Category: fiction

Mary reads a book  

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Mary sat by the window ,which she had meant to clean, reading Windows 8.1.The Missing Manual.The one great advantage of this new Windows system was that it seemed one no longer needed to install anti-virus programmes.So much time is taken up by looking after older versions that Mary was not surprised that Chromebooks were now very popular.Yet even so,she enjoyed learning new skills and it’s not as if they are like the theory of quantum physics or even non-linear algebra or baking cakes.
Stan had taken Emile ,their naughty cat for a spin on his old sports bike which he still used when wild unnattural feelings came over him and as they were only a mile from the edge of the mysterious town of Knittingham they were soon cycling through a deep green, quiet forest where Kings once hunted deer and no doubt chased women… or was it chaste women?
Mary had decided to stay at home as she was expecting a new vacuum cleaner to arrive.She kept one eye on her book and the other on her neighbour Rick who was very handsome despite being 113 years old.He was hanging his washing on his large front hedge which was unusual in winter.Most of the people in the road had tumble dryers or heated rails.Some even hung their washing outside on lines to let the blustery winter air dry it and kill the germs which might survive in a low temperature machine wash
Maybe I should do some washing ,Mary thought.How about I do my annual sheet changing.I made a big mistake deciding it was to be in the winter,but,alas it is hard to change a routine.Am I a cyborg,she thought nervously,licking her lips till they were damp and red.
Maybe I should clean the kitchen floor too,she thought as she drew an elongated ellipse with some mud that had fallen of Stan’s shoes as he passed by.She looked down pensively at the pattern the mud had made on the lino.I wonder if I can predict our fortune by studying this pattern deeply,she wondered.Some people do it from the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup,so why not from mud.There seemed no logical reason why mud splatters should be worse than tea leaves.It is simply a pattern through which the Unconscious can send a message to us.
Why it could not speak in ordinary language nobody knew and nobody ever will.Not all questions have answers.How strangely dull life would be if that were so.Don’t you agree?I don’t.
Sundial
.Mary had just seen a short story relating a dream a woman had that she had fallen in love with a strong healthy hippopotamus and taken it home.Unfortunately when they went to bed the weight of the animal had made the solid oak bed collapse onto the purple and orange carpet.Unable to give up her love,she had spent the rest of her life trying to build a new bed out of sawdust.It seemed not unlike the labours of Hercules in a new form
Mary was sceptical.I can’t believe a woman could love a hippopotamus,even in a dream,she murmured.But even if it was not a dream but a conscious invention,what did that say about the person writing it?That she always fell in love with men who were too heavy for her and who pulled her down onto the carpet to make love whenever they felt the urge regardless of whether she was as flat as a pancake or even dead
A lion,yes, Mary mused,but never a hippopotamus.I mean,they have no expressions on their faces and could they drink tea in bed and chat?Unlikely.Still, other people’s dreams are a mystery.Even our own are but we can sometimes take the hint.
Suddenly she heard the doorbell ring.Who could it be now?
Alas it was only a Mormon trying to convert her which was no good as Catholics can’t be Mormons as well.They are what one might call mutually exclusive groups.As I have no wish to teach algebra I shall stop here.However if that disappoints you,why not read
“A survey of modern algebra ” by Birkhoff and MacLane.I did and see what has happened to me!
 lighter tree

Stan and the standard deviation

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Stan was teaching social statistics to a group of elderly neighbors.Since he was 101 it gave  much  hope  to them to see him demonstrating his prowess with various techniques on the overhead projector,.He was planning to do some logic and  some philosophy too.Annie was sitting by the door so she could answer the bell if any paramedics turned up for tea or supper…
I’m not going to calculate ” the standard deviations” he murmured.”I just want you to grasp the general purpose.”
“Deviations,they’re not normal are they?” enquired his neighbour “Henry,an ex-English teacher.”So how can they be standard.It’s utterly confusing..”
“Are you thinking of deviants?” Stan enquired calmly yet nervously
”Certainly not,at my age I’m  long  past that!”
” Still it adds a bit of excitement to the class.” he thought.
How do words in ordinary language relate to those in Statistics?”asked Henry kindly.
“They are just more precisely defined in statistics.To say someone is a deviant is a rather vague term.”
“No,it’s not!My neighboru is a deviant.He always dresses entirely in yellow.”
“Well,that must be hard to do.Certainly unusual.” Stan agreed boldly.
“But in another country that might be the norm.So it’s a matter of  context.In statistics it’s more prosaic..There’s a formula.It’s totally independent of context.Have you ever wondered why so many mathematicians have  a touch of Asperger’s syndrome?”
“No,it’s not something that  meanders through my mind much”replied Henry wittily.
A shudder passed through the audience  on   hearing the word “formula“,which perhaps they considered something of a deviant word. Anything with letters and numbers mixed together is certainly not welcome in many people’s minds, along with their more unusual sexual tastes,desires and inclinations which were kept secret even from themselves in many cases.So Lacan appeared to think.As I am unable to understand his writing  myself,I cannot be sure if he was right or even half right.
“Time for tea.” called Annie,hoping to divert their attention to the everyday realm of food and drink..She carried in a platter of mouse [mice?] sandwiches kindly donated by the local ambulance service and some iced Victoria sponge she and Stan had made the day before in her new  oven.
“Just a quick word about next week.We’ll take a look at ratios and proportions and maybe see how that relates to the concept of rationality.”
“That sounds fun!” Annie called encouragingly.Henry decided to act on a deviant desire and fell onto her lap
”Oh,dear!” she gasped loudly as the chair collapsed under her.”Why can’t you be deviant at home?”
“My wife won’t let me!” He kindly answered.And it’s impossible truly.
“And look,” Stan continued,”we’ll have to ring 999.This chair is in fragments.I thought for one day we’d be able to avoid calling them out!”
“Well,life is not controllable.” said a quiet but fierce looking lady with sharp green eyes.”That’s what makes it tolerable“
She then greedily consumed a large piece of iced  sponge  cake .
“I can stand the thinking if the cake is good” she whispered to her shy friend Amy.
”That’s rather a feeble argument,”Amy retorted.”You can’t really compare cake and statistics.”
“I’ll compare anything I like!” the green eyed woman snarled loudly.
“You do what you like but you must keep a sense of proportion!”As we all know….
“Now then,have you rung 999?” Stan queried of Annie.”Yes,here they are,and they’ ve got a stretcher for the chair!”
“Well,that’s certainly unusual,even deviant“,Stan thought anxiously to himself.
”Where do they get their funding? Is there a fund for distributing money to help chairs which are not normal?

..i…Cat pen and flower collage2

Stan feels better

Black cat looking out of the window
 

Stan was feeling somewhat glum,nay even despairing,on Monday morning.
Mary had gone to work on her new folding 6 gear bicycle with own basket and an extra basket from Wells-next -the- Sea 1995[the wicker basket now somewhat gray in hue.]
He was left at home sorting out all his art work and materials as well as doing the baking and bathing Emile,the delightful yet trying male cat.
Sunk in dark misery,Stan sat in an old uncomfortable chair in the darkest part of the room, while Emile snored on the rug by the bright French windows.Stan went through all the possible reasons for his state of mind.
Was he guilty about his flings with his alluring next door neighbou rAnnie?
Could it be his failure to toilet train Emile? ~Or his omitting to carry out the penance given by Father Brown after Stan confessed to stealing sweets on the way to Confession in 1956?
The longer Stan brooded the more reasons he found for his depression.
He could hardly get up to make a cup of coffee ..even instant seemed too much trouble.Would he even clean his teeth which somehow he’d failed to do?
The doorbell rang… it was a new cord for his laptop as Emile had been chewing the current one ,and 29 books in a sack from Amazon which his wife must have ordered,as he had no recollection of any such foolish spending.How would they pay the bill on the credit card? he ruminated.
Later in the day ~Annie peered through the window.She tapped on the glass with her well manicured blue finger nails.
Let me in she cried.
I’m too tired for any hanky panky he murmured lovingly as he ran his fingers through her thick red tresses.What is this delightful perfume,beloved?he questioned her.
It’s Poison! she replied.Oh no,sorry it’s Iris and Jasmine Eau de toilette from the Bodyshop.
Despite his lowly sunken state Stan loved this perfume.He sniffed rabidly at her well rounded form.
Well,shall we have some tea?She enquired.
Stan sat there hand on chest.
I’ve been feeling a little gloomy,he muttered.She peered at him.You look terribly pale,Stan.I can’t recall,he said.Oh,here it is in my vest.
What a strange place to keep it,she responded.
Mary made pockets for all my vests.at one time you could buy vests with pockets
She’s good at sewing despite being so clever.In fact she loves doing things with her hands.
Annie got the GNT spray out and handed it to him.
Have you got a pain?
Well,yes,now you mention it,I do,he replied verbosely.
Well,in the name of God, use the bloody thing,she whispered endearingly into his left ear.
He opened his mouth,raised his tongue and with his hand resting lightly on his chin he pressed the button with his forefinger.
His head began to throb.
Annie appeared with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a biscuit.
Why,you look a little better.Do you need another dose?
No,I feel much better now.I’ve had it before.He drank the tea but didn’t eat the biscuit which he threw out later in crumbs for the field mice in the shed.
His spirits began to rise.Why did he always forget that physical ailments can worsen a mood?He still felt a trifle glum but nothing a meringue wouldn’t put right.
OK,what shall I make for Mary’s supper? he enquired.
You sit there in the window and I’ll just make my special spaghetti,Annie replied gaily,as long as I can stay too.
Yes,I’ll open some red wine he said youthfully,and we can have fried apples and bananas for pudding with non fat Greek yoghurt.
What a wise choice she murmured gently into his ear………that will use up some of the newly picked apples,the bananas were from Lidl’s as usual.
Well,Stan you look better.said Mary happily,You’ve been pale all weekend.Was it Annie who cheered you up,not to put too fine a point on it?
Actually it was nitroglycerine,he said roguishly,but Annie made me use it.
But for us women you’d be dead,she replied equably.
But for you delightful creatures I wouldn’t be here at all,he moaned ecstatically.
Now then Stan,control yourself she urged,After all we have a visitor,Annie!
What a hoot,he thought as he twisted spaghetti round his fork in a careless manner splashing tomato sauce all over his new acrylic jumper.
Thank the Lord for washing machines,Mary said.
I didn’t know Jesus invented them,Annie said with a tone of mild sarcasm but no-one bothered to reply.

As told by Emile to the local paper last week.

How median,how average?

 

 

 

Stan was just about to begin his talk on “Averages” when a   clap of thunder  frightened the old folk who were listening to him, while eating their first  slices of marmalade cake which his dear wife Mary had baked and iced with orange icing
That was loud,cried Minnie  Muddle from the next street.I hate thunder.Her white face did look very pale especially as she used to use Blusher in Pale Orange.However she couldn’t afford it  any more
I like it,Stan remarked,but Emile  is nervous.And there was Emile inside the big wicker waste paper basket with his amber eyes gleaming anxiously and his tongue licking his dry lips.
Well,said Stan,the word “average” has different meanings in different  situations.
In ordinary language it usually means typical. However in  statistics  which analayses data it is used as a way of describing the “centre”  or” center”of the data.
There is more than one way of- doing this.
If we are asked the average wage in the UK and told it is £26,500 what does it mean?
Does it mean nearly every body gets that?
Well.I don’t called, his neighbour,John as he re-arranged his tartan kilt over his knobbly grey knees.
This is based on people in work,Stan replied kindly.
It is called the median which is that figure such that 50% get less than this and 50% get more.I can’t recall where the folk who get exactly that are placed.So 50% of people in work get less than £26,500.Some on the lowest wages get only about £11,000. and even less if they are part-time or on zero hour contracts.
And of course  we know bankers and rock-stars get millions some years.So it’s not  telling us much about the spread or range of wages.How far they differ or deviate.We can measure that but it is based on the mean wage.We get that by adding up all the wages and dividing by the number of workers.
The mean is usually higher as it is pulled up the the million pound earners.In London wages are higher

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Example:

GLA Household Income Estimates

 July 30, 2015

By

In July 2015, the GLA published an update to the Household Income estimates. This data covers a range of geographies from Lower Super Output Areas (LSOAs) to UK regions. The full dataset can be downloaded from the London Datastore.

The median household income for London in 2013/13 was £39,100, while the mean income was £51,770.

5230546_f248That’s enough for one day,Stan,whispered Annie.She was looking very glamorous in her red knit dress and purple tights which matched her eyeshadow – she had  got  that in Harrods.It was called.Purple Princess.The only problem was it was hard to remove and the matching cleanser cost £40.As she was on only a quarter of the  median income in the UK she could not afford it so she had to keep wearing this colour regardless…. unless perchance she did some shop-lifting which is, of course ,a crime.As Annie had killed her own husband and got away with it,no doubt stealing Eye Make Up Remover was pretty low on her list of sins or crimes.
Some crimes are sins  but some are not.such as stealing food for your baby if you can’t afford to buy it.However eyes shadow is not essential to life even for a woman like Annie.
Stan boiled the big kettle and made the tea while Annie cut up the  remaining marmalade cake and passed it round. to all the merry pensioners staring at the Blackboard somewhat tentatively.
What about pensions,asked John plaintively.What is the average there?
I think we’ll wait for a few days before we  tackle that or you can google it and see what you find.The State Pension is about £6,600 per annum but many people also have a pension from their jobs too.That is really important if you can get it.
I don’t know how people live on the State Pension, Minnie cried.I suppose they eat tripe and oxtail and such things.Or steal from the waste bins of their neighbours.
What exactly is tripe? her friend Joan enquires tactfully;her blue eyes full of tears..
I think it’s the lining from the cow’s stomach or intestines,Annie cried.
No wonder people go to McDonald’s.It might be a cheap cut  but we don’t know.
Annie jumped up to turn on  the  fan heater and knocked over Stan who was sitting by her.He fell  over and his chair broke in half.
That chair must have been listening to your talk,chortled John swinging his kilt humorously.Fortunately he was wearing some green underpants and a half slip in silk beige.
Ring  999.Stan called.We need help from Dave.Emile was very pleased because he preferred chatting to Dave to listening to Stan’s lectures.As does the average person in the UK,so I guess.

P1000308
Fortify me with tea

Can’t I fake a flance?

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In case you hate the story.. look at the image

You are too prissy,Mary,Stan told his  boring wife.Everybody uses four letter words know except you.
What is so special about four letters,she replied mathematically.
I can’t say ,said Stan.
Is it because they are expletives s have to sound like bullets being fired.For example
“F*ck off, you old shi* bag”
Sounds different from
“Kindly go away,old thing.”
That is true,said her 98 year old husband,
So why do you want me to swear?
Well,now you have a tablet computer and a chromebook you need an iphone and you need to talk like the young do as well.
iphones are very expensive and you know me,I’m cr*p at finding where I leave the f*cking things.
Now,Mary,control yourself.I am your husband
What the h*ll has that got to do w*th it.
You should be nice.
So whom do you wish me to swear at?
I’m not sure.Maybe when you sing in the kitchen you could alter the words of the songs..
As I waltzed out to f*ck at 8 pm
The lambs were coming  back to see the ram
Something wrong with the meter here methinks,said Stan.
And somehow,swearing does not seem to blend with your personality and gentle quiet nature,Mary,darling.
Cut the cr*p.It’s too late now. I’ve become addicted.
But how many four letter words are there? I might find it limiting.
Some four letter words are not swearing
like
tame,kind,wind,fluff,hair,lips,nips,twit
but some are like
f*ck,sh*t,cr*p,twat.
So twit is ok but twat is not,the demure old lady replied.Anyway don’t you know any more?
D*mn!
Perhaps we’ll have to buy a book and learn some new ones but to whom shall we say them
Would your mistress,Meldickadivsa know?
Well,I can ask her.
But is it sensible?
If women want equal rights it’s not the same as being compelled to use words that only workmen used to use.
It’s like saying we can’t have public conveniences for women;they will have to use the gents!
What will they use the gents for, he of them queried.
For sensual gratification and relieving tension.
Is it legal?
Anything is legal as long as you don’t pay!
That reminds me of Russell’s Paradox.
Oh,my God,don’t say you are on to Russell!
It’s more like he is on to me.
Whatever do you mean,Stan said.
He is trying to invade my mind.
Well,make it password protected!!
How do I do that?
Go online and find out.
Perhaps we can password protect your tongue to stop you saying all those words like twat!
But I don’t want to stop.
In that case you must invent some more or they get boring you see.
Flaff off you crum!
Eff doff you runt!
Don’t you leak to he like trat
Why egger nuts?
Clean your org(n i* the m*wnin.
What is so runny about swap?
Goody bell,the vicar is beer!
Lie down and he won’t bee us on the door!
It’s very dirty down here.
Get the vacuum out!
The vacuum is clean,it’s the carpet that’s full of nap!
I blame you,
For what?
Basting my rhymes in wine.
Well,it’s time for wee now.
Go and but the skittle on the stove.
By George,I feel terry funicular!
I’ll put some neatener in your tee.
I’ll come here again!
Stop that askance!
Can’t I rake a glance?
Show you can pot?
Pot what?
The wee pot.
You are very mod!
Blank you so crutch.
Puck off,it’s time for twerk.
Oh,my dear!
It’s being so near.
what makes ’em leer

Emile weeps

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Stan was sweeping the garden path.He had a stiff broom with a small head that was useful for cleaning the edges of the steps.Emile, his beautiful cat was sitting in the old apple tree gazing down on Stan.
“Is it time for coffee yet,”Stan asked himself.He had forgotten to put on his watch.
Suddenly he heard a shriek.He peered through a hole in the fence.His neighbour Annie was lying on her back in some mud.
“Hang on,I’ll come round!” he called.
There was a gate in the old fence which was rarely locked
since Annie loved to drop in on Stan.
“Oh,Annie,how are you feeling?” he asked her anxiously.
“Bloody annoyed.I’ve only just bought these,”Not your daughter’s jeans” and now I’ve torn them,” she replied politely.
“But you don’t have a daughter!” he informed her loudly.
“I know that.It’s just they are better cut for the mature figure.”
“Your figure is not mature.You are quite slender.my dear,” he murmured lovingly.
“Well,I never feel happy with it!” she said mutinously.
“Whereas I am very happy feeling it,” he responded romantically.
Tears came into her green eyes lined with purple eye shadow.Alas,it was not waterproof and purple rivulets ran down her cheeks across the peach blusher with which she had valiantly decorated herself earlier.
“Can you get up?” he asked tenderly.
“Yes, but it would be nice if you picked me up.”
He leaned over her and licked the purple streams of tears off her cheeks.
“I hope it’s not poisonous,” she murmured.
Then with the aid of Emile,he lifted her to her feet and helped her into her large trendy kitchen.
The kettle switched itself on as they entered and a robotic voice asked if they’d like coffee.
“God in heaven,what the hell is that?” he cried confusedly.
“It’s my new computerised hot drink maker.After that fall I think a double espresso would be good.”
Emile ran in and asked for coffee too.
“Emile,you usually have milk,”Stan reminded him softly.
“Well,coffee is a new taste for me but I like a little.”
the cat whispered sweetly.
“I’ll give you some of mine in a saucer,” Stan replied.
Emile began to sob.
“Why Emile,whatever is wrong?”
“I want a cup and saucer just like you” the cat howled.
But you have no hands,Emile,” Stan reminded him.
The poor cat was crying loudly now.So Stan rang 999.
“Can you please send the emergency ambulance round.the cat’s crying and all his hankies are in the wash.”#
Soon Dave,the transvestite paramedic appeared.
“I love your light teal  and cream kitchen,” he informed Annie,
“And your eyes look like two deep pools in a coal mine.”
She slapped his cheek naughtily.
“Have a look at Emile” she ordered him sweetly.
He turned to the cat who was sitting on the dark pine table.
“Here,Emile,I got you some Kleenex for Cats in Sainsburys.” he said gaily.
“I want a real hanky,”cried Emile.Dave took a clean hanky from his own pocket and dried the cats tears.
“What made you cry.Are you feeling bad.”
“Yes,I want to go to Cafe Nero,” Emile mioawed.
“Who told you about that?”
“Another cat down the road has been and he said it’s lovely for people watching.”
“The town is not safe for cats like you,Emile.”
Dave urbanely replied,
“But when summer come I’ll take you to the out of town
Marks and Spencers.They have a cat’s coffee corner upstairs.”
“Wow,isn’t it amazing,”Stan wondered out loud.
So Dave poured out the coffee and they all sat down and
discussed Ray Monk’s Life of Wittgenstein.
Ray has discovered that Wittgenstein liked cats but as he moved around quite a bit,he never owned his own though Elizabeth Anscombe let him play with her three cats now and then.
We may all be different but most of us value the love of a good cat.Even boiling their hankies and ironing them is very nice.We all have this problem though.
Where can a cat carry his own hanky?
Do cats need shoulder bags?
What would Wittgenstein say?

Well,not a  lot because his mind was on initially mathematics and logic and later on games like Scrabble,Dabble and Monotony.
(When he was dying he said
It’s been a wonderful life even though he was often suicidal .Two or three of his brothers did kill themselves as the father was over-dominating.And they were sensitive.)

The future is fiction

Stan was looking out of his bay window at the old rowan tree. in front of their semi detached house in a quiet  tree lined avenue in Knittingham.After some intense sunshine in August,its leaves had withered and he thought it might be dead.He had his microfibre cloth but was not even pretending to clean the window…. one of his duties in the homeHe was thinking pensively because  his wife Mary had told him he ought to be wearing an antiperspirant when they had a row the night before.
“But I’m 105,” he cried.”Surely,I don’t need an antiperspirant  now?”
“Don’t exaggerate,”Mary replied,”You are only 75.Do you  need Cognitive Age  Truth  Therapy as well”
“But do I smell nasty,” he asked her…ignoring the  faint hint he was exaggerating pathologically about his age.
“Well,it says in the Telegraph that all the Top People now wear deodorants.”
“Good grief, what made you read the Telegraph,that right wing apology for a newspaper?And I should say the  present government certainly need  strong deodorants.I have a good wash every day and a bath once in a blue moon…I am clean enough for my mistress!”Annie his mistress lived right next door to the surprise of all who thought they  knew them well.
“Well,I am taking you to Boot’s tomorrow to find one”
“How dare you order me about  like this.Even if I wanted to wear a deodorant I wouldn’t tolerate being  spoken to like that.~I am a man and I smell the same as always ;why don’t you buy me a new sponge and some decent soap in Sainsburys instead of this lavender rubbish.”
Mary began to sob quietly
“What’s wrong,my little jacket potato.” he asked her gently in the rough  language of  the North British.
“Well,maybe it’s my therapy…I have been recollecting memories of girls teasing me because we had only a tin bath in our house and no bathroom.It was cold going to the lavatory down the backyard as well,especially when I got dysmenorrhea………….otherwise known as period pains, when I might be there half an hour.
So I guess I thought I might smell nasty.I am reliving the pain and anguish and as a defense I am projecting my fear onto you,That’s maybe why I was so rude to you.”
“Eeh,by gum,she’s swallowed the Dictionary of Psychoanalysis not to mention the Encarta  too”thought Emile their smiling tom cat.
“Well,you do smell.Like honey.You smell just the way I like a woman to smell…Natural”
“How would you describe it,my onion pie?”
“Like a cat on heat ,my honeybum” he answered tenderly yet manfully.
“But surely you have never had intercourse with a cat?” she queried nervously yet longingly.
“No,not sexual intercourse, but I have slept with many lady cats and I know  well their varying smells,their mews and their claws.”
“Just like me” whispered Emile,” and I like how women smell too.I like perfume..especially Poison and Chanel N r5″
“So I shall  come to Boots with you and I shall buy you some perfume.Then we can have coffee and cake somewhere for a real treat.” Stan told Mary assertively.She kissed his fair white cheek.. now a little red from the sun,
“I like coffee and cake,”purred Emile,”And I want a deodorant and some cologne. and a few other things”
“I think I could put you in my It bag “,said Mary kindly….which would be a pleasant change for Emile.They often left him alone in the house though he could drop into Annie’s at any time…and watch her tidying her make up box out or having a bath with lots of foam.Emile adored her,
So soon they will be on their way into town in their best clothes.Will Emile sit on a chair or will he stand on Stan’s knee.Wait patiently…. he might break his saucer.

The future is fiction

Is Stan bored?

.

 


Stan was feeling so puzzled.He stood in his front room staring at the  handsome rowan tree outside.
Do ants fall in love,he asked himself.
Are swans the most beautiful birds? Shall I send Annie a card tomorrow? Should I send Mary one as well?
He went outside and watched the ants running up and down the tree trunk.They seem to work so hard but they never get bored.
But is that true? We have no way of knowing.At last Stan has found a question with no answer
.Is boredom a unique quality of humans?
If that were so we ought to have a Patron Saint of Boredom though not of Bores.
Why are some people so boring?
Luckily Annie had seen Stan and rushed out in a teal coloured all wool outfit
made more weird by having butterfly motifs scattered on it at random.
“Why have you got those butterflies on your clothes ?” he asked her in a kindly  way.
“It’s to cover up the moth holes.”She pertly replied.
“You must have a lot of moths.Do moths fall in love?do they get bored?”
“You seem in a funny mood today,”Annie murmured.
“Why don’t we go out for coffee?”
“I’ve just made a pot full.Please join me.”
“Thank you,” she cried wildly.
They sat down in the kitchen where Emile was sitting by the window.
“Good morning,Emile.”Annie shouted.
“No need to shout,” Emile miaowed politely.”I’m not deaf”.
“I am sorry, Emile.” she responded furtively,”I am over-excited.It’s my period being due,I think”
“Why is that? Stan demanded like an untrained philosopher.
“Well,I’ve already had ten Valentines though that is not connected to menstruation
“Already.You must have done it fast!” he teased her gently.
“No,you idiot.I mean cards.
“You must be popular”
“Some look like women’s writing.”
“Let me see,”he asked swiftly.
To his surprise, one was in the handwriting of his wife Mary.
“Are you bisexual?” he asked her wonderingly.
“No,I’m just annissexual,” she repliied saucily.
“What does that mean?”
“Well,it’s just one letter away from “Anti-sexual.”
“That’s a relief.You are not anti yet,then.”
“Not yet”,she whispered coyly.
“Would you make love to a woman?”
“Only if she made love to me.”
Mmmmmmmmmmmm
.Apparently seeing lesbian movies turns men on.do you watch them?”
“Not bloody likely,I want to get turned off.”
“That could be boring,”she said sweetly as she combed his eyebrows with an old toothbrush.
“Well,I could do the polishing better and get the house sorted out.Fill the freezer with casseroles and defrost the oven.
Yes,though would that be so rewarding as loving another human?
“I guess not” he answered slavishly.
“Shall we go to your place and have a cuddle.
OK
Emile was very put out as he liked to see people kissing but he had grown very philosophical over the years and at least he could get on with his book,
“Wittgenstein’s cat.”He switched on the netbook and began to type:
“Not everyone knows how important cats were in philosophy.But now we can reveal all.The saying,
“Of that which we cannot speak we must miaow”
was inspired by Daisy,Wittgenstein;s favourite cat.
And

,”Of that which we cannot purr we must yowl.” was inspired by Ludo, a fine male cat that lived with Wittgenstein in Ireland.
So as Emile types,we must tiptoe away to order Ray Monks’ great book.The Duty of Genius! which is a biography of Wittgenstein and explainds his ideas very well
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Emile meets a dog

Leggings

Stan and his  strange yet talented  and loving wife Mary went to the Garden Centre to use a gift token Stan had been given on his birthday by his cousin Marian.They wanted to buy a big pot of mixed flowering plants to put on the porch of their 4 bed  quarterly undetached executive style home.Stan used to fill such a plant pot or indeed several himself ,but what with teaching Emile to swim,balancing the account book and cooking a dinner every day he was too busy.Not to mention cleaning the windows in the conservatory with his microfibre cloth which he did weekly.And all the baking too..he was missing out on going to the University of the Blurred Age.Emile their talking cat always went with them for a drive but he stayed in the car in case a dog might see him and bite him.Stan said,Emile,would you like to sit on my shoulders,then you could come and have some coffee in a saucer?
No, thank you.said Emile,I don’t want a dog to jump up on you!I will lie down under the seat and have a nap.You can bring me some icecream back..I love ice cream
Stan and Mary went into a huge greenhouse which also had a cafe at one end.How wonderful the orchids looked.. such delicate colours and what delicious and sweet perfumes they could smell.They sat down by the orchids and had a large cappuccino each and a very small scone with strawberry jam.
My goodness,what big mugs,Mary mused.Why don’t they standardize them?This must be half a pint!In some coffee shops this would be “Huge”
Well,just drink part of it,Pet,if it’s too much for you,” Stan replied abstractedly as if he were trying to digest a bitter fact
What are you thinking?,.she enquired gently.
This is the question most men dislike…maybe because they are not thinking and if they are,it may be they are thinking of something a wife or partner would not want to know. like where is Satan?
I’m wondering what colour plants to get.Stan acknowledged quietly yet intellectually.
I always like blue, she informed him.After 69 years of marriage he still did not remember…but it made life more fun… and more surprising.,The next moment they saw Emile. arriving.He was standing on the back of a large handsome black labrador dog which accompanied two men.
Emile!he called,What’s going on?
The two men came over.
Hello,one said,I’m Bert and this is my brother Bart.We found your little cat crossing the road.He said you were in here.Then Max,our dog,said Emile could ride on his back to avoid the mud by the gate
Thank you very much,Max,Mary said in a trembling voice.
But how did you get out of the car,Emile?
You forgot to close the window and I could see a lovely tortoiseshell lady cat across the road so I decided to pop over.Emile said triumphantly.

But you don’t know the Highway Code yet,Emile!
Stan groaned, as it was one more thing to teach Emile.
Isn’t it lovely seeing Emile riding on Max’s back? asked Bart.
Do you mind if I take a photo?
Feel free,Stan replied.Allow me to buy you some coffee.
Thank you,said Bert.Two double esspressos please.And two scones with Cornish cream and blackcurrant jam,thank you
Stan went to order whilst Max and Emile did a tour of the cafe and had their photo taken by several surprised people sipping coffee and tea simultaneously.
My goodness,said Mary,I wonder if this photo will be in the local newspaper next week.It’s a positive symbol of love and peace.
Though of course not all dogs are as generous as Max.Not all cats are as bold as Emile..
Max wagged his tail and smiled upon hearing this.
If you’d like to help your dog to smile please email me at one of these addresses below.Cats can also be enabled to smile though this requires patience
patiencehere@coolermail.com
katepeaceplan@yodelmail.com
The clothes  are on sale at most Garden Centres in the UK
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Stan and Mary’s bloomers

Stan woke up feeling unusually  fresh and lively on Monday morning.He gently extricated himself from the bed where his cat Emile was sleeping on a pillow beside Mary his kind and gentle  yet tryingly brilliant and intellectual wife.Stan took a photos of the two with his Panasonic Lumix camera and took one of Annie ,his mistress, walking past in a lemon coloured light wool tweed suit

Lemon wool is rarely seen on sheep,Stan thought to himself,though he dreamed of lemon coloured sheep once after he got food poisoning and spent half night on the wc or crawling to and from his bed.
He flew down the stairs because he saw the postman coming and then he opened the door quickly in case it was a rude book he was expecting.
.The postman handed him a parcel wrapped in grey plastic.As it was soft it was not a book unless it had no cover on
He opened it and to his astonishment he found two pairs of old fashioned ladies long legged bloomers or possibly they were short leggings or jeggings as we say nowadays;
He rather hoped they were bloomers as he had always found that they turned him on more than g strings and bikini panties often worn now judging by the lingerie departments of  the Department Stores where he often lingered languidly, longing for more  love and romance even though he was 99 years old
.Altogether the the bloomers were a very winsome type of garment…c. as long as they were underneath a dress,perhaps a long flowing gown embroidered with daisies or roses.Stan did not find leggings and cropped tops made him  desirousas he preferred some mystery in women’s appearance which gave him a fantasy [often unreal] about the perfection  and shape of the body beneath
He made Mary some tea and took it upstairs on a little tray with painted naive owls decorating it.She was awake and looking very charming in a fleece nightdress with robins and butterflies embroidered onto it by her own hands
Hello,babe,Stan said winningly.I have just opened a parcel but it is for you.
What is it,she asked tentatively.
Just some big knickers,he said tactfully.
Oh,yes.They are for the play we are putting on for Xmas,,,, the Importance of being Furnished by Kasper Milde
Furnished with what?
With clothes,she said soothingly.Like women used to wear.So I shall wear a pair of whalebone corsets and these bloomers.
What about your top half?Will your bosom be bare,he teased her jocosely.
No,dear.Not here…I’d never live it down
As an artist I think if your art demands a bare bosom you must bare it or die.
Well,she said,I don’t think my mother had a bare top.She had a corselet with a built in bra and then a petticoat made of rayon with lace edging.And a woollen vest too.And an underdress.
Oh dear,Stan answered sadly.I hoped you’d be half naked…
You can see me fully naked here ,she informed him in a gentle and humorous manner…
I know.dear, but it’s not the same alone here as it would be on the stage.. that excites me a lot.I guess it’s my age.
You would not be able to ravish me in public, she said grinning at his reflection in the mirror opposite the bed end…..
Well,we could pop out in the interval,he mused to himself… it’s 15 minutes or so.
That’s not enough for me,she told him firmly
How  very kind dear.I am so glad you’d like me for longer than that.
I am just being practical,she murmured, we older ladies take more time to get going,as it were.And a vibrator never excited me.Where is the romance and humanity in plastic or even in vegetables?
Years it takes them to get ready for it,Stan thought dolefully.No wonder I have a mistress.Even she is only turned on about once a month…
Still there was always a possibility that sooner or later one of them would want him to stroke their backs and call them darling or buttercup or some other tender word.How he hoped today would be the day though the lemon tweed suit made it seem unlikely Annie would be at home.He smiled at Mary and offered to make her a bacon buttie.. who knows what might happen after that… and Emile is listening and hoping for a display of human passion as long as nobody died in bed  and disturbed his cosy nest

Goodbye

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Mary stood at the bus stop in her chocolate wool winter coat which Stan had always loved very much.
It hangs so well,he had told her.
The optional imitation fur collar had been removed as she preferred natural garments made from wool with no ostentation.As a matter of fact she has one of Stan’s woollen vests on under her gold silk top.Her hair fell in light blonde curls around her pensive face and her eyes looked as if she were seeing a mysterious vision of the Matterhorn in midwinter while on heroin.
Suddenly she realised the bus was there and she put her card up to the machine before looking for a seat.The bus was rather full so she sat down next to a youth with an i phone hanging from his hand.Suddenly it rang.His chosen theme was, Please release me, sung by Tom Jones.Mary smiled as, if she were near Tom Jones she would need no invitation to free him.The youth began to speak rather louder than normal.
Mary tried not listen but it was impossible.She was too hot as well..Wearing Stan’s vest was a mistake as the bus was overheated.She turned pink like sunrise over ICI in Billingham  for, perceive it or not, the pollution had a beautifying affect.
I’m sorry I wore your vest,she told Stan.
I should have given them away but I was trying to save money on heating.Still I will be home soon.Oh,for some fresh tea.
Where’s your microphone, the youth demanded in a  light voice.It must be one of those new tiny ones,I guess
A microphone? Mary said curiously.
Yeah, he cried.I assume your phone is in your pocket.
Actually it’s in a pocket in my knickers,she informed him in a manner resembling that of a mildly dotty scientist.We used to wear these knickers in the gym at school.
Did you not wear a top? he enquired,his eyes running over her hourglass figure like  pure rainwater water falling off High Force in Teesdale. in  a summer storm.
Well.I didn’t have a bra until I got my grant to attend university,she told him sensitively.
Well,that’s news to me,he said.So you had to wear a bra at University? That was before feminism,of course.Did you burn it later?
Certainly not,said Mary.I’d been longing for one but my mother didn’t seem to notice my development which was her way of coping with adolescent girls.Of course my brothers may have noticed but they were too nervous to tell Mother I needed any support.We were all so shy and afraid.Anyway be quiet now,I want to speak to my husband.
Have you had your phone on all this time? he asked anxiously,worried about her bill.
No,I don’t need it to talk to him,she responded.
Why,where is he? the youth enquired sardonically.
He’s on my knee,Mary informed him.In this bag.She pointed to her hessian shopping bag.
I have just been to the Coop for him.I ought to have got a cab as he is quite heavy.
Jesus Christ,cried the youth,hastily pressing the bell before leaping off the bus into a small pond that had been created b Hurricane Desmond.He swam away into the cold night.
Well. that shut him up,Mary said to Stan.
Mary,don’t become less gentle and kind,Stan said in her ear.
I can’t be gentle now,she said.It’s a nasty tough world without you to help me and tell me what you think of Jeremy Corbyn.And do I need to have a roast dinner at Xmas or just some toad in the hole?
I am sorry,sweetheart he murmured.Maybe you need assertiveness training.
I’ll just get more aggressive,she replied.Micro-aggressive perhaps.
You’ll need more than micro in this era,he continued.Mary forgot to get off the bus and found herself in the Leisure Centre by the River Tranter
What about the river,Stan, she asked.Would you like me to throw you in
.A policeman standing near by ran over.
Madam, is it suicide or murder, he asked her awkwardly.
No,it’s a life sentence,she said humorously as she put her hand up her skirt to get her phone.
That’s a silly place to keep your phone he said.
Anyway don’t call a cab,I can run you home in my car.Have you got any China tea?
I could kill for a hot drink.
I have some lapsang souchong,she told him.Do you fancy that?
I do called Stan from the bag.The policeman passed out.
I told you not to get a boyfriend yet,Stan continued to Mary.
I’ll do whatever I feel like,she said rudely.I could use a comforting arm around me.
Stan sobbed as only a holy soul can.
She said,quickly
Don’t worry.I’ll get Emile to sit on my knee.Goodbye for now,darling.
Goodbye whispered Stan faintly.
Good bye…. goodbye.

 

Mary tidies her mind

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Mary woke up feeling  gloomy and  tired.She drank her tea which Stan used to bring her.It#s a real nuisance for a woman having to make her own tea in the morning
I  am fed up,she told Emile.I miss my bicycle but it’s too dangerous now.And walking hurts.
Sitting by her bed she viewed all the clothes she had recently washed and dried  which were manifold.What to do with them..Well,Mary thought,with our ideas we have to categorise them ans so I will apply the same principle here.
She divided her clothes into groups.Then into subgroups.Why, it’s a science she thought.Then she folded her underwear neatly just the way it came in the packs from M and S the famous Jewish British and EU  department store.
She put all the odd socks into a  clear  polythene bad and put the remaining ones into a shelf in her white wooden wardrobe.She admired her teal coloured tights which Stan had   loved and put them with the black ones she wore most often in winter
Suddenly she heard a dog bark.What’s that? she shouted in alarm
Emile giggled.
I did it.he said,you were not listening to me.So I barked.
I am sure God will not like that.What did you want.
It’s time for coffee,he announced.
Alright,Mary said.I’ll leave these polo necks till later.They want downstairs into the teal  and cream coloured kitchen/breakfast room and Mary filled the kettle and took her Nokia  off the charger.

 

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It seems to run down too fast,she thought.Even when I never used it.I only got it for emergencies and  £5  a month from BT seems a good offer.But like many  of her gadgets she really bought them to see how they worked;as she had a good sense of direction  she did not really use the maps.
She picked up the post.There was the dreaded bank statement and Credit  Card Bill. from M and S
Hello,Barclays here.
Hello,I have not had a statement from you lately.
You never use the card.
That’s true,said Mary,I forget to buy anything.I forget I am a woman
In her purse she found a cheque for  £60 from the Inland Revenue.
Look Emile.I’ll buy  you a new basket.And a some cat toys.
Thanks  purred Emile.You are so sweet,mother.
I’m not your mother,Mary informed him wildly
Well you are like a mother,kind and gentle… most of the time.
You little flattery battery,she giggled  .
Looking at the bank statement she was relieved not to be over-drawn.Stan had expensive tastes and she always bought him too many clothes,the best food and other delightful things.He was not greedy,she enjoyed spoiling him and  so did he!
Well,two horrible jobs done she thought and her mood rose as she realised things were better than she had  hoped.
Even finding the cheque was out of date did not worry her.She phoned the Tax Office who said they’d send another one.
We  all know how nice it is to get a little money we didn’t expect.
She went upstairs and decided to change her outfit.She took off her comfy old jeans and  put on a  black  needlecord dress with  blue and green flowers all over with a pair of smart black shoes.
Why are you all dressed up,asked Emile.
To give pleasure to the human race,she murmured as she  put on  her red wool winter  coat.
I am going out to take some photos she said.The magnolias are out and the bluebells.
Which  camera shall I take,she pondered..
I’ll take this Nikon one,she decided; Because I like the name.
Is that a good way to choose a camera,asked Emile.
Well, what do you suggest?
Well many are called cameras but few are chosen ,the naughty cat replied.
I know I have several she said.People give me their old   ones and as I am ignorant they all seem ok to me.They are my toys..
And how about that new wok and the ceramic milk pan? I’ve been taking notes,Emille wittered on
Are you going to be a detective,Mary laughed.
Can’t a woman buy a new pan?I keep burning the non stick ones so I decided to try ceramic.
I hope you don’t stir fry my cat food,Emile chortled.
No,I have not yet  got a wok cookery guide.
But you have got an electric egg boiler,which surprised me, he miaowed.
It’s because it switches itself off,she told him.I get engrossed in my study of enjambent and  forget the time.
Thinking is bad for you,Emile told her.
And so say all of us.
Thinking is bad for the brain
I’ll never do it again.
I’ll be a girl again
Ignore all handsome men.
I’ll got  out and play in the rain

Stan meets Anne

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A few weeks after Annie moved into the house next door to Stan,he met her when he was  seeing his wife off to work.
Why does your wife not have a car? she enquired suspiciously.
She is trying to keep slim,Stan told her.
Well,she’s not been very successful,Annie said scientifically.
She might be much fatter than she is now if she drove a car,he stated ponderously
That’s true,muttered Annie meditatively
I am your new next door neighbor.she continued
Yes my dear, said Stan,I have seen you sunbathing in the garden in your bikinis.
How come? she asked scientifically.
There’s a big hole in the fence.
Is it legal to look at women through a hole in the fence?
asked Annie.
I know it’s illegal to look into their bedroom windows.
Is it really,asked Stan nervously,I had no idea.
How about women looking at men through a round hole?
Oh,they are not bothered to do that,she told him charmingly.
Well,said Stan,clearing his throat,I think I owe it to myself to tell you that I love you.
Wow,you’re quick off the mark,the lady said saucily.
What do you mean,you owe it to yourself?
Nothing,said Stan,I could not think how to word it.I mean I wish to unselfishly love you and admire your ripe body and your cute sense of color.I love your teal trouser suit.And you sing sos well in the bath.
You didn’t mean you owe it to yourself to take advantage of me?
Not unless you want me to take advantage of you,the gallant old man informed her.
And you can take advantage of me.I make cakes and biscuits,wholemeal bread and I am training my cat Emile to do statistics on an i pad.
How extraordinary,Annie whispered.I didn’t know cats had an “I.” let alone pads.
Well,they have pads on their paws,he informed her intelligently.
True,she said,but where are their I’s?
Where are our I’s ?he responded in a manner to rejoice the heart of Mary Midgley or  Susanne Langer two of Stan’s favourite writers on philosophy,logic,symbols and ethics.
Not that he practiced the Ethics but he liked to know what he was doing wrong.It’s more fun that way.If you sin,sin big!
A man who seduces women merrily one after the other may have no idea it might be wrong.Neither might the women.Why is it wrong?Surely it’s better than killing people or leaving the lid off the jam all night so the wasps get into the jar?
Still,not many men get the chances that Stan got.No-one suspected this kindly,handsome practicing Catholic was a womanizer despite his blue beard,green eyes,white skin and red hair.And his slim yet strong figure clad in navy trousers and white shirts all the year round.Maybe his wife did but she preferred to read Aristotle in bed and dream about mercury… those little silver balls,so cute!
Well,as we know,Stan is about to make Annie his mistress but in such a cold wet summer,where can he take her to do the deed?
The shed?The public library? Cafe Nero?
I owe it to you not to tell you yet.That will give you time to think of a solution for this sweet old man and his naughty but nice neighbor.
Like,how about the confessional in the local Church?
Whatever next?I owe it to myself to keep it secret as you may come along and spoil the fun.
Stan went indoors and washed up in the boiling hot water he kept by him constantly as he owed it to himself to be ready to make a hot drink at any moment he fancied and by gum,he did fancy like no man has ever fancied before.So his daemon tells me.

 

Into the woods with Stan

new trees

Stan,who just had recovered from flu , had enjoyed being fussed over by the two women Mary his wife and Anne their neighbour.Now he was feeling better he decided to take Emile,his tomcat for a walk.They set off down a little track leading into a deep dark wood behind their house.

Emile would never go to the big wood alone as it seemed very frightening to a cat.But Stan wore a red anorak which  Emile could see  for  quite a way.
Emile gambolled around the trees like a lamb,even running up one or two tree trunks which is behaviour rarely seen in lambs,even in excessively hot weather.
Thus Stan mused to himself as he wandered along between the autumn tinted trees and shrubs.surely odd in May?
I wonder what the odds are of me ever seeing a lamb run up a tree,he pondered.
Men always like to think of the serious problems such as this, unlike women who think about the curtains and the bed linen and other mundane realities like fresh food and cleanliness.And shopping for soap and matches to light their fags
I wonder if I can look it up on Google, he thought.But even if lambs running up trees has happened in New Zealand it’s much too far for me to go to look…though it would be exiting. Rather expensive too,no doubt.
Emile deliberately walked into a muddy pool and came out all brown and filthy.
Really Emile,you are five years old now.Can’t you take care?Your coat is all muddy.
Never mind said Emile,I’ll lick it all off later
No,you won’t said Stan,it’s about time you had a bath.
Emile murmured,
I think I’m too dirty to go in the bath,can’t I just have a wash in a big plastic bowl?
Well,economy is good sometimes,replied Stan You can bathe in the old jam saucepan,that’s a nice big size.
But you won’t put me on the stove and boil me,Emile teased him gently with a little smile.
Of course not.I love you too much Emile ,to torment you like that.
After Mary,Annie,Lyra and all the other ladies you love.
Well,it’s different.One can love in many ways.In theory at least.
As you grow older your heart grows larger and you can keep more creatures in there,sheltering in your bosom.
I thought only ladies had bosoms,Emile purred.
Well,according to the Bible,Abraham had a bosom.It’s a place around your heart where you keep those you love.
Have I got a bosom,Emile enquired shyly.
Do you love anyone?
Yes,I love you and Mary,the milkman and the lady cat down the road.And Annie.
Well in that case Emile,you definitely have a bosom,Stan answered confusedly yet contemplatively.
What ever will Emile ask me next ,he wondered.I don’t know if I can keep up with his development.
And so they rambled on into the deep dark wood..
What would they find in there…little Red Riding Hood?A wolf?
We shall wait and see.
One thing is sure
They’ll both need a bath if and when they get home

Home is where to start

 
Stan was cooking  tea that day,
While his wife went out to play.
He cooked a pie of frogs and cress,
He wanted to impress.
Stan was wearing his old clothes.
Where old clothes come from,no-one knows.
He meant to change when he was done,
So he and Mary could have fun.
But Anne his neighbour rang the bell,
Stan was so surprised he fell.
He hit his head upon the stove,
And his poor scalp turned blue and mauve.
Ring 999 and ask for Dave,
This man is old yet must be saved
The paramedic gave him glue
To stick together his old shoe.
Then he rubbed on arnica..
The head looked like Guernica.
“Get the camera,take a pic.”
Stan was feeling rather sick.
“How can you use my wounds as art?
Rest assured I’ll take no part.”
He hit the camera with his stick,
And felled his mistress with a brick.
So now they’re in a mixed sex ward,
This experience can be shared.
They get their food at 3 am
Half for the ladies,half for the men.
The doctor asked them what went wrong.
Both of them had lost their tongues.
Neither would say what they’d done!
Now their anger is all gone.
The moral of my myth is this:
Being unfaithfail is not bliss.
Mistresses can be a pain,
Especially if they’re very vain.
And better not to look for love,
Except with cats or sweet white doves.
Let your neighbour love you less!
And don’t make comments on her dress.
As for voyeurs,keep a crutch.
Hit them hard, but not too much.
If they want a work of Art,
Tell them home is where to start.

Start charging him

When my husband has been ill,he longs for a tart…Well,you could start charging him!

Can you plug men in like you do with your mobile ?

I wonder if that’s why they have two ears?

What,does the charger go in their ear?

Well,they don’t use them to listen to us women.

I shall have to ask someone.

No,just look on the Internet…
I did look and the good news is,It’s free nowadays.

What’s the bad news?

It’s all porn

Did it affect you?

No,I’d rather read a book..

What sort of book?

The ones where she swoons into his arms

~and he swoons into her charms.

You read those books too?

I write them!

You never said.

No I write under a nom de plum

Plume!

Plum,plume,it’s all  a foreign language to me.

It’s French…

Like the tart

A worm on the couch

I was planning to make a carrot cake till my mother told me:Carrots don’t eat cake.What are carrots anyway? Why are they so picky?I have to eat all my food or I get punished by hunger pains.
Are there worms inside me eating my food or biting me?
Do worms have teeth?What is it they like about soil.
Charles Darwin wrote a book about worms…
So far I have not read it.
Worms are the opposite of us.
They never get angry or depressed as far as we can tell..
How fortunate as to psychoanalyze a worm would be hard.
Indeed could you tell a worm to lie on the sofa
Or would you have to climb inside a plant pot next to the worm?
As Wittgenstein might have said,
If worms could speak we would not understand what they said.
I don’t know,I think I can guess though…
I have some experience …symbolically that is.
Or is it metaphorically?
Imagine a worm on your couch.
Hmm,how are things going?
Yurp,blurp!
Well,that’s good.
Werp,serp!
Quite right,I am interfering with your transfernce.
Hurpppppppp.
Would you like a little soil?
Mummmm
Oh,dear…I should not have offered you anything.
Daddddddd.
Surely you don’t remember him?
Herrrrrrrr.
So your dad was a lady?
Oh ,ahhh!
Well,it takes all sorts.
Glumb,glomb.
I’m afraid your time is up.
Tinnnnnggggggggg
You want a minicab?
Taaaaaaaaaaaaa.
That’s £500
Do you take plastic?
No,only notes.
Doh,ray,me
I never knew worms could sing…
Well,you do now.

Stan cleans the carpet

 

Stan was down on his hands and knees washing and scrubbing at the carpet with a new microfibre cloth and some  shampoo for dry hair.He had a bucket of hot water beside him.Happy, as always, when cleaning and scrubbing he whistled “The lark ascending” for his cat Emile, whilst sipping at a big mug of lager.
Mary was down in the town buying some new earrings to match her red dress from Phase 8 Sale.Their granddaughter Flora had also gone to town but she wanted a nose ring not an earring.As she was a girl it was mandatory in the UK.Suddenly,quite out of the blue,the doorbell rang.They always do don’t they.It was their Muslim neighbour Bert.”We’re going away in the caravan.”He boasted gruffly.”Anyroad,the cat ,Nelsonia Mandelinaah, doesn’t want to come.Would you be able enough to feed her over the weekend without any politically correct remarks being issued ,as it were?”
” Certainly” Stan responded jovially.”When are you off?”
“Well we went last week but we need a weekend in bed to recover from seeing Brent Cross Shopping Centre in Kettlewell right next to the old Post Office.[Kettlewell,Yorkshire’s idyllic village]
“Very strange”Stan said,”Mary was in it only yesterday ,she claims,in Knittingham spending all our minute joint pension on new dresses and shoes.”
“I encounter women who have seen Brent Cross down the road all the time all over Britain.Still they’re entitled to believe what they want!” “But what will the consequences be?”Is there a flying Brent Cross?”
“That sounds rather religious,” Bert answered quickly
,”Is it an augury?”
“I’d say it’s an omen,myself”
“But of what?”
“The times we live in?
“But what’s going to happen?” “God knows.” “Well,does he though?”Stan’s hot water had gone cold.In fact it was frozen.”The laws of physics seem very mutable” Stan wrote in his journal,”Also my spelling has deteriorated badly since I began drinking laaaaaaaaaaaager.Would whiskey be better?”Meanwhile,he had cleaned only one third of the carpet.
He filled the bath with hot soapy water,stepped in fully clothed and then rolled himself around all over the carpet to pick up all the fluff.

When Mary came in she was amazed,”What’s going on?”
“You look as if you’ve been having an orgy on the floor!”
An orgy was something unknown to Stan as yet.”Would you like one?” he murmured.”Yes,”said Mary childishly “Age has not beaten me yet!””Better have it soon before my knees get too bad!”So now Stan is cleaning the carpet again.It’s very soft and thick,just perfect!The list of invitees is posted on his blog.
Well,he’s been told to do something new every week.An orgy this week,the marathon later!
But why is Mary ringing 999?
Does she want to invite Dave,the paramedic or is it more sinister than I can tell you? “Yes,indeed,she wants to invite Alistair Campbell and Tony Blair but she’s not telling Stan!.He’ll be furious.In fact he might kill someone but no,even these people have the right to life.And they did some good in Northern Ireland.But would you want them at an orgy?””Me neither!”

Stan’s time has come

Sun through trees
  Oh,Stanley Brown is ninety one.

His time to procreate has come!

His lover is now having twins!

See how Stanley grins.

Oh Stanley’s cat is called Emile.

He likes mouse pie and conger eels.

He watches Stanley making out.

He’s curious no doubt!

Why does Emile not find a mate?

Perhaps Emile  has left it far too late.

Though he has serviced twenty cats.

And killed so many rats.

But none of Emile’s lady mates

Stayed with him past their due date.

So Emile is a bachelor.

He’s peeping through the bedroom door.

He’s watching how these humans mate.

They seem to kiss and celebrate.

They sleep wrapped in each others arms.

This kind of love has charms.

So Emile wants to go online,

To find a site called “Yours is mine.”

He wants to find a sweet,sweet wife.

And live the loving life.

We must give Emile privacy,

Just like we permit Stanley.

They must not be in photo-shoots,

No matter that they’re cute.

Annie gets up in the night.

She keeps peeing,that’s alright.

She’s peeing now for two or three.

Her kidneys are busy.

Stanley brings her morning tea,

Emile notes in his diary.

She wears a dress and looks so bright.

What a cheerful sight.

Stanley has a his pension now.

Will they have child allowance too?

Age Concern will check on that,

While Emile’s on his mat.

Do you think Stan is far too old

To father twins and be so bold?

Should he forfeit his freedom pass?

He’s not short of brass.

Oh,George Osborne is coming round.

He wants to take the old man’s crown
[an old English coin]

He wants to punish older folk.

Ain’t he an evil bloke?

He thinks he will be Camerons’ heir!

He smiles a bit like Tony Blair.

He thinks we’ll all forget his tricks.

And we’ll just take his kicks.

But Stan and Annie organize

A protest march of the Oldies.

Not many are expecting twins,

Not when the march begins!

As you grow old, don’t give up life.

You take a lover or a wife.

You organise campaigns and march

From Camden town to Marble Arch
You sing Dylan and play guitars.

You know what’s right and it matters.

You don’t leave life to other folk.

Oh,Stan’s a great old bloke.

Politics is for us all.

So get involved whilst you can crawl.

Make protests in your own sweet way.

Go on, begin today

Emile wants therapy

As the new day dawned,Peter Fried.. that infamous psychoanalyst woke upto find himself in the washing machine yet again.He unwound himself

and crawled out.On the table was a note.
Dear Peter,
I washed up..hope you had a good night in the washing machine.Speak to you soon…Best wishes,Annie.

He moaned loudly at the prospect.Perhaps staying in Hampstead would have been better but he felt an obligation to spread his new therapeutic methods to the less civilized parts of Britain… such as Knittingham.But he had already met the most peculiar people who had caught him on their pan and would soon be eating him for dinner.
He looked out at the street… but there peeering into the window was Emile.
For,God’s sake Emile… why are you back here,he whispered.
I’d like to finish off your curry,Peter.
How kind of you.. please come in.
When Emile came in he jumped onto the couch.
You can’t eat it there,Emile,Peter said politely.
Well.. the truth is..I think I need therapy.Is it very expensive for cats.
I don’t recall anyone having treated a cat before.
This could make you famous,Peter.
Well,why do you think you need therapy?
I am suffering from a severe case of unfulfilled love.
You have problems with your lady cat friend?
No, no… the problem is I am in love with Annie.I dream of her every night.
And what are you doing in the dream?
What would you be doing,Peter..
I’m afraid the analyst must not reveal themselves,the cunning man responded.
And my second and more serious problem is that I am afraid I may be bisexual…I love you now as well as her. Is there any hope that i can return from neurosis to just the normal unhappiness of life?
Well, for a start I’d stop reading Freud..And let me ask Stan whether he is willing to pay for therapy.
Is it very expensive?
I let you use my washing machine free but he must pay for the soap powder.
What, are you going to give me washing machine therapy?
Well,it may be the best for you as the mud you lick from your fur may be affecting your brain.
Any other type of therapy?
Well, we might try Mindfulness or Meta-cognitive therapy.
That sounds very complicated.
Well,apart from that,you can keep busy and avoid coming near me or Annie…it’s the simplest though maybe the hardest cure.
And we all know that,don’t we?

Mary tries to buy a corset

IMG_0023.JPG

I am going shopping today,Mary informed Stan.I have decided to buy a corset.I am too fat.
I hope it’s not a whalebone corset,Stan teased her.
Are they still allowed to use the bones of whales? she asked.One whale  must have massive bones.Why not use dog’s bones?
Well,Stan said,you may be plump but don’t torture yourself for beauty.I love you sweetheart.
Mary got onto her bicycle and rode into town  passing some lovely magnolias and forsythia.She locked her bike to the church gate as sinners cannot be trusted especially just after Confession.

IMG_0101
Hello,I’m looking for a whalebone corset,she informed the  lady in the lingerie department.
What!We don’t have them any more.They ran out of baleen which is horny material in a whale’s mouth.
Was it their teeth ,asked Mary tremulously.
Eeh,I don’t know said the  assistant.Anyway,now we have shapewear.It looks like underwear but it’s elasticated.So it keeps your curves in like those minimiser brad
Mary burst out laughing as she imagined wearing an elasticated vest which would push all her fat up round her neck or down onto her bum .Or an elasticated pair of knickers which push the fat upwards. onto her abdomenAnd furthermore,how easy would it be to get them down in the bathroom? Worse still,if Stan took her to a restaurant and she could not pull them down for a wee…should she take some scissors?
Mary stopped laughing when she saw all the staff staring at her,
Are you alright,madam? one asked rather ferociously.
Yes, it’s my  dwindling hormones.They make me laugh hysterically from time to time.It’s better than getting those hot flushes,in my view.
Why not have HRT? the lady replied.
Excuse me,said Mary,but I do not wish to discuss my health matters in public but thank you for your concern.She was rather pleased with that having just read
“A woman’s guide to compassionate self assertion.”


Although she did wonder why it was addressed only to women.Emile agreed when she discussed over milk and cat niblets which Mary had to eat when she ran out of food.
As Mary stood in the Shapewear department she remembered the time she tried on some  denim jeggings as they seemed  to be in fashion.They looked very nice but she had such a hard time getting them off she thought she would have to buy them and cut them off at home.
So all of a sudden she picked up her Mondrian pvc shopping bag and her  green handbag and ran out of the door into the button  and wool department.
My,you look hot, her friend Gail said.I am buying some  merino wool for neckwarmers.Do you ever knit nowadays,Mary?
Only with whales bones,she murmured.And it’s  so hard to find them now.
Well whales must still have bones,dear,otherwise they would collapse.
Surely you don’t expect me to catch my own whale.Mary cried.
And how about Jonah?Suppose I find a prophet inside the whale?
That could be just who we need,Gail said.Someone who can tell us what God wants us to do.
Would people listen,Mary asked Gail.
Only if he went on Twitter I suppose.
Could Donald Crump be a prophet? Mary muttered
No,he’s too big for a whale to swallow even if the common people swallow his  nonsense.He sounds as if he’d like to treat women the way they do in some countries like Saudi Arabia.40 lashes for taking the morning after pill.
It could be hard to have,”the night before” in a place like that.
The two  women gazed blankly in front of them trying to remember their youth and their mad love affairs.
Let’s go to the Cricketer’s and have a drink Gail said.
I’d  rather have coffee,Mary replied.So off they went arm in arm humming
“I believe in angels “very loudly to frighten off any evil spirits from the lingerie department.We know the Devil loves  bras and suspender belts with lace trimmings as he is in fact the god Pan who was a goatherd with a horn on which he played his music to tempt the weak;some  even say he was half goat half human but we never did that in the maths department.
We only studied shapes and forms and symmetry.Well,I know it sounds suggestive but we only dealt with it in an abstracted manner.That’s why you see mathematicians with  all sorts of undies hanging off them as it’s the geometry they need to learn and how better than on a field trip to a department store. Anthropologists go to Samoa and mathematicians go to Sex and Undie shops.They have no choice.They need to see those conical bras.Conic sections!My eye!

 

 

Stan gets help

IMG_0107

  • Stan was feeling somewhat glum,nay even despairing,on Monday morning.
    Mary had gone to work on her new folding 6 gear bicycle with own basket and an extra basket from Wells-next -the- Sea 1995 [the wicker basket now somewhat gray in hue.]
    He was left at home sorting out all his art work and materials as well as doing the  baking and bathing Emile,the delightful yet trying male cat.
    Sunk in dark misery,Stan sat in an old uncomfortable chair in the darkest part of the room, while Emile snored on the rug by the bright French windows.Stan went through all the possible reasons for his state of mind.Was he guilty about his flings with his alluring next door neighbour Annie?
    Could it be his failure to toilet train Emile? Or his omitting to carry out the penance given by Father Brown after Stan confessed to stealing sweets on the way to Confession in 1956?
    The longer Stan brooded the more reasons he found for his depression.
    He could hardly get up to make a cup of coffee ..even instant seemed too much trouble.Would he even clean his teeth which somehow he’d failed to do?
    The doorbell rang… it was a new cord for his laptop asEmile had been chewing the current one ,and 29 books in a sack from Amazon which his wife must have ordered,as he had no recollection of any such foolish spending.How would they pay the bill on the credit card? he ruminated.
    Later in the day ~Annie peered through the window.She tapped on the glass with her well manicured blue finger nails.Let me in she cried.
    I’m too tired for any hanky panky he murmured lovingly as he ran his fingers through her thick red tresses.What is this delightful perfume,beloved?he questioned her.
    It’s Poison! she replied.Oh no,sorry it’s Iris and Jasmine Eau de toilette from the Bodyshop.
    Despite his lowly sunken state Stan loved this perfume.He sniffed rabidly at her well rounded form.
    Well,shall we have some tea?She enquired.
    Stan sat there hand on chest.
    I’ve been feeling a little gloomy,he muttered.She peered at him
    .You look terribly pale,Stan.Where’s your angina spray?I can’t recall,he said.Oh,here it is in my vest.
    What a strange place to keep it,she responded.
    Mary made pockets for all my vests.at one time you could buy vests with pockets
    She’s good at sewing despite being so clever.In fact she loves doing things with her hands.
    Annie got the GNT spray out and handed it to him.Have you got a pain?
    Well,yes,now you mention it,I do,he replied .
    Well,in the name of God, use the bloody thing,she whispered endearingly into his left ear.
    He opened his mouth,raised his tongue and with his hand resting lightly on his chin he pressed the button with his forefinger.
    His head began to throb.
    Annie appeared with a cup of Earl Grey tea and a biscuit.Why,you look a little better.Do you need another dose?
    No,I feel much better now.I’ve had it before.He drank the tea but didn’t eat the biscuit which he threw out later in crumbs for the field mice in the shed.
    His spirits began to rise.Why did he always forget that physical ailments can worsen a mood?He still felt a trifle glum but nothing a meringue wouldn’t put right.
    OK,what shall I make for Mary’s supper? he enquired.
    You sit there in the window and I’ll just make my special spaghetti,Annie replied gaily,as long as I can stay too.
    Yes,I’ll open some red wine he said youthfully,and we can have fried apples and bananas for pudding with non fat Greek yoghurt.
    What a wise choice she murmured gently into his ear………that will use up some of the newly picked apples,the bananas were from Lidl’s as usual.
    Well,Stan you look better.said Mary happily,You’ve been pale all weekend.Was it Annie who cheered you up,not to put too fine a point on it?
    Actually it was nitroglycerine,he said roguishly,but Annie made me use it.
    But for us women you’d be dead,she replied equably.
    But for you delightful creatures I wouldn’t be here at all,he moaned ecstatically.
    Now then Stan,control yourself she urged,After all we have a visitor,Annie!
    What a hoot,he thought as he twisted spaghetti round his fork in a careless manner splashing tomato sauce all over his new acrylicjumper.
    Thank the Lord for washing machines,Mary said.
    I didn’t know Jesus invented them,Annie said with a tone of mild sarcasm but no-one bothered to reply.
    As told by Emile to the local paper.

Mary wants a library of men

 

 

Mary had a busy morning ironing Emily’s nightdresses whilst the soft furred

cat lay under the table watching her.Eventually she rang BT to enquire whether a 66 per cent increase in the bill was normal when inflation was onlty 3 per cent.Despite her knowledge of quantum theory and dysfunctional analysis she was unable to understand the explanation.Though she did get a slight reduction.As she sat down at the table to fill in the Accounts Book she realised that instead of a pen she had a grapefruit spoon in her right hand.
This is just the end,she told herself.I need to relax.I am all knotted up like a ball of old string.How can I change my life? Alas no ideas came into her mind as she sat staring out of the French windows at the grey November sky.As Stan came back from his walk he saw Mary sitting sobbing by the television.What’s the matter,dearest? he asked her tenderly.It’s all these bills plus the fact that I buy hundreds of pens every year yet can never find one,she said dolefully.
Yes,it’s a bit like the disappearing teaspoons, he said in a reflective tone.I suppose we must accidentally toss them into the kitchen bin when clearing up.I am not surprised so many old folk get paranoia as we like to think somebody else is responsible for the mess we live in.
And,Mary said,I bought a tablet since it’s Black Friday.But after spending ages trying to connect the camera I found it doesn’t have one.
That’s the downside of trying to buy things more cheaply,Stan said wisely.
I suppose it’s a bit like a religion.Everyone is rushing about buying stuff so we feel we should join in,Mary blurted out in a manner unlike her usual detached and affectless mode which she had adopted for her job as a professor of mathematics and state tricks.
I think I’d rather meditate in the church than go shopping for bargains,Stan answered softly.Do you feel we ought to resume our old religion.he asked her curiously.
Well,you’ll have to give up sinning with Annie, she told him with a smile.I know i am a bit lacking in that department but it’s not personal to you.I have never felt much interest in sex except with a film star.Perhaps I should have been a nun.Still I do like sharing my life with you and the cats and even Annie…. and we have our daughters too though where are they now?
Are we keeping this little female cat,Stan asked his wife jovially
.Oh,yes.I have already bought her some nightdresses so she can sleep by your arm at night.I just hope Emile will not be jealous,Mary said anxiously.
Well.I want a female in bed,even if it’s a cat,Stan told her.I just want a bit of affection.And she seems not to be a scratcher
.Emily purred loudly as she had been starving since her owner Jean had moved into a retirement complex where animals were forbidden although they do allow fleas and bed bugs we are told.But who wants to sleep with a bug ? They are unkind and nasty little creatures though God must have had a plan for them.He alone knows what it was.
Annie was standing outside wearing a red corduroy outfit and a purple woollen hat,with matching suede leather boots.She tapped on the window and Mary went to open the back
Would you like some tea,Annie,she asked her politely.
I’d love some.,was the answer.I have made some shortcake with real butter in it and she pulled a large bag of biscuits from her large leopard skin handbag..
Did you make them,Mary enquired courteously.
Yes,I decided to begin to buy fewer things in the shops and use less sugar.Did you know your brain and heart need some fat?
No,said Mary.But I know the brain contains a lot of fat… so we must need it and butter is delicious as well.Maybe I shall make something but I have a lot of ironing with the new cat.
Surely you don’t iron the cat,Annie shouted in horror.
No, it’s just she likes pretty dresses,Mary called.Come here Emily, she carried on.Emily came out from under the table wearing a white denim skirt and a pink blouse…. and a red hat.
How can she climb trees,asked Annie angrily.
Well,all these clothes are machine washable.And she has no shoes on so she can use her claws.Anyway she doesn’t go out much as she hates the cold.I suppose I could get her a goosedown parka… and boots with holes for her claws
I think some jeans would be better, or jeggings.. with a tunic top.How about a headscarf too now it’s winter,Annie murmured softly… cashmere?
What a problem it is for cat owners.Should they put their pets on a fixed allowance or let them spend whatever they like with their own credit card?The two women were soon deep in thought while Stan went and made some nice hot tea.
We all need a man now and then… even if we don’t have one of our own… maybe we can borrow one like we do with library books.Now that seems a good idea.
Stan would be deeply shocked at the thought that he might be avaiable on loan from the library for 3 weeks but it would make him feel wanted and useful and give him an insight into the wild women of Knittingham and their unique ways.And that might help his marriage or at lea

Hello Stan


Stan was outside polishing the brass doorstep.”My,these microfibre cloths are wonderful” he thought exuberantly.Mary was out taking a load of  clothes to the Oxfam Shop.Suddenly he heard a loud cry.,then he felt a pair of hands fondling the top of his bald head.
“Eeh,no rest for the wicked,even at 81,” he screamed.He staggered to his feet and rubbed his knees.
“Just give me a hand” ,he said,
“‘ll have to stretch my hamstrings.They tighten upso.”
“I’ll stretch them for you!”Annie whispered roguishly.Stan leant forward to touch his toes and she could not resist the temptation to give his bottom a hearty slap.
“For Pete’s sake,Annie” he shouted faintly.”Someone might see that.”,
“There’s no-one around at this time of the day” she tittered.
“Oh,yes there is!”
It was Dave,the paramedic.He had been lying behind the wheelie bins,all three of them standing plaintively in the tiny front garden. with their different coloured lids.
“I’m an MI5 spy,and I’ve been reading your blog,Mr Brown.”
“I’m not called Brown”,said Stan nerdishly.
“Refuses to accept reality,”Dave wrote in his little notepad with some blood he had taken from himself earlier.
“Jesus Christ!”, said Stan.
“Now,now” said Dave,”that’s not your name,
“No my name is Tan,not Brown,you’ve been reading the wrong blog! Stan Tan!”
Dave appeared crestfallen,
“Any chairs need mending today?”
“My what beautiful ears you have,sweetheart,” he said to Annie,
“They look like sea shells,”
“Your eyes are like shallow pools in Lake Windermere during a thunderstorm.”Annie replied womanfully.
“Are you still a transvestite?” she followed on incoherently.
“No,I had a mystical experience and now I’m a Zen Bhuddist”
“How did that happen?” demanded Stan querulously.
“Well,I was knitting myself a Shetland lace sweater in pale blue mohair,and I suddenly had the feeling that everything was interwoven.Going forward or backwards,sideways or straight ahead,it is all part of the warp and weft of life.””mistakes don’t matter” he continued idly.
“Oh,yes,they do,”Annie said pouting her full lips,cherry pink by courtesy of L’oreal of Paris and New York,lip balm by Yves St Laurent,peach foundation by Lancome also of Paris,toning smokey grey mascara by Max Factor,handbag Annie’s own,deep burgundy 70 denier tights by M&S,Grey pointed ballet slippers by Bally of Switzerland.[also available in black,red and teal].Raspberry lingerie by  M&S the well known Jewish Department Store.
“As I was saying..,”
Dave dived back behind the wheelie bin.
Stan polished the brass and Annie disappeared in a puff of  cigarette smoke.
It was Mary’s famous imitation of a bicycle bell that had alerted them to her imminent return from the Oxfam shop.
“Don’t they make bike bells any more?” Dave  wondered manfully  as he carried on reading the new life of Emily Dickinson “A loaded gun.
He  had thought it was an army training manual,but,hey,mistakes don’t matter! Or do they?
Sign up here for an online degree in ethics and morals.Price £49 plus VAT

He fell in love with the cat: a short sweet story

Emile in the garden

 

Stan fell asleep in front of the roaring fire.Emile lay across his lap.Emile was so limp he looked like a wet towel casually over the old man’s knees.It was Stan’s birthday but no party had been arranged.He was struck that Mary had not baked a cake..nor even bought one at the Co-op.
That was no surprise really as he did all the cooking including Bakewell tarts and Xmas cake,He was a versatile man who could also mend old radios and fix clocks that were stuck  at one time….mainly the wrong one!
He also spent quite a lot of time giving statistics lessons to pensioners and making love with his blonde and busty  and well dressed mistress,Annie who lived next door.
He decided that being so near her was a big advantage given his age.
Suddenly he was awakened by chuckles and giggles,There were Mary and Annie holding a big iced cake and a pot of tea.The doorbell rang and in came all Stan’s friends from his Art class.Mary produced sandwiches,mini pork pies,sausage rolls and potato cakes.
How did you do this ?,he enquired dazedly.
We did it all in Anne’s oven.She has two so it was quite easy.
Mary was not jealous of Annie for Mary would rather read Principia Mathematica than go to bed with Stan.Apparently she was mildly autistic but she was happy doing maths as many of her co-workers had the same syndrome.
She did have one daughter whom she found hidden in a gooseberry bush in the garden.This was enough for Stan as he was 92.But luckily he did have a good
gold plated pension of £390 per month.
Everyone was having a fabulous time until Anne tried to light the candles on the cake.No matches could be found.
Ring 999,Stan called childishly.Mary obeyed and soon the ambulance drew up.In ran Dave the paramedic.
Is it your chair? he enquired wildly.
No,it’s this cake.We can’t light the candles on it.Shall we douse it in petrol?We have a jerry can full of it in the spare room.
That is very dangerous,he shouted.
Well,we are old now and need the car badly.Risk assessment gave us evens on the odds.Dave produced a silver lighter and lit the candles.Then he conducted them all as they sang,”Happy Birthday” to Stan.Stan managed to blow out 90 candles before passing out on the rug.
Well,at least he didn’t break the chair,Mary said philosophically.
I wish he had,said Dave. I’ ve got some super-glue here.
Well,we do have a wardrobe that’s falling apart.would you like to mend it?
Sure,he replied gratefully.This is why we have the NHS! We are here for you 24/7
Or come to A and E if you get a mouth ulcer or a cold sore.No problem is too small!
Stan came too on the rug with Emile beside him.He gazed deeply into the cat’s green eyes.
I think I’ve fallen in love with you,he informed the cat.
Will you sleep with me and let Mary have your basket.
Are we engaged,said Emile.
Definitely,said Stan.I’ll get you a golden collar with diamonds on it.
When shall we be married?
As soon as it’s legal,Stan answered honestly.
In the meantime,we’ll have to live in sin.
Then he fell asleep again with Emile in his arms.
What a lovely picture, cried the ladies.
Look at this.What a happy sight.
What love,what devotion.
How strange,what a commotion.
They’re in love,what emotion.
Don’t tell the Queen,we need caution.

Stan cleans the bath

  •  

    • Stan was leaning over, cleaning the  new bath.When the doorbell rang,he rushed downstairs and opened the  double front door.
      “Will you take this parcel in for the lady next door?” The postman asked wearily.
      “Oh,fine Stan stuttered.He was trying to avoid Annie but here she was,coming down the road of superior semi detached houses suitable for ex-headmasters ,small businessmen,econometricians,surgeons,pie salesmen and  theologians.
      She was wearing perfume, and green sandals from TK Maxx,light khaki tencel cropped combat trousers with a purple silky over-blouse, not to mention her matching raspberry  and cream underwear .Round her neck hung a miniature grandfather clock on a solid gold chain,and she had three  imitation gold and silver watches on each  of her three wrists making a total of 333 watches according to Carnap’s theory of logic and Russell’s terrible handwriting. Stanley didn’t know that she had a mobile phone stuffed into her bra—one advantage for the larger sized woman.In fact she had 4 down there in her raspberry coloured glamour bra,as she had a phobia about their batteries running down all at once
      The more she had the lower the probability of her being without a phone whilst out and about the town and countryside.So she reasoned in her womanly  way. Just then one  phone rang.She rummaged around to the consternation  and turmoil-uation of Stanley and the postman.She plucked out a pale blue phone.
      “Hi,it’s Annie” she murmured.
      “Hi Annie it’s Dave the paramedic with  carpentry skills. You’ve not rung 999 lately so we were wondering if all was well!”
      “Oh,I’m terribly sorry.I’ll try to phone later on.Thanks,Petal.That was Dave,our ex-transvestite converted paramedic”,she informed the men.The postman galloped off on his donkey, his bags full of undelivered males.It’s a tough but interesting life in Knittingham. Would you like a male delivery?Contact Parcel Force without delay.
      Annie went into Stan’s house and demanded a cup of coffee.
      “Won’t it make you put weight on” Stan quipped ironically.
      “Do you think I’m too plump?” she responded anxiously..
      “Too plump for what?” he quipped amiably.
      “To attract men,of course!”
      “No,my angel,you are just perfect”he quacked definitively.”Nor are you an angel,strictly speaking,as I have good reason to know.Thank you,my beloved for services rendered so generously and freely.”
      “Oh,my goodness I must get home to render the fat from the beef and to make some gooseberry jam.” Stanley looked uneasy.
      “I wonder why babies are left under gooseberry bushes?
      The thorns are so big it’s quite dangerous getting them out,or so Mary told me when Lyra was born. She was covered in scratches and wouldn’t come near me for months.”
      “Why don’t you come upstairs to look at our new purple bathroom suite.Since the Royal Wedding it’s the in colour.The gold taps were expensive but they do go well.”
      “My God,let me out.” she bawled,”It reminds me of the Vatican and that’s no place for a lady”,
      “Not even a gay lady?” Stan muttered parsimoniously, as he licked her eyelashes gently.
      “Stop that.I’ve got my Yves St Laurent mascara on.”
      “I prefer the taste of the Chanel,”he disclosed privately in an internal  secret memo.[available on 50 years]
      “Why not lick my neck instead?” she enquired curiously as she tripped over Emile the cat, who had slipped into the bathroom as usual  to see what they were up to,you know what I mean, you catch my drift?
      She fell floppily into the bath and banged her head on the taps.
      “Oh,gosh,better ring 999” Stan said to Emile.
      “Have you got your catphone warehouse mobile on you?”
      “Yes ,it’s in my y-fronts”, the cat amiably miaowed.
      “Hi Dave,this is Emile.Can you come quick.Annie is unconscious and what is worse,she has scratched the new bath.”
      In fact it was Emile who had scratched the bath that morning but since Stan had not noticed he hoped to, callously, pass the blame onto poor  Annie.How cruel can a cat be?  Ask any mouse! Still in the end God made all of us and what a  terrifying and beautiful world it is.

 

Emile has a bath

Dotty cats 2

Emile loved the new purple bath that his owner and father  Stan had just  had installed and longed to bathe in it.He indicated as much to Stan but Stan was not convinced by his argument.
“It’s rather large,Emile.And you can’t swim.”
So Emile ,always adaptable,asked if he could have a bath in a bowl of warm water as a trial run.
Stan got a spare plastic bowl and filled it with warm water and some lavender bath salts. Emile climbed in cautiously.Cats don’t like to get wet usually but Emile was always happy to have a go.He stood in the water which came up to his chest.”Can you lie down?” Stan asked him.
“It’s too deep” Emile replied.So Stan took out some of the water with a jug and Emile lay on his back with his muzzle projecting from the water and his large amber eyes closed.The water began to turn grey.”This is relaxing”Emile miaowed
.”I think therefore I am.”
That’s Descartes.” murmured Stan
.”Fortune favours the brave”  miaowed Emile
That’s better” said Stan.”I love Pascal.”
“My goodness thought Emile,this man is woman crazy.Now he wants Pascale as well as Annie and Mary and he’s 98!!
So to prevent further thought, Emile leaped out of the bowl and onto a large soft towel Stan had put beside it.As Stan dried him Emile purred rapturously.
“Would you like a blow-dry?” Stan enquired humorously.
“Not tonight Stanley,enough is as good as a feast!”
Stan emptied the bowl down the sink.
“My sainted aunt,look at this dirt and to think that cat’s been sleeping with me for 17 years.”
Stan wants to get Emile some swimming lessons.He’ll have to look on google or yahoo to see what’s available in the area or  within 5 miles
Meanwhile he goes downstairs to make supper for Mary and himself.Fried corned beef in batter  with suet dumplings and sauteed potatoes followed by apple crumble and clotted cream.Just what the doctor ordered! And if they are still hungry they might deep fry some Mars bars.When on Mars…….

Stan’s wig

 

  • Emile was deeply asleep on Stan’s pillowsStan wore a wig in bed so Emile could stick his claws into it without scratching Stan..though the lady in the shop where Stan bought it assumed he was a transvestite.This is what happened in the shop:
    After being scratched on the head by Emile, who slept on Stan’s pillow,Stan had decided he must buy himself a wig.Seeing how it was a very cold summer,anyroads,it would keep him warm.He went out and took the car onto the road.
    Come on Emile,you can read the map for me to get us to the wig shop
    on the other side of Knittingham.
    Why don’t you get Sat Nav? the naughty little cat answered.
    Why should I when I prefer Cat Nav…. and you are always good company.
    How flattering, purred Emile,putting on his spectacles which had gold rims.
    When they reached the Wig Shop “Fakes and Fantasy” in Eastside Road Emile was so tired with navigating he went to sleep and Stan ventured nervously into the shop.
    Are you alright, sir? a charming lady asked.
    What are you looking for?Some viagra perhaps?
    No, no!
    A vibrator?
    I get enough vibration in my old car!I am looking for a wig.
    But your hair is quite thick!Ah,I see… a lady’s wig?
    Yes,he whispered,Exactly.
    I think an auburn wig would suit you.
    The colour is no concern…I shall only wear it in bed.
    Does your wife mind you being a transvestite?
    I’m not a transvestite,I sleep with the cat!
    Well,whatever turns you on as long as it does no harm to anyone or the cat.It’s a free country.
    A free country..I pay my income tax gladly…for if I was not getting a pension from the Civil Service I would not be liable for tax.It’s a privilege to pay tax!
    I am glad you feel that way,the lady replied,I am a liberal myself but of the “lefter than thou” school of thought.
    A leftover liberal,he joked.
    And it’s no longer very free here..soon they will monitor our emails.
    I’ve not written you any emails,Stan murmured softly.
    Not yet,but most men I meet send me emails!
    Well,what’s your address,he said seductively.
    It’s  katlover.me@yoohoomail.co.uk or

    mary.isaac-newton78@googledmail.com

    Why have you  got 2 addresses,he whispered to her
    Oh,I can’t remember.I also have a   gmail one.My user name is covetgarden.rose
    Don’t you mean coventgarden?
    Well,it’s too late now.I’ve just applied as covet!
    You should be more careful.You may attract the wrong type of person.
    Do you think there is a wrong type?
    Well,avoid a very egocentric person or one who seems to be after your money or your maidenhead.
    I am 25 years old and after a few boxes of super large tampax I no longer have a maidenhead.
    That’s why the Bishop’s banned them!
    All I say is.. let a Bishop experience menstruation,commuting and modern tight clothes and then I shall heed their advice.
    I see,muttered Stan,You seem a very intriguing young lady.Have you ever thought of having a blog?
    No,never.I am unable to think of a blog title.
    How about,
    “It’s bleeding obvious.”?
    What is?
    That’s the title.
    I see.It’s a bit rude.
    Well,you need to draw attention to yourself.
    I have enough alread..
    Thank you so much.I do feel I am your man despite the age gap.
    To get back to my purchase…I’ll take a long red wig that is machine washable.
    Very wise,the girl responded.I do hope your cat will like it.It’s polyester but feels very nice.
    How much is it? asked Stan.
    Half a crown,she replied.
    Here you are I have a florin and two three penny bits.
    I’ll save those for my Xmas pudding,she cried happily.
    What a good idea,Stan howled.
    Clutching the wig in one hand he tried to get out of the shop without knocking over a mound of vibrators stacked my the exit.
    In my day,we never needed a vibrator,he told the asistant.
    We could vibrate naturally.
    Oh,those good old days…. when love was as natural as a flash of lightning or a shower of hailstones…
    as natural as having a very clever Prime Minister like Harold Wilson..
    Those were the days,my friend
    When we thought we could change the world
    And now we are disillusioned
    But we may as well love each other,anyway.
    They even say,
    It’s love that makes the world go round.
    So love someone today,please.
    Visit an old person or a lonely neighbour.
    Throw a party tonight!

Stan and the gooseberries

A cat from england
A ca
Poppies in england
  • After Mary went off to the Oxfam shop with a bag of odd shoes Stan decided to clean his laptop.
    He was trying to open the plastic box of Screen Cleaning Tissues and wondering if he could have used a damp microfibre cloth instead.He was feeling excited because he was going to take Mary away for the weekend to a Pie Museum on the Lincolnshire coast.
    There was a knock on the back door.He saw Lisa
    and Tom,two students from Knittingham University.Tom’s grandmother was a friend of Stan’s.”Hello,”said Tom,”this is Lisa Stoat my girlfriend.””Hello,Lisa.How are you?And where do you come from?”I’m fine,thanks.I believe my mum found me under a gooseberry bush near the A19 to Teesside.She’d been out rambling with the gypsies.Anyway she met my dad when I was 2.He’s doctor   in Stockton.,he adopted me and several other children my mother found from time to time out in the country.There are six of us now.There are lots of gooseberry bushes on Tees-side.”
    “Thank you for that,Lisa.”
    “Please don’t mention it; you are more than welcome!”
    “Would you like some gooseberry pie.”
    “Yes,I’m ravenous.” the girl replied shyly.
    “Well,you know you are a growing girl.” Stan chuntered “I’m afraid I can’t find the cakeforks”
    “That’s a pity,” replied  Tom.”I’ve never seen a cake fork in my life.” “Oh,goodness,”Stan called.”What did you do?”
    “Well,we used a pick axe to cut the pies up and then lay on the floor and grabbed bits with our teeth.!”
    “Where you raised by cats?”Stan cried querulously.
    “To a certain extent,”the boy honestly admitted.”But I can use a knife and fork now for meat and veg and also I can now use a lavatory rather than digging a hole in the soil or using a plant pot.”
    “Have you thought of writing your autobiography?”
    “I feel I’m a bit young for that and the cats, Lucy and Mario, might be offended.”
    “Can they read?” “Not yet but I’m doing phonics with them. the government recommends that according to the News of the Failed.”
    “But not for cats,surely?”
    “Well,you win some you lose some!” Tom answered with the unique and riginal turn of phrase typical of one raised by cats.
    Lisa got over. excited.”You could call it “A tale of two Kittiesb”” she cried hysterically.
    “Oh,my God.Is she bipolar?” Stan thought anxiously.
    “But what would Professor Fittsgenstein think?”
    “I rarely think,” said a man who had crept into the kitchen through the cat flap.”And I have to confess that I too was partially raised by cats.”
    “Welcome.Professor”, they all shouted
    “What a coincidence!”
    “Well,”said Annie, who had been listening through the keyhole,”It’s very common in Knittinghamshire you know.The mortgages are so big,both parents have to work so they have no alternative but to leave the children at home with the cats.They all learn to mioaw which can be useful.” She then gave a loud”mioaw”
    I’d better ring 999 “Stan whispered.”I think she is going mad.”
    “Oh,no” Tom stated,”If you could enter into the narrative of her life and reach the place where she is you would see it all makes perfect sense.”
    “What even the thick layers of makeup and the TKMaxx perfume.” “Yes,indeed.”
    “Didn’t Schopenhauer advise against about pretending to be someone other than your true self?”
    “I’m sorry but we have only reached pi and the Ancient Greeks.Is Philosophy meant to help you with real life problems?”
    “What sort of pie did they eat?”Stan wondered anxiously.
    “I guess maybe apricot or peach,”said Lisa.
    “Well,I have the Fanni Far Mer cookery book here.I’ll look it up.”
    “But she’s American? poor Lisa said peevishly
    “I thought she was a Turk!”
    “What about Gud How Ski Ping?”
    “Yes,I do like the Chinese.”
    Then Stan fell out of bed and landed on the rug.It was 4am.”I blame that cheese pie.” he thought mutinously.
    Read more in the News of the Failed out a week on Sunday

Emile and St Valentine

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Stan was feeling so puzzled.He stood in his front room staring at the rowan tree outside.

Do ants fall in love,he asked himself.
Are swans the most beautiful birds?
Shall I send Annie a card tomorrow?
Should I send Mary one as well?
He went outside and watched the ants running up and down the tree trunk.
They seem to work so hard but they never get bored.
But is this true? We have no way of knowing.
At last Stan has found a question with no answer.
Is boredom a unique quality of humans?
If that were so we ought to have a Patron Saint of Boredom
though not of Bores.
Why are some people so boring?
Luckily Annie had seen Stan and rushed out in a teal coloured all wool outfit
made more weird by having butterfly motifs scattered on it at random.
“Why have you got those butterflies on your clothes ?”
he asked her in a silly way.
“It’s to cover up the moth holes.”She pertly replied.
“You must have a lot of moths.Do moths fall in love?
do they get bored?”
“You seem in a funny mood today,”Annie murmured.
“Why don’t we go out for coffee?”
“I’ve just made a pot full.Please join me.”
“Thank you,” she cried wildly.
They sat down in the kitchen where Emile was sitting by the window.
“Good morning,Emile.”Annie shouted.
“No need to shout,” Emile miaowed politely.”I’m not deaf”.
“I am sorry, Emile.” she responded furtively,”I am over-excited.”
“Why is that? Stan demanded like an untrained philosopher.
“Well,I’ve already had ten Valentines.
“Already.You must have done it fast!” he teased her gently.
“No,you idiot.I mean cards.
“You must be popular”
“Some look like women’s writing.”
“Let me see,”he asked swiftly.
To his surprise, one was in the handwriting of his wife Mary.
“Are you bisexual?” he asked her wonderingly.
“No,I’m just annissexual,” she repliied saucily.
“What does that mean?”
“Well,it’s just one letter away from “Anti-sexual.”
“That’s a relief.You are not anti yet,then.”
“Not yet”,she whispered coyly.
“Would you make love to a woman?”
“Only if she made love to me.”
Mmmmmmmmmmmm
.Apparently seeing lesbian movies turns men on.do you watch them?”
“Not bloody likely,I want to get turned off.”
“That could be boring,”she said sweetly as she combed his eyebrows with an old toothbrush.
“Well,I could do the polishing better and get the house sorted out.Fill the freezer with casseroles and defrost the oven.
Yes,though would that be so rewarding as loving another human?
“I guess not” he answered slavishly.
“Shall we go to your place and have a cuddle.
OK
Emile was very put out as he liked to see people kissing but he had grown very philosophical over the years and at least he could get on with his book,
“Wittgenstein’s cat.”
He switched on the netbook and began to type:
“Not everyone knows how important cats were in philosophy.But now we can reveal all.The saying,
“Of that which we cannot speak we must miaow”
was inspired by Daisy,Wittgenstein;s favourite cat.
And,”Of that which we cannot purr we must yowl.” was inspired by Ludo, a fine male cat that lived with wittgenstein in Ireland.
So as Emile types,we must tiptoe away

Emile and the therapist

What on earth

Into the washing machine… therapy’s disasters

Peter Fried,the psychoanalyst newly arrived in Knittingham, had noticed that
whilst he was practising “free floating attention”
with his patients an image of a cat
peering in the window behind the couch was troubling him.
He hoped it was not some hallucination transferred
from the Unconscious of one of his patients
into his consciousness.
Still,having a black cat looking in the window was by no means
the most unpleasant optical illusion he had ever suffered.
In a way,it was quite sweet.
He was back in his “home” flat boiling some eggs for his supper
when the doorbell rang.
He opened it cautiously with a sort of furtive excitement.
There stood a strikingly attractive woman wearing a purple coat
and a red hat with matching red ballet flats
and a bright green designer handbag
from TKMaxx.[£29.99 and well worth it]
Hello,I thought I’d introduce myself,
I live across the street next door to Stan and Mary.
……….my name is Anne..
How are you settling in?
She walked confidently through his flat
and into the new teak kitchen
with its gleaming work surfaces
and marble pastry rolling strip….
though Peter never made pastry himself.
Eggs!Are you a curry lover?
By pure chance and serendipity
I have a tin of vindaloo sauce here.
I could pour it over these eggs.
Should we not remove the shells first?
Peter asked with a just hint of humour.
Definitely,leave it to me.I’ve brought some naan bread
and some brown rice too
How did you know I was boiling six eggs?
Why Emile told me,of course!
Emile….is he black?
Some people call him black,others say he’s mixed race.
Let’s not argue about semantics,
he replied discourteously.
I don’t even know what semantics, are she screeched
into his left ear.
Well,that is no barrier to arguing about them,
he replied diplomatically.
Well,it’s senseless, she answered kindly.
”I am not a person who enjoys an argument.
Go and sit down,read the paper and I’ll finish
preparing the curry dinner.
Is it common around here to have an unknown woman
come in to cook your dinner?Peter asked her curiously.
No,it’s the height of sophistication,she said judiciously.
It’s just with you being new I wanted to meet you to see
if you need any assistance in your work.I don’t need money,
I like to serve the community in some way.
Of course I am Stan’s mistress but as
he’s in a bad temper today I’ ve not seen him.
I suspect he is growing tired of me.
Are you married,Peter asked her.
No,but I was once.
My husband ran off with his brother’s wife,
so we decided to pretend they were both dead.
That’s intriguing,said Peter,I am married
but my wife developed an allergy to my skin.
She could not bear to touch it
so it became awkward… very awkward.
Fancy, and you a therapist too,she murmured softly,
So where is she now?
Oh, she lives on the Isle of Man,near Peel.
I do go to see her now and then…
and there are lovely sunsets over there…
you can see the Mountains of Mourne.
Are you lonely, she asked him emotionally.
No,I see seven patients a day..
But that’s not the same as having a wife or a friend.
Since my wife’s allergy,I am afraid to touch another woman.
How sad,cried Anne…I have very thick skin.
Would you like to touch me? she said seductively
Perhaps another time,Peter said in a kindly way,
But thanks for being so generous.
I am touched by your amiability and femininity
and your  kindness in introducing yourself.
.Let’s eat the curry before we die of hunger.
They sat down at the kitchen table to eat the egg curry
when they saw some amber eyes gleaming at the window.
Oh, dear,There’s Emile again.
Will he tell Stan?
Probably,but actually Stan no longer wants me.
Yet Emile adores me.He will be jealous…
he’s a cat,but he has the feeling of a man.
And indeed Emile’s eyes were gleaming
like those of a tiger…
he began to speak through the window glass.
Would you mind if I had some curry?
Stan never makes it…I love spices
Why not? said Peter.
Emil’s plan was to get near Anne but first
he had to eat the vindaloo egg curry.
He took a mouthful..my,it was hot.
His eyes began to water and his nose ran….
all round the room.He mioawed piteously
I need a hanky.
We shall have to ring 999,muttered Anne.
What! Do they tend to cats?
They usually have some hankies for cats….
So without any further ado
,she took out her Samsung mobile phone
and rang.
I don’t know how I shall get on living here,thought Peter.
He ran across the room and jumped into
the washing machine
with the tea towels and kitchen cloths.
Will he escape?
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