Alice of Mass Destruction
Created | Updated Mar 5, 2003
I had lunch with some friends in Christ Church Hall the other weekend. Over the meal our conversation predictably turned towards talk of war. Were we right to go to war with Iran? I thought it all seemed completely justified: the Arabs were threatening western democracy with their evil weapons manufacturing program. A particularly well-read member of the party had read a rather daring and original piece in the Mirror, which claimed the Americans were only interested in protecting the oil supplies. I had heard the newspaper claimed to read between the lines but this was some journalistic coup. Perhaps I should swap from the Sun. Though this was quite a compelling argument I had to stick to my guns. If Bin Laden were taken out there would be no problem in Iran, cut off the head and the snake dies. My friend said as well as being wrong this was off the point and the war was being fought against Iraq and Saddam Hussein, but it was clear I had won the argument.
These thoughts running through my head, we went for a walk around Christ Church Meadow. The meadow was flooded and it gave the vista a novel beauty. It was quite cold so we decided to head for a café to warm up. We spurned the pretensions of Reservoir Café. Incidentally, the name of the film, Reservoir Dogs, comes from certain parts of the USA where there are dried up reservoirs. Into these reservoirs fall wandering (perhaps partially blind) dogs. A pack starts to form. As more dogs fall in the reservoir the pack, instead of picking them up and welcoming them to the gang, set upon them and eat, as there is little other food in the reservoir. Perhaps (I am making this up now), if the reservoir is big enough they form rival gangs and attack each other.
Anyway, the nearest alternative café was Alice in Wonderland on St. Aldates so we headed past the Head of the River Pub towards it. On arriving it became apparent there was nowhere to sit. Lots of people were on their own reading a book taking up a table for six people. All that was left were tables that would only fit two. Acting like any English group we decided to gather round a table that we could not fit on rather than go through the harrowing task of asking one of them to move. The next few moments were somewhat of a blur but I will try to recount them as best I can.
I was in the middle of ordering my cup of cha when I saw them. I stopped mid-sentence, stunned. The truth dawned on me. There collected on the shelves were several porcelain Alice in Wonderland figures. Some functional: an Alice teapot, others not: a smiling Cheshire cat. A cry escaped my trembling lips as I rose, drawn to them like a spider to the sole of my shoe. So innocent and sweet she sat there in her little blue dress, unaware of what form she took. Were she to realise her ceramic self she would surely throw herself down the hole and hope for no soft landing. This idea appealed to me but I managed to withhold the urge. Something forced me to look around more. Humpty dumpty sat forlornly on a wall, as though aware of what fate awaited him. Next to him stood Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee looking merry, above a queen of hearts and nearby a mad hatter. It was all too much.
All the world problems were suddenly put in their place. If man could create these then what harm could he not cause? It was the last taboo. The mere fact they were made meant someone wanted to buy them. Further indication of this was a price. A shocking ₤300 suggesting they were even valuable. When someone paid this absurd amount for them what would they do next? Take it home? Give it pride of place of the mantelpiece? Or perhaps put it on their television set on top of a doily? Then friends would come round and pretend to watch the screen but we know what they would really be looking at.
‘Wow, that is so nice. Where did you get it from?’ They would ask, probably in the way girls who don’t know each other do when they find the others clothing obscene.
There was a placard next to one of the pieces that I decided to read:
THIS BEAUTIFUL (hardly) R.DOULTON (the one and only), BESWICK WARE HAND MADE AND HAND DECORATED TABLEAU (French, how classy), IS FROM ALICE IN WONDERLAND STORY.IT WAS ISSUED IN A LIMITED EDITION (making it even more valuable) OF 1998 (such an historic item), IN 1998 TO COMMEMORATE THE CENTENARY OF LEWIS CAROLL'S (currently turning in his grave) DEATH.IT IS IN MINT CONDITION WITH NO CRACK, CHIP OR RESTORATION (avoiding even the faintest charm) AND COMES WITH A CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICATION NO.0489 (wow) AND BOXED (good god). THIS LOVELY (a suitably trite word giving first punch) PIECE WOULD MAKE A NICE (a powerful uppercut) CHRISTMAS PRESENT TO ANY ALICE IN WONDERLAND FUN (a spelling mistake to add to the sense of import) OR A NICE (the knockout blow) ADDITION TO ANY R.DOULTON COLLECTOR (do they really exist?).
What had man done? What were we doing? It was akin to having a roomful of weapons of mass destruction. Let us hope no Porcelain Inspectors come knocking in Oxford. I began to sob and pulled a waitress to me. I quietly reasoned with her, telling her they couldn’t do this. What would the future generations think of us? I felt dizzy.
‘Send a flood, anything to rid the world of this blight!’ I told her before passing out.
I could see a porcelain Alice falling. She landed safely and was approached by a passing band of big-hatted men and odd rabbits. They turned, as a gang of hollering playing card queens and smiling cats were bolting towards Alice and her newfound friends. A great battle started. What would little Alice do? The poor little thing. I saw her run at a cat and bite into its jugular, whilst tearing a card in half.
I awoke.
The enemy has infiltrated us. Forget Iran, it is already too late.
These thoughts running through my head, we went for a walk around Christ Church Meadow. The meadow was flooded and it gave the vista a novel beauty. It was quite cold so we decided to head for a café to warm up. We spurned the pretensions of Reservoir Café. Incidentally, the name of the film, Reservoir Dogs, comes from certain parts of the USA where there are dried up reservoirs. Into these reservoirs fall wandering (perhaps partially blind) dogs. A pack starts to form. As more dogs fall in the reservoir the pack, instead of picking them up and welcoming them to the gang, set upon them and eat, as there is little other food in the reservoir. Perhaps (I am making this up now), if the reservoir is big enough they form rival gangs and attack each other.
Anyway, the nearest alternative café was Alice in Wonderland on St. Aldates so we headed past the Head of the River Pub towards it. On arriving it became apparent there was nowhere to sit. Lots of people were on their own reading a book taking up a table for six people. All that was left were tables that would only fit two. Acting like any English group we decided to gather round a table that we could not fit on rather than go through the harrowing task of asking one of them to move. The next few moments were somewhat of a blur but I will try to recount them as best I can.
I was in the middle of ordering my cup of cha when I saw them. I stopped mid-sentence, stunned. The truth dawned on me. There collected on the shelves were several porcelain Alice in Wonderland figures. Some functional: an Alice teapot, others not: a smiling Cheshire cat. A cry escaped my trembling lips as I rose, drawn to them like a spider to the sole of my shoe. So innocent and sweet she sat there in her little blue dress, unaware of what form she took. Were she to realise her ceramic self she would surely throw herself down the hole and hope for no soft landing. This idea appealed to me but I managed to withhold the urge. Something forced me to look around more. Humpty dumpty sat forlornly on a wall, as though aware of what fate awaited him. Next to him stood Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee looking merry, above a queen of hearts and nearby a mad hatter. It was all too much.
All the world problems were suddenly put in their place. If man could create these then what harm could he not cause? It was the last taboo. The mere fact they were made meant someone wanted to buy them. Further indication of this was a price. A shocking ₤300 suggesting they were even valuable. When someone paid this absurd amount for them what would they do next? Take it home? Give it pride of place of the mantelpiece? Or perhaps put it on their television set on top of a doily? Then friends would come round and pretend to watch the screen but we know what they would really be looking at.
‘Wow, that is so nice. Where did you get it from?’ They would ask, probably in the way girls who don’t know each other do when they find the others clothing obscene.
There was a placard next to one of the pieces that I decided to read:
THIS BEAUTIFUL (hardly) R.DOULTON (the one and only), BESWICK WARE HAND MADE AND HAND DECORATED TABLEAU (French, how classy), IS FROM ALICE IN WONDERLAND STORY.IT WAS ISSUED IN A LIMITED EDITION (making it even more valuable) OF 1998 (such an historic item), IN 1998 TO COMMEMORATE THE CENTENARY OF LEWIS CAROLL'S (currently turning in his grave) DEATH.IT IS IN MINT CONDITION WITH NO CRACK, CHIP OR RESTORATION (avoiding even the faintest charm) AND COMES WITH A CERTIFICATE OF AUTHENTICATION NO.0489 (wow) AND BOXED (good god). THIS LOVELY (a suitably trite word giving first punch) PIECE WOULD MAKE A NICE (a powerful uppercut) CHRISTMAS PRESENT TO ANY ALICE IN WONDERLAND FUN (a spelling mistake to add to the sense of import) OR A NICE (the knockout blow) ADDITION TO ANY R.DOULTON COLLECTOR (do they really exist?).
What had man done? What were we doing? It was akin to having a roomful of weapons of mass destruction. Let us hope no Porcelain Inspectors come knocking in Oxford. I began to sob and pulled a waitress to me. I quietly reasoned with her, telling her they couldn’t do this. What would the future generations think of us? I felt dizzy.
‘Send a flood, anything to rid the world of this blight!’ I told her before passing out.
I could see a porcelain Alice falling. She landed safely and was approached by a passing band of big-hatted men and odd rabbits. They turned, as a gang of hollering playing card queens and smiling cats were bolting towards Alice and her newfound friends. A great battle started. What would little Alice do? The poor little thing. I saw her run at a cat and bite into its jugular, whilst tearing a card in half.
I awoke.
The enemy has infiltrated us. Forget Iran, it is already too late.
