Mouse in the Moonlight

Still, it was never that simple. The rest of us waited around the corner, keeping low, keeping quiet. There was a sighing undulation if the shadow and then Mouse was there next to me.

'It is done,' Mouse said.

I saw the wet blade in Mouse's hand, glistening in the moonlight before the blade disappeared.

'Good,' I whispered.

We came out of the alley, where we'd stood waiting for Mouse to finish, keeping low and moving through the shadows beneath the buildings. I stepped over the bodies of the guards, lying unmoving where Mouse had left them. The ground was wet around the bodies, now mere mounds at the sides of the street, more rubbish left for someone to clear up. It was possible they could lie there unnoticed and unremarked until well into the following day.

I had been a guard once, patrolling the streets for my Lord. I could have ended like that, I realised as I looked down at the inert masses that had been living men until Mouse came along and took that life from them. I was suddenly glad I had not met Mouse back in that old life.

The doorway was there, suddenly in front of us. Now it was the Spider's turn, he eased himself through the crowd of us, all pressing as close as we could against the wall in the lurking shadow. Spider pulled out his tools, spreading them out on the leather bag that held them, each in its own pocket to prevent rattles and tinkles giving us away.

'I need some light,' Spider hissed.

I pushed through the group until I was standing above Spider's head. I whispered the words and held up my hands cupped one above the other as if I was holding some delicate ball, made of glass or something easily breakable. The pale blue glow seeped though the gaps between my hands and from between my fingers. I moved my hands down until the blue glow illuminated the lock for Spider.

Behind me, I could her Mouse breathing fast, impatient to get out of sight and off the street.

The lock clunked and Spider stood, gathering his tools. I said the words and dismissed the light spell, feeling the tingle in my fingers and hands as the magic trickled back to its own realm.

Behind me, Mouse kissed my ear, I grinned back at her as Spider pushed the door open with one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. Mouse had her blade ready. I drew mine and then – in single file – with Mouse in the lead, we began to creep up the stairs inside the tower.

Robot Butlers and their Pitfalls

It was not that much of a surprise, in the end, even though she did utilise the tin opener in a manner not foreseen by its manufacturer, at least not according to the limitations of its warranty. But, as I said at the time, it did stop it... in the end.

That is, of course, the problem with revolutionary new technology, it does have a habit of being used, often in cases like this where the device has – or develops – artificial intelligence, in a way not envisaged by the manufacturers.

Of course, we were all in favour of robot butlers, at leas initially. But, as with the Jet packs, our initial enthusiasm eventually clouded o'er with doubt.

Especially when the robot butlers began to take an interest in popular culture.

Yes, the butler did do it, often in some rather inventive and – sometimes – gruesome ways. After all, the whole idea, at least as the artificially-intelligent butlers saw it was for them to almost get away with it.

As for What the Butler Saw, well YouTube just couldn't cope with the flood of revealing situations automatically uploaded by robot butlers as they peered through keyholes and around indiscreetly-ajar doors.

Neither could the divorce courts cope, either and the redundancies amongst private detectives went way beyond previous records.

Still, though, as the wife said some things are beyond forgiveness, and her robot butler should never have tried to introduce Wodehousian quips when she was busy trying to watch her favourite TV programme about the shenanigans between servants and the landed gentry in the early 20th century.

Still, as I stood there contemplating the smouldering wreckage of what had been our Jeeves 3000, I couldn't help feeling a little relived that my good wife had so comprehensively destroyed it before it had managed to upload its latest surreptitious video to the internet.

All This Were Fields

‘Of course, back in those days, all this were fields.’

The older old man nodded wisely and stared off into the distance.

‘But, it… it's all fields now,’ John said.

‘True, true,’ the younger old man replied. ‘But, as Weeblekneezer here, said, it were different in those days, better. Modern fields are all wrong. The wrong sort of grass, for a start. That yellow stuff an' all. What kind of crop is that for a man to grow?’

‘True, true. Very true young Frenglegasket,’ The older old man said. ‘And, of course, there are the hedges.’

John looked down over the fields stretching out in front of them. ‘What hedges?’

‘True, true. Very true,’ The older old man said, spitting off to his left.

‘Aye, true enough,’ the younger old man agreed.

‘'What Hedges?' he said “what hedges?” Frenglegasket,’ the older old man said, sniggering.

‘Yes, he did that.’ The younger old man nodded. ‘They never realise, do they?’

‘Oh no, no, no. They think 'cos it's green, it's good.’

‘True, true. They just don't know, do they?’

‘What don't I know?’ John said.

‘It's the wrong type of countryside, this is.’

‘True, true.’

What will Come

What will Come

What will come from this land?
What can grow from this ground?

We walk only these dead streets
where trees and grasses once grew.

Insects crawl over hot tarmac
to die in this dead city heat.

We will die alone here too,
far from the scents of flowers
and the soft touch of grass.

We will not hear that last bird sing
or see the clouds grow thick and dark.

Only the cold brick and dark shadows
of buildings that loom and dwarf.

Everything is lost in corners
and turns away from us to go down streets

that can only ever lead away from us
and away from our one true home.

Socialisation Time

None of it was true, of course. No one tells the truth these days, after all. We invent these avatars, these characters, who inhabit the on-line space for us, leading the lives we’d like to lead. Or, at least, the life we’d like our friends to believe we lead, while we go about our real business in privacy.

It was, back when the social media were invented, intended that these avatars would be us telling the world about our real selves and our real lives. It only took a few decades, though, for people to realise that – on the whole – none of us have very interesting lives. So, even back then people were inventing aspects to their lives that made them look more interesting, more glamorous, as though their daily routine wasn’t the same endless trudge trough the usual routine.

However, people spent so much time inventing an interesting on-line persona they didn’t have time for a real life anyway. Everything they thought, did and planned they mediated through the prism of how it would look in their on-line profile.

Eventually, people grew bored with this; but at the same time the first lifestyle bots began to appear. Covertly, at first, people would let these bots take over more and more of their on-line persona, leaving them to get back to their neglected lives. Then they found they enjoyed the company of real people doing real things together… or not, as the case maybe.

Meanwhile, the bots got on with inventing a new life, creating a new exciting, interesting and charismatic persona. At least, until one day someone noticed that 90% of the activity on the social media sites was automatically generated by bots. Furthermore, and worst of all for the advertisers who paid for it all, no actual humans were coming to the sites at all any more. Instead, everyone was down the pub with their mates having a nice time.

Bullfrogs on your Mind

Did you ever...?

Did you ever...?

Did you ever wake up with those bullfrogs on your mind?

….

No, me neither.

Although, I did once wake up contemplating an okapi, but those were different times and the thought of wildlife was never far from our minds. Quite often the talk that morning at the bus stop would be about the mating behaviour of lions or whether blue tits were migratory.

Back in those days, politics was more about ideology than the slight differences of hairstyle and marginal degrees of complete incompetence that these days separate the political parties. Those of my generation can remember the stirring speeches made at the TUC annual conference about the pine marten and the Conservative party's strict stance on migrating wildebeest.

Times have changed now, and it is common for people to have at least one penguin-related app on their smartphone and Feretbook is one of the most popular sites on the internet, not to mention the incredible number of photographs of cats being cute in cute ways. Although, some would argue that cats are not wild animals, those of us though, that have ever tried to bathe a cat will, of course, beg to differ on that score.

Still, though it is a shame about the bullfrogs, despite their ability to construct very intriguing god-games, so if you find yourself with a spare moment, try contemplating a bullfrog for a minute or two – who knows it could had a whole new dimension to your personal philosophy.

Something New

I poured the wine into two glasses, watching her as I poured. She stared at the dark red wine as it flowed as though trying to see something that lay beyond it, decode some meaning in the act, learn some indication of her fate.

There was something gentle, delicate, about her that I had not seen for a long time, certainly not in this city. It made me wonder how she’d survived the journey. She had to be stronger than she looked.

I took one of the glasses of wine and sipped it. She made no move towards the other, even though the tip of her tongue had – briefly – licked along her lower lip. Still, she stood there in front of me, eyes lowered but not still. There was some tension in her body, which was understandable. After all, she was wise to be cautious, prepared for any eventuality, not knowing what to expect.

There would possibly have been some talk; some discussion, before I’d collected her. Perhaps there is gossip there in the back rooms away from the public arena, I don’t know. I’m sure she would have wanted to know more about me, before I collected her. Not, of course, that I knew much about her, but then I didn’t need to know much about her. That is, apart from the judgement I’d made as she first stood there, up on the podium when I decided whether I was going to buy her.

Kitten Theory

Still, it was not that difficult to untangle the items as we'd first thought. After all, the major breakthrough in understanding the nature of string theory and quantum entanglement did come about once the physicists realised that Schrödinger’s cat was not a metaphor and that at a fundamental level the laws of the universe are dependent upon the movements and actions sub-atomic kittens.

This Kitten Theory as it is now known explains why so many of the fundamental particles are bouncing around so much and why the Higgs Boson was eventually discovered underneath the fridge at CERN, and why all the strings from string theory became entangled at the quantum kitten level.

Consequently, CERN scientists are now in the process of building a new Small Kitten Collider on the Swiss German border, where they hope to release several quantum kittens into a torus to see what happens when those kittens start to react (or to use the technical term – play) with those fundamental particles found in the ring.

However, as is well known in physics it is very difficult, if not impossible, especially at the sub-atomic level to herd cats, so the physicists are experimenting with high-power electro cat-nip to encourage the kittens to go the right way around the ring. Although, some theoretical kitten physicists have expressed doubts that a high enough level of cat-nip is theoretically, let alone practically possible without the world suddenly coming to an end under a plague of cats simultaneously arriving from several dimensions at once in search of the cat nip.

Most, respectable cat physicists however, deny such apocalyptic scenarios and say that these experiments are essential not only to understanding the fundamental laws of nature, but – and possibly more importantly – the very nature of cats themselves.

Rock 'n' Roll Rebel

Bicuspid Tremoloarm, at first, took very seriously Bert Weedon's advice to 'Play with yourself Every Day', and soon developed the strength in his wrists to have a go at playing the guitar.

Soon, after a mere twelve years of daily practice, Tremoloarm could – sometimes – manage nearly a whole G major chord. Luckily for him, however, it was the age of punk and so musical ability was even more unnecessary than ever in the popular music scene. Unfortunately, though, Bicuspid was the son of Lord Molar Tremoloarm, owner of most of the south east of the Untied Kingdom, which – almost – put a crimp in Bicuspid's claim to impeccable working class credentials, especially when he – at least, initially - changed his name to Steve Wank.

Luckily, however, the punk scene soon collapsed, becoming little more than a form of street-level fancy dress, thus allowing Bicuspid to reclaim his name and to make yet another attempt to learn at least one more of the three chords necessary to be taken seriously as a rock musician.

His next band: The Immanent Tax Returns, did however have a hit single – the almost memorable I dream of Double-Entry, a song penned by Bicuspid himself when he realised that – after all – music was not his first love and that he yearned for accountancy.

However, his traditional aristocratic family looked down on such upstart careers as accountancy, the Tremoloarm's were descended from a long line of court musicians and it was rumoured that Voleskin Tremoloarm a court madrigal singer was the real father of the child that went on to become one of England's - far too many to remember - king Henrys.

So, faking his own drug-fuelled death, by ingesting seventeen packets of Fisherman's Friends at once, Bicuspid Tremoloarm was able to escape the constraints of the traditional rock 'n' roll career and follow his dream to explore the wild, untamed shores of accountancy.

Taxation and Reality

Still, as she said at the time, you can't make it up, which is a bit of a bugger as I would much rather do that. That is the trouble with reality these days, it seems to have lost a sense of itself, a sense of responsibility. There was a time when we knew where we stood, mostly on top of reality. It was there and we were there too.

However, since the science was brought into disrepute by the government taxing both the air we breathe and the gravity we use each day in order to get out of the mess it had made of public finances, there have been a few changes.

Of course, one of the first things the government did was outlaw anti-gravity devices and made artificial breathing apparatus taxable too. At first, it seemed they'd closed every loophole.

However, as they are wont to do, high-energy tax physicists soon found a number of loopholes. Consequently, a number of once-multinational businesses moved their financial centres to the Moon to take advantage of the lower gravity and the lack of a breathable atmosphere.

Of course, the grandstanding politicians knowing when they have an easy target, wasted no time in pontificating about the 'immoral and irresponsible' companies that were doing their utmost to keep the money out of the hands of the politicians, when – as we all know – when it comes to pissing other people's money away there is nothing on Earth, or the Moon these days, that can match the wastefulness of a politician with their hands on tax payer's money.

Of course, it was all done to divert attention away from the politicians while they used this new tax money they'd gathered to bribe voters - with their own money - into thinking that the politicians were somehow the saviours of humanity.

However, once a few loopholes had been found in the laws of physics, the tax physicists soon found many ways around the new laws and soon the tax take from these new taxes had dwindled to almost nothing and the now-discredited laws of physics were mere shadows of what they once were.

Still, that's – what used to be – reality for you.

Evolution in Action

As the human race evolved, it – of course – developed better and better methods of pissing about. Once the important survival needs: such as food, shelter and sex had been met, then obviously the ancient humans needed something else to do with their time. Of course, napping flint – even though, initially it does have some utility - is only the sort of thing that can excite those who would later evolve into archaeologists and/or geologists. For the rest of the human race once they've found out what each other look like naked, there is very little else of interest - at least until the invention of football – to keep them amused.

Some scientists and anthropologists have cited the human being's large brain as the driver of its evolutionary development and - relatively – high intelligence when compared to other animals, plants and tree-stumps.

However, it is more likely that humanity survived its evolution despite its huge brain, not because of it. This seems even more likely when you consider that it also evolved alongside the development of language, thus leading to the invention of talking bollocks. Talking bollocks has - probably - caused more wars, fights and arguments than anything else in humankind's history – especially when that particularly human form of talking bollocks – religion - is taken into consideration.

In consequence then, humankind's greatest historical development – and the one that ensured the species' survival was probably learning to shut up for once. At least until technology came along and the TV was invented, thus saving the huge majority of humanity from the danger of actually talking to each other. That is until social media came along to prove that the vast majority of us have nothing interesting to say, not that we'd ever let that stop us, though, of course.

Historical Failings

Of course, one of the great problems with Stonehenge, as it was initially envisaged, was that – at that point in history – the out of town shopping centre was somewhat ahead of its time. Although, for miles around, Stonehenge was regarded as the fashionable place to get your flints napped, the lack of a suitable transport system meant that the shopping centre never got the number of customers it needed for it to become sustainable.

The same fate befell the Viking airport at York, where the lack of a runway long enough to launch the Viking long airships, meant that far too many of them crashed into the departure lounges before getting airborne.

However, the Roman football league was a remarkable success, at least initially, but the Roman propensity to keep tinkering with the offside rule meant that soon the matches became tedious low-scoring games, with most ending in no score draws, up to and including the Roman Empire Cup Final where Gaul Rovers held the Londinium Centurions to a nil-nil score line even after extra time. Consequently, it came as no surprise to future generations of Roman sports commentators that soon the half-time shows – especially that perennial favourite the long-running sit-com Christians versus the Lions – proved to be more popular than the football games themselves.

Also in sport it was discovered that Elizabethan bowling greens were of such bad quality that the Elizabethan bowls players would prefer to go into battle against a massively outnumbering foreign Armada than risk another game of bowls and the constant danger of losing another jack over the edge of the cliff.

It was not all doom and gloom though, the Greeks always thought it was a great idea of theirs to lumber other countries with the Olympic games with their ever-spiralling costs, over-complexity and dubious new 'sports' and - eventually – history, once again, proved them right.

Self-Defence in the Street

Even then it was not all that obvious, despite the way she was holding it, with the dangerous end pointing at us. But, as you know, self-defence is a vital part of the modern world and, despite the obvious drawbacks of using a crocodile on a main shopping street during the busy Saturday afternoon, she had established a safety cordon around herself with little or none of the usual amount of injury and bloodshed to others than can often be the case.

However, going shopping with a crocodile, can – of course – be somewhat problematical, especially in a shop with narrow aisles, or large crowds, as other shoppers do rend to dislike having their lower extremities chewed off whilst they are out shopping. An event which makes shopping for new shoes somewhat problematical, especially if the shoe-shop assistant needs to retrieve the recently gnawed-off foot from an over-possessive crocodile.

Still, as the suppliers of the Self-Defence Crocodile have assured us, these are by their very nature only teething troubles (especially with the very young crocodiles, of course) and – they promise – will be fully resolved by the time of the nationwide roll-out of the service sometime in the next few months.

Critics, however, have pointed out that the use of leashed crocodiles by shoppers on the High street could cause even more damage to a struggling retail sector by driving away more customers. However, supporters of the scheme say it will result in shoppers feeling more secure on their shopping trips and – therefore – much more likely to venture out to the shops.

Time, though, will tell.

Accessing the Lug-Nuts

Not that it was that easy, after all, you have to be in a position that allows easy access to the lug-nuts on the underside, and that can be a little awkward if you do not want to interrupt her viewing schedule, or have to face rather intrusive inquiries from her about some of the more recondite plot points from the time she was momentarily distracted by you disappearing into the undercarriage at such a crucial point in the programme.

However, for those of us who enjoy a quiet - and intimate – evening at home with the WWI biplane of our choice, sometimes there is no other option that to take it with us when there is the tantalising prospect of an interesting programme about to air on television. Such is the rarity of that occasion that it does need something special to set it apart from the usual evening of celebrity-fronted drivel about – apparently – what they did on their holidays.

So, to share the room with – say, a Sopwith Camel or even a Fokker triplane - could be – quite easily – be the cultural highlight of the week, surpassing even the traditional weekly game of Guess What The Thing On The Dinner Plate Is Meant To Be round at some relative's house.

Still, things can be a bit fraught, especially when checking the idling sped of the engine, or testing of the wing flaps, results in a slight disturbance to her Downton Abbey experience, while she points out that you never seem to find it necessary to taxi your biplane across the living room whenever there is a chance that one of the leading ladies is about to disrobe.

Still though, those lug-nuts – as you point out with ever-decreasing patience – will not tighten themselves, no matter what shenanigans the Downton household find themselves taking part in this week.

New TV Cookery Series

Still, as was said at the time, you can't make an omelette without having all the necessary omelette making ingredients and equipment.

The badger, however, is optional.

Some say it is the increasing desperation of TV cookery programme-makers that has forced this recent iteration of the erstwhile cooking programme back onto our screens. However, Cooking with Woodland Mammals was, at first regarded with some suspicion by both animal rights organisations and vegetarians, until it was revealed that the animals are merely studio guests, not part of the ingredients list.

Consequently, the introduction of a weasel into the studio to assist with the construction of a paella in the first episode was watched with interest by many such organisations, especially the RSPCA, mainly to make sure that the woodland creature was not unduly upset by being in the near vicinity of some rice, the treacle for the treacle tart dessert and a cleaver-welding celebrity chef.

However, that programme passed off without incident, or harm to the weasel. It also recorded some of the highest viewing figures ever gained by a cookery programme, leading to several inquires at specialist cooking equipment retailers about the possibility of purchasing a kitchen-ready weasel.

Representatives of the various animal welfare charities were also cautiously welcoming of the series, saying that it reveals a previously-unknown facet of Britain’s wildlife and that has long as no woodland creature is harmed or traumatised by the programme, there is no reason for them to oppose it. However, some of them did warn that the forthcoming episode where a pine marten shares a kitchen with Jamie Oliver may not be suitable viewing for those of a nervous disposition, and may raise animal rights concerns on behalf of the pine marten.

The Ultimate Question

Obviously, she had the tennis racquet. It, of course, goes without saying that those who had called into question her stance on the issue were now reconsidering their positions, especially as the power and accuracy of her serve were both more than a little well known in the local area. A few of the more sceptical of her interlocutors, though, did question the aerodynamic properties of the hand grenades she was preparing to serve, as opposed to the more usual tennis balls she was apt to use. But the more observant of us, watching from the sidelines, noticed that these sceptics tended to be more towards the rear of the opposition and each made sure of a clear line of exit before expressing any such doubts.

Those of us, though, who knew her better and therefore had a finer judgement as to her temper and inclinations, were already making our way out of range.

A few of those nearer the front of those she had already interrogated were starting to panic and, some even attempted to flee, but there she was poised and ready.

The silence grew as those facing her glanced from each to each in panic and desperation, knowing that there was no escape and that one of them would have to step forward and answer the ultimate question that has cowed mankind since the dawn of the species.

They turned to face her, sweat dripping, hands quivering, legs trembling in fear.

She looked at each one in turn. 'Well,' she said to her cowed audience. 'Does my bum look big in this?'

In Peril on the Highways

Of course, these days it is not really necessary to exercise extreme caution when approaching a stranger upon the thoroughfare – except, for obvious reasons, in Bolton – without first checking whether they have anything resembling one of the more recondite musical instruments on, or about, their person.

Back in the days of yore – as Samuel Johnson mentioned to Boswell one Tuesday morning as they made their way – post-haste – out of Kilmarnock – it was not uncommon for a traveller to fall foul of an itinerant bagpiper-wielder on some of the remote highland thoroughfares.

Not only that, it was not uncommon for travellers on the highways of England at around the same time to be waylaid by highwaymen armed with accordions, who – would threaten to inflict the instrument on anyone on the stagecoach who did not immediately had over their valuables with the then familiar, but dreaded, cry of 'Your money or the accordion!'

In the cities too, there were gangs of villains armed with banjos ready to inflict dreadful horrors on anyone who made the mistake of wandering down the wrong street, as well as huge gangs of orphan mandolin players ready to rob and steal from the crowds that thronged the towns, especially on market days.

Such was the fear of crime by musical instrument that deportation to the Colonies, and/or Luton, was introduced for anyone caught in possession of a harmonica with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.

However, it wasn't until the creation of the Bow Street Runners, and other such local constabularies throughout the rest of Britain, that this blight on civilisation was assuaged, at least until the invention of the recording contract a few centuries later.

A Tabloid Exclusive

Hacknslash Paperclip was one of those rare tabloid journalists who became a familiar face and ever-popular by-line to his loyal readership. In his heyday there was – it seemed - not a single celebrity scandal that he was not involved in, in some way. The familiar Paperclip by-line, it seemed, was almost a part of every celebrity malfeasance expose as the obligatory awkward malefactor and family posed reconciliation and printed abject apology for that moment of weakness that would have continued for several more years if not for the intrepid journalistic skills of the great Hacknslash Paperclip.

Paperclip had no interest in the philosophy or theory of journalism and treated the academicisation of his trade as little more than a poor joke. By way of example: Not once, he once said in an interview, had he ever stopped to wonder why, in his heyday, his huge readership (massive even by tabloid standards) should be even in the slightest bit be interested in the shenanigans of the rich and famous, or even have any interest the rich or famous as a species. He just knew that every week his audience all wanted to read – or at least look at the pictures – of someone in the public eye falling from grace, the greater the fall or more spectacular the tumble the better.

Once asked how he managed to get so many exclusives, Paperclip said that he simply assumed that no-one could resist temptation (as his own seven marriages seemed to avow) and that everyone in the public eye, no matter how clean cut, straight-laced or simple and straightforward their public image, would one day succumb to temptation and on that day, he Hacknslash Paperclip would be the one lurking behind the rosebushes, or hidden in the wardrobe, to catch that fall from grace for the exclusive smug schadenfreude of his readers.

The Overwhelming Alien Horde

It came out of the sky... no, hang on. Actually, the Postman delivered it. But, most of us were at least reasonably sure that, if it had not been for the rather reasonable postal charges, then it would indeed have come out of the sky.

Of course, in the past, alien invasions have not quite been this straightforward, often becoming quite fraught as the overwhelming alien horde easily overcame all the massed armies that the Earth could put up against them.

However, since the recent economic downturn has resulted in a large decrease in both the Space Exploration and the Armed Services budgets of most Earth nations, this latest alien invasion was contracted out to the postal services of the Earth's leading nations, rather than going through all that fuss with the lasers and explosions. Not only that, as the aliens are interested in taking over the Earth as a going concern, in order to use it as a sort of planetary wildlife and amusement park. A place where alien species from every galaxy can come to gawp at the wonderfully primitive and authentically-backward human race as it attempts to understand even the most basic concepts of science and technology. Consequently, the alien invaders were rather keen not to engage in the usual wanton destruction of the Earth’s capital cities.

Although, in order to assuage the initial hostility of the world's populace, they have promised to execute – in several inventive and very painful ways – the majority of the Earth's leaders and politicians – so, at least, we have that to look forward to as we welcome our new alien overlords.

Into the Garden

There she was.... No, hang on, it was over there, next to that rather fetching example of a traditional garden shed. Of course, she was fully-armed with all the necessary gear to venture forth into what had - once, in a fit of optimism – been called the garden, but was now suspected to contain several soldiers who were unaware that the war was long over, and rumoured to also contain some creatures that had escaped evolutionary pressures and were not extinct, and - possibly - at least half a dozen tennis balls from next door.

Still, she was prepared to sally forth into the unknown from her base camp just outside the aforementioned shed, which had – over the years – become something of a shrine to the harsh gods of the garden. A place where certain gardening tools were offered up in sacrifice by placing them in the shed, then forgetting about them, possibly in the hope that the garden had evolved itself some breed of elves who delight in horticultural maintenance and who would creep into the shed, avail themselves of the sacrificial tools and do – at least – a spot of pruning and weeding.

However, so far, at least, it looked as though no such breed of creatures yet existed in the dark heart of what was once a lawn.

So, steeling herself and clutching the shears in her gloved hands, she glanced at me, then set off into the garden.

That was three weeks ago, and I still haven't – yet – heard anything from her. If I haven't heard anything in the next couple of weeks I've decided to act and see about getting myself a new wife, or – if the worst comes to the worst – moving house.

Roadside Repairs

It began – of course – in those dark dread years before we had even heard of the concept of multi-channel TV and the Test Card ruled our lives. Back in those days, of course, there were many ways for a young lady and her gentleman friend to get involved with each other, not all of which involved a game of naked Twister and a bottle of baby oil. Although, in the name of honesty, it must be admitted that some of those non-baby oil and Twister events did involve the use of either the Morris Marina or the Austin Allegro, so it was not – as nostalgia would attest – that joyous a time, especially considering the propensity of the Allegro’s wheel bearings to give out if – unreasonably, apparently, in the eyes of its makers – you expected the Allegro to travel further than its own length in distance.

Still, the delicate nature of the Allegro's wheel bearings did mean that many a game of naked baby-oil Twister was played under the moonlight at the side of the road whilst waiting for the breakdown truck to appear, which was why motoring organisations of the time all suggested that a Twister mat and a bottle of baby oil should form a part of every driver's emergency tool kit.

Of course, these days when any young driver examines your emergency tool kit they are – with the concomitant relative reliability of today's cars – always somewhat aghast to discover the Twister mat and baby oil. However, once apprised of the value of such precautions they will often see the wisdom of equipping themselves adequately should the same eventuality befall them at some point in the near future, thus are the great cultural traditions of this country maintained.

In the Name of Charity

Still, anyway, as they often pointed out at the time, it is not that often you can – hand on heart – say you were looking forward to any event involving an accordion, at least not in public anyway. Despite the obvious concern about the nature of the event and worries about just how safe it was for a naked young lady to operate such a device so close to her sensitive regions, there was quite a sizeable crowd gathered just outside the supermarket to witness the event, along with several camera crews from all the major TV networks, and Channel 5 (which, apparently, still exists).

Of course, these days more or less everyone has a mobile phone able to take pictures and/or videos, so the event itself was not going to go unnoticed, especially as it was – as such things are these days – all done in the name of charity, and the beneficiaries of the money raised were not just the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidental Tweaks to the Unprotected Nipple during a Musical Performance (RSPATUNMP), which is – of course – one of the most popular charities in the country, especially after those harrowing scenes of what happened when the All-Nude Orchestra of Brighton attempted to record a version of Ravel's Bolero without the use of safety cymbals.

Still, despite the accordion most of the people who witnessed the event – now, of course recorded for posterity and available on both the charity's home page and YouTube – regarded it as one of the cultural highlights of last year. Not only that it raised a record amount for the charity and there is talk of doing a mass naked accordion concert sometime in the near future, which is something we can all look forward to... at least to some extent.

Torn Shadows

Torn Shadows

These sore half-closed eyes
wasting their precious vision
on views of faded hopes
across a destroyed landscape.

Where empty factories fall down
into oil-soaked rusty mud
while sharp-toothed scavengers
create a bone-thin living haunting
these torn metal shadows.

Physics News – Particle Discovered

It was not quite as intended, even though the container was put back on the right shelf in the right place at the right time. However, such is the nature of time and space that the right time and right place is not – on occasion – where you thought it was.

Of course, scientist are only now coming to understand that what they thought they knew is not only not quite correct, it is – in fact – wrong.

Ever since the surprise discovery of the mystery particle by the large Hadron Collider last week, research scientists have worked around the clock to make sense of the discovery. Until now, the scientific community has not really paid all that much attention to what for the rest of us are some of the great mysteries of the universe. Mysteries such as: where do all the missing socks go? What happened to that pen I put down a minute ago? Why the hell is it so easy to forget just why you are standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a spoon?

Now with the discovery of the Buggeration particle, scientists believe they may just be on the verge of understanding all this strange phenomena. Some scientists think they soon can answer the questions that have baffled humankind ever since the first caveman put down his pointed stick and could remember where he'd put it.

Perhaps even, one day, scientists will discover exactly why there is always a tin of strange stuff at the back of the cupboard no-one can ever remember buying? Or, why, something has a best-before date of several years ago, and no matter how many of them you throw away there is always another one in the cupboard you discover while looking for something else that you never find.

It Just Happened

It was all luck, randomness, happenstance, chance. I knew I was not there because of anything intrinsic to me. I had not survived while all those others had died because of any reason. I was not a better person than any of those who died. I was not holy, I was not chosen by gods or by fate. It happened because that was the way it happened.

The women sitting in the seat next to me, she died. The people sitting in the seats behind me – they all died. Those sitting in front of me and across the aisle from me, they all died too. I just happened to be bending over, trying to extricate my book from my travelling bag when the train carriage came off the line. That’s all it was, just luck. The force of the accident kept me down there, below the part of the carriage sheered off by the collision with the tunnel wall.

I didn’t know I was only one of three survivors from our carriage, not until a long time afterwards. One of my fellow survivors put it down to some miracle, some act of her god. I wanted to point out to her, there would have been others on that train, just as, if not more, devout than her, probably many far more worth saving by any god that would intervene to save her.

She was not the nice person she thought she was. I know because I heard her complaining and bad-mouthing the train staff and fellow passengers when we were in the buffet car queue less than an hour before the crash. The queue moved far too slowly for her and her self-importance. I can’t imagine any god wanting to save her, even a devil would find it hard to like her… but survive she did and so did I… and no god chose either of us.

A Major Constitutional Crisis Averted

Anyway, as was said at the time, it is still not clear, which – if any – of the politicians gathered there was telling the truth. However, since video records of the occasion have been examined by experts it has since been discovered that over 95% of the politicians gathered there did – at one time or another – open their mouths. Consequently, as has been proved by countless pieces of prior academic research in the field, it is now firmly established that when politicians have their mouths open they are lying. It has also been, more or less, established that when their mouths are shut they are thinking about what they are going to lie about next.

Of course, there was the recent scandal when the member of parliament for Lower Backhander was forced to resign from the Houses of Parliament when it was discovered that he had accidentally told the truth to an undercover reporter posing as one of his constituents. Obviously, should he have been allowed to continue representing his constituency under such circumstances a major constitutional crisis could have occurred.

Consequently, several influential backbench MPs have recently tabled a motion asking for MPS expense allowances to be increased so each MP can afford to employ more nubile young research assistants. They claim this will ensure the MP is adequately briefed in future – in both senses of the word - before making any public utterances that – unbeknownst to the MP – later turn out to contain any element of truth. Without such safeguards, the MPs claim, and not without some justification, the whole process of democracy in this country could – if physically possible – sink even lower in the public's esteem.

Mountains

Mountains

It is not easy to remember
All the world's necessities
When this world refuses to exist
Without the words to describe it.

Parts of it sometimes disappear
When I forget to give names
To all these things around me.
The distant grey mountains

Were lost to me the other day.
I must have forgotten to name them
Before the slow mist came down
And swallowed everything inside itself.

Mothership

It was bigger than I expected it to be, but then I hadn’t often wondered about how big I would expect them to be. Usually, when I think about things it does often end up being about certain ladies and about how we could spend some interesting time together, exploring the outer edges of erotic possibility.

Of course, it is not that I don’t think about other things as well. It is just that I like to think about the ladies more – much more – than I like to think about the other things, up to - and including - beer.

As for the alien motherships, to be honest, I hadn’t thought about them much at all. That is unless they were those aliens who Captain Kirk always happened to meet for some hot Starship Captain on alien sex-action, or – in some episodes – alien on Starship Captain sex-action.

But, here I was on the alien mothership. At least, I presumed it was the mothership, like I said, I don’t think about aliens that often and I’d never really wondered about what separated the mothership from whatever other classes of ships the aliens would have.

However, it was massive, so - until I found out any different - I decided to regard it as the mothership as I set off down a corridor at random. As I explored, I started thinking about how I’d actually ended up on this alien mothership (possibly) in orbit around the Earth… but that was another story.

Scheduling Nightmares

With our favourite holy evening TV schedules clutched tightly to our chests we made our way down the slow twisting corridor towards the place where we’d heard the most hideous screaming and screeching. It seemed obvious somewhere down there someone was in great pain, somewhere behind one of these many doors someone must be undergoing some of the worst torture seen in this land since the last time some cruel TV producer had summoned up the courage to inflict Janet Street-Porter onto some poor unsuspecting audience.

We could only hope it was not that she-devil who was inflicting herself and her banal ‘opinions’ on some poor victim, for then we knew we could do little to save the soul who’s torment could have by now gone far beyond the tender limits of sanity and beyond even our abilities for rescue.

Down this corridor we knew, though, that the devils and demons responsible for the creation of reality TV lurked, planning and scheming to bring even more evil into the lives of poor innocent TV viewers with their many versions of the levels of hell inflicted on the poor captive TV audience, condemned to suffer such pains and indignations all in the name of their most foul of holies – the viewing figures.

Then we can to the door, behind which we could hear that terrible wailing, screaming and caterwauling, and then we knew that we were too late, for on that door was a hastily-scrawled sign that showed those in the room were beyond all redemption, for that sign warned everyone about to enter that beyond that door were the dread auditions for the latest TV talent show singers.

Turning in horror we ran, hoping – hope against hope – that we were not too late to catch the last bus heading for the hills.

The True Danger of Conspiracy Theories

Here we are, and I must say what a splendid morni....

Oh, hang on... what a rather dismal day it has turned out to be. Someone, somewhere is stealing our weather and replacing it with this... well, whatever it is. Of course, this being the Untied Kingdom, the weather is usually cold, damp and drizzly with a wind that seemingly comes from all directions at once, but this weather isn't good enough even for that.

Of course, this should be the cue for some sort of conspiracy theory, but – as we know – the only thing that is ever true about conspiracy theories is that the people who believe in them are... well, wrong. The human race is quite simply not competent – or organised enough – to keep up something as complex as a conspiracy before someone, somewhere, decides they can't be arsed and the whole thing tumbles to the ground in disarray and mutual recriminations.

Of course, that is exactly what they want you to think.

Do you think it is really some sort of strange co-incidence that the only people who seem to believe in conspiracy theories are sad, lonely, paranoid obsessive losers?

That is what they want you to think.

They want you to dismiss all these conspiracy theories as paranoid lunacy and to deride or pity those that keep spouting the obvious bollocks, while they get on with their real aim – their project of world domination.

The only question is: just who are they?

But we know exactly who they are, which explains just why they are changing the climate of this country to more resemble that of Antarctica.