Reversals

Pretending to be Brahms! said Pliny the Elder. Whatever next?

That was a device I said, following him pretending to be me.

I'm quite sure he wasn't pretending to be you, said Pliny. He had no idea that some time in the future you would have mislaid something in your handbag at the very time you were listening to his composition. What was it anyway?

It was a comb, I said, and a lipstick. In the circumstances it's not surprising I began to identify with him. I must have looked a little unkempt.

I'm sure you looked exactly the same as usual, said Pliny kindly. By the way, did you see the photograph of the elephants painted to look like pandas in the newspaper yesterday?

No, I said, but I wonder what's reminded you of that?

Nothing, said Pliny. But it was very amusing. Some Thai zookeepers have painted three elephants with white and black paint to remind the people of Thailand not to forget their elephants now that they have a new giant panda.

I hope they don't do that to our elephants when we get our two new giant pandas, I said. That's if we have any elephants, of course. I don't think it's all that funny.

Yes, people laugh at different things, aid Pliny. I recall that yesterday you were laughing at a chicken shop being called Botanic Chickens. Why did you think that was funny?

Pliny, I said, that is intrinsically funny. It was right across the road from the Botanic Park.

No, I still don't get it, said Pliny.

Mrs Pammer's Comb

Today, Pliny and Nostradamus decided to take a picnic lunch to Port Noarlunga. It was 32 degrees and sunny.

After lunch they walked south along the beach. Twofold glass green waves rolled in, and spread like boiling sugar on the sand. Behind the reef in the middle distance rose white fountains of spume, while black waterfalls poured down in front. The cream, ochre and rust-coloured cliffs
towered under a blue sky. Below the cliffs, the river flowed fast towards the breaking surf.

As they were passing the surf lifesavers' tent, Nostradamus saw a strange object at the water's edge. He picked it up. It was a small black metal hair-trimming comb, with sharp blades, embedded in an ear-shaped lump of white mastic. The words " Mrs Pammer's" were stamped into the metal along the straight edge of the comb. Pliny and Nostradamus tried to guess how old it was. Three million years, said Nostradamus. Egyptian, said Pliny. Then Nostradamus threw it away.

On board a ship it would have been sensible to store a small sharp object by pressing it into a piece of something sticky, Pliny thought. It would have kept it safe, until they went and lost it.