Contemporary mathematics

Spindizzy Legobrick is probably the UK’s leading contemporary mathematician. He is famous for solving both Goldfinger’s Postulation and the world-famous Cheese Imponderable first formulated by Gödel during a slow Wednesday afternoon.

As most mathematically-literate people are aware Goldfinger’s Postulation claims that each number can be written with either straight lines (such as 1 or 7), or with round curvy bits (such as 6 and 8). 2 of course features both a curved bit at the top and a straight bit at the bottom, and 5 has the straight bits at the top and the curve at the bottom as Legobrick proved.

Gödel’s Cheese Imponderable however is not so straightforward to resolve. As first stated Gödel’s contention that in an infinite universe there must be some chesses that are not very nice does seem uncontroversial. Especially to those who have not performed any in-depth mathematical analysis of not only the cheeses that do exist, but also of the cheeses that could exist in an infinite universe.

For example, even though it runs counter to common sense, in an infinite universe it would be possible to make cheese from all manner of ingredients. Ingredients from car tyres through to geography teachers. Surely, Gödel argued, in his paper introducing the subject, some of those cheeses would not be very tasty. By using certain equations that go beyond the scope of this article he proved – at least to his own satisfaction – that a cheese made of 17th century wardrobes fittings would be very nasty indeed.

There the subject rested until the invention of computers. With computers of a significantly powerful processing capacity such as today’s supercomputers Legobrick argued it would be mathematically possible to model several million cheeses. A sufficiently-powerful computer, he argued, could find many – but not all - palatable cheeses made from a whole gamut of ingredients in the time it takes to make a decent serving of cheese on toast.

This paper, by Legobrick, was presented to the Proceedings of the World Mathematical Cheese Society early this year and met with both wild acclaim and peer approval. Straight away, several mathematicians with access to such computers rushed off to see if they could come up with a cheese made from ingredients that contradicted both Legobrick’s thesis and were still quite tasty.

However, as this article goes to press it seems that Legobrick’s contention that most – if not all – such cheeses made from ingredients not usually used in cheese making only a finite quantity of them would indeed be edible still stands uncontested.

It will be interesting to see if cheese mathematicians of the future ever do come up with a non-standard cheese that is as tasty as a nice bit of Stilton and thus disprove Legobrick’s solution to Gödel’s great Cheese Imponderable.

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Roadside Experiments

Well, there she was. Which was not ideal, for if she was over here then I wouldn't have had to shout against a background of heavy traffic noise. So, I believe she can hardly be blamed for any of the subsequent misunderstandings, except of course the incident with the weasel.

However, the weasel is now receiving intensive trauma counselling, so it is possible that later a line may be drawn under that particular aspect of the experience.

Although, current psychological evidence does suggest that the weasel may never be fully at ease... ever again. Especially in the near vicinity of a cheese and sweet pickle baguette.

However, such setbacks should not divert us from the bigger picture and the great advances made in our understanding of human sexuality. In particular how it relates – or not – to the lay-by. Especially during the early evening rush hour.

As well, of course, as the significant increase in our understanding of cheese and sweet pickle-related trauma in impressionable young weasels. A subject which, I'm sure you will agree, modern science has woefully left unresearched. Even despite the more than generous research funds available from the EU for such vital research.

Anyway, so there she was dressed in the full leather outfit and ready for our research project to begin. At least, until the police patrol arrived and insisted we erect the barriers to avoid distracting the passing drivers. In particular the drivers heavy goods vehicles. The police claimed there was a possibility of us causing a severe road accident when the aforesaid driver became aware of a rather under-dressed young lady striking nubile posses in a lay-by near Redditch. Which, if you have ever driven around Redditch will make you understand why those drivers were in dire need of any distraction available.

Still. The erection of several large cricket sight-screens in a lay-by did cause more inconvenience, we are sure – than any provocatively-dressed young lady would have done. Consequently, the entire lay-by was soon full of haphazardly-parked vehicles as their drivers stopped to see what was going on.

This, unfortunately, meant that any results we gathered from our research immediately became invalidated by the crowds of observers. For as we all know the nubility index of any young lady is often erratically perturbed by the number of observers present.

Therefore we had no alternative but to abandon the experiment for that day.

However, we plan to try again, but this time somewhere in the vicinity of Luton where – it is said – drivers are immured to all roadside distractions, no matter how provocative.

However, we shall have to wait for our experimental confirmation of this sometime in the near future before it can be stated without equivocation or the possibility of statistical error.

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

The Cheese of the Baskervilles

It began – as these things so often do – with the cheese. However, at the time the West Midlands Serious Cheese Crime Squad was busy with an undercover investigation into an illegal chive smuggling ring down in Gloucester. They believed this criminal gang were responsible for a Double Gloucester protection racket that controlled all the chives and onions in the region.

However, there were rumours that the revolutionary Red Leicester workers collective had been infiltrated by Wensleydale anarchists from over the border intent on creating anarchy.

However, there was a large amount of corruption in the Serious Cheese squad. There were rumours of some offices amassing double their own weight in illicit Brie. So no-one ever thought the case of the missing crackers would ever be solved, at least not in our lifetime.

Eventually, just to see if we could get justice, if not for us, then for all the other victims of the great cracker heist, we would have to hire a private investigator. Never once did we think that the legendary Stilton Holmes himself, along with his faithful companion Doctor Water-Biscuit would involve themselves in this investigation. It turned into a complex case, resulting in that fateful – and fatal - encounter between Stilton Holmes and Doctor Mycella on the sheer edge of the Reichenbach Tesco delicatessen counter. This resulted in them both falling to their deaths - locked in each other’s arms - into a huge vat of cottage cheese. Neither ever emerged again.

Thus, the case was never solved. As Doctor Water-Biscuit mourned the loss of his great companion, it was he who remarked upon the curious incident of the Gouda in the night time.

But that is a case for another time.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US).]

They Came From Outer Space

Of course, the odds were overwhelming. Never in human history had this planet faced such odds.

The alien ships appeared on the edge of the solar system in ever-increasing numbers. There were thousands of them, all approaching Earth orbit and there was nothing we could do to stop them.

Soon the night sky filled with the orbiting ships, like hundreds, thousands, of new stars in the sky. Then, in addition, the daytime sky filled, with the ships grown massive in the sky like solid metal storm clouds. They hung there over every point of human habitation on the planet. From the largest cities right down to the humblest nomadic tents. Each and all had at least one of the massive starships hovering in the sky above it, all casting huge shadows across the ground.

We learnt to live in perpetual shadow, learnt not to look up to see something impossibly huge just hanging there over our heads.

All we could do was wait, wait and tremble. Everyone was scared, too scared to mention the fearsome objects filling our skies. Soon we knew they would turn their attentions on us and we would be doomed.

The voice came from everywhere, from every speaker in the world, from every resonating surface that could vibrate at those frequencies and in every language spoken by those beneath the ships.

‘We want your cheese!’

The world’s leaders, hastily prepared to face impossible demands contacted one another. The world’s armies all ready for inevitable defeat and death at the hands (or whatever) of the overwhelming alien horde all dared breathe again.

‘What?’ said the leader of the free world, when she could find her voice – and get the American president to stop praying long enough for her to get a word in.

‘Your cheese. We want it now…. Or there will be war. War you puny humans can never win!’

‘But…well, cheese?’

Earth is the only planet in the entire universe that has the precious cheese.’ The voice was calm, almost reasonable. ‘We must have your Stilton. The future of the universe depends upon it.’

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

The Return of the Red Revolutionaries

Well, obviously… or perhaps not, depending on how you take your cheese, at the time everyone regarded it as the most significant event of the century… so far. At least, that is, in the often turbulent and divisive history of cheese, up to and including the Wensleydale perturbations and the great Luton Stilton riot of 1874.

Of course, those of us who had our suspicions about the Red Leicester supporters were justified in our concerns. Especially when the Red Leicester Worker’s collective announced they had taken control of one of the country’s largest cracker factories. Before demanding the government hand over control of all cheese-related matters to what they called the Workers Cheese Eating Collective.

The government, of course, had long expected that the revolutionary cheese parties would stage some industrial or political action. So they had stockpiled the chutney in readiness and the essential cheese supply lines were to be taken over by the army should the disruption spread. Although, many feared that the resulting imposition of basic army-issue cheddar on the populace would cause more unrest than it quietened. Especially if the rumours of navy hard tack biscuits left over from the Battle of Trafalgar turned out to be true.

Still, though in the end the Red Leicesters made a significant mistake in underestimating the support they would have. First the Sage derby, then the Double Gloucester turned against them. Particularly when the Red Leicester leadership refused to ballot their members and some of them returned to work, but only on the promise of extra sweet pickle on their Ploughman’s Lunches.

Soon after that, it was all over and it seemed that Britain was yet again safe from the cheese revolutions that had scared so many countries in such much of the 20^th century.

It was thought that Cheese radicalism was a thing of the past. But now with Britain’s Left once more turning to those discredited and often stale cheeses of the past, it would be most unwise of us to ignore the danger signs. Especially since the leadership promised a prize freeze on Britain’s staple cheeses for the lifetime of their first parliament and a seizure of all unused and hoarded crackers. It seems that those dark cheese-less days of the 3 days-only cheese weeks, cracker coupons and complete chutney blackouts could so easily return, if we dare relax our vigilance.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

The Perils of Celebrity

Spangle Trimphone became world-famous little more than five years or so ago now. Surprisingly enough, it was not her record-breaking score on the then latest quiz show phenomenon Name That Cheese! ™ that gave her this coveted celebrity status. That did initially demonstrate her rare intelligence when she successfully identified a rather tricky Sage Derby hidden under a tiger in a dense jungle. However, it was more that as she danced around the studio in victory it became increasing apparent she had mislaid her underwear before appearing on the show.

After that, it was increasingly obvious that Trimphone’s real talent lay not in naming cheeses, despite the inherent mass appeal of such an ability in the entertainment world. It became increasingly apparent her true mass appeal lay in her ability – or rather her inability to remember to wear any underwear when out in public.

Soon Trimphone was so famous that she didn’t need to go to any hip happening club, party or award-ceremony as other celebrities do. All she had to do was when getting out of a car – anywhere on the planet – jump up and down a bit until every photographer there had enough photographs of her lack of underwear, and then Trimphone could go home.

However, her fame turned fleeting when a jealous ex-lover revealed that at home, Trimphone always wore underwear. He clamed too that sometimes she strutted around at home even without any other clothes to cover the underwear up. He claimed too that Trimphone had accounts with some of the world’s most exclusive lingerie retailers in the world and had more pairs of knickers than the entire female population of Ipswich put together.

Not only that, her fall from grace was complete when a tabloid newspaper revealed that she didn’t even like cheese. A disgusted populace turned away from her in droves. Soon she had no choice but to return in defeat to the tawdry comedy quiz show circuit to earn the minimum necessary for her to remain a celebrity, despite her fall from grace.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

An Issue of Great Social Import

Obviously, she blamed modern society in general and the media in particular for the crisis she discovered, if not invented, and put herself forward as the person able to rectify this problem no-one else had noticed or concerned themselves with.

What she did not acknowledge, lest it damage her chances of gaining substantial amounts of research funding as well as the academically crucial publications and conference invites, is that the media follows its audience, it does not lead them.

So her claim that there is a substantial existential crisis about the nature of British Cheese was more or less ignored. Although her thesis was later greeted with incredulous headlines in that selfsame media she condemned as creating the crisis one slow news day sometimes later. However, once that particular news cycle ended, so did her moment in the limelight without anyone else really noticing.

Surprised at the sudden loss of media attention she rationalised it as a conspiracy by the media barons to cover up their personal involvement in what she saw as the great cheese scandal. After all, Rupert Murdoch himself was once photographed eating some cheese at a reception he hosted for the government of the day. Obviously, she claimed, it must be a conspiracy – why else would the media baron hold the party and why else would politicians attend an event offering free food and drink and a chance to get closer to the media?

Consequently, it was not long before a bunch of ‘activists’ were at somewhat of a loose end since capitalism had – yet again - failed to collapse when they said it would. They decided that here was a cause equal to their campaigning talents, once she had explained the great conspiracy to them in simplistic enough language for them to fit on a placard.

And so the great campaigning organisation UnCrackered was born. This mass movement took to the streets with demonstrations of up to nearly two demonstrators at a time. The organisation bore witness to some of the most egregious forms of capitalistic exploitation of cheese and other dairy-based produce wherever and whenever they could (excluding signing-on days, of course). For these activists know that it is only through direct action in the face of the general population’s apathy that great social change comes about.

We others, who only stand and stare, must also be prepared to put ourselves on the line to support these activists whenever we can. We must bravely step forward to both Like their F-Arsebook posts and to ReTwat their Twatisms no matter what the personal cost to use, lest we one day wake up to life without cheese.

 

[Books by David Hadley are available here (UK) or here (US)]

The Goat Herder Incident

Apparently, none of the goats herders implicated in the famous case of internet censorship which later became known as The Goat Herder Incident had ever in the past had reason to consort with any Parmesan cheese, shocking as it may seem.

Of course, for several years now there has been an increasing number of busybodies convinced that they know what is best for everyone else intent on forcing their – somewhat dubious – notions of taste and decency upon the rest of us.

As it happens most people go about their own business without feeling the need to get carried away on other people’s behalf, interfering with things that have seemingly rubbed along all right, at least until these self-appointment interferers decided they should become involved.

It has been – especially in some of the more wild and untamed regions of this country outside the ring roads that encircle all we hold most dear - that there are some – only some – goat herders who take a dismissive attitude to certain forms of cheeses. Normally, this should be a matter for themselves alone. However, sine that last Laborg government ratified and introduced the EU-wide legislation outlawing disparagement of and discrimination against the various cheeses of other EU nations, the goat herder’s stance now contravened the law.

Consequently, at the recent goat-herders convention in exotic down-town Bilston, when several photographs of the - admittedly well-refreshed - goat herders were published on ArseAboutFaceBook openly disparaging several cheeses of other EU member countries, especially some Parmesan they regarded as 'like cardboard' there was – of course – outrage that such attitudes still persist in this country in this day and age, despite the fact that cheese-disparagement has along and noble history in this country dating back to the time King Alfred the Great sniggered at some Gouda.

After receiving upwards of nearly two complaints the administrators of the ArseAboutFaceBook site claimed they had no choice but to remove the offending photographs before the rest of the media got hold of the story and bored everyone shitless by banging on about it for several days, or at least until some celebrity fell out of her dress and diverted everyone's attention away from ArseAboutFaceBook once again.

However, the rest of the media – annoyed they'd missed their chance to have a go at ArseAboutFaceBook and thus win back some much-needed advertising revenue, decided instead to attack ArseAboutFaceBook for this act of 'cowardly censorship.' Thus was the story set to run and run, however, some politician said something mildly disparaging about her own party leader and instead the media rushed off to pretend we all cared about that instead.

Talent Contests and their Pitfalls

She had all the necessary items inventoried and prepared for the great day, up to and including the ukulele and the badminton racquets. I, of course, was more than prepared with the bee-keeper's hat, and the shin-pads polished to a lustre that had already dazzled several airline pilots and caused a certain amount of consternation to some orbiting astronauts.

Still, however, there was the matter of the cheese to resolve. She – as is her wont – had implied that the day would not go entirely to my satisfaction if she was presented with anything other than a decent segment of Cheshire, whilst I had – up until the moment she revealed the contents of the penalty clauses - had my heart set on a tasty wedge of Red Leicester.

However, that was all to come. First we had to get through the preliminary rounds. These local contests have come on apace since the days when an error-free waltz or a jar of home made chutney was enough to scoop the prize. These days, in these times of celebrity-driven culture and a seeming unending obsession by the viewing public and the TV channels to inundate us with more and more talent shows, it all means that the bar these days is set so much higher.

So, therefore, our re-enactment of the Battle of Crecy, featuring our home-made scones, a trained performing politician and a (admittedly somewhat historically-dubious) man-eating tiger, had spent several weeks in rehearsal and there was now a danger of us running out of politicians, or having the tiger die from a diet consisting mainly of prospective candidates for local party selection, before it even managed to get its jaws around the cabinet minister we had managed to lure down to his own constituency, on the day of the contest, with the promise of several plain brown envelopes and an eventual elevation to the peerage.

However, due to a mistake by the - apparently - rather short-sighted tiger, we were disqualified in the semi-finals. The final too had to be abandoned until a replacement judge could be found. They did not – though – blame the tiger, just wished it could have got to the MP first, before it satiated its appetite on the competition judge.

Cheese Amnesty

 

On the whole, though, it was more of a cheese-based inquiry than would otherwise be the case. After all, we all know about the increasing number of murders committed by wielders of some of the more obscure local cheeses, compared with the more usual supermarket cheddars and similar mass-produced dairy products.

The use of Stilton has long been recognised as a rather British form of regicide, with - of course – Richard of York’s final despairing cry of ‘My Kingdom for a Krackawheat’ when faced with the overwhelming number of Stilton rounds massed against him by Henry VI on the field at the battle of Wakefield.

Still, the use of Wensleydale by the Parliamentarian side to rid the country of Charles I is familiar, despite the poor quality of contemporary history teaching, to most school-age worker units, even though many of them will have little or no idea just what sort of computer game character a Wensleydale is and just when the Roundheads won X-Factor.

However, since the last cheese amnesty saw a record number of unlicensed wedges of Sage Derby handed in to police stations all across the country as well as some rather lethal Gorgonzola successfully defused by the Anti-Cheese Terrorism Squad in Bilston only last week, there are some encouraging signs that cheese-related mayhem may – at last – be on the wane since the successful capture by the Metropolitan Police of the leaders of one of the capital’s most notorious importers of illegal Brie.

Memorable Games of Naked Hide and Seek

It began – as these things often do – with the cheese. Sometimes, these things do start with the naked woman, of course. More often than not, though, they do start with the cheese. After all – and be honest here – how often do you open you fridge looking for a naked woman?

Yes, well… apart from that time, obviously.

Although, I do have to admit that was one of our more memorable games of Naked Hide and Seek.

Not quite as good as the one in Tesco, admittedly, but hiding out in a chest freezer of own-brand Pizza BOGOFs, did give her somewhat of a chill, and put her off concealing herself inside low-temperature hiding places for quite a while. I was rubbing for ages to get her circulation going again, even if some of the places she suggested I rub seemed not to need much in the way of re-invigoration… certainly not in that way, anyway.

Anyway, it began with the cheese, this time, without encountering any young ladies in a state of total undress, when I opened the fridge door. Which, now I come to think about it was much more disappointing than the rather past-its-best portion of Smoked Applewood I did eventually find underneath the partially-squashed iceberg lettuce with the naked footprint on it.

Top Gruyere

It was only to be expected really, even though she claimed to be an experienced cheese-driver, rallying a Stilton around the country lanes of Gloucestershire is a bit different to taking a Brie out for a drive down your local High Street.

Not only that the speed that some of the high-end Double Gloucester can come off the cheese board from a standing start will do little more than leave a stain on your cracker, especially if you try to take the corner of a water biscuit without changing down your cheese knife.

Of course, some of those continental super-cheeses with their powerful acceleration and speedy assaults on the taste buds may look the part when you seem them spread out on the cheese board, not one of them would be suitable for an English country lane, especially at high speed, and as for using any of them as an off-road cheese, forget it. There you need the traditional English Cheddar, or at least a Red Leicester, unless you want to end upside down in a muddy ditch with butter stains across what is left of your face and a small heap of crumbs where your cheese biscuits used to be.

Putting the Shopping Away: Tactics

It was not that she was somewhat provocative in her handling of the melon, it was more a matter that such an act on her part left me with little choice over what to do with the rather large chunk of cheddar cheese I was holding.

Of course, many practitioners of the game should be smiling a wry smile of recognition at what has now become one of the standard opening moves of a match.

Quickly, before she could manoeuvre the melon to a more convenient location, I managed to put the cheese in the fridge and move on to the next item in my carrier bag. This happened to be a bottle of milk, thus easily trumping her carton of teabags.

However, the teabags were a special offer containing 50% extra free, which of course completely invalidated any advantage I had with the milk, leaving her with a penalty move which enabled her to finish putting all her shopping away from her carrier bag whilst I was left with a tin of tomato soup still in mine.

Next week, though, there will be a rematch, and as the loser this time I get first choice of shopping bag, so I think I will make sure I get the one with the digestive biscuits, of course.

Something Not Quite Right

There are times… well, a few times…. Actually every now and then… or, maybe once in a lifetime there is a time when you begin to think that all is not quite as it should be.

I don’t know: maybe you suddenly become concerned about the curious silence in the mainstream media about the penguins, maybe you one day realise that you cheese salad baguette does not quite live up to what you expected of it, maybe your spanners no longer have the allure of your younger days.

Anyway, whatever it is about your life, or at least one aspect of it, there is something not quite right. Maybe you realise that all the stuff you’ve bought recently is not what you wanted, but still you bought it anyway, perhaps even you have become even dimly aware that buying things really doesn’t seem to make all that much difference. Except – obviously – to your bank account and that the latest gizmotronic wizardry leaves you feeling flatter than a field in Norfolk or a supermodel’s frontage.

Whatever it is that you feel is not right you know there is little you, or anyone, can do to put it right, because you don’t really know what is wrong, apart from everything and that it all seems too big, too complicated, too much of a pain in the arse to even attempt to put it right.

It is then, only then, that you sit down and realise that you are well and truly fucked.

Becoming an Adult

‘Go on,’ Sue said. ‘You know you want to.’

I wiped my nervous hands together. I have never been this close to one before. I felt hot, sticky… aroused. Only recently had I become aware that there was this other, this adult, world out there that I had up until then not known anything about.

As I got older, though, I began to notice how the adult conversations changed when I entered the room; how subtle little gestures, winks, gestures of the hand and head, uses of words to mean other than I thought they meant and other adult distortions of what had to me up until then been an uncomplicated and straightforward life.

Sue, of course, claimed to be sophisticated, older than our years. She claimed she had done it with another boy at her older sister’s wedding. She saw me staring at what she’d uncovered.

‘That one’s Brie,’ she said. ‘It’s foreign… French.’

Up until recently I’d only been dimly aware that there were other cheeses apart from the plain ordinary cheddar we had as children. I’d once heard my father whisper something about Stilton once, but my mother had hushed him and nodded over to where we children were innocently busy with our Dairylea cheese triangles.

Now, though, here I was alone with a girl and a cheeseboard. She asked me if I knew about crackers and – of course – I said yes. But all I knew about cheese biscuits were those typical schoolboy jokes, teasing and moments of bragging.

One boy I knew had been caught by a teacher with a Water Biscuit. Of course, back in those days, schools still had the cane. The boy – Jenkins – later said that it had been worth it, but there were tears in his eyes when he came out of the headmaster’s study and for the rest of that term he only ever brought ham sandwiches to school.

Semi-Finals

It was… oooh… easily as big as big thing. But, over the other side down by the purple end there was one of those things that is a bit smaller than one of those not very big things you sometimes see advertised as not being as big as you’d think they would need to be, considering the amount of petrol it takes to ignite a member of the judiciary.

Still, as Doreen said at the time, you wouldn’t want to paint it. Frankly, I wouldn’t even want to sketch it, but then that is why I had the camera and the two rather nice-looking underdressed young ladies willing to disport themselves across various items for a small no-questions asked fee.

Back in those days though, such things were much easier than they are now. All those health and safety regulations and still our newspapers are full of reports of wallabies abandoned by the roadside and cruelly discarded wildebeests still in their original packaging. However, as I said to the VAT inspector, you won’t get that to come out in the wash.

She laughed, of course, but you mark my words (out of ten), she won’t be laughing once they get knocked out in the semi-finals again. Still, the cheese was nice.

Christmas Preparations

So anyway, there we were. She was naked, of course, and – obviously – sitting behind the drum kit while I wound up the battery-operated cheese grater and we got ready for the evening’s festivities.

This Christmas though, I am not sure whether we will be doing the same thing or not, especially as there is a waiting list for the drum stool, which is now standing at 37 names. Consequently I’m, not sure we will get it back in time for Christmas Eve, especially if that odd bloke, Mr Balalaika, from five doors up, wants it to sit upon whilst he undertakes his annual rooftop vigil on the lookout for low-flying reindeers.

Even though nearly everyone in the street has attempted to explain to him about myth, tradition and the difference between fact and fiction, he is adamant that he saw the sleigh pass his house one Christmas, when he was a child, and never stop. Ever since then he has kept up this lonely yuletide vigil.

Latterly, Mr Balalaika has convinced himself that the CIA - for what he regards as obvious hegemonic reasons to do with the USA’s war on foreign overly-bearded gentlemen – have equipped Santa with stealth technology for his sleigh, as well as the traditional under-cover beard.

Despite this however, there are some positive benefits to his stance. For example, the prospect of having to walk past an armed man on the rooftop has – in recent years - kept the number of carol singers prepared to risk their lives to come down our street to easily manageable levels.

On the Run

It was wet and cold. The rain poured down as we ran from street to street, the governmental Cheese-Detector vans hot on our trail. We had made the mistake of gathering our cell together for some rather splendid underground Stilton one of our most experienced bootleg cheese-makers had constructed, but someone left a window open.

The Cheese Detector vans were there in moments, screeching to a halt as the health police tumbled from them.

We ran, gathering the Stilton, the crackers, the butter and our crude homemade cheese knives as we scattered, each expecting the shouts of the anti-cheese tactical police and the thump of a bullet in our backs with every breathless step.

I had been involved in the underground since the days when the Health ministry first outlawed cheese for contravening of the If it Tastes Nice Then it Must be Bad for You law of 2023, which outlawed nearly all the food people liked to eat.

The government had – of course - banned smoking a long time before, and alcohol not long after that, but no-one had really expected them to keep on banning things, not after they’d banned elections, not being nice and having an unauthorised opinion almost ten years before.

It seemed that the governmental activists were still not happy, still troubled that their constant legislation had not - as yet – produced the perfect citizens living in the perfect society. Rather than their banning of everything they could think of making everything better, it seemed – illogically to them – only to make things worse.

It didn’t help that the populace of the European state didn’t seem to want to contribute to these various governmental schemes to make us into perfect citizens, or to co-operate with the various rules, laws and regulations the Brussels government came up with to make us all perfect.

The revolution had begun and the idealists amongst us dared to dream that one day England would return and we would once more be free-born Englishmen able to openly slice traditional English cheddar onto our crackers once again without fear.

Cheese Incident

In this place, we will find the things that are here. If you remember not to place your eggcups in the vicinity of the Stock Exchange, then you can rest assured in the knowledge that your marmalade will only go towards partial fulfilment of the next cheese incident in the manifesto. All of which without any danger of yet more quantitative easing causing undue consternation amongst those of us who enjoy bedecking office receptionists with a plethora of multi-hued lupins.

But, Delores, always be aware of the helicopters, and do not ask how all the toast will be kept secure. Walls have ears, and some of them may have chins. You may think you know all the secrets of the refrigerator, but you do not know the full story of what lies behind the bacon.

Ah, you laugh nervously now, Delores, but I know all about the cheeseburgers… and the donkey.

I saw it once. It was interesting. It is not that interesting now.

I have seen you, Delores, dallying with the helicopter goatpeople and their beguiling banana-flavoured enticements. But you know too that their chins still bear the stains of electrical indifference.

You may think you understand, Delores, but you are cursed with the need to wear underwear, so you will never know the glory of an early-morning lupin in an adjacent room, or the smell of string vests in the late dusk of summer evenings.

Pithy, Apt and Erudite... or Not

Well, there you go. Or, on the other hand there you stay, unless, well, you have found some sort of state of existence that exists between movement and stasis, which would I would presume be a bit of a bugger to maintain, especially with all that excess strain on the upper thigh muscles, to say nothing of the problems of maintaining the necessary close contact between yourself and your sandwich of choice.

Still, as they say, you can't butter Rome in a day. Or – for that matter count your chickens without recourse to some sort of numbering system.

So, here we are then. I suppose you are expecting something, if not quite pithy, apt and erudite about one of the subjects of the moment, something at least mildly diverting which doesn't bang on too much about the penguins, or mention cheese in a way the author finds - for some odd reason – quite humorous.

You never know with him though, do you?

It has been known for him to witter away for a whole blog post about nothing in particular without coming to much of a conclusion and/or point. Sometimes he's even been known to just stop right in the middle of a....