Scrumpy Nights

Last night was another few hours of my life lost to the lure of scrumpy down at the Hope and Anchor, our local rhyming slang inn. I think I was with the proverbial Farmer Giles, who regaled us with many of his tales.

I vaguely remember discussing recent news about proposals to cut sentencing, before becoming a bit befuddled in a slowly turning grey mist streaked with orange and large droplets of what seemed to be vodka. It was as though I was caught in a twister, but in the end it turned out to be a screwdriver. Anyway, we was debating the effects these changes in sentencing - in a legalistic sense, rather than grammatically-speaking - would have on the local sheep dog trials, when he told me about his new arrival. No, it wasn't another piglet - he has put all that behind him -, he was referring to his new sheep dog. Apparently, Shep (the proverbial Farmer Giles is not one of life's creative thinkers) tends to be a bit emotional, a bit unpredictable, and has a morbid fear of being left behind on the high moors. I think he has found himself one of those borderline collies.

Spanish coastline tipping into sea

In my wanderings up and down the Costa Blanca and Costa Calida, I’ve noticed that many residents are worried that the Spanish Costas are sinking, possibly because of all the concrete being used in the construction industry along the southern and eastern coastlines. However, this is not happening along western coastlines, which seem instead to be rising slightly. And now international scientist Dr Sheema Enshake is rocking the world with her break-through research on the 'see-sawing' Costas.

Dr Enshake has always been interested in tectonic and seismic tremors and shudders (according to her three ex-husbands). However, she's also fond of wearing high heels when she's at work - and some scientists reckon she doesn't always take that into consideration in her measurement calculations.

Nevertheless, her recent observations are interesting, and the 'tipping' theory she proposes has a lot going for it - according to her colleagues in the Department of Theological and Physical Geography. They also reckon the 'tipping see-saw' effect is the most likely explanation. In which case there must be, under the middle of Spain, some huge 'fulcrum' over which the peninsula plate see-saws. And hence, as is often the case, we end up with a theological/architectural explanation.

"God left His big pencil underneath the width of Spain when He was designing Earth," said one of the religious geologists. "That would also explain why Norway is such an odd shape," added an even more religious architect. "Having lost His pencil, God never did any rough sketches first: He just made it up as He went along."

According to some very old, local geologists, there were, in previous centuries, extensive lead mines right across central Spain. So I took a trip out to the middle of the country to have a look. Sure enough, recent excavations have revealed many samples to be engraved with the symbol '2B'. So there may be some evidence for 'God's Pencil Fulcrum' - and hence further support for the 'see-saw' effect.

Burnsall, in Wharfedale, is a nice place – and quite posh. I saw this bloke shovelling horse manure into a trailer. But he was wearing very smart, neatly pressed trousers and a pristine shirt and tie. I stopped to ask him why he was dressed up so smart.
“Well, I’m off to a wedding, so I put ma newer clothes on.”
“But what about the smell?” I asked. “Well, the bride and groom wanted orthodentic stuff – real country smells and all that.”
“Don’t you mean ‘authentic’” I pointed out.
“Naw,” he said. “If I can chew it with ma teeth, then it’ll be allreet for guests. They ‘ave it with wedding cake round these parts.”
PS. This story stinks. I wrote it with one of ma newer pens.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

You get a real buzz walking about in the countryside on a lovely warm, sunny day. And that’s what we heard as we passed this garden and saw a bee-hive and bee-keeper in full protective gear. We stopped to talk to him, and asked how many bees he had. “Seven!” he shouted, “I’m only a beginner!” “Pardon!” I shouted back (because we couldn’t hear him properly). “I’m on-ly a bee-ginn-er!” he shouted again, slowly, before taking off his head protection. “But my bees are gorgeous, aren’t they? Just look at these little beauties,” he said proudly, as he cradled them in his hands.
Whilst I was getting my camera out, one of them buzzed up into his eyes. I captured the scene in a quick snapshot. “So there you are,” I said to my wife. “Beauty is in the eye of the bee-holder.”

Later on, we called in at the pub for a pint. Sitting outside in the sunshine, I was just about to raise the glass to my lips when my wife whispered “Look at me!” So I did. “You look lovely.”
“So there you are,” she said, “beauty is in the eye of the beer-holder.”

Helena Haycartes - new documents unearthed.

For too long now, Helena Haycartes has gone unrecognised for her contributions to filosophy, over- shadowed by her husband Irene Haycartes (see "First Thoughts"). This week, an exclusive report in "Farmchair Filosophy Fortnightly " (published by Alliterative Al and Associates) finally demonstrates how she shaped her husband's thinking and presaged existential nihilism and a TV satirical panel game. The evidence was found amongst a series of intimate letters they wrote to each other during periods of estrangement - Irene of course led a double-life, laying the foundations of what has become known as Haycartesian Dualism.

One can only guess what Irene may have done to provoke this angry response:

Dear Irene,

I have had enough of you thinking you are the big "I am". Have I got news for you! You are nothing!

Ship Design

Another enjoyable evening supping pale ale under a pale moon in the local rhyming slang inn, The Hope and Anchor. My good friend Peter Pun joined us for a couple of rounds, recounting his days as a master ship designer. He was in good form, obtaining a personal best of 508 before losing count. If anyone mentions his short attention span, he gives a detailed account of a major design error in which the rigging of a tall ship had been installed too loosely and the customer cancelled their order. This is known among his friends as the tale of the tension deficit disorder.

We listened to the torrential rain, laying down a furious and intricate rhythm on the metal dustbin lids, the kind of rhythm than you can still hear even when the rain has stopped. The late evening ale-inspired talk turned to treacherous voyages across The Solent and floods of recent and distant times. Peter entertained us with humorous descriptions of his designs for various types of ark. That's Peter Pun for you, forever Jung.

The Filosopher's Daughter - Postscript

Felicity stood on the brow of the hill thinking about her new-found cowculus. A young farmhand, who happened to be born under the sign of the ram, asked her what to do with the field stretched out before them.

"You till it, arian" was her insightful reply.