Well, it WAS Friday the 13th yesterday! Even so, some pretty weird graffiti was scrawled up in the burrow toilets. Zola - having presumably quaffed several doubles of single malt in the Snug - waxed incoherently surrealist, while an anonymous scribbler had the chutzpah to suggest that anticant needed his posterior kicking.
The Beadle has been instructed to patrol the toilets frequently, and to administer summary justice with his truncheon to anyone using lavatory language or advocating violence against the management. If there is any more of this kind of behaviour, the burrow court will be convened to consider the withdrawal of free drinks privileges in the Snug, and - as a last resort - the installation of CCTV cameras in the toilets.
According to one of Zola's Mystic Meg-type messages, someone called 'Tousers' - or alternatively 'Kegs' - has had a birthday. If this, is in fact, our regular patron Trousers, we wish him many happy returns.
ben trovato, also in surrealist mode, offers the following suggestion to lavenderblue for a new painting to adorn the Snug:
"On the pale yellow sands
There's a pair of clasped hands
And an eyball entangled in string
And a plate of raw meat
And a bicycle seat
And a thing that is scarcely a thing."
anticant, however, is not inclined to pay for it.
The Beadle says it would make him throw up.
Have a nice weekend, everybody. And BEHAVE YOURSELVES.
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10 comments:
Oh,Anticant,Anticant..I love you..
you make me smile. you make me mad
You make me happy, you make me bad
some of your tales make me so sad
and i love you for it........
working on the Beadle at the moment......
seemingly endless problems on the damned computer.......back soon xxxx
What on earth is Anticant talking about?
If anticant has got Zola puzzled, he must indeed be making giant strides in subtle whimsy!
Thanks, lavender - it's all a matter of keeping one's spirits up by tugging at one's metaphorical bootstraps, really - the ancient anticant's equivalent of gambolling spring lambs.
At least the garden is starting to perk up, and the fish are swimming decoratively around the pond. So with the fox corpse safely removed, anticant can settle down today on the hammock and read/doze/read/ddozze/dddzzz.......
Hi lavender, hope the sun is shining for you, and that you have a lovely weekend.
Thinking about the Beadle, he is middle-aged, robust [but not stout], rather 18th-century looking, wearing a blue gold-braided coat [or plum for posh occasions] with brass buttons, and a three-cornered hat. He is probably patrolling the river bank near the burrow flagpole, on the lookout for suspicious naked kayakers who might attempt to sneak in and hoist a pair of Zola's grandma's knickers to the masthead....
It's your picture, of course, but those are just my mindseye's thoughts about it.
Behave myself? Its a bit late for that...
'trousers' seems to be a low condition -- perhaps the following accounts, of post-modern southern Minnesota & Greater Iowa farmer-morality in a voyeuristic age, will cheer him up?
http://oldunclecrow.wordpress.com/2006/07/09/dear-dave-one/#more-9
http://oldunclecrow.wordpress.com/2006/07/09/dear-dave-two/#more-22
http://oldunclecrow.wordpress.com/2006/07/09/dear-dave-three/#more-23
Wook, CC [/retd/] & Bucolic Psychologist
I should have said "our irregular patron Trousers".
Not with the prunes I've been eating, I've been very regular
"A thing that is scarcely a thing" is very, very good. Very good indeed. In fact, probably (and somewhat unfortunately) stealably good.
You're welcome to it Anna - it's not the burrow copyright: it came from a Sunday newspaper in the 1960s, when taking the piss out of Picasso was a popular sport.
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