Well, My Time Went So Quickly

Part 55 of “A Couple of Tenors Short” unlike a certain brand of lager, reaches parts that other blog serials fail to reach. My advice would be to use calamine lotion twice a day and not to scratch.

After scientific study of the temperature of the precipitation, I believe we now have consensus that it is indeed Summer. So, what better way to celebrate that to hold the World Sauna Championships? It is a rather tragic tale, but another example that life is stranger than fiction. Although I am left wondering if there is typo in that article. Surely they mean temperatures of 110 Fahrenheit rather than 110 Celsius (which is 230 Fahrenheit)?

Errrr... I am reliably informed that they do indeed mean 110C. Such is the heat, contestants are banned from wearing hair gel lest it melt, get into an eye and fry the eyeball. I wondered why Evar didn’t seem keen about entering!

Onto the quiz question then. This is probably easier than the last few, but I still give you the  answer.

OK, the quiz question out of the way, here is my mantra. This is a serial. Any new-joiners should start with the opener known as Part One.   

The troublesome recap has now settled into its new home. You can find the recap here!

Now read on...

The email that Jones prepared complaining about the pathologist was vitriolic and peppered with profanities. The first draft flowed from his fingers in minutes, before he reworked a section and added a few extra choice phrases he considered appropriate. Jones sat back, considered his masterpiece of complaint and smiled. Jones leant forward and hit the delete key.

Jones then wrote a memo to the Superintendant requesting his assistance to increase the priority of his tests. The memo was more considered and diplomatic and nowhere near as satisfying to write. Jones sent the memo and headed to the briefing room.

The briefing room was noisy. Conversations about the latest in the Horace Adkins saga flew across the room. Voices were being raised as people competed to get their opinions into the mix. The entrance of Jones had no impact on the noise level. Jones standing by the briefing board appeared to go un-noticed.

“GOOD MORNING!” Jones shouted above the din, simultaneously slamming his folder onto the desk to provide appropriate punctuation.

The noise faded and the briefing got underway.

There was a more energy about the briefing than the day before. Contributions were coming from all sides and there were snippets of information about the generator thefts. They didn’t really take the investigation any further forward, but at least Jones had something to add to his notes.

The news about the delay in bailing Dunker Phil even got a small cheer from the ensemble, so Jones was beaming when he recounted the interview with some gusto.

“That’s a co-incidence.” Johnson interrupted when Jones mentioned the mysterious Sergei involved in the abduction.

All eyes turned to Johnson before slowly turning to Jones.

“What is a co-incidence, Johnson?” the calm, measured tone was in contradiction to Jones’s flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes and flared nostrils.

It might have been prudent for Johnson to look up, but he continued to doodle on his notepad. “The name of the dead bloke who was fished out of the Thames was probably Sergei.”

“Oh? That really is very interesting. I’m so glad we have made a breakthrough in that case.” Jones continued to speak slowly and softly as he moved from the front of the room to stand next to Johnson. “Tell me his surname and how long have you known that.”

The room had fallen totally silent now, not even the sound of scratchy pencils distracted the group from the unfolding scene. Johnson flipped over a couple of pages in his notebook.

“His landlady rang a couple of days ago. Said he was a Russian called Sergei Plutov and that she hadn’t seen him since the weekend and that he hadn’t been back to his room....” Johnson’s voice suddenly trailed off when he looked up from his notepad to discover a red faced Jones looming over him.

“Truly fascinating.” Despite the fuse being lit and a small amount of spittle forming at the corner of his mouth, Jones continued to keep his voice quiet and calm.  “Please tell your colleagues why you didn’t feel the need to trouble us with this information.”

Johnson looked around the room at his colleagues. As his gaze settled on them, each in turn turned their gaze to something else that had suddenly become intriguing. Johnson swallowed hard and turned to face Jones.

“At the time it didn’t seem all that important.” Johnson whimpered and ran a finger around the inside of his collar as he noticed the vein throbbing on Jones’s flushed temple. “Besides, he was a Russian, a foreigner, so not really important in the scheme....”

“A FOREIGNER? NOT IMPORTANT?” The fuse met the main charge within Jones. “Since when does being a foreigner mean that you’re not entitled to British Justice?”

Johnson, considered this and tried to form a response, but Jones was in no mood for interruption. The public berating of his detective by Jones continued as the inspector regaled him with his principles of police work.  Jones started with the principles of justice, moved on to the equality of the law, gave an impassioned defence of the need for the impartiality of justice before explaining the need for effective police work in order to not only ensure justice was done, but seen to be done.

Jones could have continued, but he was cut off by the sight of three athletes jogging across the office followed by the Superintendant in his gold lamé, full dress uniform. The four of them burst into the briefing room. The athletes took up station by the door while the Superintendant flounced to the front of the room.

 

Motivation is Concentric Circles

After the debacle that was Evar’s attempt at a motivational seminar in the ‘Rat & Ferret’, a group of us decided that we would help him out by adding ‘structure’ to his technique.

I was the first to arrive and I sat nursing a pint of Nightswerve’s Velvet Cudgel while I waited for the others. Evar turned up a short time later quickly followed by Lillian Flotelitely, who had offered to enhance Evar’s limited wardrobe by donating some of her late brother’s clothes. (see Note 1) .

A little while later, the roar of a fleet of Mercedes cars signalled the arrival of a bafflement of Management Consultants (see Note 2) we had secured for the occasion with a little help from Padstow (see Note 3).

The bafflement entered the lounge and immediately agreed that, in the spirit of standardisation, they should all order the same drink. They then stood at the bar and argued over exactly what that drink would be for a good ten minutes before Mattress Madge intervened and gave them all a pint of Velvet Cudgel explaining it was the local standard. Thus placated, they joined me at my table as Lillian led in Evar.

At first, the bafflement nodded and muttered, before one of them decided Evar’s tie needed to be upgraded to silk. Another announced that it wasn’t an upgrade that was needed, but a replacement bow tie was required. The third immediately declared that the tie was an overhead and needed to be dispensed with. They squabbled amongst themselves before Lillian suggested that the tie be blue instead of green. They muttered a bit before all nodding and agreeing that a blue tie would be acceptable.

There was then a period of unexpected unanimity. All agreed that what Evar needed was a PowerPoint slideshow and that pictures and videos (see Note 4) would be spliced into some slides showing the latest management thinking gleaned from 10 minutes on Google.

When we tried to assemble the actual presentation, things started to get heated. Throgmorton Cranfield insisted that the presentation had to start with a slide consisting of concentric circles. Evander Waterhouse, immediately countered that this was against ISO43277/B and that all presentations must open with a two by two matrices. For a while, Abraham Logica said nothing and sat there thumbing through a leather bound folder before suddenly launching into a tirade claiming that both were wrong because of the template being used.

It looked like they would come to blows and try as we might, we could not calm the increasingly heated debate. In the end, Mattress Madge, Evar and I retired to the snug bar and decided to do the presentation ourselves.

When we returned an hour later, the argument was still in full swing and the walls had been covered in yellow post-it notes. I tried the polite cough to gain their attention and was totally ignored. Mattress Madge slammed a fist down onto the table causing glasses, blackberries and folders to jump several inches into the air.

The room went silent. The Management Consultants looked at Mattress Madge with their jaws hanging open.

We showed them our presentation.

Whether it was the quality of our offering or the sight of Mattress Madge all a quiver in pent up frustration, I don’t know, but the bafflement accepted it with fulsome praise.

After agreeing that Evar would give his first run through of his presentation at ‘MacWhirtles Widgets and Flanges’ next week, we all handed the Management Consultants our watches, they declared it was 22:37 (see Note 5) and we all left happy.

Note 1: The unfortunate Stanley Flotelitely will be sorely missed. A rather eccentric engineer, he travelled around the town in his patented steam powered car. His lifelong ambition was achieved last year when he developed the world’s first steam powered, fully automated Hurdy Gurdy orchestra and performed an open air concert in the local park. Sadly, while attempting to incorporate bagpipes into the orchestra, a poorly manufactured non-return valve resulted in his demise and the complete destruction of his workshop.

Note 2: I am reliably informed that bafflement is the correct collective noun when describing more than one Management Consultant. As everyone knows, a single Management Consultant is described as a flim-flam.

Note 3: Padstow had been stalking a minor soap star who had been booked to open their annual conference in Scarborough, it was our good fortune that he had decided to go for a walk on the hills and managed to get the pictures. The consultants claim they were playing charades and trying to act out Bo Peep and who am I to contradict them?

Note 4: All of us were particularly taken by one video of Evar and Yvette shot on a break from one of his competitions. In another unexpected show of unanimity we all agreed that for a big girl, Yvette is surprisingly flexible and that the video could not be shown without fear of arrest.

Note 5: I’m unsure whether or not this note is needed or if I should even include it. If you believe that it is surplus to requirements, then read no further. For as everyone knows, a Management Consultants job is to go into a company, borrow your watch, tell you the time and keep the watch.

 

Motivation is a Lycra Body Suit

With the Winter Olympics in Vancouver rapidly approaching, Evar’s training program is really stepping up a gear. Before dawn every morning, he is out pounding the pavements on his 30km run, normally with his trainer on his back bellowing words of encouragement in his ear.

After a successful training camp in Bulgaria last month, Evar is in confident mood that next years Olympiad will be his best ever. The trouble is that none of this comes cheap and with the global financial crisis has meant that sponsorship deals are getting hard to come by.

The regulars at the ‘Rat & Ferret’ are trying to do their bit to help out. A few months back we held a Dustman’s Knock-a-thon (see Note 1) and raised enough for a carbon fibre ski pole. The after hours, high stakes domino game (see Note 2) raised enough for the other pole plus a lurid Day-Glo pink and lime green lycra bodysuit (see Note 3).

Sid and Evar have come to an agreement over Evar Merchandise sales with a small corner of the bar being set over for the sale of Evar mugs, Evar t-shirts, Evar pens and Evar nightwear. (See Note 4)

Sales were a bit slow to start with, but once Sid installed a trampoline in the beer garden and Evar has been doing a couple of hours of his freestyle work on it each week wearing his new lycra bodysuit, it picked up. It is certainly been drawing the crowds after school, enabling Sid to gleefully part the girls from their pocket money.

Despite all of this, Evar is struggling to get the funding to make sure he will be plying his stuff on the Canadian slopes.

However, he may have found the solution. Roger Black turned up to try his luck at the high stakes domino game. Roger didn’t last very long after drawing ‘The Spot’ in the second round and he and Evar got chatting. Roger, his tongue loosened by a pint of Velvet Cudgel, happened to mention that an Olympic medal or once holding the door open for Neil Armstrong , makes you eligible for the lucrative motivational speaking circuit.

Evar’s eyes narrowed, he nodded and he set his jaw.

“Zees I can DO!”  he yelled as he pumped a fist in the air.

For those of us present, it was like hearing Arnie announce “I’ll be Back!” for the first time. In seconds, the regulars of the ‘Rat & Ferret’ agreed to be the Guinea Pigs at Evar’s first attempt at a motivational seminar.

To be honest, the seminar itself wasn’t an overwhelming success. Evar decided to make a grand entrance, resplendent in his lycra body suit shouting “Cummon! Cummon! Cummon!” continually. After about 10 minutes, this became a touch wearing and the audience was more bemused then motivated.

Eventually, Evar stopped and looked around the snug bar,saliva dribbling down his chin.

“Who vants to be motivated?” he demanded as he looked around the room for someone brave enough to catch his eyes.

Nobody moved. Evar waited and the snug bar remained eerily silent.

“Me?” Stevie Bogmuffin slowly raised his hand.

Evar dragged him out to the front, jumped onto his back, produced a riding crop and started to bellow “Run! Run! Run!” in his ear.

To his credit, Stevie did three laps of the snug before collapsing. Poor Evar is still trying to work out what went wrong. A group of us regulars are meeting up with him tonight to see if we can help out, but on the strict understanding that the lycra and the riding crop don’t make an appearance.

  

Note 1: For the un-initiated, Dustman’s Knock is a game that is very similar to Postman’s Knock, only muckier.

Note 2: It was a stunning final with local hero Dick ‘Bromide’ Gilmarsh edging out Tom ‘The Spot’ Ludowicz in the deciding game. Tom, who flew in from Vegas in his private jet, stormed out claiming that a Mattress Madge shimmy had distracted him during a vital play. Dick meanwhile has said that he will use his winnings to buy a new shed for his allotment.

Note 3: Which, as per Evar’s exacting instructions, was purchased a size too small with a double stitched gusset.

Note 4: Yvette also supplied some other Evar branded items that she had specially made in Amsterdam, but these were impounded by Customs.

 

Wikimedodah

Simon Holder (born 13 May 1643) is Meritorious Practitioner of Murphy's Law at the University of Fotheringhay, a post for which he has drawn a salary for many years without anybody knowing what he actually does. Holder recently noticed that too many pairs of his trousers has taken to doing impressions of cheap hotels. A noted expert in alternative realities, it is rumored that he has discovered the means to escape the constraints of time and space, although he has yet to publish on the subject.

Contents [hide] 1 Biography 2 Education 3 Early Life 4 The 18th Century 5 The 19th Century 6 The early 20th Century 7 Dried Frog Pills 8 Evar 9 Notes 10 References 11 External links

// Biography

Holder claims to be born somewhere in England on 13 May, 1643. While being very insistent that the 13^th May is his birthday, he has nothing to support his claim to being the world’s oldest man. He has a brother and sister who are both over 315 years younger than himself, a fact he puts down to his parents discovering yoga and monkey gland injections in their twilight years. After school, Holder held short lived careers as a Forest Ranger and in Local Government before finding that computers have no discrimination towards reality hopping.

All of Holder’s theories on reality have been published on the internet. It was by pure chance that these were discovered by luminaries at St Wayne’s College,  the University of Fotheringhay, who offered him the chair of the newly formed Reality Studies school.

Education

Holder came very late to education, starting school in the 1960s. He attended a number of educational establishments where his teachers described him as ‘not all there’, ‘somewhere else’ and in ‘a little world all of his own’. The school reports from his early education are currently in a brown cardboard box in a very safe place to prevent competitor academics gaining access as they are believed to provide a clue as how he manages to slip between realities. After failing at a wide range of schools, he eventually finished his education at Devizes School, were it is claimed that the teachers occupied as many alternate realities as he did.

Early Life

Very little is known of Holder’s early life. A lot has been written in the media about the claims made by some embroidery circles that he alone was responsible for the Restoration of the English Monarchy. Holder himself claims that he had never met the women involved and that it isn’t his likeness in the engravings.

 The 18^th Century

Nothing of note happened in the 18^th Century, but it could be that Holder had a cold the day they did that in history.

The 19^th Century

Holder did military service in the 46^th Queens Hosiery. He entered in the ranks and after serving for 40 years in India and Afghanistan, emerging as the country’s most decorated major. This is mainly due to the relationships with the local embroidery circles. It is probably his exploits with the young embroiderers of Bangalore that would later be embellished by the Lord of the Evil Empire  to try and undermine his role as confidant to un-named member of the royal family.

After military service, Holder returned to London where he worked as osteopath to the stars enjoying affairs with many music hall stars of the era. His career reached it’s peak in 1894, but a scandal involving a young chorus girl, exotic fruit, two small lizards and a malfunctioning butter churn in a suite at the Ritz Hotel meant him leaving England to live the life of a hermit in the Balkans.

While practicing as an osteopath, he formed a lifelong friendship with Ethaniel Nightswerve, the brewing and embrocation magnate. This relationship lasted for many years and it is Holder who is credditted with providing Nightswerve with the confidence to set up his first brewery. Holder also invested £50 in the newly formed company and the profits from this venture is believed to have funded his early amphibian research.

The early 20^th Century

It is widely acknowledged that the authorities in Europe have hushed up that Holder very nearly prevented World War I. On the eve of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, Holder was called to the Archduke’s private apartments and called upon to give him a reading of his bumps. According to Holder, he advised the Archduke he would be killed if he ventured out the next day. Official sources deny this saying that he was advised to ‘wear an extra vest in case he caught his death of a cold’.

Dried Frog Pills

With the Serbian Secret Service hot on his tail, Holder was smuggled out of the Balkans by a young Chief Inspector McCrindle Barleymow Honeydew-Fforbes of Old Scotland Yard. MI5, worried that Holder could destabilise the war effort, sent Holder to Peru. There he noticed the local custom of licking toads seemed to leave the population in a state of calm equilibrium with a very laid back attitude to life. After pairing up with a passing double-jointed anthropologist, he decided to perform an in depth study of the various amphibians and their therapeutic properties.

Due to a particularly energetic and long duration session of bedroom gymnastics with the aforementioned anthropologist, a set of toads put in the oven to warm, were forgotten. By the time that Holder returned to them, they had been reduced to a fine powder. A passionate argument ensued during which various substances were thrown across the laboratory, one of which, when exposed to fumes from Ethaniel Nightswerve’s Thoracic liniment,  caused a reaction with the toad. Subsequent testing showed that in pill form, the resulting concoction proved to be even more beneficial than the licking of toads and did not make the subject prone to tongue warts.

Evar

Holder is the mentor and agent to the Latvian downhill skier, Evar.

Notes

1. ^ Interview with a legend, Pippa Greatchest, The Guardian UK, 2002-10-16. Retrieved 2008-02-14
   
2. ^ Embrocation – The Recession Proof Investment, Harry Porten Lemon, The Financial Times, 2009-02-11. Retrieved 2009-03-06.
   
3. ^  Embroidery in Warfare. The Times Educational Supplement. 15 October 1997. http://www.the times.co.uk/news/arts/embriodery/scandle_in_needpoint.html. 
   
4. ^ Best 360 Evar!, The Sun UK, 2006-08-23. Retrieved 2008-02-14

References

• Therapeutic Amphibian Extractions   Dr Wilfred Clapman. Oxford University Press. Retrieved 2005-01-13.
  
• Legends of the Yard, Socialist Worker, Magenta Poppet, 2000-10-12. Retrieved 2007-08-27.

External links

• The Official Simon Holder Website Website red1hols.blogspot.com/
  
• How to Embroider History Richard Cavendish looks at the role of Tapestry in Modern European History.

Retrieved from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon Holder"

Guiding me to the Forest Path

On a Sunday lunchtime, a group of us get together in the 'Rat & Ferret' to enjoy a couple of pints of Dr Ethaniel Nightswerve's Velvet Cudgel and generally socialise. Topics of conversation are wide ranging and eclectic.

There are the common themes like our discussions on Evar's latest attempt at inclusion in the record books, postulations on the miracles of engineering that must constitute the barmaid's undergarments and the prospects of Oundelian Wanderers qualifying for European football. The latter topic we discuss with much head shaking and tutting now that the Oundelian star striker, Stan 'Twinkletoes' Ferchop has been injured in a freak pedicure accident.

As the level of the ale lowers in our glass, the conversation diversifies and starts to meander through life's little mysteries. (See Note 1).

On Sunday, the conversation had somehow found its way to the subject of teachers. As I recounted a memory of one particular teacher, I suddenly found Bertram Willder at my elbow and thrusting his card into my hand.

Trust me, you do not want to have a person like Willder at your elbow. He is one of those people who seems to be able enter a room without opening a door, so the shock caused me to spill a few drops of the Velvet Cudgel on my sweater. (see Note 2).

I looked at the card. For that particular event, Willder was operating as ‘B. Willder’, solicitor and partner in ‘Everyone’s a Winner’ law practice franchise.

Willder looked genuinely shocked as I declined the offer and started to start on his well rehearsed sales pitch. (see Note 3). However, when I made to tip some of the Vevet Cudgel on his sharp suit, he backed off. Muttering under his breath, he slithered away to pester another regular with an opportunity to invest in a steam powered toothbrush company.

You see, my setaceous yeomen, I am not a litigious soul. Besides, the subject of my anecdote, my ‘careers’ teacher, is protected by the simple fact that I cannot remember his name.

I can picture him well enough, the crop of unruly sandy hair, the patchy moustache that sat unevenly under his bulbous red nose. I can see him sat opposite me, eyes desperately trying to focus, the vein on his temple throbbing gently as he tried to control his natural aversion to teenage boys.

He wasn’t a dedicated careers teacher. His main subject was maths. It was generally accepted that the reason was that he became careers master was because he was the last to find an excuse when the headmaster asked for volunteers. His unfortunate and ironic assignment as the teacher to set young people onto the ideal career path was probably due to his need for constant nips from a bottle of Johnny Walker whenever faced by pupils.

The method for helping us making the career choices was ‘computer aided’. We were given a questionnaire with a number of questions. You answered the questions on a card which were collected and sent away to be processed by a huge computer.

It was the early days of computing.

Some weeks later the results came back and you were scheduled a meeting with the careers teacher.

I went in with an air of expectation only to be knocked sideways by stale whisky fumes. I recovered, sat down and waited for teacher to focus on me. He put the bottle, badly disguised as a brown paper bag in a drawer. At the third attempt, he grabbed a sheet of paper and thrust it my approximate direction.

“Forest Ranger.” He slurred.

“Eh?” was my response. “I have a tree pollen allergy.”

He shook his head, grabbing the desk for support as he did so. A short monologue ensued in which he evangelised on the infallibility of the modern computer before drawing the consultation to a close with a bellowed “Next!” (see Note 4)

My career as a Forest Ranger was short lived. For a start there were a lot of us Forest Rangers roaming the Wiltshire countryside trying to herd trees into a forest. For those of you who have ever tried to herd trees, you will know how difficult it is. The task was made all the more difficult by there being more Forest Rangers than actual trees, so hardly a day went by without some squabble breaking out over a copse. In the end, they decided that perhaps we would be better employed elsewhere and they made me work in an office, doing menial and repetitive tasks while being ordered about by a man in a shiny polyester suit.

I didn’t last at that either. Perhaps, I was a bit harsh on that poor careers teacher. After all, I did end up working with computers. Maybe his monologue on the infallibility of computers did have an impact on me after all. Mind you, I just wish that somebody told me that if you really wanted to make money, live in a huge mansion and always have a pretty girl on your arm, you should set up your own international porn empire.

Note 1 : It widely accepted that on Padstow's birthday, when the drink had been flowing particularly freely we had actually managed to solve the riddle of the meaning of life. Sadly, none of us thought to write it down and the answer was lost amongst the resulting hangovers.

Note 2 : Which is a real shame. I liked that sweater. Now, instead of the happy faces of those chirpy Disney characters, Chip and Dale, exalting the world to smile on the front, it is now a mass of holes. It looks like it has been the victim of a swarm of moths on acid.

Note 3 : A sales pitch that apparently swayed Stan ‘Twinkletoes’ Ferchop, who has not thought this through. While he did undoubtedly stagger away from the pedicure, the circumstances are likely to cause a media frenzy that could cause him to lose his lucrative endorsement from Borthwicks, the family horse liniment supplier to the stars. Just what he was doing in an unlicensed foot parlour in Soho on the eve of the game against Aston Villa is going to be hard to explain. However, it is the fact that the pedicure was being administered by a naked girl smeared in boiled rhubarb that will probably lose him the sympathy of the court.

Note 4 : It transpired later that using the logic of the infallibility of computers, 60% of school leavers that year were destined to be Forest Rangers. 20% were going to were going to be bankers and bring the world economy to its knees and 18% were going to be car mechanics. The other 2% were going to have a long and happy career on the stage as drag queens.

Who is that masked man?

Last night I spent most of my time fighting Microsoft's PowerPoint. It meant that I didn't get the chance to do much in the way of research.

Instead, I shall respond to the deluge of the email I received.

It is highly probable that if you follow my blog here (and here and here), that you may have come across the man of mystery.

Those of you who may not have yet adjusted to my synaptic tangents, you may feel that I am about to explain exactly who was that masked man, The Lone Ranger. As a pre-Clint hero of the Old West, he was allowed access to the chain of beauty parlours around the badlands of 19th century America that ensured that he and his trusty sidekick were always impeccably manicured. Faced with such clean shaven and well moisturised good looks, the hoards of bad-guys soon saw the error of their ways and surrendered to be rehabilitated into society. A society where all women were beautiful, young and even when besieged by renegades, could always smuggle in their make bags and find time to touch up the slap.

Our hero and his sidekick could always be relied upon to remain pleasantly aromatic and spick and span thanks to the secret material used to make their outfits that always remains clean and ironed no matter how many days are spent in the saddle. Sadly, it is a material that remains secret to this day.

But as usual, I digress. No, I am talking about that legend of blog folklore, Evar.

The historical timeline of Evar remains vague in my memory, but is rooted in the early days of my first blog on Yahoo. I started this on 30th May 2006. Rather like the Old West of the Lone Ranger, they were simpler times. I wrote my entries, posted them and experimented a little.

I started to explore the blogs of other people and the other features on the site - like I would encourage any 'newbie' to do. Above all, I got into a habit of setting aside some time every day to write a bit, read a bit, post a few comments and build up my network of fellow bloggers. The comments bit being the important bit as this built up relationships with people far more experienced in the art than I.

Looking through my old blog entries, I can see how my voice and style developed. As my confidence and network grew, I spent more time on the formatting (using HTML which eventually took longer than the writing!).

Evar appears to have made his first appearance in my blog on 21st June 2006, co-inciding nicely with Wimbledon and me suffering an apparent attack of bad taste.

Evar was born out of one of the features of Yahoo which was the short messaging system. People could type in short messages on the front page of your site. Along with an appropriate little smiley face, you could choose an emotion to go with your message. Lumped in with the obvious 'smiles', 'hugs' and 'waves' was one for 'Best 360 Evar!'

Somewhere, now lost in the mists of time, lay a conversation with Marcus Jordan (Yes, another Multiply refugee from the crumbling 360 megalith) over the delights (or otherwise) of these messages and somewhere in these it was decided that ‘Evar’ referred to an over competitive Eastern European winter sports specialist

Now, I am not at all sure how all of this came about and the actual conversation is now buried in the bowels of some Yahoo post that will probably never return (tags are great for finding individual posts, but sadly never updated to reflect comments).

I have another shameful admission. I can’t even be sure that I remember Evar’s full name. Somewhere along the line he acquired a girlfriend, Yvette Munsderpiedder, with whom he competed in the 2006 Wimbledon finals until a scandal forced Evar into hiding with the famous detective, Chief Inspector McCrindle Barleymow Honeydew-Fforbes of New Scotland Yard hot on his tail.

Shortly after this, Yahoo declared that I was interesting. Something that felt like a huge honour at the time, but take it from me, you don’t want to stay interesting.

Evar continued and the legend grew. Stories wove around him and characters wandered in and out of the blog. Everything based around the simple premise of my local shifted from Reality A to Reality B where it became reborn as the ‘Rat & Ferret’ all aided by Dried Frog Pills and Dr. Ethaniel Nightswerve’s Velvet Cudgel. He still gets the occasional outing of course, but I am careful that before I let him out in public, I check that nobody has sewn a new label in my underpants.

Stoking the Fire

Do you ever have those times when you are sure you have done something and then discover days later that you haven't? Well, I have just had one. I thought I had posted this blog, but in fact I hadn't. It is probably my age or my tin foil hat getting tight or I've not got the dosage right on my dried frog pills.

I get the same sensation sometimes when I am driving. I suddenly find that I cannot remember negotiating a roundabout or passing through a set of traffic lights. Although that is more a case of having done something and then forgetting.

I'm rambling. Sorry, my prosthetic yeomen, let's give you that post that I promised and then forgot.

Evar popped by last night to show off his recently acquired bronze medal from the extreme ironing championships (in the king size duvet cover and sheets freestyle) and to make sure that we were all aware that it would have been gold had it not been for a 0.2 point deduction for a suspiciously stained sheet.

There were the usual accusations of sabotage by the now infamous Johanus Merkwier, but they weren't all that convincing given that the day before the competition he partied with a trio of his groupies in his Volkswagen camper.

It was during the discussions over where he could purchase new shock absorbers for his van that he suddenly remarked that I seemed to be spending more time on my blogs again.

I hadn't got the heart to point out that the main reason I was steadfastly looking at my computer screen was that he was wearing the new crocheted mankini given to him by one of the aforementioned groupies and what is claimed to have started the mattress manoeuvring in the first place. It isn't just that you can't help feeling a touch inadequate when presented by Evar in a mankini, but it was the fact that Evar has decided to grow, bead and plait his body hair that meant I was determined not to look in his direction.

But Evar does have a point. I have found a renewed energy for my blogging undoubtedly helped by having an easier time of things at work, but mainly down to doing this blogging talk at the Oundle Festival of Literature.

As part of this I have been busily preparing slides and researching some interesting sites to reference during the talk. I have also set myself up a second blog which will be the one that I shall be using to demonstrate blogging and, hopefully, set up an active blogging ring around the Festival.

These, combined with the inspiration gained on my travels around the blogosphere has really got the energy back and I find myself making time at all kinds of odd parts of the day to blog.

I can only hope the energy continues after the Festival!

You're Driving Me Crasi!

Definitely multi-pupose - not only an extension.

I should start off with a confession. I am really on the move today and I wasn’t going to post anything. Sadly, Evar has other ideas. He feels that I need to continue to harass my blissful yeomen with another cryptic clue.

Evar also decided that I need to take my position as patron of CRASI (Campaign to Release Alternate Sorry to the Internet) more seriously. I was enjoying a nice quiet pint in the ‘Rat and Ferret’ when he started to harangue me. What was worse, Sid and Mattress Madge supported him.

I tried to explain that being a patron is an honorary thing. I don’t really have to do much apart from turn up for a few free lunches, press the flesh and pose for a few photographs. (Note 1). I fought tooth and nail against the idea, but in the end was swayed when Madge, leant forward, jiggled her ample charms and suggested that I might get onto the guest list for a few Embassy Dinners - definitely a step up from blagging a free ploughmans from ‘The Bladdered Nun’ (Another fine watering hole in our fine town).

Having seen me relent, Evar wandered off to continue his experimentation in the effects of Viagra on small mammals, leaving me to explain CRASI to a growing band of perplexed yeomen.

It seems that if you glue legs on a gag and teach it to run – the aforementioned gag also grows razor sharp teeth and develops infinite patience. When your attention wanders off and your guard is down, the gag turns and bites you in the most delicate of areas.

The more observant amongst you may have noticed that I liberally sprinkle links in my post. For the most part these kind of tie in with what I’m posting about, but occasionally I just throw in an odd link that whisks you away at random. One of those random links was to a rather clever video someone posted of them saying sorry. Working on the principle that you cannot have too much of a good thing, I repeated the link to the point of driving previously sane people to develop the desire to stick hot needles into their eyes.

Eventually, Sean cracked and produced his own version of the and the sorry video. But since then, the gag runs on and on and on and on and on and on alternating the two – probably due to an advanced case of irony. (Note 2)

The good news is that we now have CRASI! This is your chance to be avenged and grab your chance to expand on the repertoire of the sorry videos. Just drop Sean a message with the URL (Oh, OK Evar – you can give me the URL as well, but I won’t be able to watch the video!) and you can rest secure in the knowledge that you will have people drooling and gibbering across the globe!

Go on! You know you want to. It’s much safer than a daytrip to the zoo.

From 14th June 2006, the industry standard Crozzy Standard has been applied to footnotes.

NOTE 1: Not that I like posing for photographs, but I am a sucker for a free lunch. The only thing better than lunch is a when you don’t have to pay for it. Click to return

NOTE 2: The irony being that I cannot play videos on my machine that require the Macromedia Flash Player. Whenever I enable the Flash Player, my browser window will crash within a few minutes. So, I’ve given up trying to watch any YouTube content, it is just too much hassle. So those of you who post a lot of videos now know why I don’t ever comment on them. Just pity the fool. Click to return

You obviously need more cryptic clues. So far, the synapse sparking has been noticeable by its absence. Today I give you the British Ukulele Orchestra in full regalia. If all of this is still confusing you, then I am truly sorry.

TECHNORATI TAGS : Sorry ; Evar ; Zoo ; CRASI ; Viagra.

On the Not-So Slippery Slope

Strike By Fashion Police Beginning To Bite.

Well, my creamy yeomen, last night you could have knocked me down with a feather. Indeed, you could have covered in sprinkles and called my a donut. Or even wrapped me in crushed velvet and called me Dior.

On entering the ‘Rat and Ferret’, I was dumbfounded to see Chief Inspector McCrindle Barleymow Honeydew-Fforbes stood at the bar. Now I know this isn’t an uncommon experience. It isn’t that unusual to see the erstwhile Chief Inspector sporting a cast on his leg and crutches – for his is a dangerous occupation.

No, the surprise came from seeing his drinking companion was none other than Evar! The tanned and smiling Evar has had his misdemeanours forgiven and has returned from his exile.

Despite rumours that Evar was living rough on Bondi Beach, it can now be revealed that Evar was living in a small, Austrian ski resort disguised as busty Peruvian chalet maid call Maria. In a coincidence that would grace a plot hole in an American mini-series, the good Chief Inspector chose that very chalet to enjoy a short skiing holiday. Thankfully, Evar’s disguise was so good, that even the keen-eyed Chief Inspector failed to recognise his arch-nemesis. (Note 1)

The reconciliation came about after the Chief Inspector decided to indulge in a little extreme skiing and strayed off-piste. Unfortunately, he slipped and did himself a mischief. So loud were the Chief Inspector’s expletives, that they sparked an avalanche. Fortunately, Evar was in the same area and skied to his rescue, scooping him up as the wall of snow was about to swallow them both up and then, with the Chief Inspector over one shoulder, he outran the roaring ice until they reached safety.

With such bravery, the Chief Inspector felt it churlish to press charges and with the slate smudged unreadable, Evar is free to partake of a pint of Nightswerve’s Velvet Cudgel in the Lounge Bar.

Sadly for Yvette Munsderpiedder, her return to the ‘Rat and Ferret’ will have to postponed for a while longer. While Evar was in trouble with the noble Chief Inspector, it appears that Yvette has upset Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs. (Note 2)

An undercover investigator has been rifling through Yvettes underwear drawer and has calculated that the pneumatic and curvaceous Yvette should have paid VAT on tips she received while working at the Aniseed Hippo Lap Dancing Emporium.

Sadly, this case looks to run and run. The Customs’ people have calculated the tax bill based on the size of Yvette’s lingerie. Anyone who has seen the size of Yvette’s lingerie will realise that the tax demand is exceedingly large.

From 14th June 2006, the industry standard Crozzy Standard has been applied to footnotes.

NOTE 1: I was to learn later from one of the fellow residents of the chalet that this was despite a rather drunken game of ‘Strip Tiddlywinks’ and a rather inept attempt by the inebriated Chief Inspector to seduce the now partially disguised Evar. I have a problem with some of the mental images this provokes, but suffice to say that both of them deny the story – despite the impeccable source. Click to return

NOTE 2: As every schoolboy knows, the it wasn’t the police who did for Al Capone, but the tax man. In the end he got sent down for eleven years for tax evasion. Click to return

TECHNORATI TAGS : News ; Evar ;Yvette Dracula.