nonsense prose

Fool’s Gold Part 2

What are you writing?

An insoluble dilemma? Not quite. You see you are looking at it from the layman’s point of view. Your vision is restricted if you don’t mind me saying so.

Calamity’s hardly the word.

He flavoured distractedly towards the flickering coppice, grimly clutching the vertebrae of a small animal he had recently done away with. The writing here pangs towards the unexpected. It is what J.P.Mincripust has termed the indolent charge of a blind mammoth and who are we to gainsay him?

Ask me, please. I’ve been waiting a long time for this chance.

Once you’re in the air it is imperative that you keep a close eye on the temperature gauge. The target will appear at approximately 63.20 hours bicuspid.

Hola well. A Murphy if ever. Trap now. Be clever. Sap me sideways, gusset. Inner cloting, muddy inner. Sack me soppet and crarber me uppy.

How depressing…

Sane juice?

Be more precise.


At Shrovetide. There had been floods, at least half a dozen, all the villagers were worn out. They had toiled long wet weeks in their wellies. Their tragic fate was inscribed on the minds of all who passed through on the railway – when there were trains running, that is.

I’ve shoveled up the ground. Now it’s your turn to look for the bones.

Easy, easy there. Don’t treat a horse like that sonny. You’ve got to be more, how shall I put it, baroque? Is that the word I want.

Look at your blisters? I don’t want to see your dirty smelly feet, you loathsome scab.

And then it was flowing out faster than I could swallow and before long I was completely drenched in blood. It was some leech that.

I know I look like a person, but actually I’m a penguin that’s been turned into a person – and most unpleasant I find it too. Most distasteful and really rather boring once the initial novelty’s worn off.

Syphoning’s my only joy now.

I let him have it straight. Told him about us. That we’d been, er, sort of seeing each other. And he started crying. I never thought he’d do that. It was so funny.

Deep in the darkest depths of the forest is a cavern wherein you will find a huge coal-black chest. I think you’ll find it’s in there.

Alligators came at us from all directions, Lily. Foster was the first one to see them – he let out a gurgling snort and started cowering and squawking in the gunwhal. But they didn’t harm us. Just seemed curious. One of them started speaking to us – couldn’t really make it out – in some sort of foreign language they’d picked up from the Indians.

Simply ludicrous.

Won’t he? Well don’t you think he should? Am I to look after him like this? Always?

These beetroots shouldn’t be in here. They’ve no right here. Besides, they’d be better off outside. Don’t you think so, Hollicky Pollicky?

See where his hands wrestle with each other, plunged in the cauldron of boiling ginger beer. What does it portend for us village-folk? For many years we have lived in daily fear of our lives – we have been treated like dirt. And now this perverse ritual. What good will it do us?


An awful lot of juice.

Strappado’s so old-fashioned these days. We’ll have to think of something else to get the party really going with a swing. (Pause) You do want it to go with a swing, don’t you, Jully?

Mace… Cinnamon – oh and some of those brown sponges that I like to wash up with.

If anyone’s going to do any cleaving it’s going to be you. On your own.

Squadron after squadron. I was reminded of those lines, I think it was Housman,

Rank upon rank with glassy stare
Marching down to the Vole’s lair

Quip me crimson, if it isn’t old Salcerdonker.

Alleviate me I beg of you. I am but a weak woman, unworthy of the tasks set before me, but with your aid, your watchful eye, I could surely span the gap betwixt the sea and the sky and colour the trees with rainbow shadows that might please even the plunging astronaut, your brother.

No mention of the d├ębacle in the evening newspaper, dear.

Have you ever been to Lake Constance in April? It’s an invigorating experience.

Quite the little gentleman aren’t we? Ever so hoity-toity – you coy little whippersnapper.

You must do it for Fluff. All the advances you’d have liked to have made – plus the crenellations on all the walled cities you’d ever visited. And then there was Fluff – a worm in a cask of rum.

First traverse this mountain, he says, then this one, as if it was as easy as saying. He’s never had to do what the likes of us has to.

My cousin isn’t a man who would wear a coat like that. You must have made some mistake. Wait – I’ll call him on the telephone. You can speak to him yourself.

Five, aye that’s right, five it was. And here’s me standing here in all my dang-blasted iggorance, thinking it was six! Six? Never. It’s five I say. Give me five.

The complete eunuch strode away from the tent.

Into the ears of the ever-wistful.

I’ve got warts on my bladder
And chilblains up my nose
My state of health grows sadder
I’ve even lost my toes

If the rope swings to the right then you must slacken it off on the left.

Dreary, as usual.

Have you ever heard a light-bulb crying?

Sanguine by all accounts.

I must. Please understand. I don’t hate you. But I owe something to my people – they’re my family. It’s for them that I exist. So just drink up and die.

Sing something – one of the old songs, if you can remember any of them.

A train whose engine is made of solid silver. It cost millions and is only used once a year when the king goes to his summer retreat.

Where are you staying?

I’ve reached a watershed in my life. A chance to look back and also to lie on my roundnesses and gaze up at the future. But in the last few days I’ve become aware of someone else watching with me, though I can’t find which boulder the eyes hide behind.


I’m amazed at your incorrigibility. Simply amazed.

Dungheap horrors flew at me in the dark.

Switch both horses. Give them something to think about.

I’ve drained the vase, gathered the hyacinths and now I’m here ready for your next instructions.


Each time I looked out of the window a new bird had rested on the window-arches, opposite my room. There was a ribbon tied round alternate legs – yellow or red. If yellow is taken to be dot and red dash then the birds spell out in Morse code the message Pass the salt.

Hoovering all afternoon and probably well into the evening. I’ll stop about 8 and we can go to the observatory then.

Like a greenish wart – gassed and sunken.

Have I found you out, Mr Persimmon, do you fall pathetically on the 1st steps of the ideal pyramid?

He has a dromedary fixation.

Like a bloated accordion.

Green lips suited him I would have said.

beyond the grave

Still manciples bequested a troth so steeped in mandrills as to be verily pertinacious. Incumbent postures so rapidly beset one might. Depraved or deprived – who cares!

I saw her in a pear-tree. She looked so omniflorous and underestimatedly serene. Another couple would have her disdained. But we… so coolly… dismissed… I’m a horror… what am I saying?…Aaagh!

Don’t ask me.

Criticisms I’ve heard before. But let me tell you this. It’s only… a statement of how I see things. I’m not saying it’s right – can’t you see, I could be wrong. I COULD BE WRONG!! But if I am right what then. Do you agree? Then hold my foot.

Intrepid as she may seem, I must warn you, Trapezier. Speak no word of the pastry-like oboist and you will be eventually rewarded – I swear it.

Sunday morning and nothing better than an execution.

My tooth I pledge to thee, O great one…

Where’s the porridge! By what paltry commotion do you waken me – pea-people? Is this a revolt or simply another scabby unworthiness? Where’s the porridge!

What I’m interested in is how people react in front of a canopy. Perhaps you can help me here.

From far-flung polnts on the glittering globe – salamanders have gathered to be counted. Pledging their lives for the good of the cause. By the way, what is the cause this time? Last century it was water-drainage. Very tedious.

It’s more and more difficult. I thought it would be easy.

This derringer, please. And a packet of cuckoo-spit.

Swabs…periscopes…not mute this time…only…farinaceous…oblong…

They were worn out by the time I reached them. They’d been all over the moors in the snow looking for her.


Scrubbing the floor all morning then washing clothes in the afternoon.

It was bad management from the start. He’d burnt himself out in the first few days.

Tropass – you’re divine – such a tricky one – and a snooper, too, they say.