Hum Bugs & Stomach Bugs

30-04-2014 Wednesday

Wowzers, I have been ill for a couple of days and I have been absolutely unable to do much of anything. The whole world was spinning round and round, but not because I was in love. My stomach protested against everything and anything that entered the premises and my head hurt with each little ant stomping its little feet on the big ol’ ground. Mum says it must have been some kind of stomach bug, but I hadn’t eaten any bugs, at least not that I know of. I slept most of the time and when I was awake I spent it on the toilet. For some reason I feel my body is clean of everything now except for that bug.
I am feeling a little better today, at least well enough to type a little (not too fast, though). Cheddar’s here to cheer me up with cuddles and dog kisses (yuck). Sometimes I wonder what it is that dogs think. Do they think? If so, do they think things like,’ Woof, arf, bark, bark, rrrr’? Or do they see images? I know that Cheddar sometimes dreams, that’s really funny; barking or growling in its sleep. Then I try to imagine what it is that Cheddar is dreaming about that it needed to bark. Maybe it was fighting a dog over a bone. I’ll never know.
Actually, for a dog owner, I know very little about animal behaviour and I feel I should know more. For instance, dog have such an incredible nose, that they can smell food from miles away, but why do they literally have to stick their nose up another dog’s butt to smell that? Can’t they smell that from miles away? Not only have they got a good nose, they also have a very well-developed sixth sense. Cheddar knows exactly when I need cheering up. It also knows exactly when we’re going to leave; sometimes even before we know it ourselves. And maybe – this is just a hunch – I think they can see dead people. I base that on the fact that it sometimes seems to bark and growl for no apparent reason.  
Some say that dogs don’t go to heaven. Even though I am not the religious kind of guy, it makes me wonder why – if there is a heaven – dogs wouldn’t be allowed in. Maybe it would get to crowded up there if animals were allowed a place in heaven as well. Though I could hardly think of a heaven without any animals. That would not be heaven to me. If I die and go to heaven and there are no animals there, I am going to have a talk with the manager.
I’m going to go back to sleep now. Hope I’ll feel better soon. Have a great day today! See me tomorrow. 

Punters Punting

26-04-2014 Saturday again


Haunted Bookshop

Here’s a picture of the haunted bookshop that Auntie D. took some time ago. 

Walking around Cambridge with Auntie D. is a true learning experience. Somewhere in the centre of Cambridge there’s a marketplace where they sell great food and lots of gadgets and bric-a-bracs. I had an Ostrich Burger for the first time in my life (maybe even the last, I dunno) and it was great. I never even knew they used those animals for burgers and there I was. After Dad’s snide remark Mum had a salad … and an Ostrich Burger. Dad settled for just a salad, because Mum ate his burger.
Do you know what punting is? I’ll try my best to explain. In Cambridge they have these flat boats that have to be pushed forward with a very long stick. There is a rocky path at the bottom of the river and you can push yourself forward with the stick on those rocks. If you go to much to the sides with your boat your pole will get stuck in the mud. Whatever you do, don’t hold on to it! Let it go. If you keep holding on to it you will fall into the water for sure. Auntie D. said there are two kinds of punters: those who have fallen in, and those who are going to fall in. Everybody falls into the water at least once.
You can rent these boats (they’re quite expensive) and punt yourself or you can hire an experienced punter who will then tell you something about the buildings along the way, too. Auntie D. said that you most of these punters don’t tell you the truth. They didn’t study for it. If you want to hear factual stories about Cambridge, you should hire yourself a real tour guide at the tourist information office. True, you won’t have the punting experience, but at least you won’t be misinformed on some of Cambridge’s history.
We ate Sushi in the evening; there’s a first time for everything. This was my first real sushi experience and eating with chopsticks is a true form of art. One that none of my family members has managed to master. Auntie D. was really good at it. I cheated and used a fork and knife. All these plates on a conveyor belt pass you by, and you get to choose what you want. The colours of the plates indicate how expensive the stuff was. I pretended to be colour blind.
The food was great, Auntie D. was terrific, Mum and Dad could have been nicer to each other, the cat scratched my arm (but not on purpose) and Cambridge was as lovely – and maybe even lovelier – as last time. That’s it, I’m off to bed. Good night. See me tomorrow. 


Auntie D.

A Lady Just Like You

26-04-2014 Saturday

The days are just packed with things. Yesterday we went to Cambridge again. It had been about a month and a half since we last visited my Aunty D. and Dad thought it was about time to go visit her again. I totally agreed with him, because both Auntie D. and Cambridge are well worth it. I don’t know if you remember anything about her, but she’s terrific. She knows everything about Cambridge, she can cook like no other and she’s got a lovely cat called Mew (not Ivor). When we took Cheddar to Grandma Mum thought it would be a great idea to bring Grandma and the dog, but Dad and I both yelled ‘veto’ in chorus and we left. Not that we didn’t want to bring Cheddar.
The car broke down on Friday and dad brought it to the garage to get it repaired, so we went to Cambridge by train. Aunty D. was waiting for us outside the station. You can’t really miss or overlook her. She’s got quite long silver grey hair, a walking cane – because there’s something wrong with her hip – and a big smile on her face telling you that whatever happens to you in life that, too, shall pass. She was waving at us with her brolly that she always takes just in case and she was dressed for winter with a white scarf and a long black coat.
She took us on another Cambridge tour. The best bit this time was The Haunted Bookshop. This little shop is hidden away in a narrow street – Cambridge is full of narrow streets. On the outside the shop is red and white and doesn’t look very haunted to me. The window shop is full of old and expensive books. Most of the time the older the book the more expensive it was. As if paying a pound for each year that the book has survived. On the inside you could smell the old books and it started to feel a little haunted, too.
It’s a very, very small shop filled with hundreds maybe thousands of old books. They even managed to cram in some stairs and the stairs were also full of books. We didn’t go up the stairs, as Mum’s not very good in dealing with tight spots. Some would call it an irrational fear, but with Mum it’s quite rational as she could easily have gotten stuck on her way up. The stairs were too narrow and/ or Mum was too wide. Dad was being a little mean when he said he wanted to put up a sign on her behind saying,’ Caution, Heavy Load’. Mum said Dad was going to go to hell for this remark. They’re such a lovely couple.
The story with this bookshop is that it’s supposed to be haunted by a ‘white lady’ who’s seen walking up and down the stairs every now and again. She’s accompanied by the smell of violets. Should she pass you on the stairs, you’ll smell of violets all day. The only trouble is that, if you see her, someone very close to you (often a relative) is about to die. Even though I’d love to see a real ghost one day, I’d rather not bump into her. It’s said that the shop used to be a pub and she was looking for her husband (when she was still alive) who was probably cheating on her … again.
I’m going to continue my story tonight. There’s lots more things to say as we stayed in Cambridge overnight (that’s why I couldn’t post anything last night). We returned home early this morning and picked up Cheddar at Grandma’s. On the train back I wrote this about the bookshop:

The Haunted Bookshop

A lady just like you
Who does not know what to do
You’re dressed in white and smell of violets
You’re so easy to see through

I’ve seen ghosts do just like you
What’s a ghost supposed to do?

You were looking for your man who had been cheating on you again

Walking down the stairs
With those violets in your hair
The shop’s filled with your presence
Giving customers a scare

I’ve seen ghosts do just like you
What’s a ghost supposed to do?

You were looking for your man who had been cheating on you again

All is well at dead of night
This is what they said
All the ghosts and all the sprites
They’re only in your head

So many a book to read
You’ve seen thousands come and go
While you scare the living daylights
Out of those who do not know

I’ve seen ghosts do just like you
What’s a ghost supposed to do? 

You were looking for your man who had been cheating on you again

Nothing Doing

24-04-2014 Thursday

Just before this holiday started I had the idea of spending a lot of time on WordPress and finding a lot of new bloggers to follow. I did find a few very nice blogs, but not as many as I had hoped to find. I also hoped to find a way of maybe gaining some new friends on this Blog’O’Sphere. Instead I have spent a lot of time sewing some of my older work together to turn it into some sort of book. It took me a lot of time and effort, but the end is nigh. I feel that there’s only one chapter left to sew and then the first part of Arthur’s Adventures in Blogland is more or less finished. If there’s anybody out there willing to proofread it for me out of sheer love, that’d be great. I’m not asking Mum or Dad, they still don’t know.
So far I have two working titles for this major work of art (ahum). When I started writing it I came up with the title ‘The Missing Pages’ as it contains a lot of information that one did not read on WordPress. As I said before, sometimes so many things happen on one day that I have to choose what to write about. The other working title is ‘Preface’ as I now feel that the book is just a very extended (rather interesting, sometimes hilarious and at times even scary) introduction to my life, my world and my mind. I feel that there are more books to follow this. I’d love to hear your thoughts on these two titles.
I don’t know if you have read some of my writings when I started, but most of it is about ghosts and me wanting to become a ghost hunter. I have up on that idea after about a month (let’s just say I put it on hold). With my lifestyle – spending most of the time at home, at school or out walking the dog – it’s very difficult to be catching any ghosts. The only things I’d most likely stumble upon here in this house are some skeletons in a closet (and not in our cellar as we don’t have one). Mr Bent did tell me some great ghost stories and he gave me an incredible book with even more of them tales. I haven’t seen a lot of him of late, but he’s doing fine and I am glad he’s got a girlfriend. She looks good on him. You don’t have to see really good friends every single day. You know that they are there and will be there for you when you need them.
A lot of things have changed in such a short period of time; then again, some things haven’t and probably never will. Grandma will always be Grandma and if there’s going to be any change at all, it’s probably going to be for the worse. Mum and Dad still have a very unusual marriage and I have no idea whether they love each other or whether it’s just a convenience for both to be living together in the same house and sharing some of the chores and all. School is still school and those kids change with the speed of a snail on instant replay. So, there you have it, my life in a nutshell. If you’d like to help me with my first book by proof reading it or giving me your thoughts on the title, that be awesome. Mind you, I don’t have any money, so it’ll be charity work. But, I could mention your name in the thank you list. Hope to hear from you soon. See me tomorrow.

PS – I’m sorry I posted this post rather late, I was caught up in nothing doing. 

The Fat Lady Sings

23-04-2014 Wednesday

I should consider myself lucky and not just because I haven’t heard ‘Cuz I’m happy, clap along with me’, but also because nothing really embarrassing happened while Evelyn was here. Mum’s cooking was better than average, Dad controlled his thoughts and Cheddar controlled its butt – trust me, you don’t want to smell the farts; you’d think the dog was rotting away on the inside – and there were no unexpected visitors, though Unice was looking mighty curiously out of her window when Evelyn rang our doorbell. I waved at her and she quickly drew the curtains (she probably feels very happy she’s able to do that again).
Evelyn and I spent most of the time up in my room talking, reading, listening to music and … (drums, please) … creating our own music. I think I mentioned this before, but I’m going to say it again anyways, Evelyn wants to be a singer in a band one day. Evelyn can sing really well, she’s got a lovely voice and she can play the guitar a little bit (better than I can). Though she will have to work on her stage performance, as she can’t even give a presentation without sweaty palms and a shy look. But, we figure that’s something that one will learn over time.
We wrote something of a song together today. She sang like a nightingale and I tried my best not to sound like a crow. While writing it we figured we should think a little bit outside the box for a change. Most of the times we like reading morbid things, especially when it comes to poetry and such, so we figured we’d change it around a bit and write about something incredibly happy. That’s when we got the idea of writing about a circus. What’s more fun than a barrel of monkeys? A circus! Here are the lyrics we wrote this afternoon. I was really happy with the fact that we could work so well together and even without arguing or fussing; it just went naturally.
The song is about a couple (us) on their way to the circus, but the woman feels that they’re running a bit late and she is trying to rush the man as she doesn’t want to miss a single thing. Along the way they talk about all the things that they wouldn’t want to miss for the world.

The Fat Lady Sings

Can we get there in time                       (Arthur’s Verse)
You’re asking me now
Sure dear I answer
But I don’t know how

If we get there in time                           (Evelyn’s Verse)
We’ll see cannonballs a flying
Hear elephant’s trumpets
See a mime that is crying

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

We should get there in time                 (Arthur’s Verse)
So there’s no need to shout
We’ll see lions jump rope
If tonight’s not sold out

Will we get there in time                   (Evelyn’s Verse)
To see clowns and their gags
With funny red noses
And crappy old bags

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

We will get there in time                      (Arthur’s Verse)
Toute le monde will be there
To hear the band play
And breathe in fresh air

We must get there in time                    (Evelyn’s Verse)
To see old men cry
Hear the fat lady sing
See red roses fly

The night is still young, girl                 (Arthur’s Chorus)

Before we knew it it was about ten o’clock and Evelyn had to be home by nine. She called up her parents to say she was sorry and Dad offered to give her a ride home. Her parents had forgotten about the time themselves, otherwise they would have phoned us themselves, so they weren’t really mad at her (I’m glad about that). They even said that it might be time for them to meet me. I overheard the conversation and her father literally said (with a very posh voice),’ I think it’s about time that we meet this Arthur character, as this thing you are having seems to be getting rather serious.’ It sent shivers down my spine, but not the good ones. She got home safely and I spent the entire evening singing our song. And now it’s time to sing myself to sleep. See me tomorrow.

Talking About

22-04-2014 Tuesday

‘On the 3RD day of Easter the things I got to see: three Easter Bunnies, two hands a burning and a drunk Uncle up shit creek.’ Dad smiled when he heard me “sing” it this morning. Mum looked a bit annoyed. I was just singing the truth. Jonesy was drunk the day before Easter and honoured us with a visit. Sunday he went to the hospital to see if his nose was broken; it was. We hadn’t heard from him after he had gone there, then it turned out he had to stay there because they had to reset his nose. Dad said it might teach him to stay off the booze. I kind of doubt it. Sometimes I feel I’m surrounded by alcoholics. At least they are all perfect examples of why I should refrain from drinking.
Talking about drunks: Grandma didn’t bring a live chicken last Sunday. This was a true blessing for everybody. She brought a dead one. The head and feathers were still on it and somehow Dad has a feeling she didn’t buy that at Sainsbury’s. She also brought some Cadbury Creamier than Creamy Eggs and two chocolate Easter bunnies (filled with genuine air). Grandma didn’t get drunk for a change, just a little tipsy. So, she didn’t dance on the table and she kept her nickers on. It was a good day.
Talking about chickens: Unice’s hands seem to be a lot better. They’re still wrapped up in bandages, but not as badly wrapped up as first. Just some small bandages that make her look like a penguin a little. How do I know all this? Well, she went round some places this late afternoon to tell everybody how she was doing. I reckon that nobody had thus far asked after her wellbeing and that she just decided to go round everybody who had attended the ‘party’ to let them know how she was doing. That’s so Unice. Dad wasn’t here to slam the door in her face, so Mum let her in and made her a cup of tea. As Unice was having problems holding onto the cup, she drank it through a straw. It’s quite silly to see a grown up drink tea through a straw. Out of pure solidarity I drank mine through a straw, too. Should I change the smiley face into a penguin?
Talking about Unice (And please don’t tell her this). She’s got something of a little garden in front of her house. There’s absolutely no room for it in our narrow cul-de-sac, but she just removed some tiles, planted some flowers and placed some pots and plants out in front of her door. Though I must say it looks nice, it’s wrong! She’s blocking the road and you’re not allowed to just remove some tiles just like that. Anyways, Cheddar is very pleased with her little garden as the first thing it does when we’re going for a walk is make a beeline to one of the pots and sprinkle the plants. I’m waiting for the day she’s going to come over and complain.
Tomorrow I’m going to see Evelyn, because she is coming over for dinner. I am very happy about this. I do so hope we don’t get any unexpected visitors this time: no Unice, no Grandma, and definitely no drunk Jonesy. Maybe I should make some signs and put them on the door. Like the ones they have in shops when dogs are not allowed in. Don’t think Mum and Dad would allow me to put them up on the door. On the other hand, I’m not so sure about Dad. Mum would go berserk, for sure. Dad might just agree with me. God, I love holidays; so little to do and so much time to do it in. See me tomorrow. 

Another Day Another Liebster

Lydia Devadason – go follow her wordpress this instant: – nominated me for the Liebster Award. Some time ago I was already nominated, but Lydia said,’ You can never have too many Liebsters’. I decided to answer her questions, because that’s the least I could do for being nominated by such a wonderful person. Here’s to you, dear Lydia.’

1. What inspired you to start a blog?

‘It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life.’* At the end of 2013 I decided it was time for a big change in my life. Well, actually, Grandma decided it was time for a big change in my life. She told me to get a Facebook account even though she had no idea what it was. I was – and still am – socially awkward (I write a lot, but I don’t really say a lot in real life) and I didn’t have a lot of friends, we kind of figured this could help me. I think it is helping me a lot, though I still don’t have a lot of friends at school, I have made a lot of friends here.

2. Do any of your close ‘real’ friends blog?

Actually, I don’t know if my classmates are bloggers, though I don’t think they are. Most of them are too preoccupied with having ‘swag’ or leading the ‘thug-life’. I think that I can safely say that I have talked about more interesting things and more personal things to some of my fellow bloggers here than to most of my so-called friends at school. To that respect you are my real friends and I can say that all of my ‘real’ friends are bloggers.

3. Have you any strange, embarrassing, or frightening blogging experiences?
No, and let’s keep it that way. 

4. If eating at a restaurant what would be your favourite meal –with or without dessert?
You are right; my favourite meal would be dessert. I’d prefer eating it at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

5. If money were not an issue, what would be your perfect holiday destination?
Well, I have met some great people here on the blogosphere and I’d love to meet all of them in person. If money were not an issue, I’d travel the world to meet up with all those lovely people and shake them warmly by the hand in person.

6. If money were no an issue, what would be your perfect evening’s entertainment?
Cirque du Soleil. I have always wanted to see one of their shows. Twould be a dream come true. 

7. What’s your favourite word?

8. What quality do you think friends appreciate most in you?
Well, I do know which things irritate the hell out of most people. I could name those qualities quite easily. I think my honesty is much appreciated, though maybe not always at the time of speaking. That’s why I often say,’ Hate me now, love me later’ when I am being a little too honest again. It’s just that so many ask me to give me an honest opinion when they actually just want you to say what they want to hear. I am not very good at understanding those subtle differences in meaning.

9. What personality characteristic do you find the most off-putting or irritating in others?

10. How would you like to be remembered by those you care about.
Alive and kicking. Who would want to be remembered as a corpse!? But I guess I’ll be remembered mostly by my writings. I still hope to become a successful writer one day.

11. What is your favourite holiday destination?
Let me repeat that partially – I have noticed that this is what a lot of people do when you ask them a question – my favourite holiday destination? ‘Yes, your favourite holiday destination’. Well, I haven’t been to many places and most of what I know from the world I know from books and pictures and stories. India sounds nice, so does Japan or China. One of those countries I guess. But it will have to wait till I’m older and richer.

Dear Lydia, thank you for nominating me for this award. I hope this answers your questions. Keep on blogging in a free world, because I like your style. 

Kindest of regards,



*Nina Simone (gotta love her)

So Many Shades Of Nail Polish

20-04-2014 Easter Sunday

This morning I woke up and started my egg hunt … found them in the fridge and broke last year’s record by a second. Mum and Dad are not very creative in hiding the eggs. I boiled my own egg and because I’m such a nice person I boiled one for Mum and Dad, too. To show them how much I really care for them I went up to their bedroom to tell them that I had boiled them an egg. They would have appreciated it more if it hadn’t been four o’clock in the morning. As they weren’t going to eat them I painted them with Mum’s nail polish that I found in the bathroom. She had three different shades of red, four shades of pink, one blue one and something that used to be a hazy shade of orange. After I was done painting the eggs I hid them and went back to bed.
So, maybe the couch is not the safest place to hide soft-boiled eggs, but how was I to know? Everything gets lots under the seats of the couch, between the pillows, under the couch, under the pillows, and there’s a small hole in the back of the couch where Cheddar sometimes hides his bones. When the remote control is missing: couch. Money’s gone: couch. Lost the phone: couch. Naturally I thought that would be a good hiding place, because the most obvious place is always the last place people look. ‘Unice was not amused’, in this case Unice was actually Mum. Not only had I used up all of her ‘expensive red nail polish (she started throwing brands at me, but I thought she was calling me names), both the nail polish and the egg left some lovely stains on the couch. For some reason Dad was in a cheerful mood today.
You know how grandmothers always have these ancient old remedies and recipes for everything and anything? Mum had tried a couple of things to get rid of the stains, but it had only made it worse. Then she said,’ We’ll just wait to Grandma gets here, she’ll know what to do. Grandma came over at one, and she was immediately dragged inside to come and have a look at ‘The Stain’. She looked at the stains very carefully and asked what Mum had already done to get rid of those nasty spots. Mum said what had tried and Grandma shook her head and sighed a lot. Then she asked Mum when it had happened. Mum said at about 7.30 this morning. Grandma looked at the clock and said to get her a glass of wine, a glass of water, a paper towel and a pair of scissors very quickly. So Mum rushed into the kitchen and got everything as fast as she could. She came back into the room with a tray with all the stuff on it. Naturally Mum said,’ What are you going to do?’
Grandma grabbed the glass of wine, poured it down her throat, threw the water into Mums face, handed her the paper towel and said,’ Now sit down and relax, will ya, it’s Easter and we’re going to have fun. If you want to get rid of this stain, here’s how to.’ And she gave Mum the pair of scissors. Apparently it’s not a good idea to remove nail polish from a couch using nail polish remover. Even though it does what it says when there’ nail polish on your nails, but couches are a totally different story. Sometimes I love Grandma’s view on things.
Grandma behaved nicely today. I think she was a bit upset when she heard about Jonesy’s visit yesterday and she’s not been herself since she has heard about the divorce. She made Mum call up Jonesy to ask him how he was doing. Apparently he had gone to the hospital to see if his nose wasn’t broken. When he woke up this morning he found that his nose was a little crooked and it hurt like you would not believe. Up till now we haven’t heard of him, but maybe that’s because he has just forgotten to call us back. Even though there’s a lot more to tell you, I will have to leave you. There’s some liebster award questions that I have to answer and due to my lack of sleep last night and a very tiring day I feel that after the questions it’ll be time to walk the dog one last time and hit the sack. Goodnight and see me tomorrow. 

A Little Tit For Tat

19-04-2014 Saturday

Why was it again that people got married? Love? According to the Everglots ( ‘liking’ each other has nothing to do with marriage. ‘Marriage is a partnership; a little tit for tat,’ is what Mrs Everglot thinks and sometimes I fear that she might just be right. Especially when I look at the marriages in my own family. I guess Mum and Dad’s relationship is not very different from the Everglots (though they look a lot better), at least as far as I can see. Don’t ask me about their bedroom adventures; I don’t know and I don’t want to know. Nobody wants to know these things about their own parents, right? I hope this didn’t make you think about your own parents … sorry.
Today, as a complete surprise, Uncle Jonesy visited us to talk about his divorce. Dad said he smelt of alcohol, but I think it was the open bottle of Johnny Walker in Jonesy’s hand that Dad smelt, but I’m not an expert in these things. Dad let him in, but I somehow wish he hadn’t. Jonesy tripped over a threshold that wasn’t there and fell on the ground. Luckily he broke his fall with his face. Dad called Mum who was upstairs doing Mum stuff,’ Jonesy dropped by to see you!’ Mum yelled back,’ Let him in, be right down.’ So Dad looked at Jonesy, who was still lying on the floor more dead than alive,’ Come in, she says and then he called up to Mum,’ He’s in!’
When Mum came down Jonesy was still lying on the floor, but he had curled up into some sort of foetus position. He was stammering something about love and wedding vows and kids, but it was mainly inaudible and sounded very childish. Dad said something about rebirthing, but I didn’t understand. It must have been very difficult for Mum to sympathise with Uncle Jonesy. Not only because he had been drinking a little, which made it a little harder to communicate with him, but also because everybody in our entire family was jumping for joy when they heard about the divorce; Nora was – and still is – not really very popular. While Jonesy was crying his eyes out, Mum was doing the very best she could to calm him down and tell him how sorry she was for him and how she wish they could sort out their problems and stay together.  
Mum doesn’t want them to stay together; I know that for sure. Just the other day I overheard her say to Dad,’ Good riddance to bad rubbish’. Here she was telling lies to poor ol’ Uncle Jonesy and she was getting away with it, too. I know of a person who’ll not be getting any Christmas presents this year! It’s too late to tell the Easter Bunny now, but Santa will hear about this. Mum’s lies weren’t of any use, anyhow, because each time she said something like,’ You can work this out,’ or ‘Everything will be just fine.’ Jonesy started screaming like a little kid,’ Noooooo, it’s not, nooo. Go away!’ 
After an hour Jonesy stuck his thumb in his mouth and fell asleep, right there, in our corridor, on the floor. That’s when Mum finally gave up. Dad had already given up. He gave up right after Jonesy had tripped over an imaginary threshold. I hadn’t even started anything yet, so nobody could call me a quitter. Mum walked into the room and closed the door behind her. For a couple of hours life went on as if Jonesy wasn’t here. We started watching a film and then another one. Halfway through that film the door opened, Jonesy walked in smelling even worse than before – I think he shat himself – and he said,’ Has anybody seen my house? I’m sure I left it here this morning.’ Mum took him upstairs and put him under the shower. I felt kind of sorry for him at that point but I no clue as to what I could do so I made him a drawing of smiling chicken. I guess we could all use a smiling chicken these days. 

I’m off to bed. I’ll look into this rebirthing thing in the morning, it sounded quite interesting. See me tomorrow (not too early, because it’s quite late already)

Old McDonald Had A Farm

18-04-2014 Good Friday

If you’re reading this it means Dad and I haven’t fled the country and we’re going to have to face the fact that Grandma is coming this Sunday. I hope you remember what I said about Kapparot. I’ve warned Mum about it, too. Mum called up Grandma to tell her not to bring a chicken this year, but that some chocolate eggs would be more than welcome. Grandma asked if a chocolate chicken would be fine as well. I told Mum to say that a chocolate chicken is not the same as a chicken covered in chocolate. Hopefully Grandma understands. Just in case, I’ve been practicing my swings with Cheddar’s rubber chicken.
Mum’s been making paper chickens all day (trust me, they’re not very good for swinging over your head). The entire house is covered in origami chickens and at one point Mum asked me to help her fold them. She showed me how to, but I wasn’t really good at it. Mine looked more like roosters that had been living next to a leaky nuclear power plant. This origami thing is quite difficult. Dad was really surprised when he came home and saw all those paper chickens on the kitchen table. He had probably been expecting food.
Cheddar caught one of the paper chickens. It wasn’t that difficult as paper chickens don’t really run that fast. It was torn to pieces, but Cheddar did not seem satisfied at all. I guess the dog was expecting it to be more like his rubber chicken or like real chicken. There were bits and pieces all over the place and Cheddar looked at it with a bit of a frowny face. Mum said to keep the rest of the chickens away from the dog as she didn’t want her life’s work get torn into tiny bits. The dog’s been circling the kitchen table all day.
On a more serious note, I’ve been reading a lot of Wordpress stories during my holidays and I happen to have come across a lot of stories of people asking the question ‘Who am I?’ It was also a question that I stumbled upon when I was reading the book ‘Sophie’s World’ last year. I find it an intriguing question to which I have no answer. I did find a picture on the Internet of somebody who said that his body was not really who he was, because it was the brain who was controlling it. I assumed he meant ‘we are our brains’. This in turn reminded me of the film ‘City of the Lost Children’. In this film a Brain is kept alive in a box filled with some watery substance (ethanol?). It can communicate through some sort of telephone. This still doesn’t answer the question though. I am my brain, but I still don’t know what makes me, me. Luckily me can live without this knowledge and I think this question only distracts me from living and makes living unnecessarily complicated. It reminds me of a story. I don’t really remember all the details, but here’s what I do remember. 
Once there was a forest and in this forest there lived a grasshopper who could play the violin so well that each night all the forest animals would come and listen to him play. Then one night a centipede had come to the forest and this centipede could dance like no other animal could. Instead of going to hear the grasshopper play, all the animals would go and see the centipede dance. This made the grasshopper turn green with envy and he thought of a cunning plan.
One day he walked up to the centipede and complimented him on his dancing skills. The grasshopper said he was really impressed and he was wondering whether the centipede could teach him how to dance. The centipede agreed and the grasshopper asked the centipede to explain to him how it was done. At this the centipede started thinking, and thinking,’ was it his second foot on the right first, or his first foot on the left?’ and so on, and so on. The centipede never danced again and each night all the forest animals would come and listen to the grasshopper play.
I have no idea who wrote the story or where it came from or if I’m telling it really accurately, but this is what I remembered of it. If anybody out there knows more about it, please let me know. That’s it for now, I hear mother chicken downstairs. She’s trying to tell me that it’s way past my bedtime and that little roosters should be vast asleep. See me tomorrow.