David Hadley's Blog, page 130

Expertise in the Field

Well, there she was, holding it with all the well-trained dexterity of the expert, even though, up until then very few of us had been aware that she had any expertise in the field, or the garden – come to that.

Still, it is rare that one does come across an archaeological find of this magnitude in a typical (possibly) domestic garden. After all, there is usually little in a garden that has not already been dug up – and - occasionally – hastily reburied, especially under the patio – at least if contemporary murder mysteries are to believed.

This, however, was nothing so macabre. Hence the children's complete lack of interest in it when the great historical significance of the item was pointed out to them. But that's the way with kids, if it can't be used to dismember someone in inventive and very cruel ways, they'd much rather return to their games console, or torturing insects – and - sometimes – both.

Still, as my darling wife held the item in her hands, I could not but be overcome with awe, wonder and surprise. Especially as it's near pristine condition, despite the conditions in what we sometimes call our 'garden'.

Yes, the garden fork we had both presumed lost for ever was discovered by my own dear wife lost in the depths of the undergrowth. On discovering it she pounced on it with a glee not often seen outside some of the more unusual bargains in the January sales, as she uncovered it and brought it back to me, claiming that not only had she found the long-lost garden implement, but that – miracles of miracles – it was still very much usable.

So, after admiring it and wondering at her finding it in such good – and usable – condition, she sent me off to the back of the garden to use it.

Next time, though, I promised myself, I'd hide it where she would never find it.

Awaiting his Pleasure

Toni waited.

She was used to waiting.

She was – after all – there for him, waiting for him. It was a warm summer day, but the sun had shifted, turning where she stood – still waiting – from sunlight to shade. She shivered and her nipples hardened. She looked down at them, from one to the other. He liked her nipples – so he’d said, once. The way their darkness contrasted with the light skin of his fingers. The way the nipples grew under his touch as though he brought them to life.

There were many other parts of Toni that his touch brought to life, brought to life in a way that no other man ever had, or ever could. That was why Toni waited for him, waited patiently for him. That was why she stood there naked in the centre of the room awaiting his return.

Just the thought of him coming back, coming into the room and being there naked in front of him, open to him, available to him and his whims, made her wet. She shivered and her nipples hardened even more. Toni had an urge to stroke just one finger down her stomach, down further into the warm and wet, but she knew she could not do it the same way he could. His fingers were magic; they could weave spells over her body, enthral and enrapture her with his single touch.

So she was prepared to wait. Prepared to await his pleasure, because she knew that his pleasure lay entwined with her pleasure in such a way as to make it almost impossible to tell where her pleasure ended and his began, or where his ended and Toni’s began.

So Toni waited, shifting from foot to foot as the warm and the wet grew between her thighs into an anticipation that made every fluttering of the breeze outside into a foretelling of his step in the hallway beyond the closed door of the room where she waited for him.

The Pork Pie and Society

Of course, once you have the pork pie firmly grasped in the right hand, all manner of things become possible that were not possible beforehand. - The Pork Pie and Society. It was – probably – those very opening words from his seminal masterpiece, that made Ordinance Quimtrimmer the most famous philosopher of his age. Up until then, academic philosophy had been dominated by the Logical-sandwichists, who – famously – believed that all philosophical problems could be solved by a decent sandwich – although there were several competing schools of though who argued over which of the many varieties of sandwiches was the ideal sandwich – an idea that can be traced back to Plato's idea of Forms. Although, it wasn't until the scientific age that a true philosophical understanding of the nature of sauces, chutneys and relishes – up to and including sweet pickle - was put on a much more rigorous philosophical footing, thus enabling the sandwich to take its place at what the logico-sandwichists claimed was the heart of philosophical eating.

However, when Quimtrimmer came along, claiming that it was the pork pie, not the sandwich, that was the true philosophical lunch, chaos broke out in the normally staid world of the academic philosophy departments of the Western world. Thus bringing about the significant revolution in lunch and snack-based eating habits that has transformed the post-war Western world, most would say to the greater benefit of civilisation as a whole.

Others, though, point to the Pot Noodle and despair.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Of course, there are times when it seems the whole world is arrayed against us. Such times when the very car park of possibility seems as o'er brimmed as a summer afternoon's rain gauge, but still we soldier on, mainly because there is bugger all else to do. The world is against us, we ought to know that because there is no way of winning, we will run out before time does and - even in the unlikely event that the world ends before we do, we'll still be buggered because we need the world more than it needs us.

Still, there is no need to be disheartened – well, there is, but we won't go into that – as this world is stuff full of so many splendid things, up to and including some rather wonderful cheeses and the possibility of getting our hands on a halfway decent pint. Add to that the slim chance that there may even – in the not too distant future – something almost worth watching on the telly, then the world begins to look not all that bad and life almost worth living – at least compared to the alternative.

Not only that, we should also bear in mind that there is a good chance that one day very soon a politician is going to do something so unbelievably stupid that it will be enough to keep the entire population amused for weeks into the future until that politician is - eventually – forced to resign. Then we can all wake up the next morning with the knowledge that – at least for now – there is one less of the bastards screwing it all up for the rest of us.

Mouse in the Moonlight

Still, it was never that simple. The rest of us waited around the corner, keeping low, keeping quiet. There was a sighing undulation if the shadow and then Mouse was there next to me.

'It is done,' Mouse said.

I saw the wet blade in Mouse's hand, glistening in the moonlight before the blade disappeared.

'Good,' I whispered.

We came out of the alley, where we'd stood waiting for Mouse to finish, keeping low and moving through the shadows beneath the buildings. I stepped over the bodies of the guards, lying unmoving where Mouse had left them. The ground was wet around the bodies, now mere mounds at the sides of the street, more rubbish left for someone to clear up. It was possible they could lie there unnoticed and unremarked until well into the following day.

I had been a guard once, patrolling the streets for my Lord. I could have ended like that, I realised as I looked down at the inert masses that had been living men until Mouse came along and took that life from them. I was suddenly glad I had not met Mouse back in that old life.

The doorway was there, suddenly in front of us. Now it was the Spider's turn, he eased himself through the crowd of us, all pressing as close as we could against the wall in the lurking shadow. Spider pulled out his tools, spreading them out on the leather bag that held them, each in its own pocket to prevent rattles and tinkles giving us away.

'I need some light,' Spider hissed.

I pushed through the group until I was standing above Spider's head. I whispered the words and held up my hands cupped one above the other as if I was holding some delicate ball, made of glass or something easily breakable. The pale blue glow seeped though the gaps between my hands and from between my fingers. I moved my hands down until the blue glow illuminated the lock for Spider.

Behind me, I could her Mouse breathing fast, impatient to get out of sight and off the street.

The lock clunked and Spider stood, gathering his tools. I said the words and dismissed the light spell, feeling the tingle in my fingers and hands as the magic trickled back to its own realm.

Behind me, Mouse kissed my ear, I grinned back at her as Spider pushed the door open with one hand, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. Mouse had her blade ready. I drew mine and then – in single file – with Mouse in the lead, we began to creep up the stairs inside the tower.

Robot Butlers and their Pitfalls

It was not that much of a surprise, in the end, even though she did utilise the tin opener in a manner not foreseen by its manufacturer, at least not according to the limitations of its warranty. But, as I said at the time, it did stop it... in the end.

That is, of course, the problem with revolutionary new technology, it does have a habit of being used, often in cases like this where the device has – or develops – artificial intelligence, in a way not envisaged by the manufacturers.

Of course, we were all in favour of robot butlers, at leas initially. But, as with the Jet packs, our initial enthusiasm eventually clouded o'er with doubt.

Especially when the robot butlers began to take an interest in popular culture.

Yes, the butler did do it, often in some rather inventive and – sometimes – gruesome ways. After all, the whole idea, at least as the artificially-intelligent butlers saw it was for them to almost get away with it.

As for What the Butler Saw, well YouTube just couldn't cope with the flood of revealing situations automatically uploaded by robot butlers as they peered through keyholes and around indiscreetly-ajar doors.

Neither could the divorce courts cope, either and the redundancies amongst private detectives went way beyond previous records.

Still, though, as the wife said some things are beyond forgiveness, and her robot butler should never have tried to introduce Wodehousian quips when she was busy trying to watch her favourite TV programme about the shenanigans between servants and the landed gentry in the early 20th century.

Still, as I stood there contemplating the smouldering wreckage of what had been our Jeeves 3000, I couldn't help feeling a little relived that my good wife had so comprehensively destroyed it before it had managed to upload its latest surreptitious video to the internet.

All This Were Fields

‘Of course, back in those days, all this were fields.’

The older old man nodded wisely and stared off into the distance.

‘But, it… it's all fields now,’ John said.

‘True, true,’ the younger old man replied. ‘But, as Weeblekneezer here, said, it were different in those days, better. Modern fields are all wrong. The wrong sort of grass, for a start. That yellow stuff an' all. What kind of crop is that for a man to grow?’

‘True, true. Very true young Frenglegasket,’ The older old man said. ‘And, of course, there are the hedges.’

John looked down over the fields stretching out in front of them. ‘What hedges?’

‘True, true. Very true,’ The older old man said, spitting off to his left.

‘Aye, true enough,’ the younger old man agreed.

‘'What Hedges?' he said “what hedges?” Frenglegasket,’ the older old man said, sniggering.

‘Yes, he did that.’ The younger old man nodded. ‘They never realise, do they?’

‘Oh no, no, no. They think 'cos it's green, it's good.’

‘True, true. They just don't know, do they?’

‘What don't I know?’ John said.

‘It's the wrong type of countryside, this is.’

‘True, true.’

What will Come

What will Come

What will come from this land?
What can grow from this ground?

We walk only these dead streets
where trees and grasses once grew.

Insects crawl over hot tarmac
to die in this dead city heat.

We will die alone here too,
far from the scents of flowers
and the soft touch of grass.

We will not hear that last bird sing
or see the clouds grow thick and dark.

Only the cold brick and dark shadows
of buildings that loom and dwarf.

Everything is lost in corners
and turns away from us to go down streets

that can only ever lead away from us
and away from our one true home.

Socialisation Time

None of it was true, of course. No one tells the truth these days, after all. We invent these avatars, these characters, who inhabit the on-line space for us, leading the lives we’d like to lead. Or, at least, the life we’d like our friends to believe we lead, while we go about our real business in privacy.

It was, back when the social media were invented, intended that these avatars would be us telling the world about our real selves and our real lives. It only took a few decades, though, for people to realise that – on the whole – none of us have very interesting lives. So, even back then people were inventing aspects to their lives that made them look more interesting, more glamorous, as though their daily routine wasn’t the same endless trudge trough the usual routine.

However, people spent so much time inventing an interesting on-line persona they didn’t have time for a real life anyway. Everything they thought, did and planned they mediated through the prism of how it would look in their on-line profile.

Eventually, people grew bored with this; but at the same time the first lifestyle bots began to appear. Covertly, at first, people would let these bots take over more and more of their on-line persona, leaving them to get back to their neglected lives. Then they found they enjoyed the company of real people doing real things together… or not, as the case maybe.

Meanwhile, the bots got on with inventing a new life, creating a new exciting, interesting and charismatic persona. At least, until one day someone noticed that 90% of the activity on the social media sites was automatically generated by bots. Furthermore, and worst of all for the advertisers who paid for it all, no actual humans were coming to the sites at all any more. Instead, everyone was down the pub with their mates having a nice time.

Bullfrogs on your Mind

Did you ever...?

Did you ever...?

Did you ever wake up with those bullfrogs on your mind?

….

No, me neither.

Although, I did once wake up contemplating an okapi, but those were different times and the thought of wildlife was never far from our minds. Quite often the talk that morning at the bus stop would be about the mating behaviour of lions or whether blue tits were migratory.

Back in those days, politics was more about ideology than the slight differences of hairstyle and marginal degrees of complete incompetence that these days separate the political parties. Those of my generation can remember the stirring speeches made at the TUC annual conference about the pine marten and the Conservative party's strict stance on migrating wildebeest.

Times have changed now, and it is common for people to have at least one penguin-related app on their smartphone and Feretbook is one of the most popular sites on the internet, not to mention the incredible number of photographs of cats being cute in cute ways. Although, some would argue that cats are not wild animals, those of us though, that have ever tried to bathe a cat will, of course, beg to differ on that score.

Still, though it is a shame about the bullfrogs, despite their ability to construct very intriguing god-games, so if you find yourself with a spare moment, try contemplating a bullfrog for a minute or two – who knows it could had a whole new dimension to your personal philosophy.