Landaulet Country

Being the noble tale of Edward of King's Wood.

Chapter the First, in which Edward returns home;

Yoo-hoo, i'm home - How was your day - bloody shambles of course - oh dear, what has happened now - where's me paper - in the loungeroom - oh.

Chapter the Second, in which visitors arrive;

Heydy-hody everybody, here comes the party - it's Bob - shutup Bob - and Merle.

Chapter the Third; in which a man of Continental descent is addressed;

Buonjiorno wog - yeah yeah sure Ted - did you park your Valiant in the driveway - can I have a beer - money on the fridge wog.

Chapter the Forth; in which miscellaneous catchphrases are utilised;

Pickle me grandmother - ha ha Miss Smarty-emu-drawers - here we go again (too right we go again) - The Kingswood - You're not taking the Kingswood - grubby little Datsun dealer.

Ruddy Heck, That's Torn It

Well, its been a while between drinks, but today I got the news that another of my short stories is being published. In recent months i've been a contributor to the Short Humour site (www.short-humour.org.uk) and they've just emailed me to say that they're publishing a second compilation of articles from the website (following on from their rather successful 'People Of Few Words' compilation) and they want one of my pieces in it! Naturally I jumped at the chance. I don't know when it will be released yet, but i'm sure i'll find out more details soon.

Things I Think About When I Should Be Working #45

Oka, so i'm in line to shake hands with the Queen right, only when she gets to me I get the great idea to high-five her instead so I shout, "Hey little Queenie, make with the slappy!" and she's all into it and does, but it's only then that I suddenly realise i'm an amputee and my arm's gone at the elbow and the Queen's got nothing to slap so her momentum carries her over the edge of this big abyss that I totally forgot I was standing in front of and she just falls and falls and then explodes like Emperor Palpatine, all blue and shit.

Thoughts On The Earth Sciences

Because i've been a collector of gemstones and a keen amateur lapidary for several years now, i've found myself drawn in the last few months to the meetings of the Field Geology Club of SA. In order to keep up I recently purchased an excellent book, "The Amateur Geologist" by Peter Cattermole. As illuminating as this book is it is the rear of the dust cover which has caused this enblogulation. On the back of the book it lists other books in the series, such as 'Amateur Astronomy', 'Naked-Eye Astronomy' and perhaps most intriguing of all 'The Practical Amateur Astronomer'.

This last book by its very existence posits the existence of the Impractical Amateur Astronomer. But what are the hallmarks of the impractical astronomer? Are they:
1. Blind
2. Allergic to telescopes
3. More than two connecting buses away from the nearest observatory
4. On fire
5. Werewolves

I include this last observation because the thing with werewolves has always been that they 'turn' when the moon is full, i.e. when the most light is being reflected from the lunar surface. It seems to me that if they were looking through a telescope at the moons of Saturn (for the purposes of example) they'd be getting a great deal of moonlight beamed straight into their eye. And that can't be good, really. Everyone else would get eaten, and that's not terribly practical at all.

I Failed To Buy A Book Today

Lest the above title appear extraneous, let me explain. Not only did I set out to buy a book today and not do so, but the circumstances in which this occurred caused me acute discomfort and embarrassment.

This evening I went late-night shopping, as is my wont of a Thursday. In particular I was looking for a new pair of shoes, but that's by-the-by. When I reached the shopping centre I decided to pop over to the secondhand bookshop and pick up a cheap, fun paperback to read whilst eating my planned yiros.
It was not to be. In the bookshop the minutes lengthened to quarter-hours as I, spoilt for choice, agonised over my decision. After half an hour I had an epiphany of sorts, and I looked at my behaviour through the cold, sterile eye of reason. Here I was, a man of not inconsiderable means, agonising between Harry Harrison's "Montezuma's Revenge" and a box set of 4 of Richard Gordon's "Doctor" books. Both of these items were retailing for the princely sum of 50 cents.
I felt disgusted at my own inanity. I put both books down and left the shop, returning instead to the car where I retrieved my copy of Clive Cussler's "Black Wind", which I read over dinner instead. My chagrin pervaded the rest of the evening and may have influenced my subsequent decision to buy a pair of purple/white gingham Dunlop Volleys.