Nav Logan's Blog, page 16
May 4, 2015
The Headless Tourist
I find myself standing on a platform looking up at the train timetable. The ‘Helpful Guide to Common Czech Phrases’ isn’t helping me to make sense of the electronic sign, and no one speaks any English. Trains come and go, the sun passes across the sky, and still I do not know which train will take me to my destination.
In the end, I opt for a Zen approach to travelling in a foreign country. I pick a train at random and step aboard. It will take me where I am meant to go, wherever that is.
In the end, I opt for a Zen approach to travelling in a foreign country. I pick a train at random and step aboard. It will take me where I am meant to go, wherever that is.
May 3, 2015
On a Road to Nowhere
The multi-coloured minibus danced to the deep bass reggae beat. It was 2a.m., and the road was deserted.
The inside of the van was a thick cloud of sickly-sweet smoke which obscured the seven white Rastafarians who were making their way back from a Bob Marley tribute band in Brixton.
The passengers were singing, “I shot the sheriff …” pausing only to take a hit from the bong
“Hey, Dude! I think I and I is lost,” muttered the driver. “Dat sign said Birmingham ahead. I think dat I and I’s on da wrong motorway! I should’ve passed Nottingham by now.”
The inside of the van was a thick cloud of sickly-sweet smoke which obscured the seven white Rastafarians who were making their way back from a Bob Marley tribute band in Brixton.
The passengers were singing, “I shot the sheriff …” pausing only to take a hit from the bong
“Hey, Dude! I think I and I is lost,” muttered the driver. “Dat sign said Birmingham ahead. I think dat I and I’s on da wrong motorway! I should’ve passed Nottingham by now.”
May 2, 2015
The Exorcism
“Get thee hence from this place, foul Jezebel!”
“Pardon!?”
“I said, get thee hence, daughter of Satan. I banish thee back to whence thou hail, never to return to this sacred place.”
“Sorry, Vicar, I think there’s been some mistake …”
“Be gone, harlot of Beelzebub. Foul these hallowed ground no more with thine presence!”
“Have you been sampling the communion wine again, Vicar?”
“I banish thee, and thy coven of witches …”
“I’m not sure that the I.C.A. would appreciate being called a coven, and you’ll be pleased to hear there are no naked ladies in this year’s calendar.”
“Pardon!?”
“I said, get thee hence, daughter of Satan. I banish thee back to whence thou hail, never to return to this sacred place.”
“Sorry, Vicar, I think there’s been some mistake …”
“Be gone, harlot of Beelzebub. Foul these hallowed ground no more with thine presence!”
“Have you been sampling the communion wine again, Vicar?”
“I banish thee, and thy coven of witches …”
“I’m not sure that the I.C.A. would appreciate being called a coven, and you’ll be pleased to hear there are no naked ladies in this year’s calendar.”
Things The Don’t Tell You In Sex Education!
It started as a small rash on my loins.
Over the next week, it darkened to a deep brown colour and hardened. I can feel it spreading up my torso, consuming my skin and leaving a bark-like surface instead.
Now moss has started to grow on it.
So far, I’ve managed to conceal my affliction from friends and family, but it continues to grow, and nothing I do seems to stop it. Soon, it will creep up my neck and cover my face.
I should never have mated with that creature in the woods or at least worn a condom.
Over the next week, it darkened to a deep brown colour and hardened. I can feel it spreading up my torso, consuming my skin and leaving a bark-like surface instead.
Now moss has started to grow on it.
So far, I’ve managed to conceal my affliction from friends and family, but it continues to grow, and nothing I do seems to stop it. Soon, it will creep up my neck and cover my face.
I should never have mated with that creature in the woods or at least worn a condom.
May 1, 2015
When the Neighbours Come Calling
“Mashta! Mashta! Da villagers are revolting!”
Standing on the balcony of my high tower, I can see the long line of torches winding their way up the mountain road towards the castle. “So I see, Ygor. Please stop all that yelling. I’m trying to work here.”
“But Mashta … dey ‘ave pitchforks and uver sharp fings wiv dem!”
The clouds rumble ominously overhead.
A storm is brewing. I’ve been waiting for weeks for the storm, and now that it finally arrives, I’m distracted by the neighbours.
“I haven’t got time for this, Ygor. Release the hellhounds on them.”
“Yesh, Mashta!”
Turning away from the madding crowd, the scientist walks into his laboratory. He can feel the static energy in the air. Soon, he will have the power he needs to complete his work. They considered him deranged, and threw him out of the university, but he would show them.
Lying on the metal table in the centre of the room was the woman of his dreams, or should that be the women of his dreams? He had collected all the best bits and put them together into one divine specimen of womanhood.
Lightning strikes and the woman comes to life.
The body convulses, and a delicate cough comes from her sweet lips. (They had once belonged to a gypsy girl that Ygor had kidnapped from the Spring Fair).
Her eyes flicker open and she looks around disdainfully.
Finally, he had created the woman of his dreams; his lover, his life partner, (and hopefully his cook as Ygor couldn’t boil an egg without burning it.)
“Ahh, my darling, at last you live … How … How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine …” she replied. Her tone suggested that all was not fine. Suddenly, he sensed that he was in deep trouble.
Dr. Stein had named her Francine after his mother, and the less said about that the better.
Francine was critically inspecting herself in the mirror.
Dr. Stein’s needlework was far from exemplary, but what worried her more were the tan lines. Her arms where a different shade than her face, and to make matters worse, her legs were covered in a light peppering of freckles. She would have to book time into a tanning salon at the first possible opportunity.
Then, there was her hair. Clearly, the good doctor had an affection for redheads. Francine envisaged herself as a blonde.
At this point Ygor rushed in, clearly in a panic, “Mashta! Mashta! Deyve eaten da hounds! Dey’re banging on da gates …” Ygor’s eyes rolled around in his head and nearly popped out when he noticed Francine hiding her nakedness with a sheet.
“Well don’t just stand there, you overgrown turnip-brained idiot. Invite our guests in for dinner, but make sure they wipe their feet first…” Francine demanded, shooing him away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You could have told me we were expecting company!” The last remark was aimed at the doctor. “I’ve absolutely nothing to wear!”
“I took the liberty of having a seamstress make you a up few things,” assured Dr. Stein confidently. “You’ll find them in that wardrobe yonder. I had some shoes made for you too. I gather women like shoes …”
Francine inspected the garb critically. Her first assessment was that there must be a shortage of cloth in the neighbourhood, as the dresses were low-cut, low-backed, and minimalistic. Many were summarised with one word … shimmery.
To make matters worse, they were all various shades of blue. Although only alive for a short time, Francine already knew that blue was not her colour.
With a heavy sigh, she selected a dress and slipped into it. Her shopping list was getting longer by the minute. Looking at the shoe rack only confirmed her worst fears. Not a single pair of comfortable footwear in the lot of them. Hearing footsteps approaching, she opted to remain barefoot.
She was still unhappy with the length of her dress. Meeting guests while dressed like a harlot would do nothing to make a good impression with the neighbours.
Deftly, she pleated the sheet, and with the help of a few safety pins, she soon had a presentable evening gown.
“Mashta! Erm … M-mishtress …” stammered Ygor.
The villagers walked into the room, many looking a little sheepish. They had not planned this far ahead.
“Where are your manners?” declared Francine, striding forward with her hand out in greeting. “Collect our guests coats, and their …”
“Pitchforks?” Ygor chipped in helpfully.”
“Yes, yes … and their pitchforks … exactly. Do make yourselves at home. We're honoured that you took the time to pop by …”
Turning to the doctor, she admonished, “Well … don’t just stand there, Darling … They must be parched after the long trek up the mountain … Why don’t you fetch our guests some drinks?”
Dr. Stein hurried to obey, a little proud of his creation. Alive for only a few minutes and she was already entertaining guests. Perhaps his experiments weren’t a complete failure, after all.
Helping gather coats, he followed Ygor into the kitchen, and began to pour wine. A terrible thought struck him. “What’ve we got to feed them, Ygor?”
“I fink dere’s some pashtries in da pantry, Mashta, and a wheel of cheese.”
“Is that all?”
“Well … dere’s a deer in da cellar, but it’s a bit ripe!”
“I’m sure they won’t care, the way they polished off the hellhounds.”
In actuality, one hellhound survived, though he was the runt of the litter. He looked more mangy terrier rather than Beelzebub’s terrible mastiff, but the gene pool still ran true. He had the same ferocious nature and was as fearless as a gryphon, especially when terrorising the neighbourhood’s rodent population, of which there was many. In fact, the rebirth of the Black Death had been avoided by the stalwart endeavours of this little fellow, much to the chagrin of his namesake: old Lucifer himself.
Dr. Stein returned to find Lucifer in the arms of his bride, having his belly tickled.
“Finally! I thought you’d got lost. Here, give me them before our guests die of thirst.” Snatching the tray of drinks out of his hand, Francine handed Lucifer over to the surprised doctor, who held the hellhound in a similar fashion to many a new father on having their new-born child placed in their arms, or perhaps one of the new-born’s freshly soiled nappies.
“But …”
Lucifer immediately started to growl; a menacing sound deep in its throat. The dog might have been handbag sized, but his heart was as big as a lion’s and his teeth were razor sharp.
Dr. Stein tried to placate the dog, but snatched his hand back quickly before he lost a finger. Lucifer’s head had whipped around to meet the approaching hand, his drooling jaws already reaching for any available digit.
Noticing that Francine was busy charming the local priest, he swiftly dropped the dog to the ground and leapt back out of biting range.
Lucifer briefly considered pursuit, eyeing the doctor up before dismissing him as unworthy of the attention. He was content to urinate against the leg of the table and move on to greener pastures, ones filled with plague rats, hopefully.
A bell rang in the distance. Not the light-hearted tone of a chime this, no. It had more in common with the mournful clang of a death bell. Nevertheless, Francine greeted the sound with enthusiasm, “Ah! Dinner is served. Let us make haste to the dining room. I’m famished.”
Taking the reluctant priest by the arm, she led the way through the palatial residence, leaving the others to follow in their wake.
“You were telling me about these witch-hunting trials you recently visited. They sound fascinating. Tell me … did you get a chance to witness the Inquisitors in action?”
The priest blanched visibly as the rank odour of venison assailed his nostrils, but he was gracious enough to hold his stomach despite its protests.
The rest of the village was near to starvation and barely noticed the stench. They hadn’t eaten in days, which is the reason that they had agreed to the priest’s suggestion to attack the castle. They hadn’t believed a word of his pulpit ranting, but starvation had left them with few options. Much though they feared the hellhounds that roamed the forest each night; hunting man or beast, the prospect of food gave them courage.
Standing on the balcony of my high tower, I can see the long line of torches winding their way up the mountain road towards the castle. “So I see, Ygor. Please stop all that yelling. I’m trying to work here.”
“But Mashta … dey ‘ave pitchforks and uver sharp fings wiv dem!”
The clouds rumble ominously overhead.
A storm is brewing. I’ve been waiting for weeks for the storm, and now that it finally arrives, I’m distracted by the neighbours.
“I haven’t got time for this, Ygor. Release the hellhounds on them.”
“Yesh, Mashta!”
Turning away from the madding crowd, the scientist walks into his laboratory. He can feel the static energy in the air. Soon, he will have the power he needs to complete his work. They considered him deranged, and threw him out of the university, but he would show them.
Lying on the metal table in the centre of the room was the woman of his dreams, or should that be the women of his dreams? He had collected all the best bits and put them together into one divine specimen of womanhood.
Lightning strikes and the woman comes to life.
The body convulses, and a delicate cough comes from her sweet lips. (They had once belonged to a gypsy girl that Ygor had kidnapped from the Spring Fair).
Her eyes flicker open and she looks around disdainfully.
Finally, he had created the woman of his dreams; his lover, his life partner, (and hopefully his cook as Ygor couldn’t boil an egg without burning it.)
“Ahh, my darling, at last you live … How … How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine …” she replied. Her tone suggested that all was not fine. Suddenly, he sensed that he was in deep trouble.
Dr. Stein had named her Francine after his mother, and the less said about that the better.
Francine was critically inspecting herself in the mirror.
Dr. Stein’s needlework was far from exemplary, but what worried her more were the tan lines. Her arms where a different shade than her face, and to make matters worse, her legs were covered in a light peppering of freckles. She would have to book time into a tanning salon at the first possible opportunity.
Then, there was her hair. Clearly, the good doctor had an affection for redheads. Francine envisaged herself as a blonde.
At this point Ygor rushed in, clearly in a panic, “Mashta! Mashta! Deyve eaten da hounds! Dey’re banging on da gates …” Ygor’s eyes rolled around in his head and nearly popped out when he noticed Francine hiding her nakedness with a sheet.
“Well don’t just stand there, you overgrown turnip-brained idiot. Invite our guests in for dinner, but make sure they wipe their feet first…” Francine demanded, shooing him away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You could have told me we were expecting company!” The last remark was aimed at the doctor. “I’ve absolutely nothing to wear!”
“I took the liberty of having a seamstress make you a up few things,” assured Dr. Stein confidently. “You’ll find them in that wardrobe yonder. I had some shoes made for you too. I gather women like shoes …”
Francine inspected the garb critically. Her first assessment was that there must be a shortage of cloth in the neighbourhood, as the dresses were low-cut, low-backed, and minimalistic. Many were summarised with one word … shimmery.
To make matters worse, they were all various shades of blue. Although only alive for a short time, Francine already knew that blue was not her colour.
With a heavy sigh, she selected a dress and slipped into it. Her shopping list was getting longer by the minute. Looking at the shoe rack only confirmed her worst fears. Not a single pair of comfortable footwear in the lot of them. Hearing footsteps approaching, she opted to remain barefoot.
She was still unhappy with the length of her dress. Meeting guests while dressed like a harlot would do nothing to make a good impression with the neighbours.
Deftly, she pleated the sheet, and with the help of a few safety pins, she soon had a presentable evening gown.
“Mashta! Erm … M-mishtress …” stammered Ygor.
The villagers walked into the room, many looking a little sheepish. They had not planned this far ahead.
“Where are your manners?” declared Francine, striding forward with her hand out in greeting. “Collect our guests coats, and their …”
“Pitchforks?” Ygor chipped in helpfully.”
“Yes, yes … and their pitchforks … exactly. Do make yourselves at home. We're honoured that you took the time to pop by …”
Turning to the doctor, she admonished, “Well … don’t just stand there, Darling … They must be parched after the long trek up the mountain … Why don’t you fetch our guests some drinks?”
Dr. Stein hurried to obey, a little proud of his creation. Alive for only a few minutes and she was already entertaining guests. Perhaps his experiments weren’t a complete failure, after all.
Helping gather coats, he followed Ygor into the kitchen, and began to pour wine. A terrible thought struck him. “What’ve we got to feed them, Ygor?”
“I fink dere’s some pashtries in da pantry, Mashta, and a wheel of cheese.”
“Is that all?”
“Well … dere’s a deer in da cellar, but it’s a bit ripe!”
“I’m sure they won’t care, the way they polished off the hellhounds.”
In actuality, one hellhound survived, though he was the runt of the litter. He looked more mangy terrier rather than Beelzebub’s terrible mastiff, but the gene pool still ran true. He had the same ferocious nature and was as fearless as a gryphon, especially when terrorising the neighbourhood’s rodent population, of which there was many. In fact, the rebirth of the Black Death had been avoided by the stalwart endeavours of this little fellow, much to the chagrin of his namesake: old Lucifer himself.
Dr. Stein returned to find Lucifer in the arms of his bride, having his belly tickled.
“Finally! I thought you’d got lost. Here, give me them before our guests die of thirst.” Snatching the tray of drinks out of his hand, Francine handed Lucifer over to the surprised doctor, who held the hellhound in a similar fashion to many a new father on having their new-born child placed in their arms, or perhaps one of the new-born’s freshly soiled nappies.
“But …”
Lucifer immediately started to growl; a menacing sound deep in its throat. The dog might have been handbag sized, but his heart was as big as a lion’s and his teeth were razor sharp.
Dr. Stein tried to placate the dog, but snatched his hand back quickly before he lost a finger. Lucifer’s head had whipped around to meet the approaching hand, his drooling jaws already reaching for any available digit.
Noticing that Francine was busy charming the local priest, he swiftly dropped the dog to the ground and leapt back out of biting range.
Lucifer briefly considered pursuit, eyeing the doctor up before dismissing him as unworthy of the attention. He was content to urinate against the leg of the table and move on to greener pastures, ones filled with plague rats, hopefully.
A bell rang in the distance. Not the light-hearted tone of a chime this, no. It had more in common with the mournful clang of a death bell. Nevertheless, Francine greeted the sound with enthusiasm, “Ah! Dinner is served. Let us make haste to the dining room. I’m famished.”
Taking the reluctant priest by the arm, she led the way through the palatial residence, leaving the others to follow in their wake.
“You were telling me about these witch-hunting trials you recently visited. They sound fascinating. Tell me … did you get a chance to witness the Inquisitors in action?”
The priest blanched visibly as the rank odour of venison assailed his nostrils, but he was gracious enough to hold his stomach despite its protests.
The rest of the village was near to starvation and barely noticed the stench. They hadn’t eaten in days, which is the reason that they had agreed to the priest’s suggestion to attack the castle. They hadn’t believed a word of his pulpit ranting, but starvation had left them with few options. Much though they feared the hellhounds that roamed the forest each night; hunting man or beast, the prospect of food gave them courage.
April 30, 2015
Kristian’s New Job
My agent called and asked me to audition for a part in an upcoming series. He reckoned that it was a potential blockbuster, based on the sales of the book, and that I’d be perfect for the part.
I was a little hesitant, but good work was hard to come by, so I arrived at the auditions.
To my surprise, I got the part.
They sent a courier over with the script. Filming was to start the following week.
“... That soon!” I exclaimed. “I’d have to study my lines.”
I needn’t have worried
My lines consisted of one word: “Hodor”
I was a little hesitant, but good work was hard to come by, so I arrived at the auditions.
To my surprise, I got the part.
They sent a courier over with the script. Filming was to start the following week.
“... That soon!” I exclaimed. “I’d have to study my lines.”
I needn’t have worried
My lines consisted of one word: “Hodor”
April 28, 2015
Love Lessons
In an effort to repair my flagging relationship, I opened up the women’s magazine and started to read.
There was little else to do anyway, and it looked like I’d be in the doctor’s surgery for most of the morning, judging by the queue. Two things became apparent: the need for spontaneity, and that I needed to be more open. The first one was going to be tough, but honesty was something I felt I could achieve.
Needless to say, my wife didn’t appreciate my efforts, but the dinner was overcooked and her butt did look big in those jeans.
There was little else to do anyway, and it looked like I’d be in the doctor’s surgery for most of the morning, judging by the queue. Two things became apparent: the need for spontaneity, and that I needed to be more open. The first one was going to be tough, but honesty was something I felt I could achieve.
Needless to say, my wife didn’t appreciate my efforts, but the dinner was overcooked and her butt did look big in those jeans.
April 26, 2015
The Dog’s Bollocks
“Listen son, we’re on to a good thing here. Play your cards right and you’re on the gravy train for life.”
“Are you sure, Dad? She seems a bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”
“When I was your age, I was lucky to get a cardboard box to live in, out in the back yard, and good food wasn’t easy to come by. I lived on scraps from the Master’s table, back then, and he was meaner than a bitch in heat.”
The puppy rolled his eyes. He’d heard these old stories before and didn’t believe a word of them.
“Are you sure, Dad? She seems a bit grumpy, especially in the mornings.”
“When I was your age, I was lucky to get a cardboard box to live in, out in the back yard, and good food wasn’t easy to come by. I lived on scraps from the Master’s table, back then, and he was meaner than a bitch in heat.”
The puppy rolled his eyes. He’d heard these old stories before and didn’t believe a word of them.
April 24, 2015
The Mysterious Ailment
For years, the best minds in modern medicine had been trying to find out what was wrong with me. They’d ran every test that they could think of and drawn a blank.
In desperation, they sent me down the path of alternative medicine, but still they could not find the root cause, and therefore, they could offer no cure.
Finally, I bumped into an physicist, who quickly diagnosed the problem.
“You have a quark deficiency!”
“A what? I’ve never heard of that. Is that bad?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry. Your body compensates with an overabundance of strangeness and charm.”
In desperation, they sent me down the path of alternative medicine, but still they could not find the root cause, and therefore, they could offer no cure.
Finally, I bumped into an physicist, who quickly diagnosed the problem.
“You have a quark deficiency!”
“A what? I’ve never heard of that. Is that bad?”
“Not at all. Don’t worry. Your body compensates with an overabundance of strangeness and charm.”
April 22, 2015
The Floating Road
There’s a fine line between madness and genius, but as scientists we should explore the boundaries.
I was in the bath when I had an epiphany. If Jesus could walk on water, why couldn’t man drive on it?
It didn’t take long to get EU funding for the project; a chance to build a motorway linking Ireland to mainland Europe.
The prototype was built between Belfast and Glasgow, joining Ireland to Scotland, a road made of floatation devices, similar to large canoes. Of course, I hadn’t allowed for the rough Irish Sea, or the ferry that crashed into my road.
I was in the bath when I had an epiphany. If Jesus could walk on water, why couldn’t man drive on it?
It didn’t take long to get EU funding for the project; a chance to build a motorway linking Ireland to mainland Europe.
The prototype was built between Belfast and Glasgow, joining Ireland to Scotland, a road made of floatation devices, similar to large canoes. Of course, I hadn’t allowed for the rough Irish Sea, or the ferry that crashed into my road.
