Tag Archives: #vss

“Pob-bob-bob!” said the gull.

“Pob-bob-Bob!” said the gull.

“Yes.” I replied, but it should be ‘Pob-bob-bob-bob!’ as I have ‘two’ dogs.

“Pob-bob-bob-bob!” said the gull, correcting its earlier error.

“Precisely!” I said, ‘“You’ll get it right next time.”

“Pobbbbbb!” said the gull, which really wasn’t a very nice thing to say at all.

“I’m sorry, but we really do need some form of IDiot.”

I checked all pockets; fluff (or lint – I’m not sure of the difference); two sweets (still wrapped, possibly edible); some string; a few coins; a bus-ticket; a receipt; various other items of little use; but nothing that I could use to confirm who, or indeed ‘what’, I was.

They refused to allow my entrance. I foresaw my exit – and was soon unceremoniously ejected into the street.

Much later (some several years) I realised that all along I had had my library ticket tucked inside the cuff of my jacket.

Never mind, I shall remember it being there next time. If there is a next time. For whatever it was that I needed my ID for.

An infinite amount of nothing

Amblers Anonymous

“Hello, I am Wanda… and I… tend to walk about quite a lot… very… slowly, in various directions— and, um… I’ve been doing this… since I was about one or so, and I can’t really seem to stop doing it.”

There I was

There we were, the four of us, in the picture, standing tall – I was the one in the middle.

Upon the theme of ‘Shop, Shoop, Sheep, and Sheeps’

It is time for change.

One sheep, should (IMHO), be called a ‘Shoop’ and a baby ‘Shoop’ should be called a ‘Shop’.

I know that, to save confusion, we would then probably have to rename the old ‘sell-stuff, buy stuff’ “shop” places to something else – perhaps they could be called ‘Buy-Places’ – and then we would be sorted out for the duration.

Sheep could relate to sheep numbering 2 to 20, and ‘Sheeps to 21 Sheep and above (‘To Ovinity, and beyond!’ you might say).


Smaug was feeling exceptionally smug; he had just finished counting all the coins in his golden hoard (and, once again, the amount tallied). He sighed, and thought to himself, ‘I’ll count them all again!’ how smug could Smaug get? ‘One… two… three… four… he knew the count would be the same as before, but he so enjoyed counting his coinage.

Ashton on the Line (A Teddy Bear in Uncertain Situations).

“You’re a bear!”

“Obviously. Bears look like me, I look like a bear; the reason being… I am a bear.”

“But, you can talk!”

“As can you – fun isn’t it?”

“But, I’m ‘not’ a bear!”

“No, and that is your loss; there’s nothing much that I can do about your parentage, now that you’ve been born and raised by… humans!”

“But, you can talk!”

“Haven’t we established that? My, you are a weird one.”

“No. Well, yes; but, what I mean is… you are a talking bear.”

“We all talk.”

“In English?”

“Ah, I see where you are becoming confused. I am talking in ‘Bear’, you, on the other paw, are hearing in English. Life can be funny like that.”

“How… ?”

“And now you are talking in Native American, and I am hearing in Bear. Do you speak many languages?”

“A little of some, and not a lot of many.”

“Bon. Quelle jour est-il?”

“Um, Thursday, I think.”


“Does it?”

“Oh, yes; I am a big fan of H2G2.”

“I quite like H2O.”

“I assumed you would. Do you travel this way often?”

“No. In fact, this is the first time I have been here.”

“And the last?”


“No apologies needed; but, it’s not good to meet a bear (albeit a talking one) in the woods, is it?”

“”No, I suppose not.”

There is a pause of some few seconds.

“Should I run?”

“Do you want to?”

“I feel that I must.”

“Okay, at least you could say that you made an effort to escape your fate.”

“To whom would I say that?”

“Oh I think you would have to have a soft, short conversation with yourself.”

“Right. Thanks.”

The traveller set of at a breakneck speed – which term gained considerable aptness as a twisted root is negotiated with all the elegance of a camel waterskiing.

“Oh, well, that’s a bit of a shame.” said Ashton the bear, returning to his perusal of the vegetation nearby.

Rosa Brupptley

Rosa was a stand-up.

Her rise to stardom was meteoric.

Her fall from grace catastrophic;

one minute she was riding the heights,

the next, she was plumbing…

plumbing the depths, that is.

“It is a buoy, your grace!”

After 9 months of plain sailing,

the master and his attendant crew entered the area of storms.

In that vast place,

their tiny wooden craft was sea-tossed,

and thrown from wave peak to wave trough innumerable times.

When, eventually, the craft had miraculously reached beyond,

they found themselves becalmed upon a mirrored ocean,

where there was not even a breeze.

Like the ship of the Ancient Mariner,

there was grave concern amongst the sailors;

and the relief felt from passing through the storm

was replaced by a dread of another kind.

Water rations grew scant, food was turning away from being edible, and all seemed about to be lost.

Until the master’s wife gave birth; which was a bit of a surprise, as no one had known she was pregnant.

“It is a buoy, your grace!”

“I am not, ‘your grace’, I am just the master of this vessel; but, I think that Grace will be a good name for our child.”

“It’s a buoy! You can’t call him Grace.”

“We can call him what we wish – Grace is a name that shall befit his style and grace.

And so it was that Grace was named, and grew to be the son that his father, Muriel, had always wanted.