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Today’s Query
Each morning I come downstairs and find that the overnight frost has drawn strange shapes on my front window.
After months of research, I have identified these shapes.
The biggest one is the kna’kna’k-’unk, the largest indigenous melon found in Ecuador.
The kind of slithery one with wobbly bits on is a frontoskilaptor, an extinct gaseous lizard from the Vosene Period.
And this one that I’m showing you now is apparently Gwyneth Dunwoody’s duodenum, though why it has to be quite so long and contorted I can’t imagine.
My question is: why is it always the same three shapes that the frost draws, and why does it keep drawing them, endlessly, endlessly, even though I sand-blast the window every day, inside and out, and rub it constantly with Sensitol, and coat it in Fibogel, and have eight fan-heaters running in the front room all night to keep the window too hot for frost to settle, and is it all being done by the people next door because they hate my dog because it stole their Trabant and ran over their leopard in it, and if so are they going to win, are they going to break me so I accept their offer of half an Azerbaijani groat for my home and all its fittings and free-standing contents and livestock excluding bacteria, which for the purposes of this agreement shall be understood to include the aforesaid T. Lundqvist?
I’m not complaining, you understand. I just want to know.
MIKE MORRIS said…
If, like me you've been craving some hot toasty action your earlobes will be crawling with delight (or possibly end-stage dirtiness) at the thought of regular supplies of futon.
(EDITORIAL CARTOON:
Two men looking at card in phone box which says "Hot futon, call now". Man one: "Lying down on the job, eh?". Man two:"Oh, piss off".
World copyright Punch Very Humorous Magazine, free with courgettes at Harrods (2005))
Damn, got to do some work now.
TOASTY replied…
Regular? Hardly, if my past record is anything to go by. Take (or rather kick) me as you find me, that’s my motto.
Just did a spelling & grammar check on that paragraph. It advised me to change the final words to ‘that am my motto’. True story. I want a new computer.
What’s ‘work’?
CAROLINEM said…
Oh. Is it cold with you? Shame.
23 degrees here....
Actually, can you imagine if Diana Ross had 23 Degrees instead of 3? The overcrowded stage! The potential eye damage from sequin reflection! The jostleling for the mike! It doesn't bare thinking about.
I'm going for a lie down now.
CHEESEMEISTER said…
It's been colder than a welldigger's ass in my corner of the world but hasn't given me any interesting patterns in the shape of people's duodenums to study. Mostly just vicious winds that shake the house and make it so I can't walk the dachshunds. If you have ever met a dachshund, you realize that it is a very high-strung beast and two days without a walk causes it to release its pent-up energy in destructive ways.
Let me know if the frost on your windows reveals anything of religious significance, or insignificance!
Peace,
The Cheesemeister
(From the general area of Boulder, Colorado)
MARK GAMON said…
Does all this talk of welldigger's asses and regularity have something to do with the misapplication of Fybogel?
BETTY said…
You could try removing your front window.
Thank you for making the effort to return.
TOASTY replied…
Caroline – reminds me of the dream Sydney Smith claimed to have had, that there were thirty-nine Muses and only nine Articles. (These hotlinks are part of my wider campaign to re-educate the public, and to prove I know how to do hotlinks.)
Cheesemeister – it’s funny you should say that. The frost this morning had somehow arranged itself into an exact copy of Botticelli’s portrait of Saint Augustine – except that for some inexplicable reason he now had the head of – a dachsund. Eerie, huh?
Mark – the main difficulty with Fibogel is that it has a half-life of 250,000 years. Doctors have been very remiss in not spelling this out. And now the harm is done.
Betty – I’m seriously considering your suggestion. If I were double-jointed I could lie down just below the window-shaped hole and perform puppet shows for the amusement of local kiddies. Then they would love me, and give me meringues, and take up the cudgels on my behalf against these beastly people who are making my life a misery, thereby increasing the terrible danger that I may at any moment start to WRITE POETRY, for which the world is NOT READY.
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