Gustave and Gaius at the Cabaret

It happens that I have two tickets for a cabaret show tonight, said Gustave Faubert, grandly. Would you like to accompany me, old friend?

Why, err, what is it? asked Pliny, somewhat taken aback by the unexpected invitation.

It is a comical musical presentation by a Miss Gillian Cosgriff,said Gustave. She is said to be very talented and amusing.

Comical and amusing, said Pliny doubtfully. Perhaps it's not quite me.

Of course it's you, roared Gustave. Get dressed. You're coming. Wear something red, he added. Or you'll stick out like a sore thumb.

Pliny borrowed my red scarf, Gustave called a taxi, and the two friends went out into the night.

Soon they were walking along King William Street, towards the Festival Theatre. The sky was black, the city lights sparkled on the dark river. It was cold. Pliny was glad of the red scarf.

Comical singing, he thought to himself. I'm sure I won't like it.

Here we are! said Gustave. How about a drink, Gaius?

Yes thank you, said Pliny, pleased to be called Gaius, which immediately made him feel more debonair.

Two cabaret cabernets, ordered Gustave, at the bar. My friend will pay.

Gaius paid, with no hard feelings. They joined a long queue of people wearing dark clothes with red accessories, and clutching glasses of wine. Soon the queue began to move into the theatre and up onto the stage behind the billowing red velvet curtains. Gustave and Gaius sat down at table 26, in the centre of the rapidly filling room.

Gaius was excited. It was a long time since he had been to a show. Gustave was chatting to a plump lady who had sat down in an empty chair beside him.

Excuse our backs, said a row of three elderly ladies on the far side of the table.

Certainly, said Gaius, taking a large swig of his red wine. The lights dimmed.

Enter Gustave Flaubert

He is a friend of mine, said Pliny.

Who is, Flaubert?

Yes, Flaubert. As luck would have it he is in town at present for the Cabaret Festival. Would you like to meet him?

I would, Pliny, I said. Why don't you invite him round.

Certainly, said Pliny. I'll give him a call.

So it was that later that evening there came a knock at the door.

Knock! Knock!

Pliny opened it.

Ho ho! Come in old friend, he said.

A portly man with a walrus moustache came in.

Ah, it is good to see you again, mon cher ami, he said to Pliny. Good evening, madame, he added, glancing in my direction. May I ask why you are staring at me in that fashion?

Oh, I said, forgive me Monsieur Flaubert, but I was expecting you to have a beard, either pointed or fringed.

No, no, said Flaubert, I have never grown a pointed or a fringed beard. I take it you have been reading my Sentimental Education?

I have, I said. Am I right then in assuming that the character with whom you most associate is the moustached Frederic?

Indeed, said Flaubert, puffing out his chest and twiddling his moustache. Frederic, c'est moi. As a younger man, of course.

He's a bit of a drip, you know, I said. He's passionate, but he never follows anything up.

I know, said Flaubert. I blame it on his mother.

Oh The French

The food of evil people is not in itself evil, I said.

It is if it is eaten for evil reasons, said Pliny.

Evil reasons? I said. Who eats food for evil reasons?

Aha, said Pliny. I shall tell you. During the French Revolution the Red Caps ate red food to represent the blood of the aristocrats. Tomatoes were a favourite because the nobility, wisely, did not like them.

Oh, the French, I said.

What do you mean, Oh the French? asked Pliny. You like the French. I see you are reading a French novel at this very moment.

I am, I replied. And that is why I say Oh the French. I'm reading Sentimental Education, by Flaubert.

A favourite of mine, said Pliny. Have you got to the part where he describes the beard?

The beard? It's not even about a beard.

It is about everything that is in it, said Pliny. And in it there is a description of a beard, which I found amusing.

Now you mention it, I do remember two beards. Was it the pointy one, or the one that was cut like a fringe?

It was the one that was cut like a fringe, in order to make its owner seem precociously serious, said Pliny. What a window into an era, he added. You could not make it up.

We All Know

Sing the Galumph Frog Song, said Pliny, finally.

Alright, I said.

I sang the Galumph Frog Song, as best I could.

That song doesn't make sense, said Pliny. Frogs don't go ladidadida.

I know, I said.

But the words are 'We all know frogs go ladidadida', said Pliny.

That's why it's funny, I said. Frogs don't really go ladidadida. They go galumph.

They don't go galumph either, in my experience, said Pliny.

What do they go, in your experience? I asked.

Ridip, said Pliny. As everyone knows. Your song is foolish.

Well, I said, so is your fear of tomatoes. Why are they evil? Were there evil tomatoes in ancient Rome?

Of course not, said Pliny. There is a website called Tomatoes are Evil. I obtain my information from there. The Aztecs used to eat them. And we all know how blood thirsty they were.

The Choice

Greetings, said Pliny the Elder. I did not expect to see you today. I thought you might have been delayed by the volcanic ash.

Oh no, I replied. That was only Melbourne. Here I am, as you see. How have you been? I see you haven't touched the organic baked beans, the hairy melon or the second hand bread.

I have been eating out, said Pliny. I did not wish to open your fridge, which contained evil tomatoes.

Nonsense, Pliny I said. Those tomatoes were not evil.

Take a look, said Pliny. They have developed evil black spots.

So they have, I said, opening the fridge. I shall have to make them into soup.

Then I shall eat out again, said Pliny. But first, tell me, how was your holiday in Sydney?

It was lovely Pliny, I said. My grandchildren are delightful. And I have learned some new songs.

Sing me one, said Pliny. I quite enjoy listening to music in the morning.

Would you like Hot Dog Hot Dog Hot Diggity Dog, The Galumph Frog Song, Or Nicholas Ned, I asked?

I don't know, frowned Pliny.

Enjoy the Rest

This interminable fish and chip saga, said Pliny the Elder. Is it over?

Yes it's over, I said. Everyone went home.

Except Mrs Hume, who was home, said Pliny.

How did you know that? I asked.

What do you mean? asked Pliny. You said she was.

I mean how did you know she was Mrs Home? I asked.

I didn't know that, said Pliny. I thought she was Mrs Hume.

She was actually Mrs Home, I said. Le Bon David, or David Hume, changed his name from Home to Hume because the English couldn't pronounce it.

That is difficult to believe, said Pliny.

It is, until you know that the Scottish way to pronounce Home is Hume, I said.

Are you sure? asked Pliny. I have never heard a Scotsman pronounce Home as Hume. I thought they pronounced it Hame.

Gosh, Pliny, I said , so they do. I wonder why he didn't change his name to Hame?

Perhaps because the French wouldn't be able to pronounce it, said Pliny. Anyway, when are you leaving for Sydney?

Oh yes Pliny. Tomorrow. I'll be away ten days.

No doubt as usual you have left me nothing to eat, said Pliny.

On the contrary, I said. There is a large hairy melon, one third eaten, a bowl of ripe tomatoes, a can of organic baked beans, and some second hand bread.

I hate tomatoes, said Pliny. They are evil. But I shall enjoy the rest.

Haysoos

The fish and chips were eaten and the plates were washed. Everyone was sitting around the table chatting. Mrs Hume had begun to warm to Sweezus.

You know, she said, I would be inclined to believe it, if you were Spanish.

Believe what? asked Sweezus, suppressing a burp of repletion.

You name being Jesus, said Mrs Hume. A lot of Spanish are called Jesus.

They are, but they pronounce it Haysoos, said Sweezus.

Do they really? said Mrs Hume. And do they pronounce Joseph Hoseph?

Hosay, I think, but I don't really know, said Sweezus, not being Spanish myself.

What a pity, said Mrs Hume. I like the Spanish. Except for that Alberto Contador.

We don't like him either, said Farky, butting in. He's our main rival in the Tour de France.

That's no reason for not liking him, said Le Bon David.

There you go, David, said Mrs Hume. Philosophising in that shallow Velosophy way.

Mother, said Le Bon David. I hadn't finished my argument.

Well, said The VeloDrone. It's been lovely, Mrs Hume, but we've all had a very long day, including, no doubt, yourself. I think it's time for us to be thinking of going.

Everyone stood up.

Well, thank you David dear, for picking me up and driving me home, said Mrs Hume. And good luck all of you in the Tour de France. Oh, and when you go out, would one of you mind turning my pot? The one in the corner with the tree? You look strong, she said, looking at Sweezus.

Alright, said Sweezus. No worries. Bye Mrs Hume!

Le Bon David grinned at The VeloDrone as they stepped out into the night.

That went pretty well, he said.

It did, agreed The VeloDrone.