flecks of disappointed bubbles.
The wet sand is blue, the shallows like the juice of lemons. The water deepens fast, becoming plum. Farther out, it looks a virulent pondweed green. White fingernails of foam rise and run. Beyond the green, it's inky blacky blue.
But with what degree of certainty can he claim this to be true?
*
Next week my good friend Voltaire will venture to amuse you in his new persona as The VeloDrone. Until then, happy cycling!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Rousseau's Dog
Phil Liggett: Well, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, what do you think of your chances after today's time trials?
Jean-Jacques: Not so good Phil. I've had a terrible day, thanks to my so-called team mates letting me down badly yesterday.
Phil: Ah yes, David Hume seemed to be riding for himself, I noticed. He took off up the Col de Romme like a man possessed.
Jean-Jacques: The devil take him! He doesn't believe in the connection between cause and effect. That the sun won't rise tomorrow is to him just as likely as that it will. He rates the destruction of the universe equally with the scratching of his finger. But I blame myself. I should have known he wouldn't be a team player.
Phil: And what about your other team mate, Voltaire? You seemed to be as thick as thieves yesterday. What went wrong there?
Jean-Jacques: Voltaire! I detest him! He is the one who said every man is guilty of the good he did not do. Hah! Then he is guilty of not sharing his Power Bars and electrolytic drinks with me after I had tragically dropped mine and they were consumed by a dog!
Phil: Tragic indeed!
Jean-Jacques: Particularly as it was my own dog. And now poor Sultan has the flux! Voltaire of course, found the situation absurdly funny, and rode off laughing.
Phil: All in all, a couple of bad days for you then, Jean-Jacques.
Jean-Jacques: It's the story of my life. Disloyalty, persecution, you name it. I'm looking at a completely new team next year. Jean-Paul Sartre is interested. I'm sure I'll get on better with an existentialist. He'll just do what he has to do.
Phil: Well, better luck tomorrow, Jean-Jacques, and all the best to Team Philosophe.
Jean-Jacques: Thanks, Phil. Now I'm off to spend some quality time with dear old Sultan.
Jean-Jacques: Not so good Phil. I've had a terrible day, thanks to my so-called team mates letting me down badly yesterday.
Phil: Ah yes, David Hume seemed to be riding for himself, I noticed. He took off up the Col de Romme like a man possessed.
Jean-Jacques: The devil take him! He doesn't believe in the connection between cause and effect. That the sun won't rise tomorrow is to him just as likely as that it will. He rates the destruction of the universe equally with the scratching of his finger. But I blame myself. I should have known he wouldn't be a team player.
Phil: And what about your other team mate, Voltaire? You seemed to be as thick as thieves yesterday. What went wrong there?
Jean-Jacques: Voltaire! I detest him! He is the one who said every man is guilty of the good he did not do. Hah! Then he is guilty of not sharing his Power Bars and electrolytic drinks with me after I had tragically dropped mine and they were consumed by a dog!
Phil: Tragic indeed!
Jean-Jacques: Particularly as it was my own dog. And now poor Sultan has the flux! Voltaire of course, found the situation absurdly funny, and rode off laughing.
Phil: All in all, a couple of bad days for you then, Jean-Jacques.
Jean-Jacques: It's the story of my life. Disloyalty, persecution, you name it. I'm looking at a completely new team next year. Jean-Paul Sartre is interested. I'm sure I'll get on better with an existentialist. He'll just do what he has to do.
Phil: Well, better luck tomorrow, Jean-Jacques, and all the best to Team Philosophe.
Jean-Jacques: Thanks, Phil. Now I'm off to spend some quality time with dear old Sultan.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Les Philosophes
Somewhere near Annecy, towards the back of the peloton, Voltaire and Jean-Jacques Rousseau are gaining steadily on David Hume.
Voltaire: Life is sown thickly with thorns, and there is no better remedy than to pass quickly through them. Watch out there!
Rousseau: Thanks! The world of reality has its limits.
Voltaire: Look at fat Hume up ahead there, wobbling all over the road. All styles are good, except for the tiresome.
Rousseau: Hee, hee! Happiest is the person who suffers the least pain. Hume will never make it up the Col de Romme.
Voltaire: Optimism is the madness of insisting all is well when one is miserable. Look, he's slowing down to take on more food.
Rousseau: Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Let's go!
Voltaire: It is the flash which appears, the thunderbolt will follow!
They pick up speed, and soon draw level with the fat Scottish philosopher.
Hume: Everything in the world is purchased by labour. I do not intend to lose.
Voltaire: Too bad! It is hard to free fools from the chains they revere.
Rousseau: Wheeee! Blame yourself for this, Hume!
Hume: I have no enemies, except indeed the other riders in Team Philosophe.
He grabs his food bag, slings it over his shoulder, and picks up speed at an astonishing rate.
In moments, he draws ahead of his two rivals once again.
Voltaire and Rousseau ( in unison ) : Sacre bleu!
Hume: A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes everywhere even the careless, most stupid thinker. So long boys! What is the greatest number? Number one!
Voltaire: Life is sown thickly with thorns, and there is no better remedy than to pass quickly through them. Watch out there!
Rousseau: Thanks! The world of reality has its limits.
Voltaire: Look at fat Hume up ahead there, wobbling all over the road. All styles are good, except for the tiresome.
Rousseau: Hee, hee! Happiest is the person who suffers the least pain. Hume will never make it up the Col de Romme.
Voltaire: Optimism is the madness of insisting all is well when one is miserable. Look, he's slowing down to take on more food.
Rousseau: Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. Let's go!
Voltaire: It is the flash which appears, the thunderbolt will follow!
They pick up speed, and soon draw level with the fat Scottish philosopher.
Hume: Everything in the world is purchased by labour. I do not intend to lose.
Voltaire: Too bad! It is hard to free fools from the chains they revere.
Rousseau: Wheeee! Blame yourself for this, Hume!
Hume: I have no enemies, except indeed the other riders in Team Philosophe.
He grabs his food bag, slings it over his shoulder, and picks up speed at an astonishing rate.
In moments, he draws ahead of his two rivals once again.
Voltaire and Rousseau ( in unison ) : Sacre bleu!
Hume: A purpose, an intention, a design, strikes everywhere even the careless, most stupid thinker. So long boys! What is the greatest number? Number one!
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