Wednesday, October 10, 2012

The Idler, Friday, October 5, 2012

Two-headed snakes

CORROBORATION at last. Listening idly to East Coast radio, I learn that a two-headed snake recently hatched from a batch of brown house snake eggs in a Durban pet shop.

This is riveting news. Many years ago now I wrote a despatch from the depths of the Maiombe rain forest - I was in the Angolan enclave of Cabinda at the time – to the effect that the region was host to a two-headed snake, another violet-coloured snake that sang seductively in the night and gorillas that played the bongo drums.

I was accused by the sub-editors of smoking exotic substances. My story was not taken seriously. I received rude and derisive telexes from South Africa.

But here is vindication. I shall seek out that pet shop and inquire whether they also have any violet-coloured snakes that croon in the evenings. I suppose bongo-playing gorillas would be too much to expect this far south, but a baboon who is reasonably accomplished on the ukulele would serve my case.

Total accuracy is the yardstick. Watch this space!

 

Three bears

HERE is a far more realistic account of the well-known children's story.

Baby bear looks into his small bowl. "'Who's been eating my porridge?" he squeaks.

Daddy Bear looks into his big bowl. "Who's been eating my porridge?" he roars.

Mummy Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells: "For pity's sake, how many times do I have to go through this with you idiots?

"It was Mummy Bear who got up first. It was Mummy Bear who woke everyone in the house. It was Mummy Bear who made the coffee. It was Mummy Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night and put everything away. It was Mummy Bear who swept the floor in the kitchen. It was Mummy Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper. It was Mummy Bear who set the damned table. It was Mummy Bear who walked the dog, cleaned the cat's litter tray, gave them their food and refilled their water.

"And now you've decided to drag yourselves downstairs and grace Mummy Bear with your grumpy presence, listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once ...

"I haven't made the flippin' porridge yet!"



Book launch

STAND by for the book launch of the century. This year's edition of the St Clement's short stories will be offered to the public on Monday at a soiree at the Alliance Francaise in Sutton Crescent, Morningside. Thereafter they will be in Adams bookstore.

The St Clement's short stories are selected from a competition every year to coincide with the winter solstice – shortest day of the year. Two things made this year's competition different. The short stories had to be exactly 100 words (including title); and former colleague Caroline Howie and myself were judges. (It's amazing how closely the independent initial assessments of Caroline and I converged).

How does one write a story in 100 words? It's not easy, as musician Rick Andrew explains in his contribution to the book.

A hundred words

"Write a story in one hundred words? Why?"

"Because that's the challenge. You have to learn to be concise and compress ideas."

"Does it have to be exactly one hundred words?"

"Yes. It's a competition and each entry has to be exactly one hundred words."

"OK. So let's see … Once upon a time there was a greengrocer who sold his produce from his shop just off Jan Smuts highway. His wife, dissatisfied with their income, decided to purchase a suitcase with a false bottom. She was about to …"

"Sorry mate that's it. You've used up your hundred words."

·         To clear up any confusion resulting from an editing glitch in Wednesday's column, the Mondays at Six soirees – normally held at St Clement's restaurant, Musgrave Road - will be held instead this month at the Alliance Francaise. St Clement's meanwhile remains open as a restaurant. The evening soirees will revert there in November.

 

Tailpiece

HOW MANY book cover blurb writers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A vast and teeming horde stretching from sea to shining sea.

Last word

There are no wise few. Every aristocracy that has ever existed has behaved, in all essential points, exactly like a small mob.

G K Chesterton

No comments:

Post a Comment