Tuesday, October 09, 2007

“The fidget,” blared Beric O’Pondweed, “knows no remorse!”
Hearing hiccupping, however, he faltered; all semblance of normality had faded, to be replaced by the paradisiacal. Thenceforth skipped the stew, forasmuch as to assuage the nomads, and filch was butter melon cauliflower for all but the most fleeting of nanosecondial quoit.
Above: Berwick-upon-Tweed

The above was enough to send the bamboozled into a state of apoplexy; they perceived each passing greeting as a slight, each reference to their existence as condemnation, and thus contrived amongst themselves to fashion an clog, like unto those of yore to be found in the Logan Trees, and refer to said clog as Sandra the clog, spinster of Gozzards Ford, redeemer of all that is oddly shaped and spangly. “Most meagre of cloggy ting,” chanted one and all the length of Cheapside.
















Into this latter bracket plummeted the last remnants of the 84th, devastated and defiled by the odious Shrimp twins and their old muckers, Routine and A’Toutine. (If Lovász is to be believed - which, Takácz would have us believe, she isn’t - this calamity was largely of their own making; but cf Kratochvil, The Gilded Chubb, 1872, pp 972 - 1404 et seq).










The implications of this were all too evident to “Tetchy” O’Leary and his brigade of stools – so much so, in fact, that they all let loose with Hyderabad-learned harrumph à la bullimong. “Bullimong nfobi – twikki bullimong, twekko bullimong-na” (old Mhutu proverb).

The Stool Gang, Deptford, spring 1952

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home