Copious Footnotes

The Return of a Ragged Hajji

2007-02-02T07:42:00.000Z

This the diary entry beeth for the twenty-first day of December—the tenth month of the year were it not for the machinations of egocentric Roman emperors of centuries past—of the year twenty-hundred and six:

“Tis our forth day in Medina in the warming heat of Arabistan according to our own grand master plan. Shortly we shalt depart for Mecca and the wondrous House. Planned months in advance and carefully financed—ihram sourced a month before departure, luggage packed two weeks before—but though we plotteth and planf, Allah always the best of planners beeth. Here sitteth one in mine own study, warming mine own self against the icy air beside the heating pipe, the fog outside coveringeth the hill across the valley, the house across the street obscured by this hanging haze. Our voyage by winged airship wast Sun Day last, but leave without us said ship didst. Awaiting our visas, the day of Tues wast the flight next available, but still our visas failf to materialise. We planned, hopefully, for Wednesday, but even if it hadst all comf to pass our winged machine wouldst hafe been grounded by the heavy fog suffocating Heath Row. Now we planf for the day of fried fish, our visas secure we believe, but the meteorologists think the fog wilt holf for an other day or so. Perhappens we shalt fly on the pagans’ day of Saturn. Perhappens not. Perchance we shalt fly to Mecca direct and there shalt no Medina beeth. Perchance not. We plotteth and planf, but Allah the best of planners always beeth. And indeed Allah ever wit the patient beeth.”

Mine dear sirs—sirs of the lady variety inclusive—tis a remarkable fact that upon our merry way we finally stepped on the Eve of Christmas, not before a false start hadst comf to pass, making our way to the air field at Saint Anne’s Stead at one half of a day’s notice. Twas indeed lovely to meetf our companions once more, each joyous face beaming despite the draining tensions that hadst comf to pass in the course of the week past and the many miles travelled by some of them to get to the runway on time. Hark, an evening of further delays couldst knock our patience not, for we knew wit certainty that at last we hadst been called.

While preparing for Hajj, moste of the advicementations one hadst receivefed hadst semt overwhelmingly negative to mine sometimes less than jolly self, mine well-meant counsellors insisting that they only intenfed to prepare mine self for the inevitable. Yet, good though their intentions wert, their guidance merely filled mine self wit gloom, undermining mine emotional preparations for this incredible expedition. When one set out on mine own journey, forethere, this character instant wast determinf to moan or fret not and to counth the blessings of our Lord instead. And harky hark O hark many of these there wert, even afore our arrival: the kindness of splendid comrades who dropfed every matter in order to takf us to the airfield, the generosity of flyular staff who tookf our splendid selves back to the main terminal for eatering after the commercial vendors hadst closed on Christmas’ Eve at our own satellite gate and the wheat-based delights from a French named and Arab staffed eatery. Not to mention the beautiful company.

And on.

Pack ye bags

2006-12-04T19:23:00.000Z

Alack!

2006-12-03T19:46:00.000Z

Mine dear sirs, sirs of the lady variety and fellows fat and totherwise, tis wit some regret that I note the neglect that hast befallen this noble wordular gathering, our splendid Copious Footnotes. Alas, tis a jerking of the tears witin in mine right eye. Mine dear chaps and esses, explain to me what hast comf to pass if ye will. Wast it not only in the erroneously named month of September of the year preceding this whence I, master El-Bowes of the hamlet of Chess, pronouced this journal open wit mine very own typing digets. But look at us! Tis a saddening day.

What'er didst happen to our noble gesture to restore to its place and standing that olde friend and comfort that fell alonge the wayside so many moons agone. Twas the prize in the eye of mine potato. Does it thus fall to mine self to remind ye of that small book of ours named "The Driving Range"? Shalt I be forced to blow the dust from that aging volume and print it anew upon The Othello Press? Tis it really so?

Once upone our time, tis not it a truth that two mindes didst meet acrosse the keyboards, one Sir Wilkinson-Smythe of the Old Bengal Club, the other a Timotheous Theodopulus Bow Esq formerly of Rhodesia upon Hull? And wast not many a joyful wurde exchanged and merriment behelf all around? Well?

Alas, tis a mourning hour in the townships, hamlets and shires of olde Blighty, for we hafe failed in our commencementation of the new era that wast surely meant to comf to pass. Alas, the days of olde hafe passed us by perhappens. Tis now an age of much seriosity, toil and engagement. Alas. Tis a lowly moment. Alas. What shalt become of us? Alas, I knowth not.

Thine wit salamutations aplenty but pangs of regret all the same,

El-Bowes, sad sir of the Hamlet upone the river Chess in the Shire of Bucking in the occaisionally united Queendom.

Annotatiation

2006-11-02T07:22:00.000Z

O for the memories of olde! Imagine mine surprise upon encountering the noble Turk of Finchley during mine return to Londonistan this very Saturnday past. Mrs El-Bowes and I arrived at the Eastern mosque at a late hour, as is the tradition of the Muslimanic souls of this very age, wandering into the splendid edifice wit great togetherness, whereupon we were all but at once separated. Taking mine merry self off to the prayer hall, I stood for mine mid-afternoon salat amongst folk mainly of Bengal descent. Yet twas upon mine return to the Muslimanic gathering of men and women of non-Muslim lineage that I spied a certain master of an olden age. I stood at the door for fifteen moments, wondering twas it really he? Pray seeth. Wit goodspeed I wandered on, skirting to the furthest end of the hall wherst I hoped to catch his eye. Across the table he peered back at me, a perplexed expression of curiosity aroused in his beaming face. Thence all of a sudden he didst shoot to his feet. ‘Tim Abi!’ exclaimed he. What merriment. Tis hast been nigh upon seven Gregorian years if not more and happenstance hast decreed that he now a Barrister bist and an academic furthermore. And what of me? Lo, tis no matter. The good sir served mine joyful self wit one bowl o soup and a Turkish casserole and what a merry old dialogue camf to pass. Twas during mine departure later that very even wit mine marvellous wife, howere, that the true sparkle of reminiscence didst push through the fog of mine remiss. O for the memories of olde! O for those days in Londonistan at the tail of the century and even beyond. Hark, what utter merriment!

In those heady days of the late nineteen hundreds, in years proceeding even the conception of Greenwich’s Millenium tent and Clare Short’s intention to rid the world of poverty by the turn of the decade, it was decreed that I should take up a studying post at the School of Oriental Intrigue in the heart of olde England’s capital. O for the memories of olde! Speak not of Melfillipian conspiracies; pray, whence the moment comf thence shalt the adventures of El-Bowes in Londonistan spill forth, just as did ‘Unto the Blackened City’ of six years agone. Hark, what unreserved merriment!

Gentlemanly Conduct

2006-07-26T20:00:00.000Z

The Togiamahgithcow Principle

Smythe, Mine dear olde boy, there beest a well knowne saying in the elephant trade conveyed thus: ‘The entrepreneurs who feeds his elephants caviar beest a fellow of folly!’ What canst Bow meaneth by this, mine presumptuous ears heareth thoust ask. Canst thee not seeth nor comprehend? Beest thine mind already dull at this juncture of our gathering? Good sir, for one bound to rise from the ranks of commondom a thimble worth of perception is surely requisite. Stay with it olde boy! The meaning, plain to see for all concerned surely this beest: ‘The occupational gentleman is a missionary and his gospel is the coinage of worth.’ Dost thou not now comprehend? In any case, mine imperfect self shallt hither proceedeth upon an explanatory path for the benefit of all budding gentlemen and the odd gentlelass. Hark, tis truth of surety.

Good sirs, Togiamahgithcow beest neither the Welsh hamlet three miles north of the pleasant market town of Lampeter nor a socialist sovereign of the upper reaches of our fair tectonic plate. Nay, far from it! Togiamahgithcow beest the very key to our task; the winding pin in the hand of our metaphoric lock-smith, the passwurde in the magazine of the passwurder’s armoury. Tis truth! Let it be knowne from this instant forth that the duty of a noble sir is to sell his wares to the best of his ability, whether to like-minded courtiers or unto the common man. Keep in minde the moste useful of reminders and never let it slip from thine mind: ‘The occupational gentleman is a missionary and his gospel is the coinage of worth.’ Canst thoust now be in any doubt?

Whence a kinde sir, such as thine merry own self, coins, founds, fashions and establishes what to all couldst be callethed worth, he is philanthropoligically bestowing upon his patrons the raison d’être to make a purchase, grande or less than, from thine moste esteemed personage. Wert thee to persist and indeed main tain this notion which we shalt henceforth baptize ‘worth’, in turn thee wouldst bestoweth further and continued incentive upone the patron to make a pur chase further and on from thine ever more noble selfe. In the process, the kinde sir shalt hafe earned respect from his patrons who shalt trust said sir like the elephant trusts his handler whence rewardedeth with sweet Tanganyikan ground nuts. Whence the kinde sir hast earned bothe the confidence of his patron and respect from him in turne, he shalt be set upone the road to success, the patron continuingeth to maketh due acquisitions from said gallant soul, thus augmenting his returns. Hence, Togiamahgithcow!

A wurde of caution, howe’r, good sir, now beest the time not to be sendingeth a telegram to Harrods off for thine celebratory camel hair evening jacket. For, alas, try as we mayst, capitalism furnishes our patron not with just one avenue of venture, but, alas, alas, whole hosts of streets, lanes, by waters and backwaters. Good sir! Tis thine duty to taketh the Togiamahgithcow principle to heart and thence truly make a mint of it. How dost one fulfileth such a brief, mine self heareth thoust asketh. Tis a profound question indeed. Good sire, let us proceed onto such matters with good speed.

The like of us, but different...

2006-07-14T11:17:00.000Z

http://www.theslingshot.com/
http://www.thechap.net

2006-06-07T19:28:00.000Z

Alas dear sirs and on, tis doth seeme that mine sometimes less that merry self ist losing a bility to converse in the pure Smythian tongue. What beeth wrong? One canst not fathom the words to communicate upon this lightening causulated tablet. That which passes across mine brow doth penetrate not and re-emerge rendered in finery. Alas, what hast become of mine humoured fingular ranting?

This summer

2006-06-05T07:58:00.000Z

Smythe olde boy:

Summer hast descended upon our merry selves, so pray good man, whence beest thine departure for these Inglish lands? We art looking foreward to thine arrival at our wee hamlet situated upon the river Chess. Twouldst be grande to have a reunion of many a folke of olde within our courtyard one sunny afternoon. Yay! The good knight Abdul Baasit, sir Abdi of Finsbury, The old Nomad, sir Shakheel and on. Twouldst that not be moste splendid? We couldst consume delicious barbequed Turkish tucker and sip on mint tea, reclining on our lawn. The lady folke couldst gather in the lower garden and we upon the upper, wherest chatter and good company wouldst be beheld, and we couldst pray there two at an appointed hour. Tis a delight to mine mind just to contemplate thus. Hark! Let us agree upon it, wot? Let us extend this invitation to Monty furthermore and to any others of the olde clan.

Thine wit fond bestowals o peace,

El-Bowes

Hearken

2006-05-25T11:42:00.000Z

Dear old chaps and chapesses

Where ist everyone? Tis has been a week of most unsettling quiet. Tis has indeed been noted by a stranger at our door, enquiring of our whereabouts.

Bowes, art thou in Rhodesia? Mineself dost not need to remind thee that thine master ist not returning; the elephants didst trample upon him moste finally. I plead thee therefore do not embark upon any search that ist doomed to failure and abandonded abandon.

Perhaps tis the climes upon thine shores. Hast it caused thine merry selves to retreat indoors, asunder from all forms of epistular compositional devices? I hafe heard of a tree striking the back of mine cousin's house in the north of london, oh dear london. I couldst not hafe believed if it were not that I hafe witnessed the very same happenstance in the great storm of 1987, or was it 1986, I canst not recall with any degree of follyproof accuracy.

Dost thine selves recall the speaking clock? At the third stroke, the time sponsored by Accurist willt be nine o ' clock precisely. Bally fine thing that Accurist wert the sponsor and not a more long-winded variety of sponsor, lest it did not fit and thyme were to fall out of sync.

Thyne with awaitings

Thyme Gentlemen (again)

2006-05-16T00:32:00.000Z

Salmutations!

Look: New fangled digital clock. Hurrah!

Thine,

El-Bowes

Copious Footnote 50

2006-05-15T08:22:00.000Z

Smythe ole boy: the auto wudu washer. Art thou possessors of this peculiar innovation in thine land of high technology?

Walking in Dorking

2006-05-15T07:54:00.000Z

Mine dear sirs ink lusive,

Salamutacious Greetings!

Wouldst thoust beeth comprehending folk? Upon the yester day mine very merry selfe and that of mine noble wife didst make a joyous traverse down towards the Surrey lands of Dorking no less. Yes indeed. Twas a moste splendid destraction, wherest we didst ramble whilst awalking upon the forested downs. As the late afternoon didst comf to pass we didst ascend a splendid hillock knowne to men and indeed women as Leith Hill. Upon its crown saith I sitteth Leith Hill Tower which beest nothing but a folly, but a jolly grande folly nonetheless. Good sirs, wouldst thou hafe knowne? Below the tower witin an underground grave, the commissioner of this spectacular tower beeth buried upside down! Yes dear sirs! Upside down. Head towards the mantle and feet skywards, he twast apparently the possesor of some quaint belief that whence the earth rotated he wouldst at last be standing the right way up.

Hark, werest thees to standep at the top of that part stonular, part brickular tower thou wouldst see St. Paul's Cathedral to the north and the English Channel to the south upon the very clearest days. Tis truthe indeed: along the turretular wallss of this very tower thou wouldst stand at the highest point in southeast England. Alas poor Smythe, I recall thine phobia for the dizzy heights. All the same, what a splendid lark twas beheld by mine selfe, mine wife and our hosts. Indeed, afore our merry return, our moste lavish hosts didst furnish us wit lemon cake, vanilla ice cream and real Puerto Recon coffee. Hurrah!

Thine,

El-Bowes

PS The next postestation shalt be our fiftieth: shalt this be cause for celebration?

Cambrydge Revolution

2006-05-14T08:44:00.000Z

Salamutations!

No doubsts some of ye noblemen and men-esses mayeth have beenst a-ponderingst whether I should post on this lofty blog at allst, such hath been the extent of my mute. In troth, the task of crafting an entire poste in the fluting tones of mine predecessors had seemedst a task of too dizzying heights - it gavest me the headache in merely contemplation.

Thus hafe I compromised, by relaying below the makingst of a veritable copious-footnotes revolution (prononcez en francais s'il vous plait) amongst the twinkle-toed ladyes of mine Islamic Society. To protect the identities of mine most-bashful sisters, I hafe subsituted and dash-ed as approprié.

Bycycle:
assalamu alaikum
i thought your over-sized cambridge brains might appreciate this: http://copious-footnotes.blogspot.com/ - it's a find too great not to share (credit goes to *A* for the original discovery).
wassalam

*A*:
Wassalaamu alaikum

Tis joy boundless mine serendip finding didst bring such squealing happiness of high-pitch to mine comrade. Mine suspicions saith the good chap Bycycle hast become overjoyed upon the finding of chums conversant in ye olde Inglish. Perchance our friend's cheste dost nevermore beat with Wodehousian loneliness nor yearning for eras past of bustles and embroidery by sunflooded windows?

Tis nowe left to wonderment when the scores of admirers shallst
cease the emulations. Till then, mine friends, what fun, hey?

Salamutations

Bycycle:
wow...

i canst not express mine awe at thine sublime oration below, tis fantastical, truly! i hafe not the tick-tocks to spendst much tyme scribing in lyke manner, yet knowst that thou beholdst me sailing aboardst the rapids of supremest joye at hafing found, thus, another kindred spirit...

salamutations fair and merry friends

*B*:
Aa,

Ok guys, u've gotta stop this wierd chat, i haven't got a clue what ure talking about! the last email i understood was *C*'s. I come here to have a break and check my mail, but no, i find that reading your emails is even harder than pathology...

i guess it's back to the library :(

Salams my sweeties

*D*:
Assalamualaikum warahmatullah wabarakatuh,

Yeah, yeah, me too. Plus I can't even understand proper English (I mean the one that 'common' people speaks), and you girls' 'new' English made me feel like I can't understand English at all (my 3rd language).

Wassalam.

*A*:
Wassalaamu alaikum

Alas my comrade, tis clear our confabulations hafe caste shadowes of befuddlement upon our fair kinswomens' brows. Perchance sorrowful soaring of commentations o'er said maidens' bonces is cured by accompaniment of decipherations? I do fear otherwise we should induce low self esteeme in her ladyship of ------- and countess of ------ though tis lucid their proficiency in the language of Inglish is laudable.

Howst dost thou opine?

*C*:
....wooooow.....

which of the contributers on the that site are you, *A*? and if you
arent, why the heck not??

ps thanks *B*, that makes me feel quite special.

*A*

Alas, alas, tis not in my capacity to provide contributions to such sublimeness that is "Copious Footnotes". Mine fledgling ramblings wouldst taint such expert colloquy. Moreover, I fear the apportioning of "tick-tock", to borrow a phrayse, wouldst be biased such that mine study wouldst suffer.

Yet be sorrowful not, there is rejoycement! Our sighing maiden hast been welcomed gallantly into the folds of copiousness, having been judged worthy of footnote scribing. Mine sincere commendations sister bycycle, one looks forwards to future commentations from thine fair hands.

Salamutations

thine sister weary of the engaging of the grey cells

*B*
Aa,

Alas, willeth thout art sunnyith haveth thou togethereth funnyith bycycleith. Colloquy taketh witheth *D*ith. Beateth thateth *A*ith

Wsith

Bycycle:
hark! what happeningst! i hafe beenst away from me belovedst grecian non-god hermes for too many a tick-tock it appearst! mine eye doth discernst the makings of a revolution, begad! as hath sayeth mine gracious ------- friend, sire *A*, what fun eh? eh? what?

tis with honour sublime thate the sorrowful pretender to the shakespearan tongue which thy noble selfes behold before thee hath been invited to joyne the towering ranks of those of copious-footnotes. alack! the enscribing of even this short epistle hath fatigued the grey cellular matter repositing in mine noodle, and alas i fear tis still not of the rare literairy brilliance as the works aplenty of our fayre ------ (*A*). i amst but a pretender to the throne, no less!

but heave ho, on we go - tis marvellous, marvellous, on with the charade!

in peace,

camrydge bycycle

Blast from the past

2006-05-10T20:53:00.000Z

Salaikasalam! I bid a reminder mine dear amigos as to how this all began, one cold eve many, many moons ago, whence nyuze reached mine sometimes studious selfe that Master Abdul Haq Mohmammed had passed his driving test no less. Yes indeed! Twas thus:

From: T Bow Esq. of Londinium
To: Smythe of OBC
Date: 11 February 1999 8:09pm
Subject: Dear Sir

Are not congratulations in order, young sir? Oh merry ment and joy thou must be feeling this good morn. Do you have use of an automobile, so that thou might gad yonder across dales and straights, whizzing with the wind in thine hair, as those poor common types shalt only look on and admire, jealous of thine ability to operate a device of linear mobilisation. But be careful, good fellow, for should the tide of time bring this miraculous mechanistic device into the hands of those foolish common types, as my companion Malthus did once saith, we shalt be doomed, and that very motor car with which you sought your freedom from the chains of tubular motion would bring you your downfall. Had I been aware earlier of thine joyous news, I would have forthwith sent most salubrious congratulations. As events turn out, I say, old chap, congratulations old boy, well done. Nay: gratulations, no con. I was quite, quite… overcome.

What merriment! The memories of olde hafe been rekindled by all this jolly sport in these short days past. Hurray saith I!

El-Bowes

Memories beholden

2006-05-10T13:43:00.000Z

Smythe olde boy,

I must say I am mightily touched by the arrival of these Cambridge types in Copious Footnote land. Who wouldst hafe known: Muslims the like of our very merry selves! Tis taking me right back to those early days – mine selfe as a lazy student at the School of Oriental Intrigue and thee as a trainee solicitor in the Trowels and Hammocks Company, and those emelian rantings that didst travel hither and thither. Recall ye The Athlete of Kind Repute, and of The Nomad, and of the young Turks too? Tis just like those days saith I. Hurray for the joyful blusters of youth, wot.

Thine, with salams aplenty,

El-Bowes

Companions

2006-05-10T07:10:00.000Z

May the blessings and peace of the Moste Merciful settle upon thine brows. Hark!

Sires, let it be knownst that we hafe two more merry folke a board the contributor's deck. Tis Ckemisin Pasayin Soniyen, also knowne as Lady El-Bowes (her qualifications being that she hafe just read a P.G.Wodehouse novella for the first time and hast now commencethed Cider wit Rosie – that being the title of the book mine dear chap Monty afore thee ask of me wit exclamation marks attached), and another merry sir of the lady variety knowne hence forth as "Mad as a Cambridge Bicycle". As for the founding fathers (or fathers to be), Ibn Wilkin ist alas subsumed in toil, preventing due participation. And on, Bin Jeffrey wouldst love to join this merry trade, but lo his binary computational device permits not access to this scripting ware. Alas. Alas. Alak.

Thine,

El-Bowes

Mindnumbentation

2006-05-09T21:49:00.000Z

Sires! One canst hardly be-lieve it: tis hast been almost an entire year since mine great emmigration to the Bucking Ham. Astounding! Befuzzling! Incomprehensible! I am quite, quite overcome. Anyhow, salamutacious greetings to thine splendid selfes saith I.
Thine,
El-Bowes

Illumination

2006-05-08T00:41:00.000Z

Sires all,

Three noble truths hafe been illuminated for mine unremarkable self this very hour in the splendid art of entity relationship diagram construction. One hast been commanded thus: "Memorise the three normal forms so that thou canst recite them in thine sleep". Well jolly well one shalt if the Most Mercifull willeth. They art these:

1) No repeating elephants or groups of elephants
2) No partial dependencies on a concatenated key
3) No dependencies on non-key attributes.

Now what? Heaven knowth!

Quite separately olde chaps, tidoth occur to mine self that one exploration beeth playing upon mine brow. Hafe theest ever siderethed the dropping of vowels witin the Inglish txt msg? Good sirs, twas wondering, couldst it be a truth that the Hebrew tongue lost its vowels as a result of some manner of pre-Christos texting? And if it jolly well didsts, what form didst it taikth? Carrier locusts? No doubt Mothey canst enlighten us given his role in the telecommunication industries. Mine dear Earlobe, didst that ancient tribe hafe hyroglif messenging, dream-enabled, poly-carbon derived machinistic devices in truth? And wherest lies thine evidence bruvva?

Other Nyuze

2006-05-07T18:44:00.000Z

Salamutations!

Sires, thou wilt appreciate that all this brass and mahogany templating oer here hast inspired mine merry selfe and now thoust wilt discover The Neurocentric hast gone up market. Gog and Mohog, the dark burgungy and brass hast warmed mine soul - perhappeneth all of cyberspace and blogistan wilt follow suit. See the fluffy background? That's mine living room carpet! What fun, hey?

Thine,
El-Bowes

Wouldst thou hafe knowne?

2006-05-07T18:20:00.000Z

Smythe olde chap, Salutations o peace!

Upon this very eve of the morrow, one didst chance upon a mention of Copious Footnotes upon the ramble-wire of a total stranger. Tis truth indeed about which there canst be not a shadow of doubt, although as one hast opined afore, twouldst surely beeth a miracle if doubt coulds defract the sun. In any case I am wont to digress as so often beeth the case. Twas led to this discovery (the aforementioned mention rather than the tired digression) by a commentation beneathe thine remark about the bufoonery of the common man. Yes indeed! Look:

http://ibnatbattuta.blogspot.com/2006/05/on-bloggers-and-blogging.html

Hurrah, wot? Any nyuse from the Earl of Highbury?

Thine,

El-Bowes

Ahoy there

2006-05-04T08:26:00.000Z

Ahoy there merry brethren!

What nyuse? Hast been many a day since receipt of a ranting from thine shores. As for mine self, the sun ist beginning to beat down upon our brows with tremendous passion. Dost thou ever consider how mighty this sun beest. Tis so far away yet so powerful. Its hiding behind a cloud doth effect our lives and its appearance amongst us doth change the hue and feel of all around.

Wonderment.

Smythe

Phraseology

2006-04-20T17:21:00.000Z

Whoere said that all beeth fair in love and war twas a bafoon I tell ye. Indeed I might well say baboon, and of surety you knowth what mine sometimes less than merry self doth mean! All beeth fair? What, even carpet bombing and the like? I think not! Rather I think the fellow wast a fool.

Ennui

2006-04-20T11:56:00.000Z

Hark mine cheery companions on this merry ship known as life!

I hafe come to a brick wall in mine week's work and am verily suffocating in the stew of nothingness to do as relates to honest toil. Yay, I shouldst revel in this momente of leisure, but mine obligation to record bothersome units of time (tis again sires mention of that moste compelling idea) hast now weighed upon mine troubled shoulders. How doth I justify mine day? The weather ist balmy outside. A portion of the coountryfolk art on leave already, for Thursday ist a day of rest for civil servants and public servicemen, but often a day of toil for employees of colonial industries such as mine honourable company of Trowels and Hammocks. I doth wait..then..for the day to drip away and wonder why dost I not find the zest to pursue, in the mean, an endeavour of benefit to mine soul?

Alas.

Lethargy hast seeped into mine bones and restlessnes doth course through mine veins.

The Two Seas canst be in turns a place of immediate action and a venue of sloth that doth astonish the senses. Tis at times the moste sleepy of locales. The donkey doth feel quite at ease here.

Smythe

Carriage etiket

2006-04-13T07:13:00.000Z

Mine dear sires

I wast musing upon the state of carriage etiket in this merry land of the Two Seas. I hafe been moste perplexed, nay dumbfounded, whale-floundered, to find that a people that ist reputed to be moste courteous and hospitable in their daily doings ist terribly rude and uncouth and ragged once perched within the confines of their carriages of linear motion. Tis as if they doth succumb to their least elevated humours and descend into the caverns of boorishness.

I doth recall a natter and chin-wag I didst hafe with some of mine colleageues at the company of Trowels and Hammocks on the driving etikets and habits of other nations. One (of Haitian and Canadian extraction) didst express pleasure at the courteousness of Inglish carriage-possessors. Tother, of Belgian and wide European derivation, pleaded to differ and didst argue that in fact much is rumbling beneath the surface of volcanic nature in the Inglish carriager, and thus the rage of the road ist such a common happenstance.

What dost thou say?

Thine

Tim Plate

2006-04-05T21:54:00.000Z

Dear sires, salutations o' peace! Tdid occur to mine merry selfe that Copious Footnotes wast deserving of a Smythian make over. Thus hafe I created the template before thees. Tis work in progress no doubt, but tis it not now more fitting to our venture? I do certainly hopth so. Thine, El-Bowes