Wednesday, 29 August 2007

Pruning thoughts around amplified caravans

Bessy was tucking the Wisteria in and pruning all the shoots when I woke this morning. As a dog, she's not bad at wielding shears. Margaret was at the peanut feeder in a way reminiscent of her youth because she was laughing like a child, which is wonderful to hear. Anyway, I left them to enjoy the late summer sunshine.

Felix was born sometime before his father, he tells me, on account of a strange tilt in the earth at that time. I asked if he'd rolled out first, instead of last. For some moments he looked at me very oddly, then said there is a phenomenon called the reversal of sloping time, which only certain privileged persons were aware of. I took that as rather a brush-off, so drank the remainder of my tea in silence.

George ran all the way round the earth in the manner of a tilted caravan (something to do with paying homage to a waylaid owner of such a vehicle, whose axle broke on the A40 to Oxford during the summer of 1956). He beat all the other contestants because he had mastered a curious technique of bunny-hopping-caravannery. I asked him this morning if he'd managed to park up in any beautiful spots, having shortly returned from some in Wales. He said the whole point was that, wherever in the world one was, one was always beside the A40 and therefore always smelling tarmac and exhaust fumes. I guess there's a reason for doing these things, but George wasn't in the mood for discussing it today.

Cookie was constructing a means of amplifying the thoughts of the butterflies milling around harmlessly in the surgery garden, from the various metal objects and wires in the surgery. I waited and eventually she tuned the apparatus into a particular butterfly's thoughts. It had ideas, it seemed, of becoming a champion for the rights of butterflies to have private thoughts. Cookie turned the apparatus off promptly. She had not realised they were so touchy.

Which brings me to tilted thoughts: when does one know objectively that they're beginning to lean one way or another? And would pruning them help restore equilibrium?


Anonymous said...

I think thoughts lean one way or another depending on which way you are leaning, so if you are leaning to the right and the thoughts are not good, try leaning to the left and you'll suddenly be on top of the world. That's what the butterfly is doing when at an angle, and that is what caravans and sheep do when they are on hills. Sometimes they spend a whole night the wrong way round and have to turn to re-adjust their thoughts. I think pruning the caravan and the sheep's legs has come in handy too - had one of them for dinner if I remember rightly...

The OE said...

Secret agents don't prune, we perform wetwork. Additional information can be provided by Solomon, who's dossier is available for public consumption via my regular channels.

Stan Johns said...

Dear Anonymous,

Thank you for your insight that further clarifies the use of indispensible sloping surfaces. Caravans, like sheep on hillsides, must indeed need rebalancing by repositioning. Goodness knows what happens to butterflies when they lose their balance.

All the best.


Stan Johns said...

Dear Operative,

I must further investigate your wetwork method. It sounds intriguing.

All the best,