Tales of the Snug by Starrock
1)
Welsh Granny polished a glass. She looked bored. "Quiet innit?"
She peered into the jam jar on the bar labelled "Tips". It contained a button, a feather, a matchstick and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "Lift your dahlias for winter".
Count Leo looked up from his book (Fifty Sheds of Grey) with a smirk, "I heard that some of them have been off travelling and Gathering".
"You don't suppose that Silly one has got a knob stuck on his Time Machine do you?" wondered Les. She kicked at the cat flap with her trotter just to make sure it wasn't stuck.
The Lamb chalked her cue sadly "I miss him...." she said as she stared wistfully towards the snooker table.
Welsh Granny picked up a dropped knitting needle.
The Unicorn gazed down at her hooves. The glittery polish was chipped. She tossed her mane and gave Puff a friendly nudge with her horn. Puff put down the bee keeper's hat that he had been trying on and nuzzled her back, being very careful not to scorch anything.
Welsh Granny flicked dust off the cocktail shaker and glanced over at the vacant iChaise. "Georgie hasn't had so much as a scrap of scarlet silk to snap at in weeks." Her expression brightened as a thought occurred to her "S'pect they'll all be back soon.....it'll be time for another party....
2)
Welsh Granny finished polishing the candlebra.
She peered into the jar on the bar labelled "Tips". It contained a safety pin, a shell and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "Amber Crystal in the 2.35 at Kempton Park"
Puff returned from the kitchen where he had been helping Chef to make toast.
"Good to see some of them back then" Welsh Granny said as she washed up the cocktail shaker. "But some of them still haven't showed up". She gave what she considered to be a kind look towards the Lamb.
Lamb chalked her cue and sighed.
Les noticed an orange towel hanging over the back of one of the chairs in the snug and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Welsh Granny noticed and said "Don't worry. He knows where it is".
She tidied away a pair of bicycle clips, rearranged the doilies and tied a bunch of lavender over the bar.
The Unicorn skipped through the Snug scattering a group of nervous looking guinea pigs.
"When are we seeing her off?" said the Unicorn gesturing her horn towards a packed rucksack which had a snake of prayer flags escaping from one of the pockets. "Soon" said Welsh Granny.
"She will be back though?" asked Puff.
Count Leo looked up from his book (A Compendium of Childhood Games) and reassured Puff, "Yes, she'll be back".
The guinea pigs reached the bar and scrambled up the leg of one of the bar stools. They gathered in a circle on the bar looking relieved but quite pleased with themselves. "A margarita and six straws please" squeaked the bravest one. Welsh Granny frowned slightly but reached for the cocktail shaker.
"What about the Silly One?" asked the Unicorn. "You don't think he has left do you?" Count Leo replied "No, he hasn't left, as he has told us before.....You can check out, but you can never leave"......
3)
Welsh Granny removed a determined looking koala from the glass rack and carried it over to the snooker table where several wallabies and a kangaroo were learning trick shots from the Lamb. The Lamb was looking more cheerful of late she thought.
On her way back, she noticed several suitcases by the door. On a sofa was a large half full rucksack. Next to it was a pile of items still to be to be packed and several lists.
"This place is getting more like an airport departure lounge" she muttered under her breath.
She returned to the bar and finished polishing the glasses and dusted the candlebra ready for the attachment of bunting and banners.
She peered into the jam jar on the bar labelled "Tips". It contained .......a bent swizzle stick, a ball of fluff, 5 rupees and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "Don't put your penknife in your hand luggage....it will be confiscated"
The Unicorn was giddy with excitement and skipped about "Ooh a party! I'll repaint my hooves!"
Les walked past carrying an armful of silk gowns and party clothes in a stunning array of colours. She trailed a shower of sequins across the floor as she went past.
A voice called in from the cat flap "Anyone know what time we are having the soundcheck ?"
Puff came in from the kitchen where he had been helping Chef with the party food preparations.
He gazed at the display of postcards pinned up behind the bar. "Lots of them seem to be travelling about all at once, I wonder why?"
Count Leo looked up from the book he was reading (The Rough Guide to Wandering and Gathering) "Ah yes Puff, you are quite right. I'm not sure why, but there seems to have been an outbreak of itchy feet, cabin fever, wanderlust and Splotheritis."
Welsh Granny picked up a fleece covered cushion and took it to the fire and placed it on the floor next to the hearth rug. She went back to the bar and returned with an embroidered doily and a bowl. She put the doily on the floor next to the cushion with the bowl on top. Count Leo raised a quizzical eyebrow. "It's in case he wants to pop in while Ffishie's away".
Welsh Granny surveyed her preparations and smiled. She reached for the cocktail shaker and thought that she might "test one of the recipes" before it got too busy. "I think we may be in for a long night" she said to anyone who might be listening. Then she had a sudden thought and went over to the juke box. She looked around to make sure she was not observed and then executed a careful kick to the side of it. The juke box spluttered and coughed up a florin which she pocketed. She selected F2 and then aimed a jab from her elbow to the other side. The juke box sighed but then a record dropped and the stylus fell. After a few crackles the selected record began to play.....
Tales of the snug by Subernoj
There was a certain comfort in the gentle clack of snooker ball on snooker ball in theCaff that evening. Lamb was, as usual, up by two frames to zip but for Les (the singing pig), it was all about comradeship, not competition.
Puff the dragon was helping Chef put the final touches to the evening’s dessert offering of crème brulee, Unicorn was sitting quietly by the fire undecided whether to read Nietzsche's Human, All Too Human or a Spiderman comic. Nearby, Leo (his mane swept back in a theatrically debonair manner) was lounging in an over-stuffed armchair and reading the day’s issue of the Guardian, a glass of Serengeti claret resting on the small occasional table beside him.
Lamb was poised at the snooker table, calculating the degree of back spin required to sink the last red ball and set the cue ball up for a clear winning shot on the black whenLeo noisily rustled the newspaper to gain the attention of no one in particular, but in reality, all who were present.
‘Well, well. Fancy that eh … who’d’ve thought it. Tsk, the things yer learn…’
The others looked at each other in turn, wondering who was going to take the bait, when Les paused in his chalking of the cue, shrugged and asked the obvious, ‘And what exactly would that be Leo?’
‘What? Oh… yes, well, ahem… says here that some science boffin types have recently discovered a new planet that could be just like this ‘ere earth… says it’s 470 light years away. Remarkable, quite remarkable really’
Puff’s ears pricked up and, in a fiery burst of excitement, burnt the last brulee just a tad too much.
Les shot Puff a querying glance and immediately started hopping excitedly from trotter to trotter in delight, thinking of the curious wooden spaceship covered by a heavy canvas tarpaulin stored in the bike shed out the back.
‘What do you reckon Puff, time for another adventure?’ Les asked
‘Count me in!’ Puff enthused. ‘Maybe we could find a wormhole and get there in no time flat?’
‘A worm’s hole?’ a confused Unicorn cut in, ‘How can a little worm’s hole get you there quicker?’
‘Not a worm’s hole, silly – a wormhole. It’s where space and time gets bended and, and… oh, never mind’ Puff sighed.
‘Yes, yes – it’s a grand idea and I could sing Verdi’s La Travelator to make the time go faster’ Les cried.
‘Enough!’ boomed Leo ‘You lot seem to have forgotten the fuss your last escapade caused. It’s hard enough convincing people on this world that we even exist, let alone travelling halfway across the universe to say hello to a planet you know nothing about. It’s a nonsense to think you can travel 470 light years in a rickety wooden spaceship. It’s just not possible…’
Or was it?
Puff the dragon was helping Chef put the final touches to the evening’s dessert offering of crème brulee, Unicorn was sitting quietly by the fire undecided whether to read Nietzsche's Human, All Too Human or a Spiderman comic. Nearby, Leo (his mane swept back in a theatrically debonair manner) was lounging in an over-stuffed armchair and reading the day’s issue of the Guardian, a glass of Serengeti claret resting on the small occasional table beside him.
Lamb was poised at the snooker table, calculating the degree of back spin required to sink the last red ball and set the cue ball up for a clear winning shot on the black whenLeo noisily rustled the newspaper to gain the attention of no one in particular, but in reality, all who were present.
‘Well, well. Fancy that eh … who’d’ve thought it. Tsk, the things yer learn…’
The others looked at each other in turn, wondering who was going to take the bait, when Les paused in his chalking of the cue, shrugged and asked the obvious, ‘And what exactly would that be Leo?’
‘What? Oh… yes, well, ahem… says here that some science boffin types have recently discovered a new planet that could be just like this ‘ere earth… says it’s 470 light years away. Remarkable, quite remarkable really’
Puff’s ears pricked up and, in a fiery burst of excitement, burnt the last brulee just a tad too much.
Les shot Puff a querying glance and immediately started hopping excitedly from trotter to trotter in delight, thinking of the curious wooden spaceship covered by a heavy canvas tarpaulin stored in the bike shed out the back.
‘What do you reckon Puff, time for another adventure?’ Les asked
‘Count me in!’ Puff enthused. ‘Maybe we could find a wormhole and get there in no time flat?’
‘A worm’s hole?’ a confused Unicorn cut in, ‘How can a little worm’s hole get you there quicker?’
‘Not a worm’s hole, silly – a wormhole. It’s where space and time gets bended and, and… oh, never mind’ Puff sighed.
‘Yes, yes – it’s a grand idea and I could sing Verdi’s La Travelator to make the time go faster’ Les cried.
‘Enough!’ boomed Leo ‘You lot seem to have forgotten the fuss your last escapade caused. It’s hard enough convincing people on this world that we even exist, let alone travelling halfway across the universe to say hello to a planet you know nothing about. It’s a nonsense to think you can travel 470 light years in a rickety wooden spaceship. It’s just not possible…’
Or was it?
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan
Bobbing at anchor in the steel grey Waters of Uncertainty, the S/V Good Ship Adversity was anything but solemn or dour.
The crew, many of whom were musicians or gardeners or activists as well as splotherers extraordinaire (Frenchie!) were in general smart and ethical folk. Not the usual ilk to be found on a pirate ship.
Leaving their mini underground safe house in the Caff, aka under the snooker table, they gathered amidships to listen to Les the Pig. Les had just discovered the works of Mieczysław Weinberg, and wanted to share with them an aria from his holocaust opera “The Passenger”.
“Go Les!” came a holler.
“Baloney and blessings!”
Others, less fond of operatics, returned to the galley where an enticing spread of cheesy comestibles, fine and potent beverages, and a niggardly/ample 1.5 sprouts each were laid out.
There was chatter and splother and faces flushed pink with the delight at having found each other. In all the great wide world, citizens yomping hither and yon, about nefarious business and the quotidian Doing of Stuff, a group had come together to share, of all things- crossword puzzles!
Weird.
But happily sequestered there in the Rhubarb Triangle, they enjoyed themselves.
Grammar and poetry, socksies and Frenchies, passions over cheese and apostrophes…. Why the heck not?
Care was shown, consideration and compassion and tips on beating insomnia (to date no tips on winning the sweepstakes, alas)
“Here in the cul de sac of the mind…
Bloop…
Happy Birthday dear Bloggsie
and alas and alack all too often...... “Get well soon”
On Hogmany Eve I greet thee
Hoping quite happy you’ll be.
With puzzles galore,
we’ll never be poor.
ONE LOVE, you see, is the key.
The crew, many of whom were musicians or gardeners or activists as well as splotherers extraordinaire (Frenchie!) were in general smart and ethical folk. Not the usual ilk to be found on a pirate ship.
Leaving their mini underground safe house in the Caff, aka under the snooker table, they gathered amidships to listen to Les the Pig. Les had just discovered the works of Mieczysław Weinberg, and wanted to share with them an aria from his holocaust opera “The Passenger”.
“Go Les!” came a holler.
“Baloney and blessings!”
Others, less fond of operatics, returned to the galley where an enticing spread of cheesy comestibles, fine and potent beverages, and a niggardly/ample 1.5 sprouts each were laid out.
There was chatter and splother and faces flushed pink with the delight at having found each other. In all the great wide world, citizens yomping hither and yon, about nefarious business and the quotidian Doing of Stuff, a group had come together to share, of all things- crossword puzzles!
Weird.
But happily sequestered there in the Rhubarb Triangle, they enjoyed themselves.
Grammar and poetry, socksies and Frenchies, passions over cheese and apostrophes…. Why the heck not?
Care was shown, consideration and compassion and tips on beating insomnia (to date no tips on winning the sweepstakes, alas)
“Here in the cul de sac of the mind…
Bloop…
Happy Birthday dear Bloggsie
and alas and alack all too often...... “Get well soon”
On Hogmany Eve I greet thee
Hoping quite happy you’ll be.
With puzzles galore,
we’ll never be poor.
ONE LOVE, you see, is the key.
Tales of the Snug by starrock 18 March 2015
Welsh Granny put away the well thumbed travel guide she had been reading and finished polishing the cocktail glasses.
She tweaked the Japanese flower arrangement on the bar and then peered into the jam jar labelled "Tips". It contained a small fragment of lapis lazuli, a Polo mint (with what looked like cat hairs stuck to it) an Ancient Greek coin and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "do not look at the eclipse with the naked eye"
She sighed and walked to the other end of the bar with a gait that seemed slightly less easy than usual. Les looked over the bar and gazed at Welsh Granny's feet. On one foot was a damp diamanté sandle, on the other a purple sequinned high heeled flipper.
Welsh Granny arched an eyebrow and stared icily at Les,"Yes?" she said. Les closed her mouth having thought better of her intended observation.
Puff came in from the kitchen looking a little frazzled. A wisp of smoke escaped from one of his nostrils. "Phew, it's busy this morning with Chef having to take time off to pack"
"I hope you are still serving hot food though" said P'ong grumpily as he practised a series of Tai-Chi poses. "Oh yes" said Puff firmly "So if you were even thinking about a fracas......"
His voice trailed off as the Unicorn walked into the snug with a dreamy look in her eyes and little heart shaped thought bubbles trailing in her wake.
"What's up with her?" said Puff.
"She's been outside with that big white horse again" replied Les.
Welsh Granny looked at the string of drying clothes hanging near the fire and the pile of bags and rucksacks near the door. Les, having regained her composure, said "There is a lot of coming and going again". The Lamb was setting up a trick shot at the snooker table but paused to call over "Well I just hope some of them don't stay away too long!" There were mutterings of agreement.
Count Leo looked up from his book (Exhibition Photography for Beginners) "They do get a bit restless from time to time" he said. "I've noticed that they are on the move more around the Solstice for some reason.
The door banged and the black Labrador snoozing on the hearth rug looked up.
Welsh Granny stroked his head and whispered to him "Not long now...."
"On the subject of comings and goings, isn't it about time we had a party?" said Les.The Unicorn squealed with delight at the thought and capered giddily around the bar. Puff looked slightly alarmed and said "Can we wait until Chef is back?"
The disappointed but sympathetic Snug dwellers agreed.
Welsh Granny looked over at the newly arrived travellers who were sitting at a quiet table in the corner and who were deep in discussion. One had a white beard, spectacles and a broad brimmed hat. The other was wearing a long hooded garment which concealed his face. He looked oddly familiar.
Welsh Granny was trying not to listen to their conversation but thought she had heard mention of the Rev.
The traveller wearing the hood walked over to Juke Box. Having made his selection and depositing a florin in the slot, he reasonably expected the Juke Box to cooperate.
But nothing happened.
Welsh Granny made her way over. She gestured to the man to stand back and aimed a well practiced jab of her elbow to the side of the Juke Box.
The Juke Box sighed, the stylus dropped and a haunting melody filled the air.
"THANK YOU" said the stranger.
She tweaked the Japanese flower arrangement on the bar and then peered into the jam jar labelled "Tips". It contained a small fragment of lapis lazuli, a Polo mint (with what looked like cat hairs stuck to it) an Ancient Greek coin and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "do not look at the eclipse with the naked eye"
She sighed and walked to the other end of the bar with a gait that seemed slightly less easy than usual. Les looked over the bar and gazed at Welsh Granny's feet. On one foot was a damp diamanté sandle, on the other a purple sequinned high heeled flipper.
Welsh Granny arched an eyebrow and stared icily at Les,"Yes?" she said. Les closed her mouth having thought better of her intended observation.
Puff came in from the kitchen looking a little frazzled. A wisp of smoke escaped from one of his nostrils. "Phew, it's busy this morning with Chef having to take time off to pack"
"I hope you are still serving hot food though" said P'ong grumpily as he practised a series of Tai-Chi poses. "Oh yes" said Puff firmly "So if you were even thinking about a fracas......"
His voice trailed off as the Unicorn walked into the snug with a dreamy look in her eyes and little heart shaped thought bubbles trailing in her wake.
"What's up with her?" said Puff.
"She's been outside with that big white horse again" replied Les.
Welsh Granny looked at the string of drying clothes hanging near the fire and the pile of bags and rucksacks near the door. Les, having regained her composure, said "There is a lot of coming and going again". The Lamb was setting up a trick shot at the snooker table but paused to call over "Well I just hope some of them don't stay away too long!" There were mutterings of agreement.
Count Leo looked up from his book (Exhibition Photography for Beginners) "They do get a bit restless from time to time" he said. "I've noticed that they are on the move more around the Solstice for some reason.
The door banged and the black Labrador snoozing on the hearth rug looked up.
Welsh Granny stroked his head and whispered to him "Not long now...."
"On the subject of comings and goings, isn't it about time we had a party?" said Les.The Unicorn squealed with delight at the thought and capered giddily around the bar. Puff looked slightly alarmed and said "Can we wait until Chef is back?"
The disappointed but sympathetic Snug dwellers agreed.
Welsh Granny looked over at the newly arrived travellers who were sitting at a quiet table in the corner and who were deep in discussion. One had a white beard, spectacles and a broad brimmed hat. The other was wearing a long hooded garment which concealed his face. He looked oddly familiar.
Welsh Granny was trying not to listen to their conversation but thought she had heard mention of the Rev.
The traveller wearing the hood walked over to Juke Box. Having made his selection and depositing a florin in the slot, he reasonably expected the Juke Box to cooperate.
But nothing happened.
Welsh Granny made her way over. She gestured to the man to stand back and aimed a well practiced jab of her elbow to the side of the Juke Box.
The Juke Box sighed, the stylus dropped and a haunting melody filled the air.
"THANK YOU" said the stranger.
Tales of the snug by Wolfhome 22 March 2015
Tomorrow is another day.
Pickle raised his right wing, and disconsolately scratched himself.
“They’ve probably forgotten us”, he said. Chutney sighed. “Look”, said Pickle, pointing at the crossword, “14 down, I bet ‘alf of ‘em fink it’s a bleedin’ crane”. Chutney nodded silently. “You remember Derrick?”, Pickle asked, Chutney shook her head. “You must remember Derek, ‘e were a crane”. Chutney giggled, “All I remember about Derek”, she said, “is that you didn’t like the cut of his jib”. They looked at each other and shrieked with laughter. Chutney turned back to the crossword, “What do you reckon to 21 across then?”. “Spoiler bait”, said Pickle. “Some clever clogs won’t be able to resist it. ‘21a at the…’ , cobblers, of course”.
Welsh Granny was doing the bar order. “Black Sheep? Gracious, it’s a long time since I pulled a pint of Black Sheep”, she thought. She picked up the fragment of lapis lazuli, and carefully placed it on the shelf next to the jar of lost consonants. Then she went to the medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of indigestion tablets, “After all Fyodora did say Rhett Butler rode off with the wind” she murmured to herself.
Pickle raised his right wing, and disconsolately scratched himself.
“They’ve probably forgotten us”, he said. Chutney sighed. “Look”, said Pickle, pointing at the crossword, “14 down, I bet ‘alf of ‘em fink it’s a bleedin’ crane”. Chutney nodded silently. “You remember Derrick?”, Pickle asked, Chutney shook her head. “You must remember Derek, ‘e were a crane”. Chutney giggled, “All I remember about Derek”, she said, “is that you didn’t like the cut of his jib”. They looked at each other and shrieked with laughter. Chutney turned back to the crossword, “What do you reckon to 21 across then?”. “Spoiler bait”, said Pickle. “Some clever clogs won’t be able to resist it. ‘21a at the…’ , cobblers, of course”.
Welsh Granny was doing the bar order. “Black Sheep? Gracious, it’s a long time since I pulled a pint of Black Sheep”, she thought. She picked up the fragment of lapis lazuli, and carefully placed it on the shelf next to the jar of lost consonants. Then she went to the medicine cabinet and took out the bottle of indigestion tablets, “After all Fyodora did say Rhett Butler rode off with the wind” she murmured to herself.
Tales of the snug by Wolfhome 8 August 2015
This was the day we got our 15 minutes of fame or equivalent: 5000 retweets on Twitter. Everyone thought we were adorable old men doing crosswords....
“Are we famous?”, Pickle looked rather dazed.
“No”, said Chutney, “You’re infamous. What the hell did you think you were doing walking into Number Ten like that?”,
“Well, the door was open, and I thought they might have some fish”, said the heron. Chutney sighed, “Well they took your picture, your photo was in all the papers, and you could ‘ave ended up in the Tower with all those ravens”. Pickle shuddered, he didn’t like ravens. They were gloomy birds, with an overweening sense of their own importance. Pickle had met one once while he was fishing in Thames. “Fancy a dip?”, he had asked the bird. “No”, said the raven, “It’s too risky. I have to guard the tower, the crown, and the country”. Silly buggers, Pickle thought as he flew off, how are they going to do that when someone’s clipped their wings. Pickle shook his head. “No, not that”, he said defensively, “I was thinking of the twittersphere, all those tweets, and that piece in the Independent”.
Welsh Granny, looked at the scraps of paper she taken out of the jar in front of her. Many of them were addressed to someone called Elena Cresci, some of them were, shall we say, terse and to the point. She picked one at random, it said, “Elena Cresci. Comment is free. Just let us be”. Granny, smiled, reached for her pen, added the word “Please”, and tucked it in the envelope with all the other suggestions.
“No”, said Chutney, “You’re infamous. What the hell did you think you were doing walking into Number Ten like that?”,
“Well, the door was open, and I thought they might have some fish”, said the heron. Chutney sighed, “Well they took your picture, your photo was in all the papers, and you could ‘ave ended up in the Tower with all those ravens”. Pickle shuddered, he didn’t like ravens. They were gloomy birds, with an overweening sense of their own importance. Pickle had met one once while he was fishing in Thames. “Fancy a dip?”, he had asked the bird. “No”, said the raven, “It’s too risky. I have to guard the tower, the crown, and the country”. Silly buggers, Pickle thought as he flew off, how are they going to do that when someone’s clipped their wings. Pickle shook his head. “No, not that”, he said defensively, “I was thinking of the twittersphere, all those tweets, and that piece in the Independent”.
Welsh Granny, looked at the scraps of paper she taken out of the jar in front of her. Many of them were addressed to someone called Elena Cresci, some of them were, shall we say, terse and to the point. She picked one at random, it said, “Elena Cresci. Comment is free. Just let us be”. Granny, smiled, reached for her pen, added the word “Please”, and tucked it in the envelope with all the other suggestions.
Tales of the snug by Wolfhome 17 August 2015
It all started yesterday, just after midnight. The police arrived. They were trying to arrest Pickle. ‘Pickle was a notorious felon’ according to the arresting officer. “He’s a heron, not a felon”, I reasoned. “Yes sir, that’s what I said: a nefarious heron, an heinous kleptomaniac. He’s been pilfering fish from Buckingham Palace Gardens”, the officer said. “Pilfering fish? I don’t understand. He may have had the odd carp, officer, but there nothing fishy about that, we all do it from time to time”, I said. The officer looked at me askance, “He’s been caught stealing ‘er Majesty’s goldfish,” he said slowly, “and that’s treason, that is”, with that he bundled Pickle into the back of the waiting Black Maria, and drove off with him.
“There’s been some very strange goings on ever since that beta came out”, said Welsh Granny, when I told her what had happened.
A few hours later the police received cryptic message, “Um...pretty sure kleptomaniac has two ‘a’s”. “Sergeant, when did this come in?”, Inspector Ticket asked. “About half an ‘our ago. Why is it important?”, “It might be”, said Ticket, “It might be”.
Welsh Granny marched up to the duty officer, “Hello dear, are you in charge?”, she asked sweetly. “S’ppose so”, the unfortunate officer replied. “Right dearie, I have here a writ of avian corpus. Pickle is a feral organism, he is a wild animal…”.
“You can say that again”, the Desk Sergeant, “he’s bin effing and blinding ever since ‘e were brought in. I never heard such language since Uncle Hector’s parrot got its tail caught in the mangle”.
“And…”, Welsh Granny continued, “as such is not legally responsible for his actions. He can have as many of Her Majesty’s goldfish as he bleedin' well likes”.
“There’s been some very strange goings on ever since that beta came out”, said Welsh Granny, when I told her what had happened.
A few hours later the police received cryptic message, “Um...pretty sure kleptomaniac has two ‘a’s”. “Sergeant, when did this come in?”, Inspector Ticket asked. “About half an ‘our ago. Why is it important?”, “It might be”, said Ticket, “It might be”.
Welsh Granny marched up to the duty officer, “Hello dear, are you in charge?”, she asked sweetly. “S’ppose so”, the unfortunate officer replied. “Right dearie, I have here a writ of avian corpus. Pickle is a feral organism, he is a wild animal…”.
“You can say that again”, the Desk Sergeant, “he’s bin effing and blinding ever since ‘e were brought in. I never heard such language since Uncle Hector’s parrot got its tail caught in the mangle”.
“And…”, Welsh Granny continued, “as such is not legally responsible for his actions. He can have as many of Her Majesty’s goldfish as he bleedin' well likes”.
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan 18 August 2015
Clutching her beige robes around her, wiping churros crumbs from her chin, theFacetious Ghost hotfooted it towards the Sanctuary Cove Cottages.
Behind her raced a bevvy of hillbillies spouting Americanisms.
"She's gotten away
Oh gosh. Dang it. Absolutely, like party tiiiime
and so on (23a)
Nipping around the back of the bike sheds, which magically appeared just when needed, she hopped on Mellie's New Bike (Caff inside story) which he'd abandoned years ago, and tore off down the garden path.
Under the cover of a weeping willow tree she did a quickie costume change, and emerged as a staid old fellow dressed in tweed, etui and ewer and oboe in the bicycle basket, and cycled along sedately. Just another one of the Old Men doing the crozzer. No boasting, no snarking, nary a boobtoob linkkums to be seen and all propah pukkah Queen's boring English, spoken in plummy tones.
But in her/his heart was a longing for the sanctuary under the snooker table, a hot drink proffered by dear old Welsh Granny, a stack of good books waiting to be devoured, and an erudite discussion about the merits of including 17as in a work on the botanical specimens that are found in Xinjiang. And snuggling up with Myrtle and Sage, so heartlessly abandoned by their people, then having a nice little cry and bout of existential angst.
Behind her raced a bevvy of hillbillies spouting Americanisms.
"She's gotten away
Oh gosh. Dang it. Absolutely, like party tiiiime
and so on (23a)
Nipping around the back of the bike sheds, which magically appeared just when needed, she hopped on Mellie's New Bike (Caff inside story) which he'd abandoned years ago, and tore off down the garden path.
Under the cover of a weeping willow tree she did a quickie costume change, and emerged as a staid old fellow dressed in tweed, etui and ewer and oboe in the bicycle basket, and cycled along sedately. Just another one of the Old Men doing the crozzer. No boasting, no snarking, nary a boobtoob linkkums to be seen and all propah pukkah Queen's boring English, spoken in plummy tones.
But in her/his heart was a longing for the sanctuary under the snooker table, a hot drink proffered by dear old Welsh Granny, a stack of good books waiting to be devoured, and an erudite discussion about the merits of including 17as in a work on the botanical specimens that are found in Xinjiang. And snuggling up with Myrtle and Sage, so heartlessly abandoned by their people, then having a nice little cry and bout of existential angst.
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan 19 August 2015
"Wot’s an 11 letter word for soup?"
Count Leo muttered, and looked up guiltily from where he was supposed to be working on “ Peas and Garotte”, the sequel to his most famous work (well if Harper can, why not me?) and hid the crozzer he’d been doodling with.
There was a commotion outside, a susserating sound of nervous whispers, shuffling feet and awkward titters.
Then the door flew open with a bang! And an old familiar face peeked through.
“Sux! You old dog. Decided to return now we’re famous?” The person in question winked and nodded then opened the door wide.
“Meet some chaps and chappesses who need a sanctuary” and in flowed a colourful crowd of
~gasp~
People from Calais
Tired and poor and definitely yearning to be free...
Their relief was palpable as was their unspoken questions.
Will we be safe here? Welcome?
Welsh Granny was on top of it, already bustling around preparing mug after mug of sweet hot tea and heating up dozens of the Caff’s famous not cross buns.
The children in the group eagerly pushed forth, but the adults stood politely waiting. Some had Dr. Credentials in their pocketessess, others, engineering degrees. One youth had a kora over one shoulder and was wondering how a griot and a toe-curling poet (albeit in Wolof ) would be received. A few had no apparent qualifications and feared miserably that stealing toilet-cleaning jobs from white people would not go over well.
The kids were big eyed and adorable (here the ghost of Melmoth rolls his eyes).
The chaise longue grand dames stirred themselves and swanned forth to add their welcomes.
“Where the 'eck was Dahl born, I thought he were Norwegian?" came a faint voice from the snug.
Count Leo muttered, and looked up guiltily from where he was supposed to be working on “ Peas and Garotte”, the sequel to his most famous work (well if Harper can, why not me?) and hid the crozzer he’d been doodling with.
There was a commotion outside, a susserating sound of nervous whispers, shuffling feet and awkward titters.
Then the door flew open with a bang! And an old familiar face peeked through.
“Sux! You old dog. Decided to return now we’re famous?” The person in question winked and nodded then opened the door wide.
“Meet some chaps and chappesses who need a sanctuary” and in flowed a colourful crowd of
~gasp~
People from Calais
Tired and poor and definitely yearning to be free...
Their relief was palpable as was their unspoken questions.
Will we be safe here? Welcome?
Welsh Granny was on top of it, already bustling around preparing mug after mug of sweet hot tea and heating up dozens of the Caff’s famous not cross buns.
The children in the group eagerly pushed forth, but the adults stood politely waiting. Some had Dr. Credentials in their pocketessess, others, engineering degrees. One youth had a kora over one shoulder and was wondering how a griot and a toe-curling poet (albeit in Wolof ) would be received. A few had no apparent qualifications and feared miserably that stealing toilet-cleaning jobs from white people would not go over well.
The kids were big eyed and adorable (here the ghost of Melmoth rolls his eyes).
The chaise longue grand dames stirred themselves and swanned forth to add their welcomes.
“Where the 'eck was Dahl born, I thought he were Norwegian?" came a faint voice from the snug.
Response to the above
by sparclear
TCC:
Old Backpack [to the 4d tune, St Denio] Enjoyable, Doable, Setta most wise!
Woollen Sock's Darned Friend: Yup, we've seen 'em all...trodden the boards...till we were down at heel.
Woollen Sock: Accepted free cuppas....
FirstFlute: Kipped in derelict houses...
Second Flute: And still kept on singing!
WS'sDF: I don't like to remember it...
WS: ...And it were usually blasphemous, but we hung together.
FF: [lightly] Anyone for a pome?
SF: [with alacrity] We followed them online one day,
And posted for a laff,
Another earworm 'ark today,
'Ymns Ancient Modern in the Caff.
FF: If Puzzle Pals would cheer these poor,
Take 'eed and share our 'omes.
Friendship is worth a whole lot more
Than transit camps and pomes.
by sparclear
TCC:
Old Backpack [to the 4d tune, St Denio] Enjoyable, Doable, Setta most wise!
Woollen Sock's Darned Friend: Yup, we've seen 'em all...trodden the boards...till we were down at heel.
Woollen Sock: Accepted free cuppas....
FirstFlute: Kipped in derelict houses...
Second Flute: And still kept on singing!
WS'sDF: I don't like to remember it...
WS: ...And it were usually blasphemous, but we hung together.
FF: [lightly] Anyone for a pome?
SF: [with alacrity] We followed them online one day,
And posted for a laff,
Another earworm 'ark today,
'Ymns Ancient Modern in the Caff.
FF: If Puzzle Pals would cheer these poor,
Take 'eed and share our 'omes.
Friendship is worth a whole lot more
Than transit camps and pomes.
Tales of the Snug by starrock 2 September 2015
Welsh Granny shook sand out of her hair and finished going through the post. She pinned up an invitation to "A solo exhibition by local artist Paulette Hayes" and then swept a last few flyers from the bar into the recycling bin.
The last month had seen an exciting influx of new visitors. Although she was a still a little perturbed at having lots of new "followers," she smiled to herself and her eyes were shining. She looked into the empty jam jar on the bar labelled "Tips". It contained a tartan Waverley Care ribbon, a ticket stub, a spring from a broken set of haggis deely boppers and a scrap of paper on which was scribbled "remember to get the link button fixed"
Puff had enjoyed an exciting time in the company of the fire eaters. Last night he had employed his talents helping to set off a fabulous fireworks display and he had just put the finishing touches to a batch of rhubarb crème brûlées. He sat contentedly looking round the bar.
The Unicorn had said her farewells to the circus stars. She had been using the telescope to look for the Pirate ship, but still no sign and she felt a little sad. She tossed her mane and watched a sprinkle of sequins drop to the floor. She decided to ignore the chips in the sparkly polish on her hooves and settled down next to Puff. She wasn't quite sure about the new blue tinged light emanating from the Candlebra, but she thought that she could probably get used to it.
Les had been at the opera and was still excited. She sang a few trills until her eyes fell on a set of bagpipes lying near the recently vacated dog basket. She started towards them with an excited skip and picked them up, but then saw that Welsh Granny had fixed her with one of those looks. Les sighed and put the bagpipes down. The bagpipes groaned slightly but then seemed to still as if concentrating. Les noticed an abandoned glass of whisky by the hearth. She watched with a smile as the bagpipes gently sucked up the contents of the glass before settling down in the dog basket with a gentle wheeze and then a contented snore.
Georgie entered the bar wearing a defiant expression and trailing a scrap of scarlet tartan silk. No one knew quite what to say. Georgie said nothing and scampered into the Snug and disappeared under the snooker table.
The Lamb wiped her cue thoughtfully and put it back into the rack. She had had a lucrative few weeks and had learned a few new trick shots. "When is the new mat coming ?" she asked of no one in particular.
Count Leo put down the book he was reading (Juggling Chainsaws for Beginners) He had yet to start the companion volume (Unicycle Tricks for the Over Sixties) "Mat? What mat?" He asked.
"I heard there was a new mat coming" replied The Lamb eyeing the slightly threadbare hearth rug.
"Oh, you mean the new format" said Count Leo smiling. "Soon, we think. But they are still working on the hives for the Ark apparently."
Welsh Granny raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I think that is right" continued Count Leo. "I am sure I heard someone say that they still needed to sort out the Ark hives"
There was a gentle buzzing noise then suddenly a single bee appeared on the bar. It wiggled its wings, cleared its throat and said "Ta!"
(Wait.... Just a minute.... Bee Ta?.....Oh Good grief...... Ed)
Count Leo thought about the bee as a postage stamp that had escaped Welsh Granny's notice fluttered down from the bar and landed on his half eaten date roll. Count Leo was about to mention the appearance of a date stamp, but thought better of it, judging it just too contrived for words.
P'ong was practising some moves and decided to try one of them out on the Juke Box. The Juke Box was feeling tired and a little sulky and was having none of it. It remained resolutely silent until Welsh Granny coaxed it into cooperation....in the usual manner.
She pocketed the florin and sat back in her rocking chair as music filled the bar....
The last month had seen an exciting influx of new visitors. Although she was a still a little perturbed at having lots of new "followers," she smiled to herself and her eyes were shining. She looked into the empty jam jar on the bar labelled "Tips". It contained a tartan Waverley Care ribbon, a ticket stub, a spring from a broken set of haggis deely boppers and a scrap of paper on which was scribbled "remember to get the link button fixed"
Puff had enjoyed an exciting time in the company of the fire eaters. Last night he had employed his talents helping to set off a fabulous fireworks display and he had just put the finishing touches to a batch of rhubarb crème brûlées. He sat contentedly looking round the bar.
The Unicorn had said her farewells to the circus stars. She had been using the telescope to look for the Pirate ship, but still no sign and she felt a little sad. She tossed her mane and watched a sprinkle of sequins drop to the floor. She decided to ignore the chips in the sparkly polish on her hooves and settled down next to Puff. She wasn't quite sure about the new blue tinged light emanating from the Candlebra, but she thought that she could probably get used to it.
Les had been at the opera and was still excited. She sang a few trills until her eyes fell on a set of bagpipes lying near the recently vacated dog basket. She started towards them with an excited skip and picked them up, but then saw that Welsh Granny had fixed her with one of those looks. Les sighed and put the bagpipes down. The bagpipes groaned slightly but then seemed to still as if concentrating. Les noticed an abandoned glass of whisky by the hearth. She watched with a smile as the bagpipes gently sucked up the contents of the glass before settling down in the dog basket with a gentle wheeze and then a contented snore.
Georgie entered the bar wearing a defiant expression and trailing a scrap of scarlet tartan silk. No one knew quite what to say. Georgie said nothing and scampered into the Snug and disappeared under the snooker table.
The Lamb wiped her cue thoughtfully and put it back into the rack. She had had a lucrative few weeks and had learned a few new trick shots. "When is the new mat coming ?" she asked of no one in particular.
Count Leo put down the book he was reading (Juggling Chainsaws for Beginners) He had yet to start the companion volume (Unicycle Tricks for the Over Sixties) "Mat? What mat?" He asked.
"I heard there was a new mat coming" replied The Lamb eyeing the slightly threadbare hearth rug.
"Oh, you mean the new format" said Count Leo smiling. "Soon, we think. But they are still working on the hives for the Ark apparently."
Welsh Granny raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I think that is right" continued Count Leo. "I am sure I heard someone say that they still needed to sort out the Ark hives"
There was a gentle buzzing noise then suddenly a single bee appeared on the bar. It wiggled its wings, cleared its throat and said "Ta!"
(Wait.... Just a minute.... Bee Ta?.....Oh Good grief...... Ed)
Count Leo thought about the bee as a postage stamp that had escaped Welsh Granny's notice fluttered down from the bar and landed on his half eaten date roll. Count Leo was about to mention the appearance of a date stamp, but thought better of it, judging it just too contrived for words.
P'ong was practising some moves and decided to try one of them out on the Juke Box. The Juke Box was feeling tired and a little sulky and was having none of it. It remained resolutely silent until Welsh Granny coaxed it into cooperation....in the usual manner.
She pocketed the florin and sat back in her rocking chair as music filled the bar....
Tales of the Snug by subernoj 5 September 2015
For the 1d's that are (distressingly) found on the beach and not in the wood...
What started as a quiet day in the Snug had suddenly turned to pot – well, more so than usual with Lamb bent over the snooker table potting balls at will. The normally soothing, gentle clack of cue on ball, followed by the soft thud of another red finding the bottom of a pocket was drowned out by the thudding and banging of nails driven into timber beams, the high pitched scream of power saws and drills and the coarse banter of the builders.
Unicorn, who had abandoned any thought of curling up on the new floor mat, perchance to sleep and dream with the occasional foray into astral travel, was bent over, concentrating hard on painting little pink love hearts on her hooves. Even Les was strangely quiet, ear buds jammed in her ears, listening to Porky and Bess at full volume.Puff, of course, had volunteered to boil some water for a builder’s brew and was quite happy to be contributing to the cause.
Leo, ensconced in his arm chair, reading his newspaper, was clearly annoyed. He ruffled the broadsheet and harrumphed noisily.
‘Oh, good grief, what on earth is all that racket? Can’t I read the paper in peace for once? What the dickens is going on in there?’ Leo exploded.
Unicorn looked up and cocked her head to the side, a beatific expression on her face ‘Did no one tell you Leo? We’ve got the builder in to make a small extension. I think someone mentioned that his name was Bob – he came highly recommended’
‘Builder? Small extension? News to me Unicorn’ Leo muttered and returned to his paper and the depressing news of the current refugee crisis. ‘Damned disgraceful world situation if you ask me’ Leo opined to no one in particular.
A minute later a sudden thought came to Leo ‘This small extension – what exactly is it forUnicorn?’
‘It’s ever so exciting Leo – we’re making room for some more inhabitants in the Snug. Apparently we’re getting a Peasants’ Corner so we can give a home to them’s what need it’ Unicorn replied.
‘Damned fine gesture in that case.’ Leo responded authoritatively. ‘Let ‘em make as much noise as they want!’
With that, Welsh Granny, who had been artfully making a small chalkboard sign for the new room, carefully rubbed out the words Pedants’ Corner that she had spent the past hour on.
‘I guess the Peasants need the room more than the Pedants’ she sighed heavily.
What started as a quiet day in the Snug had suddenly turned to pot – well, more so than usual with Lamb bent over the snooker table potting balls at will. The normally soothing, gentle clack of cue on ball, followed by the soft thud of another red finding the bottom of a pocket was drowned out by the thudding and banging of nails driven into timber beams, the high pitched scream of power saws and drills and the coarse banter of the builders.
Unicorn, who had abandoned any thought of curling up on the new floor mat, perchance to sleep and dream with the occasional foray into astral travel, was bent over, concentrating hard on painting little pink love hearts on her hooves. Even Les was strangely quiet, ear buds jammed in her ears, listening to Porky and Bess at full volume.Puff, of course, had volunteered to boil some water for a builder’s brew and was quite happy to be contributing to the cause.
Leo, ensconced in his arm chair, reading his newspaper, was clearly annoyed. He ruffled the broadsheet and harrumphed noisily.
‘Oh, good grief, what on earth is all that racket? Can’t I read the paper in peace for once? What the dickens is going on in there?’ Leo exploded.
Unicorn looked up and cocked her head to the side, a beatific expression on her face ‘Did no one tell you Leo? We’ve got the builder in to make a small extension. I think someone mentioned that his name was Bob – he came highly recommended’
‘Builder? Small extension? News to me Unicorn’ Leo muttered and returned to his paper and the depressing news of the current refugee crisis. ‘Damned disgraceful world situation if you ask me’ Leo opined to no one in particular.
A minute later a sudden thought came to Leo ‘This small extension – what exactly is it forUnicorn?’
‘It’s ever so exciting Leo – we’re making room for some more inhabitants in the Snug. Apparently we’re getting a Peasants’ Corner so we can give a home to them’s what need it’ Unicorn replied.
‘Damned fine gesture in that case.’ Leo responded authoritatively. ‘Let ‘em make as much noise as they want!’
With that, Welsh Granny, who had been artfully making a small chalkboard sign for the new room, carefully rubbed out the words Pedants’ Corner that she had spent the past hour on.
‘I guess the Peasants need the room more than the Pedants’ she sighed heavily.
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan 11 December 2015
FerenjiNan
11 Dec 2015 07:03
There was consternation in the Caff as the news buzzed around. Welsh Granny's been arrested! She's in jail in Paris.
She was one of the 'Nude Grannies for 1.5' at the Climate Change HooHaa and they all ended up in the pokey.
Well, obviouARSEly, we need to go bail her out, innit?
Cheers of agreement.
A certain gent with a yurt volunteered to drive over, and even set up the yurt for a command post while things got sorted.
Chef volunteered to cook, with ED bouncing like Tigger helping plan a menu. Leftovers can go to the camp in Calais, right?
Leftovers? Let's just take 'em real food- we have too many cheesy comestibles, chestnut stifados, stuffed grape leaves, CHEESE and CAKE here anyway.
Bail?
A hat was passed around and it soon filled.
Dubloons, duccats, bit coins and rupees, euros and drachmas mingled with tickets to the opera, an original miniature painting by Mogdiliani, a sapphire pendant, a Micky Mantle baseball card, an I.o.u. for a free wombat neutering operation from DownUndah, and a doiley, also from DownUndah.
Two scones from Betty's, a genuine Afghan coat (remember them?) A spare ipad and a cheque for £1118 drawn on the Empire Bank of Alpha Centuri.
Georgie dropped in a red silk crocheted scarf, one redolent with fond memories of many a sneak attack.
Bound to be worth a bob or two,eh?
It was suggested they take the Digger along, but no one cared for the idea of the Caff without it.
A wag proposed they capture some of the more insalubrious of the American buffoons, cage 'em up and charge 18 francs addmission for a 'Celebrity Freak Show'.
Artists got busy painting FREE THE NUDE GRANNIES banners and
1.5 OR BUST.
Then the corks began to pop...
11 Dec 2015 07:03
There was consternation in the Caff as the news buzzed around. Welsh Granny's been arrested! She's in jail in Paris.
She was one of the 'Nude Grannies for 1.5' at the Climate Change HooHaa and they all ended up in the pokey.
Well, obviouARSEly, we need to go bail her out, innit?
Cheers of agreement.
A certain gent with a yurt volunteered to drive over, and even set up the yurt for a command post while things got sorted.
Chef volunteered to cook, with ED bouncing like Tigger helping plan a menu. Leftovers can go to the camp in Calais, right?
Leftovers? Let's just take 'em real food- we have too many cheesy comestibles, chestnut stifados, stuffed grape leaves, CHEESE and CAKE here anyway.
Bail?
A hat was passed around and it soon filled.
Dubloons, duccats, bit coins and rupees, euros and drachmas mingled with tickets to the opera, an original miniature painting by Mogdiliani, a sapphire pendant, a Micky Mantle baseball card, an I.o.u. for a free wombat neutering operation from DownUndah, and a doiley, also from DownUndah.
Two scones from Betty's, a genuine Afghan coat (remember them?) A spare ipad and a cheque for £1118 drawn on the Empire Bank of Alpha Centuri.
Georgie dropped in a red silk crocheted scarf, one redolent with fond memories of many a sneak attack.
Bound to be worth a bob or two,eh?
It was suggested they take the Digger along, but no one cared for the idea of the Caff without it.
A wag proposed they capture some of the more insalubrious of the American buffoons, cage 'em up and charge 18 francs addmission for a 'Celebrity Freak Show'.
Artists got busy painting FREE THE NUDE GRANNIES banners and
1.5 OR BUST.
Then the corks began to pop...
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan 18 September 2016
It was a peculiar, metaphysical sort of a day, and not one I’d ever wish to be repeated.
Though the morning started bright and sunny, pleasant enough, nothing could cheer me. The sickly scent of bloomin’ purple lilacs seeped like unwanted STDs through my window- cloying as the incense students use to cover up the pot smoke in their dorm rooms.
Me Mum’s weeping could be heard in every fetid corner of the house, she just wouldn’t stop. Glurpsnoffling sobs, sadness personified, drippy wailing sounds of grief.
Jeesh, it may well be her mother’s birthday, and indeed, Gran did vanish several years ago (on her birthday), never to be seen again, to become almost a 13d in our household. Well,we’ve never seen her. I sometimes wonder where she might have ended up, a crackpot zany old Welsh woman who always wanted to travel the world and live an exciting life. And hang out with a much more interesting lot than Mum and me.
Could she be riding Shetland ponies down in Tierra del Fuego?
Playing the cello in a street orchestra in Bucharest?
Crabbing in the Bering Sea?
Guerilla gardening in Tadcaster?
Living in a ger in Kyzyl?
Where could she be?
Sometimes even now, I get her a postcard when I’m off in some far off place. But how to address it?
Welsh Granny
Gone Walkabout
Planet Earth
Makes me feel Silly, so I giggle rather than sob. And I don’t think Mum even liked Welsh Granny that much…
So I left the house in a mauve rush, at the last minute remembering my overdue library books.
Easy Peasy Citronella Skveezy, bus into Edinburgh, return books, over to Lupe Pinto’s to stock up on with chipotle chili powder, then maybe have a pint somewhere…
I fall into a daydream, remembering a pint at the Tron Tavern, and playing flutes with Cathal McConnel. Paradisio!!!!
The day goes on (a pint always helps) and returning home, I’m humming like a kookaburra, purring like a Zimbabwean hyena, and chirpy as a peachplump etui-possessing seamstress.
I even pat the obsequious pug from next door, and waltz through the door.
And mum shouts in my face
“Where’s me kipper?”
With horror, I remember the library book.
Then with a giggle, I imagine the look on the face of the librarian, let’s call him John, when he finds my bookmark.
Though the morning started bright and sunny, pleasant enough, nothing could cheer me. The sickly scent of bloomin’ purple lilacs seeped like unwanted STDs through my window- cloying as the incense students use to cover up the pot smoke in their dorm rooms.
Me Mum’s weeping could be heard in every fetid corner of the house, she just wouldn’t stop. Glurpsnoffling sobs, sadness personified, drippy wailing sounds of grief.
Jeesh, it may well be her mother’s birthday, and indeed, Gran did vanish several years ago (on her birthday), never to be seen again, to become almost a 13d in our household. Well,we’ve never seen her. I sometimes wonder where she might have ended up, a crackpot zany old Welsh woman who always wanted to travel the world and live an exciting life. And hang out with a much more interesting lot than Mum and me.
Could she be riding Shetland ponies down in Tierra del Fuego?
Playing the cello in a street orchestra in Bucharest?
Crabbing in the Bering Sea?
Guerilla gardening in Tadcaster?
Living in a ger in Kyzyl?
Where could she be?
Sometimes even now, I get her a postcard when I’m off in some far off place. But how to address it?
Welsh Granny
Gone Walkabout
Planet Earth
Makes me feel Silly, so I giggle rather than sob. And I don’t think Mum even liked Welsh Granny that much…
So I left the house in a mauve rush, at the last minute remembering my overdue library books.
Easy Peasy Citronella Skveezy, bus into Edinburgh, return books, over to Lupe Pinto’s to stock up on with chipotle chili powder, then maybe have a pint somewhere…
I fall into a daydream, remembering a pint at the Tron Tavern, and playing flutes with Cathal McConnel. Paradisio!!!!
The day goes on (a pint always helps) and returning home, I’m humming like a kookaburra, purring like a Zimbabwean hyena, and chirpy as a peachplump etui-possessing seamstress.
I even pat the obsequious pug from next door, and waltz through the door.
And mum shouts in my face
“Where’s me kipper?”
With horror, I remember the library book.
Then with a giggle, I imagine the look on the face of the librarian, let’s call him John, when he finds my bookmark.
Tales of the snug by Subernoj 12 October 2016
For varied reasons, sleep wouldn’t come. Quietly, he slipped out of his side of the bed, gathered his dressing gown around him and padded down the hallway to the spare room where he lifted the lid on the laptop and booted it up, all the while thinking of an article he had read in the Guardian that morning and a clue that had appeared in the crossword –Carefree (5-2-5). Then he began to type…
The snooker cue slid back and forth easily between Lamb’s cloven hoof, eyes concentrating on the shot about to be taken.
Leo, sitting in his favourite armchair, his head and mane obscured by the day’s newspaper, harrumphed loudly.
‘Ridiculous! Never heard such rubbish in all me life’
Les, the singing pig, glanced at Lamb who was clearly annoyed by the interruption to the game. Les shrugged at the inevitability of what was to follow and reluctantly (or courageously) took up the cudgel.
‘And what rubbish would that be dear Leo?’ Les sighed.
‘Well, this…this…this utter bollocks Simulation Hypothesis - some scientists thinking that life as we know it – our reality in fact- is just a computer simulation being performed by some higher beings or intelligence. I mean, really, you’d have to be bonkers to believe it surely?’
It was about then that Unicorn who had been quietly sitting under the snooker table reading The Journals of Kierkegaard, passed out in a fit of existential angst.
‘Oh, I dunno, I suppose you could possibly understand where they’re coming from. Who’s to say it isn’t true’ Les mused.
‘Me for one!’ thundered Leo, ‘Look around you, does all this look real. Lamb playing snooker, you singing your operas, Unicorn angsting away, Marius and Darius our resident giraffes – how more real can it possibly get? ’
‘Well, if you put it like that Leo, I guess it is a little bit daft’ Les replied.
‘Damn right – the things some people are stupid enough to believe’ Leo mumbled as he went back to his paper.
The cue ball smacked loudly into the black which disappeared down the pocket.
Carefree (5-2-5)
The snooker cue slid back and forth easily between Lamb’s cloven hoof, eyes concentrating on the shot about to be taken.
Leo, sitting in his favourite armchair, his head and mane obscured by the day’s newspaper, harrumphed loudly.
‘Ridiculous! Never heard such rubbish in all me life’
Les, the singing pig, glanced at Lamb who was clearly annoyed by the interruption to the game. Les shrugged at the inevitability of what was to follow and reluctantly (or courageously) took up the cudgel.
‘And what rubbish would that be dear Leo?’ Les sighed.
‘Well, this…this…this utter bollocks Simulation Hypothesis - some scientists thinking that life as we know it – our reality in fact- is just a computer simulation being performed by some higher beings or intelligence. I mean, really, you’d have to be bonkers to believe it surely?’
It was about then that Unicorn who had been quietly sitting under the snooker table reading The Journals of Kierkegaard, passed out in a fit of existential angst.
‘Oh, I dunno, I suppose you could possibly understand where they’re coming from. Who’s to say it isn’t true’ Les mused.
‘Me for one!’ thundered Leo, ‘Look around you, does all this look real. Lamb playing snooker, you singing your operas, Unicorn angsting away, Marius and Darius our resident giraffes – how more real can it possibly get? ’
‘Well, if you put it like that Leo, I guess it is a little bit daft’ Les replied.
‘Damn right – the things some people are stupid enough to believe’ Leo mumbled as he went back to his paper.
The cue ball smacked loudly into the black which disappeared down the pocket.
Carefree (5-2-5)
Tales of the snug by MrsMatisse 12 October 2016
Welsh Granny looked about her .....carefully. At this time of night her eyes might deceive her. A few couples were canoodling; one at the bar and at least one in the snug. Dimly. Some geyser was without his shirt and tie but somehow she stopped herself tutting. She reminded herself of days when stuff happened. Leo would have a position.
The Marmite supplies were low but she knew Morrisons would get some in later and it was only usually a breakfast item. Crumpets aboard so no matter.
The candlebra was polished pretty nicely. It's gleam reminded her of those days when the Caff was full of poets, would-be poets settling for a limerick or two, people who commanded time machines, people who loved coffee that went Bloop! She sighed, hoping tomorrow would bring more witty ire from Fyo, more life beyond the cat-flap etc etc etc
And of course fewer fag ends (some lipstick coated), various paper clips and assorted fluff in the tip box.
She knew Johnny would be good with a great sett ....whoops!!! She cleared some glasses and smiled as the dancers found their moves.
The Marmite supplies were low but she knew Morrisons would get some in later and it was only usually a breakfast item. Crumpets aboard so no matter.
The candlebra was polished pretty nicely. It's gleam reminded her of those days when the Caff was full of poets, would-be poets settling for a limerick or two, people who commanded time machines, people who loved coffee that went Bloop! She sighed, hoping tomorrow would bring more witty ire from Fyo, more life beyond the cat-flap etc etc etc
And of course fewer fag ends (some lipstick coated), various paper clips and assorted fluff in the tip box.
She knew Johnny would be good with a great sett ....whoops!!! She cleared some glasses and smiled as the dancers found their moves.
Tales of the snug by sparclear 15 October 2016
In the ever darkening mornings Chef fills the samovar without switching on any indoor lighting, knowing the way like a mole burrowing towards tea leaves and strainers, with the front door left ajar for a few minutes to admit inspiration provided by Robin's dawn chorus. Menu requests for a desert made of cinnamon buns, coconut ice cream, ripened pears with this season's 3-fruit jam, and other gallows feasting are being held aloft inside Chef's head like the ping pong balls on the fountain at the fairground. We shoot at them, and unless they pass our stern ethical questionnaire we do not serve.
In this vein the mangement [sic] gets called to account concerning the Christmas menu, and advance party bookings had better understand that Candlebra operates in a permanent state of outrage, which is a crucial ingredient for good pastry anyway. Staff are hyper aware of the injustices of this world, and the lax attitudes that permit corporate blinkeredness and City abuses of power, and they have been known to pour chilled fizzy drinks a little too vigorously so as to drench people's polyester suits, and to charge for Venison when really it's KESP, and to boil & starch stacks of linen inherited from the Horror Chateau instead of joining forces with professional laundry services, mismatched but spotless and unrepentant and never paper ones.
For freshness we plant our own garlic, & MissP is doing sterling work installing cloves in the garden on a fortnightly basis to harvest them at every stage of growth, according to whichever form Chef's recipe requires. This is but a short step from her previous tasks caretaking the dropped consonants and spare punctuation ready for Comment Emergencies, Birthday Cake decorations, and fridge magnet messages [do we take it readers know the difference between computer screens and raised beds? - Ed.]
Meanwhile Ferenjinan reigns over the Chard polytunnel, keeping off marauders. Beautiful pure rainwater collects beneath a dribbling gutter, filling a range of impromptu containers, without paying extra on the meter. Throughout even unpromising weather the neon sign flashes, All Shall Have Vitamins - and Welsh Granny would emphasise that these activities take place in spite of, rather than because of. It's a wicked world and there are brinkmanships being played out which cause indigestion. Sometimes the diners howl - for elections to be over, for shanty towns to be disbanded, for birds of prey to fly free, for fish to go ahead and spawn, for Yuletide to need no 23a, for every school to have a wild garden attached, and for the Arctic permafrost. There we are. A million of us 4a at once. And let the politicians know it.
In this vein the mangement [sic] gets called to account concerning the Christmas menu, and advance party bookings had better understand that Candlebra operates in a permanent state of outrage, which is a crucial ingredient for good pastry anyway. Staff are hyper aware of the injustices of this world, and the lax attitudes that permit corporate blinkeredness and City abuses of power, and they have been known to pour chilled fizzy drinks a little too vigorously so as to drench people's polyester suits, and to charge for Venison when really it's KESP, and to boil & starch stacks of linen inherited from the Horror Chateau instead of joining forces with professional laundry services, mismatched but spotless and unrepentant and never paper ones.
For freshness we plant our own garlic, & MissP is doing sterling work installing cloves in the garden on a fortnightly basis to harvest them at every stage of growth, according to whichever form Chef's recipe requires. This is but a short step from her previous tasks caretaking the dropped consonants and spare punctuation ready for Comment Emergencies, Birthday Cake decorations, and fridge magnet messages [do we take it readers know the difference between computer screens and raised beds? - Ed.]
Meanwhile Ferenjinan reigns over the Chard polytunnel, keeping off marauders. Beautiful pure rainwater collects beneath a dribbling gutter, filling a range of impromptu containers, without paying extra on the meter. Throughout even unpromising weather the neon sign flashes, All Shall Have Vitamins - and Welsh Granny would emphasise that these activities take place in spite of, rather than because of. It's a wicked world and there are brinkmanships being played out which cause indigestion. Sometimes the diners howl - for elections to be over, for shanty towns to be disbanded, for birds of prey to fly free, for fish to go ahead and spawn, for Yuletide to need no 23a, for every school to have a wild garden attached, and for the Arctic permafrost. There we are. A million of us 4a at once. And let the politicians know it.
Tales of the snug by FerenjiNan. 12 January 2017
Version One
(this was very quickly modded)
Though the day was sunny, and nightingales were singing in Berkeley Square, the mood in the Caff was uneasy.
Some folks even went so far as to fret.
"Trouble is brewing" they exclaimed.
The trouble was with Welsh Granny.
She was sitting in the corner, face to the wall, head cradled in her work-worn honest old hands.
"no no no, it cannot happen..." she was keening.
"Vhat, darlink? Vhat is de problem?" whispered the Count to her.
He relayed her answer back to the crowd of concerned loungers, tipplers, splotherers, setters and lurkers, moderators and pedants.
"President Pussygrabber, she refuses to believe it's possible..."
But she's not even American I can't either isn't there anything we can do el pueblo unido give peas a chance storm the Bastille spoiler get your kicks on route 66 eat the rich Putin is a weenie zut alors where's the Spanish Inquisition are we marching on the 21st? fresh drinks all around
came the babble of observations, interjections, a few profanities and Frenchies and commiserating comments.
But no one really knew what to do, and Welsh Granny just kept weeping, and was joined by a few others.
Version Two
(FerenjiNan tried to write a different version that would be acceptable to the mods, but this was also modded)
Peculiar music was coming from under the snooker table, and there seemed to be a whole host of people gathered there. Welsh Granny was in the center of a circle of sympathetic friends trying to cheer her up.
‘Wot’s up?’ queried a dormouse at the rear.
‘Ah, she ‘a fashed aboot some wee gobs***e over in Amerikay. Nasty piece ‘o work an ‘a.’
‘But but ain’t she Welsh? Why care about them lot?’
‘Dunno. Mebbe might affect us all. I’m just here for the free beer anyway’ and the alligator backed out and slithered towards the bar.
Others moved in closer- something was about to happen!
Jostling about were the usual suspects- cruciverbalists, tipplers, loungers, splotherers, lurkers, unicorns, pedants and a traveling time machine repairman.
There was quite the babble of slogans, quotes and ripostes chuntering away, nearly masking the blooping noises of the Mellomatic Coffee Machine.
Betty’s, best cakes in Yorkshire Free Speech! el pueblo unido give peas a chance storm the Bastille get your kicks on route 66 eat the rich Free the Slugs Now!!! Zut alors Putin’s a weenie Organic bananas forever don’t leave ‘em on Dunkirk spoiler - call the Spanish Inquisition…
But before the Spanish Inquisition could arrive, the curtain rose on a pair of jolly little puppets. One was a tubby orange-haired baby, and the other was a squinty eyed brown bear. They were roaring with laughter and swilling cava, sharpening their cutlasses and trying to hold up their pockets, which were sagging dangerously with gold doubloons. In the background was a chain gang of masons….
But before a single gloopy trowel full of cement could be slapped in place, bursting through the door and at a run, full tilt towards the snooker table, came
(no, not the Spanish Inquisition)
Journalists! Writers! Crossword puzzle doers! Librarians! Women! Bassoon players! Knitters and Teachers and Chefs and Radio Broadcasters and Gardeners and Children. Lots of children!
And lots of women!
Then there was general chaos, and maybe the Spanish Inquisition arrived after all.
Welsh Granny was looking decidedly jollier.
This was the music link for Peculiar Music-
(this was very quickly modded)
Though the day was sunny, and nightingales were singing in Berkeley Square, the mood in the Caff was uneasy.
Some folks even went so far as to fret.
"Trouble is brewing" they exclaimed.
The trouble was with Welsh Granny.
She was sitting in the corner, face to the wall, head cradled in her work-worn honest old hands.
"no no no, it cannot happen..." she was keening.
"Vhat, darlink? Vhat is de problem?" whispered the Count to her.
He relayed her answer back to the crowd of concerned loungers, tipplers, splotherers, setters and lurkers, moderators and pedants.
"President Pussygrabber, she refuses to believe it's possible..."
But she's not even American I can't either isn't there anything we can do el pueblo unido give peas a chance storm the Bastille spoiler get your kicks on route 66 eat the rich Putin is a weenie zut alors where's the Spanish Inquisition are we marching on the 21st? fresh drinks all around
came the babble of observations, interjections, a few profanities and Frenchies and commiserating comments.
But no one really knew what to do, and Welsh Granny just kept weeping, and was joined by a few others.
Version Two
(FerenjiNan tried to write a different version that would be acceptable to the mods, but this was also modded)
Peculiar music was coming from under the snooker table, and there seemed to be a whole host of people gathered there. Welsh Granny was in the center of a circle of sympathetic friends trying to cheer her up.
‘Wot’s up?’ queried a dormouse at the rear.
‘Ah, she ‘a fashed aboot some wee gobs***e over in Amerikay. Nasty piece ‘o work an ‘a.’
‘But but ain’t she Welsh? Why care about them lot?’
‘Dunno. Mebbe might affect us all. I’m just here for the free beer anyway’ and the alligator backed out and slithered towards the bar.
Others moved in closer- something was about to happen!
Jostling about were the usual suspects- cruciverbalists, tipplers, loungers, splotherers, lurkers, unicorns, pedants and a traveling time machine repairman.
There was quite the babble of slogans, quotes and ripostes chuntering away, nearly masking the blooping noises of the Mellomatic Coffee Machine.
Betty’s, best cakes in Yorkshire Free Speech! el pueblo unido give peas a chance storm the Bastille get your kicks on route 66 eat the rich Free the Slugs Now!!! Zut alors Putin’s a weenie Organic bananas forever don’t leave ‘em on Dunkirk spoiler - call the Spanish Inquisition…
But before the Spanish Inquisition could arrive, the curtain rose on a pair of jolly little puppets. One was a tubby orange-haired baby, and the other was a squinty eyed brown bear. They were roaring with laughter and swilling cava, sharpening their cutlasses and trying to hold up their pockets, which were sagging dangerously with gold doubloons. In the background was a chain gang of masons….
But before a single gloopy trowel full of cement could be slapped in place, bursting through the door and at a run, full tilt towards the snooker table, came
(no, not the Spanish Inquisition)
Journalists! Writers! Crossword puzzle doers! Librarians! Women! Bassoon players! Knitters and Teachers and Chefs and Radio Broadcasters and Gardeners and Children. Lots of children!
And lots of women!
Then there was general chaos, and maybe the Spanish Inquisition arrived after all.
Welsh Granny was looking decidedly jollier.
This was the music link for Peculiar Music-
Sparclear
A footnote to FerenjiNan's modded off post
A footnote to FerenjiNan's modded off post
"At this time of year / life / day, we know better than to allow depression to get us. Nothing is going to get in the way this time, and word on the ground is, t'was one of our boys wot done it.
The music begins to penetrate. Welsh Granny's ears [always inclined to be temperamental - Ed] register the spirit of Piper Bill Millin.
So many free and wild places ahead."
The Road to the Isles
A far croonin' is pullin' me away
As take I wi' my cromak to the road.
The far Coolins are puttin' love on me,
As step I wi' the sunlight for my load.
Chorus:
Sure, by Tummel and Loch Rannoch
And Lochaber I will go,
By heather tracks wi' heaven in their wiles;
If it's thinkin' in your inner heart
Braggart's in my step,
You've never smelt the tangle o' the Isles.
Oh, the far Coolins are puttin' love on me,
As step I wi' my cromak to the Isles.
It's by 'Sheil water the track is to the west,
By Aillort and by Morar to the sea,
The cool cresses I am thinkin' o' for pluck,
And bracken for a wink on Mother's knee.
It's the blue Islands are pullin' me away,
Their laughter puts the leap upon the lame,
The blue Islands from the Skerries to the Lews,
Wi' heather honey taste upon each name.
The music begins to penetrate. Welsh Granny's ears [always inclined to be temperamental - Ed] register the spirit of Piper Bill Millin.
So many free and wild places ahead."
The Road to the Isles
A far croonin' is pullin' me away
As take I wi' my cromak to the road.
The far Coolins are puttin' love on me,
As step I wi' the sunlight for my load.
Chorus:
Sure, by Tummel and Loch Rannoch
And Lochaber I will go,
By heather tracks wi' heaven in their wiles;
If it's thinkin' in your inner heart
Braggart's in my step,
You've never smelt the tangle o' the Isles.
Oh, the far Coolins are puttin' love on me,
As step I wi' my cromak to the Isles.
It's by 'Sheil water the track is to the west,
By Aillort and by Morar to the sea,
The cool cresses I am thinkin' o' for pluck,
And bracken for a wink on Mother's knee.
It's the blue Islands are pullin' me away,
Their laughter puts the leap upon the lame,
The blue Islands from the Skerries to the Lews,
Wi' heather honey taste upon each name.
Tales of the Snug by Starrock. 16 January 2017
Welsh Granny packed the last of the baubles into a box which she placed on the top shelf in the cliché closet. She returned to the bar and peered into the jam jar on the counter labelled "Tips". It contained a small puzzle from a cracker, a miniature snow globe, a chocolate coin and a scrap of paper on which was scrawled "Don't believe the pollsters..."
Darius and Marius were sprawled on chaises. They didn't look entirely comfortable despite the Unicorn having lent them her satin embroidered cushions. They didn't often come inside but they had just finished helping to take down the last of the festive baubles. Their long necks made them ideal candidates for the task and they liked to spare Les the tricky job of balancing on the stepladders.
The Unicorn was rearranging postcards on the notice board when P'ong arrived and gave her a notice to put up about Tai Chi classes. The Unicorn had been feeling rather down in the dumps and had had an existential wobble. But now that the misunderstanding about the nasty party had been cleared up she was feeling better. Les had given her some new sparkly polish for her hooves and she thought she might give the Tai Chi a go. She made a few tentative moves which P'ong told her showed promise.
Puff came in from the kitchen and lit the candles on the Candlebra. A small whisp of smoke coiled from one of his nostrils. "So," he said "we took some decorations down on Twelfth Night, some at Epuffany, some the next day, and some at Buvvy Towers time. When do we take the lights down?"
Count Leo was only too pleased to put down the book he had been reading : "Brexit: A Guide For The Perplexed." He had been reading for several hours now, but was still unsure whether Brexit was hard or soft, never mind what colour it was. "The lights will come down at Candlemas" he replied. Puff looked at the candles and considered his next question.
The black dog was on the hearth rug in front of the fire. He stretched languidly before remembering about the new arrival. The white cat was sitting uncomfortably close. She was wearing a tiny jewelled tiara which sparkled in the candlelight as she washed her paws. The dog had decided to ignore the cat, a strategy which had been somewhat less successful with the scatter of kittens that the cat had brought with her. He was relieved to see that the kittens were on the other side of the Snug. The guinea pigs had abseiled down from the bar to challenge the kittens to a play duel using discarded swizzle sticks.
The door banged and two yaks wearing macs came in. They took off their macs and headed for the bar to wish Welsh Granny a happy new year. A third yak arrived without a mac but wearing a mask. Welsh Granny lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Autocorrect" shrugged the yak called Jack. The yaks ordered a round of drinks and headed off to the snooker table. The Lamb had promised to teach them some trick shots.
Welsh Granny looked round the Snug and noticed a pale feather as it fluttered down and landed on the bar. She looked up to the rafters and saw the Owl deep in conversation with the Heron. They paused and returned her gaze for a moment. Welsh Granny smiled and went over to the juke box. She gave a sharp elbow blow to the side of the juke box which grumpily coughed up a florin. Welsh Granny pocketed the florin and was about to deliver her customary second blow when she remembered her new year's resolution. She patted the juke box kindly and bent to whisper to it. The juke box seemed surprised, but after a few seconds, there was a whirring noise and a record fell. The stylus dropped, the speakers crackled into life. A familiar melody filled the bar...
Darius and Marius were sprawled on chaises. They didn't look entirely comfortable despite the Unicorn having lent them her satin embroidered cushions. They didn't often come inside but they had just finished helping to take down the last of the festive baubles. Their long necks made them ideal candidates for the task and they liked to spare Les the tricky job of balancing on the stepladders.
The Unicorn was rearranging postcards on the notice board when P'ong arrived and gave her a notice to put up about Tai Chi classes. The Unicorn had been feeling rather down in the dumps and had had an existential wobble. But now that the misunderstanding about the nasty party had been cleared up she was feeling better. Les had given her some new sparkly polish for her hooves and she thought she might give the Tai Chi a go. She made a few tentative moves which P'ong told her showed promise.
Puff came in from the kitchen and lit the candles on the Candlebra. A small whisp of smoke coiled from one of his nostrils. "So," he said "we took some decorations down on Twelfth Night, some at Epuffany, some the next day, and some at Buvvy Towers time. When do we take the lights down?"
Count Leo was only too pleased to put down the book he had been reading : "Brexit: A Guide For The Perplexed." He had been reading for several hours now, but was still unsure whether Brexit was hard or soft, never mind what colour it was. "The lights will come down at Candlemas" he replied. Puff looked at the candles and considered his next question.
The black dog was on the hearth rug in front of the fire. He stretched languidly before remembering about the new arrival. The white cat was sitting uncomfortably close. She was wearing a tiny jewelled tiara which sparkled in the candlelight as she washed her paws. The dog had decided to ignore the cat, a strategy which had been somewhat less successful with the scatter of kittens that the cat had brought with her. He was relieved to see that the kittens were on the other side of the Snug. The guinea pigs had abseiled down from the bar to challenge the kittens to a play duel using discarded swizzle sticks.
The door banged and two yaks wearing macs came in. They took off their macs and headed for the bar to wish Welsh Granny a happy new year. A third yak arrived without a mac but wearing a mask. Welsh Granny lifted a questioning eyebrow. "Autocorrect" shrugged the yak called Jack. The yaks ordered a round of drinks and headed off to the snooker table. The Lamb had promised to teach them some trick shots.
Welsh Granny looked round the Snug and noticed a pale feather as it fluttered down and landed on the bar. She looked up to the rafters and saw the Owl deep in conversation with the Heron. They paused and returned her gaze for a moment. Welsh Granny smiled and went over to the juke box. She gave a sharp elbow blow to the side of the juke box which grumpily coughed up a florin. Welsh Granny pocketed the florin and was about to deliver her customary second blow when she remembered her new year's resolution. She patted the juke box kindly and bent to whisper to it. The juke box seemed surprised, but after a few seconds, there was a whirring noise and a record fell. The stylus dropped, the speakers crackled into life. A familiar melody filled the bar...
Tales of the Snug by FerenjiNan. 16 January 2017
Count Leo set aside his manuscript, his working copy of his latest bestseller “ Kitty and Vronsky go to Washington” and took a long deep soul satisfying quaff of vodka.
He paused, chest out, nose looking noble, and mustachios curled seductively. He started reciting, declaiming a few stanzas from his latest poem.
Laughter, snow
And a helping hand
Give succor to the taiga’s
Harsh demand.
Thus it was, that no one noticed who had placed the latest offerings in the tip jar. There was a Georgian metro pass, with 25 lari credit still on it; a bag of fly cemeteries from Betty’s; an Indian 1,000 rupee note; a pink knitted hat with little ears on it; and a slender little spliff. The joint was labeled ‘for medicinal use only’.
Welsh Granny picked it up and regarded it thoughtfully, before lighting up. Taking a deep drag, she eyed the pink hat. ‘Not my colour, really, but…’
Turning to the gibbon on the stool at the bar, she asked if he’d noticed who had left the offerings.
He ignored her, continuing to gaze raptly at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Morning satori,
And ukuleles
Tinkling.
Golden raindrops
Gently falling on my tulips
Love so fine
Kitty divine…
Continued the Count.
Then he stopped. Kitty? What sort of a Russian name is that? Maybe … Маря? Mary?
Mary Harber?
Yes, good. I like it.
He paused, chest out, nose looking noble, and mustachios curled seductively. He started reciting, declaiming a few stanzas from his latest poem.
Laughter, snow
And a helping hand
Give succor to the taiga’s
Harsh demand.
Thus it was, that no one noticed who had placed the latest offerings in the tip jar. There was a Georgian metro pass, with 25 lari credit still on it; a bag of fly cemeteries from Betty’s; an Indian 1,000 rupee note; a pink knitted hat with little ears on it; and a slender little spliff. The joint was labeled ‘for medicinal use only’.
Welsh Granny picked it up and regarded it thoughtfully, before lighting up. Taking a deep drag, she eyed the pink hat. ‘Not my colour, really, but…’
Turning to the gibbon on the stool at the bar, she asked if he’d noticed who had left the offerings.
He ignored her, continuing to gaze raptly at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Morning satori,
And ukuleles
Tinkling.
Golden raindrops
Gently falling on my tulips
Love so fine
Kitty divine…
Continued the Count.
Then he stopped. Kitty? What sort of a Russian name is that? Maybe … Маря? Mary?
Mary Harber?
Yes, good. I like it.
Tales of the Snug by FerenjiNan. 2 November 2017
It was that mysterious time of day, entre chien et loup, when a sad light made hearts fill, and all was quiet in the Caff.
Pedants hadn’t yet riled themselves up to a full tilt Lashing Out at sundry Offenders; no one had yet bothered to be grumpy; and those inclined to ‘spoil’ and those inclined to take umbrage were not yet being terribly outraged.
The hush was barely disturbed by a swooshing of flour being exuberantly measured into a bowl, followed by genial gobs of butter, handfuls of currents and clouds of cinnamon. Aromatic pinches of cloves and cardamom were added for good measure, just becauseWelsh Granny felt like it.
She was making soul cakes. Samhain had passed, parties ended, hangovers abated, and the day of all souls had arrived. Though not exactly sure she believed in souls, there were many beings she had loved dearly who were now deceased, and greatly missed. In particular, Amy and Onorae came to mind, and gentle Neil. Sally and Mish. Perhaps even Melmoth had shuffled off his coil, he certainly hadn’t been seen for a good while. He and Uncle Vlad, missed.
Anyway, she liked the symbolism, and she liked baking.
She fossicked around in the tip jar and came up with a hexagonal copper candleholder. It was newish and unbeblobbed with wax, so she put it to use cutting out hexagonal soul cakes.
Humming quietly, she baked and remembered. After all, it’s absolutely the one unavoidable thing we all have in common, innit.
Losing someone we love.
And when it comes our turn, and we might mayhap be wandering in some dark, lost bardo-world, we’ll sure appreciate the gleam of a candle shining in a friendly window, and the taste of a delicate spicy biscuit.
Welsh Granny wiped a tear from her eye, (leaving a 37d coloured smudge) and removed a fresh batch out of the oven.
Lifting her teacup high, she made a silent toast.
Pedants hadn’t yet riled themselves up to a full tilt Lashing Out at sundry Offenders; no one had yet bothered to be grumpy; and those inclined to ‘spoil’ and those inclined to take umbrage were not yet being terribly outraged.
The hush was barely disturbed by a swooshing of flour being exuberantly measured into a bowl, followed by genial gobs of butter, handfuls of currents and clouds of cinnamon. Aromatic pinches of cloves and cardamom were added for good measure, just becauseWelsh Granny felt like it.
She was making soul cakes. Samhain had passed, parties ended, hangovers abated, and the day of all souls had arrived. Though not exactly sure she believed in souls, there were many beings she had loved dearly who were now deceased, and greatly missed. In particular, Amy and Onorae came to mind, and gentle Neil. Sally and Mish. Perhaps even Melmoth had shuffled off his coil, he certainly hadn’t been seen for a good while. He and Uncle Vlad, missed.
Anyway, she liked the symbolism, and she liked baking.
She fossicked around in the tip jar and came up with a hexagonal copper candleholder. It was newish and unbeblobbed with wax, so she put it to use cutting out hexagonal soul cakes.
Humming quietly, she baked and remembered. After all, it’s absolutely the one unavoidable thing we all have in common, innit.
Losing someone we love.
And when it comes our turn, and we might mayhap be wandering in some dark, lost bardo-world, we’ll sure appreciate the gleam of a candle shining in a friendly window, and the taste of a delicate spicy biscuit.
Welsh Granny wiped a tear from her eye, (leaving a 37d coloured smudge) and removed a fresh batch out of the oven.
Lifting her teacup high, she made a silent toast.
Tales of the snug by Subernoj. 26 february 2018
Leo was clearly irritated and could hold his tongue no longer.
‘Just what on earth is all that noise. Can’t you all see I’m trying to read the newspaper?'
‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re rearranging the Snug’ Lamb replied defensively.
‘Rearranging the Snug? What on earth for?’ Leo exploded.
‘Well, we need to move the snooker table out a bit more and put some of the chairs and tables over there so that we’ve got more room’ Les the Singing Pig cut in.
Leo dropped the newspaper onto his lap, exasperated ‘I still don’t see why you need… why in Dicken’s name is Unicorn wearing that nurses uniform. Just what is going on here?’
It was then that Welsh Granny decided to calm the water.
‘It’s like this dear Leo. There have been quite a few Caff denizens that have had, or will have, surgery of one kind or another recently and we’ve decided to to make some space in the corner of the Snug so we can have our own little Recovery Ward for thems what need it. I’m sure you won’t mind if we accommodate them.’
‘A Recovery Ward you say?’ Leo mused ‘Well, I guess if needs must. We welcome all comers here so I s’pose those with stitches should be made to feel comfortable. If it becomes a permanent fixture, perhaps we could call it the Future Suture Ward? Anyway, believe it or not, I think I’ve got a thermometer lying about somewhere that I got from the Vet's last time I had a checkup. You could borrow that.’
Welsh Granny’s eyebrows shot up in horror.
‘Not unless you’ve sterilised it since’ she warned.
‘Just what on earth is all that noise. Can’t you all see I’m trying to read the newspaper?'
‘Isn’t it obvious? We’re rearranging the Snug’ Lamb replied defensively.
‘Rearranging the Snug? What on earth for?’ Leo exploded.
‘Well, we need to move the snooker table out a bit more and put some of the chairs and tables over there so that we’ve got more room’ Les the Singing Pig cut in.
Leo dropped the newspaper onto his lap, exasperated ‘I still don’t see why you need… why in Dicken’s name is Unicorn wearing that nurses uniform. Just what is going on here?’
It was then that Welsh Granny decided to calm the water.
‘It’s like this dear Leo. There have been quite a few Caff denizens that have had, or will have, surgery of one kind or another recently and we’ve decided to to make some space in the corner of the Snug so we can have our own little Recovery Ward for thems what need it. I’m sure you won’t mind if we accommodate them.’
‘A Recovery Ward you say?’ Leo mused ‘Well, I guess if needs must. We welcome all comers here so I s’pose those with stitches should be made to feel comfortable. If it becomes a permanent fixture, perhaps we could call it the Future Suture Ward? Anyway, believe it or not, I think I’ve got a thermometer lying about somewhere that I got from the Vet's last time I had a checkup. You could borrow that.’
Welsh Granny’s eyebrows shot up in horror.
‘Not unless you’ve sterilised it since’ she warned.
Tales of the Snug by FerenjiNan. 11 March 2018
On the changing of the colour scheme by The Guardian
There was a jolly, smoky hubble-bubble of noise coming from under the snooker table.
A unicorn horn poked out sideways, and empty bottles were being ejected with regularity.
A motley crew was lounging there, but it included few pedants and no nay-sayers to whimsy. Factoid loving nay -sayers were welcome, of course, everyone's welcome, but they tend to loudly proclaim their disdain and absent themselves. Unless, of course, being gourmands the aromas of fresh spankopita and grilled baby aubergines with halloumi reach their nostrils...or if the strains of Boccherini played on period instruments touch their critical heartstrings...
but no matter.
The old gang was having fun. Puns on the theme of yellow journalism flew like eider in a duck fight. Limericks vied for high brow purple rhymes, and fell over each other like suicidal rodents on a spree.
There are now many clues coloured yellow
But what ho! my good fellow,
the blue was just fine
like blueberry wine
and now with dismay we just whinge, whine and bellow....
Uhm.
Count Leo was scribbling out a torrid sequel to Anna Wotsername, "Vronsky adores Hello Kitty"
Matters of quantum physics were combining, naughtily, with Viennese lacy nothings, and no one felt like doing the puzzle. Not on strike, mind you. The yellow was just too off putting.
On pale blue paper, a note was stuck on the unicorn's horn
"Help! Too lurid to be true."
There was a jolly, smoky hubble-bubble of noise coming from under the snooker table.
A unicorn horn poked out sideways, and empty bottles were being ejected with regularity.
A motley crew was lounging there, but it included few pedants and no nay-sayers to whimsy. Factoid loving nay -sayers were welcome, of course, everyone's welcome, but they tend to loudly proclaim their disdain and absent themselves. Unless, of course, being gourmands the aromas of fresh spankopita and grilled baby aubergines with halloumi reach their nostrils...or if the strains of Boccherini played on period instruments touch their critical heartstrings...
but no matter.
The old gang was having fun. Puns on the theme of yellow journalism flew like eider in a duck fight. Limericks vied for high brow purple rhymes, and fell over each other like suicidal rodents on a spree.
There are now many clues coloured yellow
But what ho! my good fellow,
the blue was just fine
like blueberry wine
and now with dismay we just whinge, whine and bellow....
Uhm.
Count Leo was scribbling out a torrid sequel to Anna Wotsername, "Vronsky adores Hello Kitty"
Matters of quantum physics were combining, naughtily, with Viennese lacy nothings, and no one felt like doing the puzzle. Not on strike, mind you. The yellow was just too off putting.
On pale blue paper, a note was stuck on the unicorn's horn
"Help! Too lurid to be true."