Stargazer4moon's blog: "Years of Pen Pushing and still fond of butterflies."

This shows how frustrating poor word recall is but it is best to strike when inspiration does even if it means bending and breaking the grammarphone record.++++ While they were on the far off shores, Beryl and Buzby decided to make a break of it. They had the most wonderful time lazing, basking and generally living a lotus life in what seemed like paradise. In fact, they enjoyed it so much that it was an effort for the pair to leave the idyllic but foreign shores. Beryl suggested that it would be an education to study the unfamiliar 'flora and fawna' and the pair wandered around the island becoming even further wrapt in it's charm. It was rewarding to meet new animals and event he creepie crawlies had the courtesy to give them the time of day. What most intrigued Beryl was the abundance of *(unfamiliar)* flowers and she felt rather guilty whilst she rolled and romped in their pollen and fed on their nectar. Beryl wondered whether the local insect life would object to her antics but they assured her that it was a great help to them due to the lack of pollenators and the abundance of flora on the island. It was sad to them when they were unable to treat each flower with the love and respect it deserved in order to put them into pollenation for the *(assurance) // assured/continued survival/existence)* of a future generation. One species had virtually disappeared due to it’s size because the local *(Nectar Collectors / Pollen Eaters)* found it hard work brushing and kissing the flower heads in order to produce the changed-scent effect which was a sign of forthcoming offspring as the flowers imparted their *(essence/aroma/perfume of life)* onto the warm and fertile earth.

“It looks like you had a prong shot in the dark,” said the blackbird to the bramble berry who was uncomfortably perched. It was ripe, black and shone in the sun as it rocked back and forth in the breeze. “You cannot be on a very good briar!” he pointed out from his comfortable apple tree branch. “Ah, well it is because I am not in fine nettle after last night’s winds. I seem to have a thorn in the side at present.” “Well sorry, it was a bumpy ride last night,” remarked the bramble bush with not only a prong stuck in its leaf from the battering he was subjected to by the aforementioned gales but he also had one of his thorns lodged into his supporting fence and it held him prisoner in a firm manner from which there was no resistance. His final insult to injury though was the sprinkling of blackberry fur all over his leaves, which itched worse than nettle rash and he had experienced enough of that having self-cultivated himself in the biggest bunch of fine nettles ever known. The Bramble moved gently in the wind groaning and moaning from the thorny problems. “OK, I get the point,” said the blackbird with his tongue in his beak and he flew down off the apple tree branch to plonk most indelicately onto the bramble. This crash landing whooshed the blackberry fur off the leaves and dislodged the two thorns so it killed two thorns with one bird as well as making a clean sweep of the leaves. The blackbird was satisfied with his work and flew back onto the Apple tree. He looked back at the relieved bramble and the comfortable blackberry and said to the former, “Don’t worry, nothing lasts forever. After all you’ll have no room to be picky soon when the fruit has gone and no body comes to chat to you because your leaves will have whispered their last farewell as they blow away to foreign destinations – namely the compost heap.” The blackberry, who had just been dislodged from a most uncomfortable thorny problem with his side, shuddered at the thought of leaving his current comfy zone even though it got a little thorny at this time of the year with all the swaying in the wind. Even the leaves fluttered in the breeze and the shuddering and fluttering almost unseated the blackberry. Had it not been for the quick thinking of the blackbird the fruit would have had a premature landing; and it would have been in an uncomfortable bed because the nettles were waving below in the fresh breeze. “Look, you will soon be ripe and then it will be time for you to serve a better purpose than sitting there sun ripening yourself all day.” The blackbird had resisted the temptation to devour the fruit even though the taste was delectable as he just brushed the blackberry back onto his perch. The blackberry shuddered again but was balanced enough not to require a supporting beak. As silence descended the blackbird squawked to fill it and flew off to perch on a nearby chimney pot in order to spend the next ten minutes gossiping up the street about his eventful and fruitful day.

This is Chapter One of the story that everyone seems to like more than the other six. It is Chapter 19 in the book. THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN POST SURGERY SO IT JUST GOES TO SHOW THAT A LOBECTOMY WORKS WONDERS. HOWEVER IT IS NOT RECOMENDED JUST TO REMOVE A LONG STANDING BLOCKAGE IN ORDER TO BE ABLE TO SIT DOWN AND COMPOSE FLUENTLY IN ENGLISH! Thank you. Copywrite Delphine Hollingwood 1907 FILBERT FOIS GRAS' BRIDGE BUILDING AND KARMA LESSONS. CHAPTER 19 Unceremoniously Filbert Fois Gras flew in and landed at what looked a good watering hole for the night. He was surprised by the racket around and had trouble understanding all the foreign quacking. The crickets idly dropped their C’s incessantly saying, “Ricket, ricket, ricket,” and as he had never learned beetle patter Filbert had no idea what they were whining and whittling about. Oh well, he thought, I can turn a deaf ear again for one night and wend my way back home if I don’t like it. Filbert had travelled from far away France for a much needed change of scenery and holiday. He had not been well and needed to leave the stresses of the city where business was cut throat and life very hard in the fast lane with the high fliers. As a dear colleague always said, “You only had to turn your back to find yourself being spread on someone else’s bread and butter. It is so stressful watching your tail feathers and keeping your head above water at the same time.” This was very true and Filbert found the stress very draining. He had enjoyed his sojourn in this beautiful new land over the sea and seen some wonderful ponds. The trip to Trafalgar was a disaster because it was full of pigeons that did nothing but ‘Coo Coo’ at him and make him feel most unwelcome. Filbert now appreciated just how the migrating wildlife felt when they landed on foreign soil. He was just exceptionally glad that he had invested in an Earpod because at least he could shut out the eternal cooing and not feel so threatened when he was listening to his beautiful and relaxing musquack. Being used to the high life, living as he did on a vast estate in the Province de Neuf Papillon complete with chateau and moat, he found it hard reconciling himself to the small ponds in the parks where many of his distant cousins resided. If the truth be known, Filbert was a bit of a snob and a very natty dresser and he looked most out of place in Trafalgar. Even the Serpentine held no appeal for all the tales he had heard about it being a favourite swimming place for celebrating revellers. Overall, Filbert found the pigeons to be the most uninteresting and the other water fowl just looked down their beaks at him which was disconcerting considering the estate on which he was accustomed to living. It was late and Filbert went for a drink and quick nibble on the duckweed. He found that tasted acceptable but was getting rather tired of the same old bland flavoured food. In fact his digestive system was telling him to find something different because he was having the most chronic gas problems with this diet. The tired bird waddled wearily to a small grassy knoll under the shade of a huge sycamore and settled down for the night. During the night he was wakened by screeching and squeaking followed by the strangest of foreign quacking. He unwillingly opened his eyes and to his surprise he saw a fox padding close by followed by a rather woeful looking duck. The fox looked up and stared at the moon as it peeped out from under the clouds. It was fully ripe and the fox seemed possessed by it. He stood and howled at the pale disk shining brightly as it smiled down on them and then he turned on the beautiful duck who accompanied him. The moon had fully undressed and shone her light all around. The huge beam lit up the area illuminating the fox’s companion who was the most beautiful white duck that Filbert had ever seen. His heart skipped a beat. Moments later, he noticed that the fox had become agitated with his companion and the possessed animal began nipping and biting the beautiful duck. Filbert was filled with horror and rage, stood up and let fly at the fox. Being unaware of his audience, the fox was taken aback by this sudden attack from the knoll. He let go of his companion and having received the most vicious duck nip ran off whimpering into the undergrowth from whence he had come. The rattled and shaken duck looked at Filbert and could not believe her eyes. Filbert waddled over to the duck, looked into her eyes and saw a very sad but beautiful canard staring star struck back at him. Filbert enquired whether she was all right and received a blank look. He hoped he had not frightened or offended her and was relieved to hear the ensuing quacks. At this point he realised that she was a fair English Canard. Being cosmopolitan Filbert knew several languages – well it helped when there were many migratory birds calling at the Chateau moat for a breather. He spoke to the duck in her own tongue and she replied that she was a little shaken but not hurt. Filbert introduced himself and the beautiful duck introduced herself as Kassandra Quackalot. The holidaying duck did not wish to seem nosey but could not stop from asking why she was consorting with a fox. Kassandra gulped and started to tell a tale of woe. It transpired that her previous partner had severely scolded her and during a drunken stupor he rather ruffled her feathers. Consequently, during a moment of sheer despair, she was taken in by the velvet-tongued Rusty Reynard and went off with him to find a better life. Unfortunately the grass was not cracked up to be what Kassandra had imagined at Rusty’s residence which she soon found out to be a real hole. Also Rusty was not in the least bit Vegetarian. He was also a bad provider and she was forced to forage for her own sustenance. This rather got her down because, for all his failings, her former partner was a good provider. Although Kassandra had faults she held on to her pride and decided that as she had made her bed she should lie in it, as indeed she had for what seemed years to her. What Kassandra missed most was the wonderful cream cakes purchased from Henry Hunnybun's bread and cake shop. Filbert was now totally lost because he knew nothing of Kassandra’s previous life or habits but he listened politely as the rather woeful duck continued unabated. Kassandra explained that she was supposed to have been staying with a friend who ran a sanctuary but Rusty had come along and enticed her away from the hospitality and care that Winnie Widgeon-Bottom had offered. Looking at her Filbert realised that Kassandra looked a bit wobbly and made her sit down on a grassy patch in order that she could regain her composure. The beautiful but battered duck did this willingly and Filbert sat down close to her. Something made him run a friendly beak through Kassandra’s feathers and she cringed. This was going to be a challenge, Filbert thought because obviously Kassandra had lost faith in her fellow creatures if her recent reaction was anything to go by. He was a patient and polite duck so profusely apologised for being so forward but he pointed out that Kassandra was a beautiful duck and he just thought that she looked in need of comforting. Kassandra took this in and then thanked him for his thoughtfulness. They sat there in companionable silence for what seemed hours and then Kassandra carried on with the lurid tale that led her to be in this moonlit spot. It became apparent that Rusty enjoyed howling at the moon for some reason and tonight was special because there was an eclipse. The duck did not know that it affected creatures but tonight all creatures seemed to be acting strangely. Filbert nodded and said that he had heard about this lunar effect but that he did not realise it was a special moon tonight, although something in the air felt different. He just put it down to the change of season which was one of the reasons for him being there now. The now tired duck started to drop off and came to rest closely snuggled up to Filbert. He stayed wakeful through the night and listened to the strange howling that seemed to go on for most of the night. Once the moon had dipped below the horizon all became silent and Filbert finally dropped off to sleep himself.

Well, according to records, this was written in 2005 but it fitted no where except as a fantasy flight. It has not been proof-read, just spot edited. Fortunately there is no dialogue to punctuate! Daisy Grazer gaily pulled at the dry grass with her strong teeth and chewed on the tough stalks. It was not the same anymore. Nothing looked as green or tasted as good as the cow remembered. Being a dreamer Daisy failed to look where she was walking and consequently tripped over some strewn articles which had been tossed over into the field. Fortunately she stopped herself from completely falling over but even so managed to bruise her poor forelegs and shins. The very cross cud-chewer looked at the cause of her trip and noticed some very strange striped garments. These look like farmer Gee’s night socks’ and Daisy pondered about them. After a moment Daisy remembered that the last time she had seen the socks was late one evening, when her mother had produced a beautiful half calf sister for her last year. The crows observing the incident flew down and told Daisy to get the socks on and pull them up. Daisy frowned and wondered why they felt the needed for her to wear such monstrosities. After all, it was not usual to see a ruminant gallivanting around the meadows in garments of any description! Occasionally, though, she had seen one of the far-off herds wearing a hat and so Daisy decided to go for it. It cost nothing to try but she had not reckoned on the ensuing struggle. Fortunately the crows kindly assisted in her sock fitting session and what a delightful sight she looked in the cast-off. Daisy looked at her reflection in the nearby babbling brook and thought they looked beautiful. It was the start of a very strange day and the crowing couriers, who had instigated her current appearance, sat incessantly cawing about the beauty they now beheld. This dressing session alone would not have been problem, however the crows went on to give Daisy descriptions of the wonderful vista beyond the bend in the creek at the end of the field. Daisy had been mindless admiring herself and chewing on the remains of her cud when the crows’ noise brought her back from her reverie. They seemed to be taunting her and even daring her to wander off the straight and narrow to taste pastures that were not hers to sample. Stating that Daisy was now dressed for the occasion one plausible and persuasive carrion pointed out that it would be a waste of a wonderful opportunity not to satisfy her curiosity. He noticed that Daisy’s ears had pricked up at the mention of ‘Wonderful Vistas’ and ‘Verdant Pastures’. With mind the gullible Frisian splashed her way along the brook, not realising the consequences of her trip down the creek, as it were. At the end of her journey Daisy discovered the most wondrous sight, just as the crows had promised. Lovely clover and daisy glades stretched as far as her eyes could see. Daisy was pleasantly overwhelmed by the sight. Walking sock-hoofed onto the beautiful, soft and green pastures Daisy tentatively tasted the lush fodder. One mouthful was enoughfor her - Daisy was instantly transported to a Heaven on Earth that she, never, in her wildest dreams, expected to sample again. The grass was fresh, sweet and green so much so that the silly cow unable to resist and so Daisy just stood and fed herself until, as the saying went, the cows came home. Unfortunately Daisy was in no state of mind to follow her herd instincts and she stayed there, feeding her greedy and insatiable appetite. Dusk came and Daisy was overcome with tiredness - after all it had been hard work climbing down the brook. Also exploring and tasting her new pasture seemed a very taxing task for a ruminant used to static grazing. A thought crossed Daisy mind that she should get back to the cattle shed but being grassy minded she plonked herself down on the soft grass. Even though Daisy still had her wet socks on, It did not take long before the contented cow was on her way to meet the Slumber Knight. The next morning Daisy woke to the sounds of crickets and buzzing insects. For a moment she wondered what was going on - her usual early morning crows’ chorus seemed distant today. It didn’t take long for her to decide that, given the choice, she preferred the clicking crickets and buzzing insects. They were reminiscent of days gone by when she moved onto her previous pasture. The sleepy bovine gradually lifted her head, pointed it right up to the sky and hoisted herself up from her slumbering position. Once Daisy was standing on her feet again she looked around in wonder at her newly found paradise.

Sadly the excess baggage and his minor body faults caused the ensuing and much larger accident. Buzby caught his undercarriage on the tall trees and the impact that followed was rather stunning to say the least. He had a full head-on collision with a very old established tree and his descent seemed painfully slow to the onlookers and not to mention poor Buzby whose beak was crumpled and stuck in the tree!! He went down, in a vertical position with his beak making the most awful grinding and scraping noises as it cut a furrow in the bark. Buzby came to land at the base of the tree and went ‘splat’ into a patch of soft mud, which was the only fortunate part of the whole sorry incident. His stocks and supplies were scattered far and wide and soon tidied away by the local ant community. This was by the by except, if they had been left at the crash site it would have been proof for Buzby as to the cause of the bump and ensuing grind. Buzby lay there flat on his belly and tried to lift himself from the mud but to no avail. He was so deeply embedded that, had it not been for his totally upward-bent beak pronged into the tree he would have sunk completely into the soft spot. The farewell party were in shock after seeing Buzby’s awful downfall and it took them a while to gather their wits. They rushed to the embedded Buzby. With much struggling, pulling and pushing, they lifted him from the mud. The damage was surveyed and this time not only was his beak bent and further ridged his underbelly and legs were severely bruised and battered too. The next moment Buzby’s mother went over to Buzby and gave him a severe reprimand for attempting a flight in such an unfit and overweight condition. All Buzby could do was emit a splutter - mainly because his poor beak was bent and bunged with mud. However, it was also in disbelief at her false accusations about his body’s lack of condition. He was even more surprised though at her timing being just after his accident but he thought, Perhaps she is in shock. Surely his Mum couldn’t have forgotten his accident already. Or could she? Mrs. Beakwell was rather renowned for her muddled remembrancies but even so it seemed unlikely that she could have forgotten. Poor Buzby was never to find out the reason for her strange behaviour and so it was to stay one of life’s many mysteries. He was even more surprised though at her ill-timed chastising and lack of concern - perhaps his Mum was in shock. Surely she couldn’t have forgotten his traumatic accident already. Or could she? Well Mrs. Beakwell was rather renowned for her absentmindedness but even so it seemed unlikely. (Buzby never was to find out the reason for her strange behaviour and it was to stay one of life’s many mysteries. Nonetheless he forgave her without question and tried to forget the incident which was not always an easy thing to do.) Poor Buzby continued to proclaim his innocence to all around and even reminded his Mum of all the supplies she had loaded onto him. As there was not a scrap of evidence left at the scene of the accident, they were rather inclined to believe Buzby’s absent-minded Mother. And so it came to be that Buzby was grounded for what seemed an eternity. Following the long incapacitation after his fall from grace he had become severely overweight and this added even more fuel to the ‘excess fat’ theory. It also became apparent that he would be living with a permanently upward bent and corrugated bill. Buzby was so despondent about the shape of bill and his current lifestyle that he took to comfort eating. Once again all his friends teased him and this time gave him the new and more hurtful name of Bill Bowing. His family still called him Buzby, or Buzz for short, and whenever his mother called out ‘Buzz’ the whole neighbourhood hid their heads or scuttled for cover. Even the word ‘Bill’ shouted across the airways caused a major stir. Not only did Buzby have a problem with his identity he also became rather hurt by the uncalled for reactions. Just to add insult to injury he suffered the indignity of chronic nasal congestion, too. This he could accept as a result of his most recent mishap but the unreasonable response to his given names hurt and perplexed him. ++++++++++ Soon after this he decided to get to the bottom of everyone’s moving responses and he set off in search of Beryl Buzzington-Beezwax. They were very old friends and had spent many hours comparing buzz n' bee notes. Even though Beryl thought she was the 'beez-neez' Buzby was very fond of her because they had a lot in common. You see, Buzby was honey-legged and Beryl was honey-combed, not to mention honey-nosed, at times! He located her buried in the lily trumpet where she often played with a very distant cousin of Nigel the Nectar Collector. It was always wonderful to watch them romping, rolling and generally posing in flower trumpets whilst bathing their bodies in all manner of pollen. Henry Honey-Body happened to be with her that day and Buzby was mesmerised by their pollen antics. When Beryl caught sight of the awe filled buzzard she hummed out, “Hello Buzby,” and Henry flew away in what seemed a great flap. Beryl looked at the very despondent Buzzard and asked him why he looked so fed up and sad. The down and heart buzzard lifted his head and answered Beryl by saying, “Do you know, Beryl, you are the only one that, with the exception of my mother who just cringes, does not duck away when they hear my name.” Beryl thought for a moment and then confided that whenever she heard ‘Buzz’ or ‘Buzzy Bee’ yelled across the airways, everyone seemed to do the same to her. Because he was so far away in thought he was not listening to what Beryl had said. He came back from his dream state and said, “It is very hurtful and the only reason I can think of is that it has something to do with the recent mishap.” Buzby became more despondent and Beryl looked puzzled at what she thought was his concern for her.

COPIED FROM WHATEVER HAPPENS ALONG THE WAY (NOT FOR THE PURPOSE OF READING Penny realised that she had been walking around without seeing for quite a time. Now everything had become crystal clear to her somehow she felt complete and realised that she could progress on her Pathway with clarity and confidence. She sat and looked at the beautiful flowers on the mantle piece and then back to her partner whom she had been studying. Satisfied that he was all right still, she looked back down at her work in progress. He looked at the vase of sighing orchids and as he turned towards his partner he said, "You have done really well and brought colour into my life" His partner looked up and smiled. After a moments scrutiny she looked on the situation in a perplexed manner and said "Yes, I know I have but are you talking to me or the flowers?" As a look of perplex ion crossed his face she went on to say, "I have done very well but I guess I don't bring colour into your life anymore." He had to disagree with her last comment but affirmed that he was talking to the flowers. The electric air became heavy but not with tension. The orchids decided to switch onto night mode and wafted their heaviest aroma into the thought charged atmosphere in the hope of lifting her spirits. Through her rambling thoughts she smiled at them in thanks because they seemed to know just when to make their presence felt and when to sit and sigh. At this point the electricity zapped into the ether and all that was left was the sounds of thoughtful silence whilst the clock ticked in rhythm to the cycle of the circulating orchid aroma.

From March 2001, no wonder I am unsettled it must be a seven year itch.++++++ I did try - but it was short-lived - to tidy up my act. Well, how frustrating to discover that these things take time. Three quarters of an hour to be precise. This all refers to becoming a butterfly or epicure by the way. Sows’ ears are hard work transforming into silk purses or persons - hence the time. Actually to get a perfect job would have taken the whole day and as that is all the hours there are in a day, well nothing else would ever been achieved. If I practice I will become a dab hand at is no doubt. So anyway, on went the smart clothes, jumper and skirt - then on when the overall to guarantee protection against low-flying water with bleach and other such substances well known for damaging even the toughest of frocks. The sun even tried to show its beautiful face but was soon smothered by the usual coating of grumpy grey cloud. That is by the by but at least it was a ray of hope in an otherwise mundane day. Having an early start, and what seemed a good long day to get stuck in, off we went. Great chaos ensued just to clean a tiny tabletop. Bedlam in the bedroom as sheets etc. fought hard to stay snuggled on the bed. Much coaxing and they finally deigned to enter the wash cycle. Total uproar with duvet scattered fully clothed on the floor. Oh, it will just have to stay there, as there is plenty of time and not much space in the washroom. Might as well go the whole hog and do a real clean out. The superdooper new shower and bath cleaning fluid seemed purchased as a hint to do something in the very steamy bathroom. Well, it will save some elbow grease we thought - very prematurely. ‘Use on a clean surface to ensure all further out-pourings go like water off the duck’s back! This turns out to be a job for Mr. Muscle tone - well mine are flaccid after all and need firming up so here’s the chance we have been waiting for. Bleach and brush and find the elbow grease to make things run smoothly time. What a joke. Run smoothly, huh. It is amazing how a thing as innocuous as water can make such a lasting and durable mark. And to make matters worse set up mould camps in every grout filling. If only I could find my real old fashioned scrubber it would make the whole job a whole lot quicker and easier. As it is the toothbrush decided to give up the ghost halfway through. Then to make matters worse, having climbed off the bath to find a replacement and returning to step back into action, I trod on my ever so smart skirt. I nearly nose-dived but had not the up thrust or impetus to do so fortunately. Off came the skirt (in a fit of temper) back we climbed into comfy Joe’s jeans (at least they have never tripped me up or pulled me down) and back to the task in hand. Here endeth the start of the smart era and no invitation to the Butterfly Ball for you, Mrs. L! Job accomplished after much sweat and the next appointment was with the duvet. And what a fight. It seemed reluctant to be stripped and sent for a wash and dry and consequently there was a very exhausted and bedraggled housewife. Who wants to be married to a house anyway? I think I want a divorce from it. No more dusting and general charring and maybe there will be time for the finer things in life. Like dressing up, swanning around town spending hard earned money, which is not mine to spend. There must be something that can be done for time spending that does not include money spending. Well apart from swanning about there is really only housework or even, Heaven forbid, real work in the real World. Perhaps things aren’t that bad or they weren’t until someone informed me that they were back on the Nine to Five shift. Oh dear, time has played a mean trick and that long clear run at it has taken a nosedive with the usual dinner preparation obstacle. Now it is a mad dash to get all back to rights so no one will ever know what has transpired in the day of a very confused, exhausted and not to mention cross, house maintenance department. Why were we not informed earlier? It takes forever to let the dust settle when you want it to and then there is that huge confrontation with the naked bed. I expect there will be a huge confrontation too because as the land lies there is no chance of doing two things at once. Perhaps a mess is preferable. I don’t know. Maybe I should ask “Would you like your tea on time, Sir, a smart and sophisticated wife, and/or a clean place to lay your head. You have a choice of two because I am not an either or all person.” I guess two out of three isn’t bad. Well perhaps just one cup of tea before the battle of the bed ensues. I may need the strength for the pillow fight after all - won’t I? I mean, I will need the strength, I will. Ah that is why it is included in the marriage ceremony “I will” just have one more and let battle commence.

This 'enlightening' piece was written seven years ago and lost in the ether. It might as well have remained hidden, like the modern English sun too!. However it proves that I have long had suspicions about age-related sunbeams. Many millenniums ago Man as he was then had not long evolved from the great soup swamps. The days were damp and foggy filled with enormous bangs and crashes. The nights became darker almost like they do today. When they saw the dark appear they put on their blankets and it became blanket fog time - the time when all good men lay down their very simple and weary heads. The cows stood or sat in a silent balance on the green and dry bits - making sure their weight was evenly distributed throughout the field. They had heard such sinking tales of cows that had disappeared from the land when they had been herded by the tribe to one corner. The fact that it was a swampy area probably had nothing to do with it! Because they were simple creatures, simply living lives as nature intended they never questioned it. All they did during the day was pull at the tufts on the surrounding ground and ruminate on life in general. At blanket time all ruminating and tugging ceased and the air was filled with a great stillness. Not a herd was sounded. One blanket fog evening a very strange thing came into the sky from the edge of beyond and shone down on the ever wakeful cows. They were dumbstruck, gazing in awe at the very strange bright blob newly placed in the sky. One cow was so overcome that it emitted an enormous throaty sound “moo”. This was a signal to the others and as they all looked up the long mooing began. The sound-asleep tribe, wakened by the strange noise, looked around and noticed the very bright blob. They too just stared in awe. The young ones peered from under their blankets and looked through the damp webs that had been woven by the eight-legged creepy crawlies. Because they were small they had a different outlook on life and just amused themselves watching the colour-changes occurring on the well-spun webs. In the strange light the droplets shone and glistened the most beautiful iridescent colours at the inquisitive youngsters sitting on their bed rock. One young man who’d heard the cows in the background and then seen the orb was inspired and after his long contemplative look he simply said “Moo” and pointed to the others. They all nodded and the oldest elder being somewhat hard of hearing nodded and very loudly said “Did you say ‘Moon’, That sounds good - Moon, Moon, Moon.” And so it was that the bright and beautifully faced orb came to be called the Moon. After a while the cows became bored with the whole proceedings and especially with the sound of the tribe chanting an out-of-tune Moon. They fell silent and soon all was silent again except for the deaf elder who was still doing a resounding “Moon.” The young man gradually became exasperated with his elder’s emissions and cried out “Will you stop mooning.” His deaf Dad naturally didn’t hear the polite request and was unceremoniously gagged. Poor disgruntled elder could only stare at the light which beamed down on him. His son tutted but his partner begged him to be more tolerant of his Pa Pa because there was nothing wrong with mooning. It sounded quite calming and had sent the young ones into a deep slumber again. She added that it would save her much bed-rocking again. Next morning poor old Pa Pa was still staring and looking most perplexed. He had spent all night in a gag and had watched the whole circuit of his new-found moon. As his son released him and he asked “where is the Moon, son?.” The younger man had no reply and anyway he was quite disgruntled with his Papa. After all it was he who first called out ‘moo’ only to have it altered into moon - he felt that his thunder had not been clapped upon. The fact that the cows were first off with the moo-ing was neither here nor there to him. Speaking of thunder, it was very quiet that morning - not a crack or rumble to be heard. The air moved briskly past the young man’s whiskers blowing and tousselling them in a strange manner He suddenly thought that it was all too much. First there was a light from out of the darkness which had disappeared again. Next the roaring thunder claps had ceased. It was eerily quiet now except for the cows tearing at the green earth shoots and chewing it. And just to cap it all the air was moving all around him! Breaking through his fearful thoughts he heard a very bright and curious youngster cry out “What has happened to our daylight blanket. It has turned a strange and clear hue.” Noticing the change too he very quietly said that it was getting strangely lighter by the minute He, like the youngster, wondered what had happened to the fog? He also wandered what on earth would happen next! The climax of the strange events was just about to transpire and a huge yellow ball peeped up slowly from below the horizon. The young and very wind-swept man fell to the ground in shock and naturally hurt his head. After a painful and very unceremonious clamber back upright he angrily bellowed out “Raar.” The elder nodded and said “Ra sounds good, son.” And following the naming of the Moon the new and by now very bright yellow orb became known as ‘Ra’. The young man felt proud that he had finally been heard by his very deaf elder and more to the point that he had actually been listened to. The uproar wakened the tribe and on seeing that it was the strange yellow orb being called Ra they began paying tribute and bent down to the wondrous light. For what seemed an eternity the bored herd of cow had to listen to the tribe chorusing out “Ra, Ra.” Getting to the end of his tether one was just about to bellow out in frustration at the monotonous chanting. He was quickly nipped in the bud and reminded of last nights events. After all hadn’t the poor tribe followed them like sheep into an unending ‘moo’ sing-song. They hadn’t even manage to get the words right! A repeat performance was not really called for because Moo-Ra just didn’t have quite the right ring to it. The thought filled cow nodded and remained quiet. And so it stayed thus named for many years and as things do it progressed and altered to finally become what it is know as today - the sun. Just like in days of yore it had become a very rare sight. The whole chain of events altered life as it was then and strange plants grew. Flowers, never before seen, bloomed. The diet became more varied and man suddenly felt very small and humble with these new wonders all around. With the newly shinning sun they gained warmth and heat. This also gave great happiness to what had been a very dismal and glum period in man’s history. The only problem they had was with their faces. They had no sun protection and on top of their usual frowns they acquired squints and so the wrinkles very quickly piled on. This did not please the ladies at all because the light now showed up every nook and cranny previously unseen by man. No doubt if they had seen they would not have noticed! The men paid homage to the great new sun and with the sun came the rain and then the drought. Many fires sprung forth and man soon began to tame the flames. He even started offering the poor cows as sacrifices in the hope that the Heavens would be kinder to the Earth again. Of course it didn’t work and not wishing to waste their burnt offerings they decided to eat the meat. It tasted pretty bad and a thoughtful woman threw a load of dried plants on the meat. The food became a joy to eat and it lead to the saying ‘What a difference the Bay made’. The fat from the cows was soon used by the wrinkled women and they were able to show their faces again. Nothing was wasted and it was from here that necessity became the mother of invention. It wouldn’t be long before the birth of the beauty parlour - only a few millenniums away. Cows had become know as being herbivores and so the plants used to make them more tasty became known as herbs. The lady chef became known as a herbalist and that is basically how words were invented - chains of events and happy accidents. Not forgetting the lowly mooing cows

Today is like spring, not knowing what it wants to do, the weather that is. The grass was cut and afterwards the washing was hung on the line. Well I know it is not easy mowing a lawn with washing in your face. By the time the lawn was finished so too was the sun so I was not amused but still did the usual line dance in the hope that a puff of wind might blow the clouds away and dry said washing at the same time. With that done I surveyed the damage and decided that even the edges had been strimmed the grass needed collecting up and began this chore. The sun broke through and I had not put uv protection on anyway so what chance against infra red. That got me thinking. Why are we the only things on the planet who plaster ourselves with lotions or clothes. I have never seen a bird with a pot of solar defence booster. Nor come to that have I seen an apple applying a protective coating on its unripe skin. Maybe we were not meant to be here at all and the creator or whatever you believe made us must have been dabbling in genetic modification and we were the resultant failure. If we were still in the primordial swamp then no doubt the water would reflect the uv and infra red rays to an extent for our protection. Just one false step along the pathway and there you are naked, bathed in sun and getting burned and old at the same time. Is that meant or are we just not meant to be at all. I don't know about evolution but I know it must have been a revolution and innovation when the first being invented clothing. Huh, I wonder what sort of a laughing stock he was until it caught on that common sense is a lot more protective than fashionable intelligence. I can live with that because not being endowed with much of the latter on the quantum scale of intelligence at least I have figured out how to survive with the least amout of effort whilst retaining a modicum of dignity. That I reckon counts for genius rather than inteligence, oh maybe not, who am I trying to kid. So, why were we here without clothes and glasses perhaps our distant relatives were not as short-sighted as us, well some of us. And maybe there was no visible sunlight on our naked virgin walk on the wildside on an uncharted planet, oh and does it matter? No but it is good to have silly thoughts to keep some sort of energy moving around the genetical genius - ha ha.

Because I could not find the folder I had filed this in I have had to come here to copy and paste it into a word document for printing then sending to my friend Moon in India. He is an old friend who wants a copy of my book only thing is the silly boy did not give me his address when we were in Goa. It is a case of postal costs in India are a pittance and posting from England is going to cost an arm and a leg especially if I cannot attatch the glossary to an email for him. I met Moon again yesterday on a new site called The Moon is Wayn ing in India. Well, when I put Fubar of a Rag,tagged site it comes up with an error message almost like they do not like other sites being mentioned. Actually it was as well because the person who wanted Fubar site was a pervert and it saved everyone here being pestered by one. I have never met so many perverts or hawkers in all my life in the space of three days. Needless to say I do not use the Rag,tagged site now. I am still looking but in the meantime I need to send Moon a copy of the glossary because his English is not good enough to understand our strange metaphors. Ah well, on with the motley and then back to the bar for a quick vino tinto and then a correspondence session. No peace for the wicked.