h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

I love it, Rose Maybud, Mad Margaret. .

My Dad loved Gilbert and Sullivan. He and I would listen to his records of HMS Pinafore, Pirates of Penzance, Mikado. I never heard of Ruddigore, though. I guess Dad thought I wasn't ready for Gothic soaps. .

....

Ooh, I'll expect my Tull tickets then ..... actually they did play Bristol just a few weeks ago, but we didn't get there ..

what? I am losing order. The creation of the world just went all spirally ...I must go relax by the pool ... oh no, wait, its half past midnight and I am not in NC. I don't think.

Where am I???

You guys are magic.

Bridges between the physical and the metaphysical ...

There is so much to wonder about, isn't there, what a marvellous sparkle of a mystery life can be sometimes, I never could figure how anyone could ever be bored ..

cee cee, you have a very distinctive writing style! - i haven't seen the like of it anywhere else in the corridors of hootoo

although it is unusual, it is very appealing


hmmm - not sure why i was prompted to say that - but keep on just being you


*backs quietly out of the room, bumping into a small table - and legs it down the hootoo corridor*

ooh now I am really blushing

(just hide behind my plastic tree for a moment. I have a plastic tree in my room. Its a lovely tree. I might write about it. )

(comes out from behind plastic tree)

Come back! dear lovely person friend of mine, now now now now, what's your writing piece about then?? do I have to wait till oh no! not near computer on Monday till about midnight ... what's a girl to do???

You keep on being you too, be youtoo on hootoo and everywhere else, please, I guess that's about all we can do ...is to be ourselves, and see what happens.

Sometimes people think I am a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, but hey ....

(heads back behind plastic tree, to eat remaining sandwiches)

LOL - IF someone WAS a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic, it wouldn't be good idea for them to then eat MORE of the sandwiches!

fortunately that phrase does NOT apply to you, so enjoy your picnic

i see - so you keep your plastic christmas tree all year round? - sounds good to me

i'd happily leave all lights & trees on display forever - probably close all the curtains and turn the main lights off, too - to get most effect from the colours

friends might get a little worried

*starts rummaging in loft for christmas decos*

ah - the writing? - yes, well, er - it's just a story - about connecting the past and the present - and synchronicity - and stuff

i don't know if i'll get to see it again or not - it might have left home without me

i guess Dmitri will give some feedback on anything which needs doing - and also, i don't know if it's too long - it may need to be divided into a couple of installments

if it gets accepted then i guess it could be a week or two before it can included


thank you for your kind words

and that was kind of you also, to encourage Willem with your post just now - i'm sure it will encourage him to know that he's appreciated in hootoo - and hopefully that will give him more confidence to develop friendships in RL too

enjoy the rest of your weekend, cee cee

ALS's intriguing story will appear - in its entirety, with but few cosmetic changes by moi - in the 28 May issue of .

Does anyone want to discuss 'The Bald Soprano'?

hey, that's great - thanks, Mr G!

actually, i wasn't going to let on that the subject was "cosmetics"


>>> "Does anyone want to discuss 'The Bald Soprano'?"

er, - well - actually, i'd give a Tenor, to avoid it !

Hurrah for Smiths.

I have to wait till the 28th May?? Now I am so impatient I will have to go eat the wrapping paper. What? Well, the sonic artist to whom I am espoused, (is that a verb? I don't think so ), always says I am so impatient about treats and surprises, I am like a puppy on Christmas Day. .



What on earth is the Bald Soprano?? I asked myself just before I started this posting, then googled to check, and now my life went peculiar. I would discuss it with you, dearie writerbrains, but I am currently in a state of peculiarity.



Word Painting about Plastic Tree

My plastic tree is a fake almost-orange tree,( not orange in colour, but like a fruit tree, without any oranges on it, like you get in hothouses in botanical gardens). It's about four ft high, with a lovely rounded bunch of dark green plastic leaves at the top.

I did put two white birdies in it at Christmas .

It's got a fake parasite running up the trunk ... that sounds yukky ... a twisty stem, like ivy or something,very pastoral.

Into this stem I have tucked three white and grey gull feathers, and a giant turquoise feather (from the Native American shop in the North Laine) which the espoused one bought for me around the time of my mother's funeral in January, so it's a special feather.

End of Word Painting.

I missed a photo opportunity this afternoon. The Ed of might, or might not, forgive me. .

So how sludgy geeky are we? .

The Olympic flame went through our nearby town this very lunchtime, and we weren't there, we were eating pea soup at home, and I was considering the miracle of Marmite on toast.

What?? No flame photo for .

No doubt others will catch it. heheh. I will check their photos. The Marmite was worth it though. .

I condemn myself, happily, to the kingdom of sludge geeks. . Think I will change my skin to Goo. .

Take a picture of the Marmite. We will use it instead, for our Olympic emphasis of the week.

Ionesco would have approved.

I first encountered the Bald Soprano when a colleague asked me to come help him with the Friends of the Library once, in another city. Literary Ladies who did play readings. We read 'The Bald Soprano'.

I think it makes anyone who is not French come over peculiar. Reading 'The Bald Soprano' is a life-changing experience. Apparently, it was written because Ionesco found learning English a life-changing experience. I love Romanians.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1upwbgBOkrw&feature=related

no - i'm sorry, i can see all the words in these last posts - they're just not getting through to me!!

the only thing which i can make sense of at the moment is the Subject line: "Bug Eyed Biro Doodle"

say it out loud to your self several times, emphasising a different word each time

see? how Captain Beefheart does THAT sound?

must be the 'B' side to 'Blue-Eyed Beans from Venus'

either my meds are wearing off - or i need another drink!

later, dudes

Have one for me.

i had several for each of you guys

and now that i see four of you, where before i saw only two

i've had a few more before i don't see what i saw


so that's clear, then, is it?


suddenly 'The Bald Soprano' makes perfect sense - and i can see exactly why Mr G likes it so much

...i'm not entirely clear about why my name isn't Smith or Martin, however...


shall i throw another log on the Fire, Chief?

Just watch out for the rhinoceri.

5.56 am



Ah yes, even the Bald Soprano is making sense at 5.56 am! this is most worrying

Ah the headache, the headache. And somewhere between E minor, that other, awful awakened E minor, and the dragonfire delirium that burns my veins, and re-arranges even the delicate dust dance of certainty, I remember fragrant yellow flowers in the field beside the motorway services.

What? ah yes .....

I get it, pal, the illuminated Beefheart moment.

Ah, the Captain, may he RIP. He was, to me, the altered state of performance made manifest. The addictive charisma of beat and off-beat, the sense in the not-sense, oh My-O-My! the peculiar dance of moment ...

(checks clock, about to miss train)

laters for and all things wondrous, winged and numinous, all things infused with mysterium tremendum

that is wildly intelligent, I think, to use a phrase like mysterium tremendum at six of clock in the morning.

Please send me flowers, and a tea card depicting a tapir.

When I was about six I used to collect tea cards, and I am sure there was one with a tapir on it. It explains my entire life, especially if there wasn't one, and the entire tapir tea card thing has been an hallucination.

me

hey dudette

http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/44-malayan-tapir-animal-card-/400095225806?pt=UK_Collectables_AnimalCollectables_SM&hash=item5d2788a7ce


...hope the headache flies away to the field by the motorway

A headache, with nervous silken apparitional-wings, alighted upon my brow.

I love it. I am ablaze with the poetry of everything. uh oh, this is worrying. .

Oooh, a feast of scented roses and .. and ....

hey Mr. Tapir!!!!, I am happy you have returned to me. I have thought about you for fifty one years. You were part of my childhood ventures into the uncertainty of the mysterious world around me. What curious creatures prowl beyond the end of the garden! I had a dream once that you were gently trundling through my Dad's rhubarb plants. (The Tapir of Sussex).

But wait, wait! Mr. Tapir! , I see from this design that you are depicted on a (Players)cigarette card??

(are we allowed to type brand names here, if we're not advertising?)

How extraordinary!! My beloved Gran smoked (Players) ciggies. She must have collected the cards from another time, and given them to me. Were the cards in the packet?

Oh no! I am called upon to time travel, back through the tunnels of memory! Or I suppose I could use google research like people do these days, thanks for reminding me. .

Oh, but wait! Mr Tapir, are you my Tapir? Or maybe there were two of you, maybe you had a wife, because I remember my tapir card smelt of tea, not baccy. Was Mrs Tapir a (Brooke Bond) lady?

So here I am on this beautiful maybud maybug morning, writing about tapirs. I am very happy. .

I shall write my life story, in various cryptic languages, (as if I'm not already hahaha), which will be interesting to myself, and passing pug-mixes. .

How difficult for me, perhaps, to convey in words that timeless nature of childhood, particularly between the ages of maybe 5 to about 8.

This could be one for the AWW.

How to convey that other time scale, that otherness, when the details of the world were new and awesome, scary sometimes, mysterious, despite the pressures of school, despite the war-cracks in the atmosphere, when tapirs trundled through the rhubarb, when William Hartnell stepped into that tardis for the first time .....

Of course, this feeling is always there, same, yet different. No reason why we should lose it in adulthood. A sense of wonder.

(Heads off to google (Brooke Bond) tea cards, to find Mr. Baccy Tapir's wife).

hey cee cee!

i'm just calling by to say that i'm going to take a bit of a hootoo holiday now

i will drop in from time to time to see if you've written about your own 'mysterious experience' yet (hint, hint)

so, please don't reply to this - i won't get to see it, to respond, until i'm back this way and i wouldn't want any hootoo friends to think that i've ignored their posts

see you somewhen!

hullo a-l-s my friend! thanks for dropping by, and even though you won't see this, I'll say cheerio and take care of yourself, and see you here for tea if you are ever coming past this way.

Yes, I keep trying to write the piece, but whoever it is who guides my pen keeps writing peculiar prose poetry instead, (so what's new?? ) so I might just have to go with that. . I'll get back to my journal one of these days, been sooo busy, then preparing to spend half of July staring at the sky.

cee you

cee cee Cactus Cafetina