1. I consider emailing all of my friends with I’ve won the Lottery! written in the ‘subject’
space, while the message in the body of the email would read <aside: I haven’t won the Lottery>.
I decide not to.
2. There is no weather out in space.
3. Sentimentality: the false homage which indifference pays
to genuine feeling, which is why you won’t find me sentimentally waxing lyrical
about how wise and insightful children are. If 21 years of teaching has taught
me anything… no, wait, it hasn’t.
For CB The first rule of “Stay Silent Club” is that no-one talks
about “Stay Silent Club”.
The first rule of “Procrastinate Club” is that no-one gets
round to talking about “Procrastinate Club”.
The first rule of “Indifferent Club” is that no-one can be
bothered to talk about “Indifferent Club”.
The first rule of “You’ve Been Sent to Coventry Club” is
that no-one talks to you about “You’ve Been Sent to Coventry Club”.
The first rule of “Dyslexia Club” is that nowon tlkas aboat “Dislocation
The first rule of “Tight Club” is..ish...tha’ no...hic...
thing, what? Hash anyone gotta light? What was I sayin’? Fight Club? Wassat? The first rule of "Loquacious Club" is that everyone talks far too much about "Loquacious Club".
journey outside and find it hard not to notice that the sun is shining. Sure,
there are clouds in the sky and a healthy breeze is blowing, but I still wonder
whether my leather jacket is necessary. It isn’t. I carry on wearing it anyway.
On my way to the lake, I notice that,
according to my bovine rain gauge, it should be raining. A lot. All seven cows
are sitting down. It should be raining 7/7 of a cow, which, for the
meteorologically inclined mathematicians amongst you, means 100% rain. 100%
rain, for those of you who are not good at numbers, means as much rain as there could possibly be. 100% rain. That’s a lot of
rain. The sun is shining.
I walk over to the cows and stare at them. The
more I stare at the cows’ faces, the more they look like aliens. I wonder if
maybe the cows are making an existential statement: “The sun may be shining,
but we, the assembled Bovine Rain-gauge, feel rain in our hearts. Weather is
just a state of mind. Have a seat.”
I check my own internal rain-gauge and learn
that it is not raining.
Perhaps sunshine, healthy breezes and
staring at cows combine to breed levity of the soul. Or it could be the result
of anti-depressants and a long lie-in.
It is 4 o’clock in the morning and raining enough for me to
put my coat on. This seems to have escaped the notice of the seven cows, all of
whom are standing (the idiots).
I count the idiot
cows: one, two, three, four, five, six…? The seventh cow, right there before my
very eyes not a second ago, has dematerialized. This is astonishing. Not only
have I encountered the first ever duck to attain enlightenment (how else to
explain its levitational abilities?), but now I have stumbled across another
miracle of nature: dematerializing cow.
It is an
extraordinary discovery and could lead to all sorts of fame-related excitement.
I count the cows
again: one, two, three, four, five, six…? Yes, definitely no mistake, there are
only… oh, no, hang on: seven.
It seems as though
dematerializing cow is now rematerializing cow.
Walking past the lake, I catch sight of a duck, levitating.
I have not seen a duck managing to levitate before, so this is a surprise. Of
course, I say levitating. The duck
isn’t hovering above the surface of the water in a zen-like trance, as you
might imagine (well, as you might imagine if someone introduces the idea of a
levitating duck into your consciousness). No, it’s like this: although
levitating duck’s feet are partially underwater, you can definitely see his legs,
so he isn’t swimming, and unless his feet are resting on a submerged jetty how
else can one explain his semi-hidden legs except by some sort of levitation?
I apply the same rigorous
logic when searching for the truth about other impossible things.
If it looks like a
figment of the imagination and acts like a figment of the imagination then it’s
probably a levitating duck.