“IT WAS A DARK AND WINDY DAY TOWARDS THE END OF MARCH, in the year of our Lord, eighteen, ninety-two,” said Colonel Nesbit Bing Baddeley Snelgrove Bagfart, revealingly.
He leaned forward in the heavily padded, creaky-leather luxury of his Victorian Half-Nelson
– eyes atwinkle between . . .
I DECIDED TO SKIP VISITING THE COLONEL THE NEXT EVENING – after the rehearsing and recording-session and my walk through the surrounding countryside.
I didn’t feel up to another late night of quaffing his Puttumbee’s special by the magnumful – so I crept in surreptitiously from the rear entrance of Bagfart Manor, skulking from shadow to shadow of each beech, oak, chestnut and . . .
“THE MOON ROSE LIKE A GREAT BLOATED LUMINOUS BALLOON.”
I looked across at the Colonel with a start, releasing the pause-button of my pocket recorder instantly. I hastily wrote that first sentence down in my little token notebook in case it hadn’t all been recorded, then looked up again at the Colonel expectantly . . .
IT WAS A HOT, HOT SUNNY DAY – all due to the greenhouse effect. Even the flies were shagged out and fast asleep.
Alice and her sister, Brian – sat reading Viz and Brain Damage beneath the welcome shade of a huge horse chestnut tree in one of the few precariously preserved parks left, owing to deforestation for mass house-production.
In the almost airless heat, Alice began to feel a little drowsy and the smutty frivolities on the page in front of her were starting to blur, when a flash of something white and bright at one corner of her vision, caught her attention . . .
ONCE THERE WERE MAGICAL ROSES climbing high and flaming in the summer sun. Green leaves whispered such sweet secrets in the breeze.
Excitement and promise forever lingered in the air and the deep blue skies softly echoed every innocent childhood dream – beckoning to far-off wonderful places that always lay waiting – somewhere . . .
