Farquar!

The cycling holiday was nearly at an end. Marie, Belle et Bonne and Jesus retraced their route along the coast road. It was such a beautiful afternoon that they decided to stop riding for a while and take a walk on the beach.

Marie and Belle et Bonne walked ahead, while Jesus lagged behind. He was trying to think of what to write. It was true that he had begun to keep a diary last Easter, but he hadn't kept it up. In fact he'd only written in it twice. He remembered writing something about hoping someone would not be eaten by a shark.

Who was it?, he wondered.

Suddenly he heard a woman's voice calling urgently.

Farquar! Farquar! Farky!

A large brown dog bounded past.

What! thought Jesus. Surely no one would call their dog Farquar!

As he continued walking, the sounds of children's voices reached his ears.

Far-kar! Far-kar! shouted the children.

Unbelievable, said Jesus to himself. As if it isn't bad enough to call your dog Farquar in any case, to call your dog Farquar when you have young children unable to pronounce his name except as Far-kar has to be the height of irresponsibility.

He sped up to tell Marie, and Belle et Bonne.

Can you believe that dog back there's called Farquar? he asked them.

Oh, what a lovely name, said Belle et Bonne.

Positive Thoughts

Jesus broke the silence first.

Well, everybody farts, he said.

That's not the point, said Marie. Why did Zola give that character your name?

He had long hair, said Belle et Bonne.

But what was the subtext? pursued Marie.

To show what sort of people the villagers were, said Belle et Bonne. Their sense of humour and their attitude towards religion. And also, perhaps, to bring some lightness and humour into a grim story of rape, murder, greed and extortion.

I always wanted to write a novel, said Jesus.

Why don't you? asked Marie.

No literary talent, said Jesus.

But you tweet beautifully, said Belle et Bonne. And I bet you keep a diary.

I do, said Jesus. I started one last Easter.

How about writing something for Velosophy, said Marie. Something philosophical.

I don't know, said Jesus. I don't really have anything philosophical to say.

Yes you do, said Belle et Bonne. You have Do Unto Others.

Oh that, said Jesus modestly. It's just simple game theory really.

It is, agreed Marie. And it doesn't always work. Anyway, think about it. You don't have to be wise. The only thing Uncle Vello and David insist on is that whatever you write, there has to be a bicycle in it.

Wow! said Jesus. I know as much about bicycles as the next man. I might just have a go. You know, I feel really positive now. You girls are a tonic. Let's stop and have a chocolate break.

I thought you'd eaten it all, said Belle et Bonne.

I bought some more, said Jesus.

The Superiority of Colour

Pliny the Elder glanced across at my sketch of the two Beta Sigma Phi ladies.

A pity it's not in colour, he remarked. I would love to know the colour of the suiting of the one with golden shoes.

How funny you should say so, I replied. Because I happen to know that it was bright red.

Don't tell me you remember, said Pliny, surprised.

No, I looked at my old diary from November 2004, and found the entry for that day. It seems my notebook sketch was merely practice for a detailed colour sketch. It's funny, though....

What's funny?

In the diary, they're wearing hats.

What sort of hats?

I'll show you.

I went to find the diary. I found it. I brought it over to Pliny. I opened it. I showed him the ladies with the hats.

Why have you given them hats? asked Pliny. They didn't have hats in the notebook. Did they wear hats, or didn't they?

I really don't remember, I said. But let us be logical.

How? asked Pliny.

Let us look at the notebook again, I said, and determine whether what looks like hair could be hats.

I went to find the notebook. I found it. I brought it over to Pliny. I opened it. I showed him the ladies with the disputed head toppings.

That one, said Pliny, pointing to the tall one, is definitely not wearing a hat. Now let us examine the other one.

He peered closely at the other Beta Sigma Phi.

Her head ends in two distinct points, he concluded. I am willing to acknowledge that may suggest a hat.

Right, I said. Where does that leave us?

"Be Carefull"

And we are not the only ones. Some nights when walking I push on the spring-loaded flaps of letterboxes with my finger to see how many are de-sprung. The answer is : so far, only one.

Not many of us are in a hurry to relieve postmen of personal responsibility for their own digits.

There is no doubt letterboxes can be dangerous. Not only for the postman, as you shall see. I have a letterbox story of my own which illustrates this very well. To relate this story I must take you back to February, 1998.

The story is recorded in my diary, which proves it to be factual, and here it is:

Tuesday 3rd February 1998

Last night, we saw these words written in felt pen on a row of letterboxes outside some flats in Queen Street, Norwood:

"Police are patrolling these letterboxes as faeces are being placed in some of the boxes so be carefull".

The message was placed on the road side. not the flats side, that is, it was on the delivery side and not the faeces recipients' side. This makes you wonder who is being warned to be "carefull". Is a watchful sympathiser warning the faeces dumper to keep an eye open for the police? It would seem so.

So there you have it, a salutory tale from 1998. Of course such things are less likely to happen these days.

It would be a foolhardy public nuisance indeed who would attempt to squeeze a turd through one of those spring-loaded flaps.

Jesus' Diary - Part 5

What did you think of Jesus' diary? I asked Pliny the Elder, when Jesus had left the room.

I think he was wrong about the Crested Terns, said Pliny. I think they were Hooded Gulls.

Yes, but he's new at it, I said. And how about that story of the swimming girl ?

I found it quite alarming, said Pliny. But I suppose someone who is always nice on the surface has to be hiding dark thoughts.

That's unkind, Pliny, I said. Hey! Look . He's left his diary open on the table. Shall we see what he wrote this morning?

That would be wrong, said Pliny. But he shouldn't have left it open. And he did show us what he wrote yesterday.....

We looked at Jesus' second diary entry. Pliny began to read it aloud:

Easter Sunday. Picnic with my friends in the Botanic Park. There were two kinds of lemonade, one was called Lift. I like Lift............. ( here Pliny appeared to be choking )

Pliny! I said sharply. Stop laughing. And use a sensible vioce.

Alright, sorry, said Pliny. And he continued reading:

We all watched a television show last night about the Shroud of Turin. Very interesting. Nobody knows how the face got onto the cloth. My friends said it looked a bit like me. Couldn't see it myself. Nevertheless very intriguing. Well, time for me to go now. You have all been very kind. I'm leaving you the diary, read it in memory of me.......... By the Gods! spluttered Pliny. He knew!

Jesus' Diary - Part 4

What do you think of this? asked Jesus next morning, showing me his diary.

Went to the beach with some friends, he had written. The tide was out. Saw some seagulls, walking on water. Or they may have been Crested Terns. Saw a girl swimming quite a way out. Hoped she wouldn't have her leg taken off by a shark. Later, saw her again and thought I may have been mistaken, she may have been a boy. Wondered if I would have had the thought about the shark if I'd thought I'd seen a boy.

That's good Jesus. Pliny would like the part about the Crested Terns. And I like your attempt at moral introspection. Do you think you may have gender issues?

No, I don't think so. But I did wonder. I would have had to see a boy swimming far out in the water to know the answer to that. Of course, if I had seen a boy and not had the thought about the shark, I still wouldn't know the answer. In fact I wouldn't even have thought of the question.

Jesus, I said. I can see that you are a very deep thinker. I think you should definitely keep up your diary.

I will, said Jesus. Thanks.

Jesus' Diary - Part 3

Would you two like to come to the beach with us this afternoon? I asked Jesus and Pliny the Elder.

The beach? said Pliny, looking doubtful.

Yes we would, said Jesus. I like going to the beach. Are we taking a picnic?

Yes we are, I said. Get ready. We're leaving at half past twelve.

Some time later we were walking along the beach at Semaphore, at low tide. Silvery channels of water dribbled into the sea, and seagulls stood in them, preening. We could see their reflections upside down under their feet.

Look, said Jesus. They look as though they're walking on water.

So they do, said Pliny. You are most observant. You would make a good natural historian.

Perhaps I would, sighed Jesus, but I never write anything down.

Well what's stopping you? I asked. I remember last year you were thinking of starting a diary.

I was, said Jesus. I even bought a diary. But I couldn't think of anything to write.

Nonsense, said Pliny. Just write down your observations.

Who would want to read them? asked Jesus.

Lots of people, said Pliny firmly.

Perhaps I will have another go, said Jesus.

Jesus' Diary - Part 1

I wonder if Jesus will pop round and see us this Easter? said Pliny the Elder. Do you remember how he came to dinner last year and multiplied the Brussels sprouts?

He didn't multiply them, Pliny, he divided them. But yes, of course I remember. He was very nice, and I remember you and he got on pretty well. I hope he does come round. I want to ask him if he's started keeping a diary.

Just then there was a knock at the front door.

Knock! Knock!

I opened it. There was Jesus, on a bicycle.

I was passing, he said, and thought I'd drop in.

Gosh! I said. I'm surprised to see you. Aren't you awfully busy at this time of year?

Au contraire! said Jesus. I always like to keep a low profile at Easter.

Come in, I said, but would you mind wheeling your bicycle round the side of the house to the back. We already have one bicycle in the dining room.

Certainly, said Jesus. ( Did I mention he was nice ? )

Chicken Wednesday

Pliny was getting her diary up to date, She hadn't written anything since last Wednesday.

Pliny's motto is No Day Without A Line. She took the motto from someone she read about in Brewers. The person lived in classical times and was a painter. So 'line' would have meant something different to him. Pliny likes this.

Pliny hasn't lived up to her motto. After ten years of being fairly strict she let her standards lapse. This coincided with the time she started blogging. However, she still likes to keep her diary looking as though there has been no day without a line.

But last night, she came up against a blank. What had she done last Wednesday? She thought for a minute and couldn't remember anything. She left two lines empty and started writing about Thursday. She knew exactly what she'd done on Thursday. Ditto Friday. And Saturday, which day it currently was.

And now she was faced with the four blank lines for Wednesday. She wrote: What shall I do? I have forgotten everything about this day. I do know it was hot though, and we may have had chicken for tea.

Then in a flood of remorse she added: And we may not.

She thought of the chicken, not properly remembered. She drew a little chicken after the word 'not'. It was a good chicken. It looked feisty. She drew a speech bubble coming out of its mouth. Don't you know? it said.

The Lesson

Pliny the Elder, who seems to think he can read anything of mine without asking, has been looking through some of my old diaries for seascapes.

Look at this one, he says excitedly. "Sunday, January 22nd 2006. By the time we realised it was cooling down enough to go for a walk, at about quarter to five, a horrid pall of smoke had enveloped all of Glenelg, and as we later found out, the whole of Adelaide. It was smoke that had blown over from Kangaroo Island where 3 fires were burning."

What memories this brings back!

What memories? I ask.

Of my volcano, he replies. But let me read on.

"Pat and I sat on a seat looking at the smoke-enshrouded sea, whence appeared pallid ghostly marine craft, with and without sails. Pockets of people stood waist deep in the water."

Oh! says Pliny, I can see it all !

"A young man with a smooth brown back cast a line in. What did he think he would catch, we wondered. An older man on a bicycle rode past and patted his saddle in what could have been construed as a lascivious manner, but did not stop."

Oh, that's the end. Pliny looks disappointed. What happened after that? Did the rescue ships arrive in time? And what has the man on the bicycle got to do with it?

Nothing, it rained the next day and the fires went out. They didn't need to send rescue ships. The old man just happened to be passing. But I wrote down what he did to teach him a lesson.

How might that work? No one will read your diary. Well, that is, I ............

Fish to Fry

Here comes Pliny the Elder with a very red face. What's up Pliny? Where have you been?

Pliny the Elder: I do not know. You have been excluding me for the last few days for reasons that are unknown to me.

Me: It's been very hot, and I've had other fish to fry.

Pliny the Elder: O that is most amusing. Were they perchance named Gwendolen, or Bob?

Me: Are you angry or are you hot?

Pliny the Elder: I am irate.

Me: Why?

Pliny the Elder: I have been reading your excuses for blogs and have come to the conclusion that you are too content to be vague, and that you do not do enough research for the subjects that you choose. For example, what species of tiny bird was it that fell out of what species of tree at your son's house yesterday? And surely you could have resolved whether the fish in question was Gwendolen or a Bob by the expedient of checking your diary.

Me: Pliny, my vagueness is part of my charm. As for you, you are my counterbalance, for you do enough research for the 2 of us in my opinion.

Pliny the Elder: A delightful answer. Yes, I do feel rather hot. Let us have some of your home brewed lager.