Crossing the Date Line

*Coming out of what, Clicky? …/lights up rollie and drags…*

UAV front and back cover

*/puffs contentedly…*

At last, Dear Reader, the Underdog Anthology V is published

*Knot a graphic novel, Clicky… /streams smoke… Short stories, many authors…*

… I’d been speculating with Leggy late on Friday as to the date it might appear…

Legy and Roob talk UAV and dates 1

… The first ‘event’ listed in the Wiki link – ‘The Year of SIX Emperors’…

LONE-STAR-1

*Five pointed star! I was thinking of The Okie Devil of Textus… /flicks ash… Cade’s got stories in the book. I didn’t even think of that, Clicky… /pats snout… What did I list next?*

Legy and Roob talk UAV and dates 2

*/drags… 19 Four-Tees… /blows smoke ring… Nineteen stories…*

*Three? …/squints… Sew, inadvertently, Leggy and I counted down six, five, four three… /final drag…*

Legy and Roob talk UAV and dates 3

*2, 1… /stubs butt… Hey, how about that ‘wolf trap‘, Clicky?*

Legy and Roob talk UAV and dates 4

 

Strangely enough, Dear Reader, if you go check out UAV’s listing on Amazon – and I suggest you doo 😉 – it’s published date is 20th April

facepalm

*Oh I dunno, Clicky… /lights up… 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0… /grins…*

Have a Song 😉

Who Noob Tales: Nine Lives… No, Really

I am having a long weekend, Dear Reader. I spent yesterday daytime making final edits to stories in the soon-to-be-published ‘Underdog Anthology V: Six in Five in Four’. Leggy has a preview, in which he includes one of his stories from the book…

Old Peculier on the neighbours cat

*/grins… How peculiar, Clicky… /lights up…*

peculiar (adj.)

mid-15c., “belonging exclusively to one person,” from Latin peculiaris “of one’s own (property),” from peculium “private property,” literally “property in cattle” (in ancient times the most important form of property), from pecu “cattle, flock,” related to pecus “cattle” (see pecuniary). Meaning “unusual” is first attested c. 1600 (earlier “distinguished, special,” 1580s; for sense development, compare idiom). Related: Peculiarly.

wiki peculier

*’Also KT and KH’…/drags… No shit! …/streams smoke… *

Then last night Cade and I resumed his introduction to Doctor Who, and also caught up with Leggy and Poppy… Les amis…

Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 1

Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 2Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 3Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 4

rare doctor who hand flap

*/flicks ash… Knot a favourite episode, Clicky… /drags… although, excellent use of a jammie dodger… /blows smoke rings… I’d forgotten about that…*

Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 5

Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 6Poppy and Roob discuss Cades Who Introductory Course 7

*Like the villain, House, in The Doctor’s Wife, Clicky, Daleks are a bit like a sea anemone… /puffs… “hard on the outside, squishy on the inside”… I hadn’t made that connection before… /taps teeth…*

Anyhoo, in honour of Old Peculier’s neighbour’s cat, Dear Reader, and seeing as a ‘cat‘ won today’s Grand National, I thought I’d take a leaf out of Leggy’s book – pun intended – and post one of my stories from UAV. It’s short and called ‘Nine Lives’. The Knot-Sew confidential making of it can be found here. Enjoy!

*******

NINE LIVES

Karl sat at his kitchen table, smoking and observing the tendrils of early morning mist gently tickle the tops of the garden hedge, before continuing their soft creep to the ground. It was dark outside but the lawn glittered with stars; pregnant dew drops nestling in the grass caught the thin, amber light that spilled from the kitchen window. He stubbed out his cigarette and gulped back the last dregs of cold tea from his mug with a grimace. Not long now, Karl thought, she’ll be home soon. Outside the mist started to swirl and pool.

He stood up and stretched, bones creaking and knees popping as if to salute the end of his vigil. He fleetingly considered that he was getting too old for this malarkey, but she needed a watcher – someone to light the way back. He could bear the discomfort; it was only for the night. Karl rubbed his eyes under his glasses, and dragged his hands down over bristled cheeks to wipe any tiredness away. He contemplated putting the kettle on when he heard the first high pitched bark puncturing the dark. The second got him moving. “Not the foxes again!”

As he opened the back door, the wet slap of morning air to hit Karl’s face was accompanied by a rude crash and skitter of a dustbin lid falling, somewhere in the mist. She’s coming from the right, he thought, opening the door wider to peer out into the murk. More barks, louder this time, and a fiery hiss, were followed by the sound of clambered wood, as the garden fence shook violently. Karl held the door further ajar, and a white streak shot out of the mist and between his legs, into the kitchen.

Karl closed the door on the mist and the foxes who, by the sound of it, were now rummaging through next door’s bin for tasty scraps. He turned to the slight figure, lying on the kitchen floor. “For goodness sake, Lara, do you have to tease the foxes? It upsets the neighbours.”

“It upsets the bins,” Lara replied, lightly panting as she rolled over and attempted to sit up. “No, they were waiting for me. Foxes are not called cunning for nothing, Karl.”

“Yes, but they usually leave you alone when you’re hedge riding.”

Lara sighed. “It would seem witches aren’t held in much esteem these days. Not by people or wildlife.”

Karl surveyed the flush in his wife’s cheeks and her glittering eyes, and thought she still looked pretty formidable considering her advanced years. He also noticed the shudder in her arm propping her up. “You should get off the floor. What would you like, sofa or chair?” he asked, scooping her up, with barely a tremble from his own geriatric limbs.

“Sofa,” Lara replied with a wan smile. “Thank you, dear. And a cuppa and a ciggie wouldn’t go amiss either.”

“Funnily enough, I was just about to put the kettle on,” Karl replied, before lowering his wife, so she could reach out and pluck the cigarette packet and lighter from the kitchen table. A fat bead of blood splashed onto the surface below, quickly followed by another. “You’re injured?”

“Damn foxes.” Lara winced and drew her arm back toward her chest. “One of them managed to get a mouthful of armpit. I don’t think it’s too deep. Just stings a bit.”

“But you’re bleeding,” Karl said gruffly. Too gruffly, he feared, from the look his wife shot him. “Okay, let’s get you comfortable and then I can clean that up,” he continued in a more conciliatory tone, before carrying her through to the front room.

Karl noticed that Lara was already on her second cigarette when he returned five minutes later, to set out a bowl of hot water, soap, flannel and towel on the carpet before her. “Kettle’s on for tea,” he said kneeling down. He adjusted his glasses and gingerly started to lift Lara’s elbow. “Can’t let it get infected, how would we explain that to Dr Patel?”

“I can always change back so you can take me to a vet,” Lara replied sharply, pulling away from his grasp.

She must be in great pain, Karl thought. “Come now, dear, we don’t have pet insurance. We don’t own a pet.” Lara’s eyes briefly flashed at his riposte, but her body relaxed and she allowed him to lift her arm. “So apart from getting into a fight with some foxes…”

“Ambushed by some foxes,” Lara quickly corrected him.

“Sorry, ambushed by some foxes on the way home, how was the rest of your night?”

Lara took a deep drag from her cigarette. “Well it started off okay,” she said, billowing a great cloud of smoke. “I went to see Annie and girls down at Saint Michael’s.”

“And how are Annie and the girls?” Karl asked as he cleaned her wound of blood.

“Dead.”

“Naturally.” Any bleeding seemed to have stopped, but the swelling around the punctures had already started to bruise, turning an angry black mauve that only truly flourished on elderly skin. Karl stopped himself flinching at the sight. “You’d think they’d get themselves a spirit cat.”

“They’ve got a spirit cat,” Lara gently rebuked him with a chuckle.

“A ghost cat, then.” Karl smiled at her mirth. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh a ghost cat would be just as stuck as they are. Graveyards are lonely places, Karl. The residents like the company and the gossip. Especially the newly interred. Once the funeral is over, they rarely get more than a yearly visit from any family. If that.” Lara finished her cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray perched on the arm of the sofa. “How’s it looking?”

“Ugly but clean. It’ll need some arnica,” Karl replied, rising carefully to his feet. “That’s in the kitchen. Besides, the kettle must have boiled by now. No, no. You stay there. I’ll go.”

Lara laughed and shooed him away with her good arm before reaching for the cigarettes and lighter.

Karl could hear swearing from outside the back door; Jim must be up and found the aftermath of the fox fracas. Karl popped the kettle on and grabbed the arnica and some aspirin from the medicine cupboard, chuckling at the string of expletives emanating from over the garden fence. He glanced out the window to see that sunrise was already burning off the mist that had been so thick an hour or so ago. It looked like it could be a lovely day.

The sound of the front doorbell caught him off guard. Who would be calling at this hour? Karl wondered and went to open the front door. Through the frosted glass he could make out the shape of a woman in a bright pink dressing gown. What could she want? Karl thought as he unlocked and opened the door. “Morning Celia. Is everything alright?”

“Oh Karl,” his next door neighbour cried, her face puffy and contorted with distress. “Karl, I’m so sorry if I’ve woke you,” Celia started to apologise. “There was some trouble with foxes in our garden last night. I don’t know if you heard any of it.”

“No,” Karl lied. “But I heard Jim swearing earlier. Did they make much of a mess?”

Celia looked distraught at the suggestion. “Well yes, but…” she trailed off with a sob. “Karl, it’s Lara. I’m so sorry. They killed your cat.” Celia had not come empty handed; she held out a bundle, wrapped neatly in a towel, out in front of her.

Karl felt an icy chill bloom from the crown of his head and cascade down his body. “Thank you,” he said numbly, taking the bundle from Celia’s shaking hands.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Celia continued but Karl had already shut the front door. He felt the lightness of the bundle in his arms. It felt so slight.

“Lara?” Karl called as he carried it through to his wife, but the front room was empty. He laid the bundle on the sofa and sat down next to it. A spiral of smoke floated up from the ashtray perched on the arm. Karl turned and picked up the last of the burning cigarette and with trembling fingers, finished his smoke.

*******

I’m off now to introduce Cade to Thoughtful Man’s favourite companion, Dear Reader…

Clara

*/winks…*

Have a Song ❤

Who Noob Tales: The Tramp & The Little Blue Box

tramp

*Ugh, ghastly biscuits, Clicky… /sticks out tongue in disgust… It was bad enough smelling them being made, walking past the the Peeky Freaky factory, twice a day… /flicks lighter… Snot my taste… /lights up…*

This week, Dear Reader, I have been introducing Cade to Doctor Who. He’s a Who Noob…

*Knot anymore he ain’t, Clicky… /snickers…*

… And last night I also introduced him to the the Noble Donna…

*Martha was the night before, Clicky… /drags… And Rose and Captain Jack at the weekend… /streams smoke…*

Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 1Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 2Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 3Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 4

*No River Song is tonight, Clicky… /puffs contentedly…*

“If you ever see a little blue box, flying up in the sky, you shout for me Gramps.”

Thoughtful Man and I had a blue box experience today, Dear Reader…

Mayfair Warning

*/puffs angrily… Is there nuffin the bint won’t do to get out of Brexit, Clicky? /flicks ash… Don’t answer…*

Because I work on the 13th floor of the Tower, and because I have to take at least 20 minutes for lunch for my ‘health and safety’ – my time is flexible; I can bank the rest –  I take one cigarette to work with me each day. Carried in a salvaged, old-style box. Today’s was a Mayfair box…

“You’ll never guess what happened at lunch today,” I told Thoughtful Man, shrugging off my coat, after he’d brought me home from work. He’s thoughtful like that. “I gave my cigarette to a tramp.”

Thoughtful Man squinted hard, the way he does when I mention I’ve given something away. Or interacted with tramps. I have form…

another tramp story

*That’s another story, Clicky… /final drag… Now don’t interrupt… /stubs butt… I’m tryin’ to fiction-all-lies an actual factual happening… /blows smoke rings…*

“Why?” he asked bluntly.

“Because she asked me for it,” I said innocently, slipping out of my work shoes and rolling down my tights. The first thing I do when I get home is strip off my work clothes. The change from formal to informal is one of the little pleasures I take from my day.

Thoughtful Man’s squint soften slightly. “She?”

“Yes. I saw her in the lobby of Tower as I was going out to smoke. Didn’t think anything of it ‘cos we get all sorts coming in everyday,” I said, pulled my dress up over my head. “Anyway, I went and sat in my usual place on the window ledge, round the side of the building. It’s less windy.”

Thoughtful Man was silent but I just knew what he was thinking…

spaced skip to the end

*I’ll get there, if you stop interrupting me! …/huffs…*

I pulled on some jogging bottoms and Thoughtful Man’s old, raggedy sweatshirt. “And I’d nearly finished smoking my cigarette, when the lady tramp ambles round the corner. She was holding up a bottle of perfume.”

“Perfume?” Thoughtful Man interrupted me. “Like she was going to mace you?”

“Yeah. Do you know her?”

Thoughtful Man sighed; he encounters all sorts every day too driving his taxi round the mean streets of our town. “She’s completely fucking mad. I saw her today as well, when I was standing on the rank.”

I plonked myself in my Library chair and lit up a cigarette. “She didn’t spray me or anything. She asked me for a cigarette. I only had the one and I’d nearly finished smoking it. I said ‘Sorry’ and showed her the empty Mayfair box.”

“What did she say?”

I grabbed our small dog, who’d been buzzing round my feet, trying to lick my ankles. “She asked me for the one I was smoking. So I gave it to her.” I ruffed Poppy’s floppy ears and she gave me a smelly, wet, licky kiss in return. “And then she asked me for the empty packet.”

Thoughtful Man stiffened. “Did you give it to her?”

“Well yeah. I’ve got other empty boxes saved.” Oh how I hate the god-awful plain packaging government has foisted on us.

Poppy jumped off my lap and trotted over to Thoughtful Man, who picked her up for a tummy tickle. “I must have seen her after you did because, when she walked past me, she threw an empty Mayfair box at my feet.”

“Really?” I asked with a squint. I didn’t know whether to be amazed at her aim or annoyed that she’d dumped my little, blue box. “Did you pick it up?”

“No.” Thoughtful Man looked aghast. “She’d screwed it up.”

“Damn!”

rabbiting on

*Shit! …/clocks time… I’ve got a double-bill planned for Cade tonight. We’d better finish up, Clicky… /pats snout… Still, no work tomorrow, eh? Come on flexible time!*

Got to go, Dear Reader… Have a Song…

Five Alive? Defo!

*Ah cool image, Clicky… /pat snout… Actually my hair hasn’t looked like that once this week… /lights up…*

Dear Reader, I have been on holiday these last couple of days, and have finally managed to write my short story about a hedge riding hag

feather powered happiness

*I am pretty happy with the result, Clicky…/puffs…*

…and have submitted it to Leggy for inclusion in the upcoming ‘Underdog Anthology V‘. The story is called ‘Nine Lives’…

*I’ve still got time to mutilate a poem for the Afterword before I go back to work, Clicky… /drags… If I can find the right one… /billows smoke…*

I was also able to spend some time yesterday in the Blue universe. Frank Davis had been snooping around New York, after reading about the proposed bill to stop people from smoking whilst walking the streets of that fair city

*They’re fucking unbelievable! …/flicks ash… First you can’t smoke inside, and now the utopian dreamers are trying to dictate where and how you can smoke outside… /deep drag… Nasty Not-sees indeed… /sighs…*

He was looking at street signs there and came across one that had him perplexed…

‘Just a few yards away was another really weird sign. I think it was some sort of aphorism. But I couldn’t make out what it said, because it seemed to be written in bleeding, dripping letters that said something like Afraid And Dead. I guess that if you were crossing 2nd Avenue and you stopped to try to figure out what the scary sign meant, you’d find out when you got hit by a truck.’

It puzzled me, too; however, the photo Frank included was somewhat fuzzy, so I sent Clicky off for a closer inspection…

sign for blue frank

*Much better but it still looks like worshipers or sumfin’ to me, Clicky… /drags deeply… In sinister black… /snorts smoke…*

… and find an answer.

school for deaf street sign new york

*Those are hands!*

hans gruber

*/reads slowly… School For Deaf …/squints… Dept of Transport… /final drag… Oh! The yellow buses! It’s a bus stop sign, Clicky! … /streams smoke…*

applause sign

*Alright, don’t take the piss… /stubs butt… Well done you, though, on working it out… There’s a good assistant… /pats snout…*

It was a sign for deaf school children, Dear Reader…

…As my good friend, Cade, might say…

‘MYSTERY SOLVED! NEXT!’

music sign

*Okay then…/lights up… And as you’re such a clever Clicky, you can choose…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song 😀

 

Hag With A Fag

*Afternoon, Clicky… /pats snout… What’s the Song in aid of? … /lights up… *

*Oh… /rolls eyes… Leggy is trying… /drags…*

*Eighteen credits, eh? …/flicks ash…*

Good afternoon, Dear Reader! 😀 It’s snowing again. Not as much as last time, but Thoughtful Man is out working in it…

*Hee is indeed… /blows smoke ring…*

… And I’m sat here, on Sat-‘ere-day, pondering the idea of  an anthology short story about ‘hedge riding’…

Three hedge riders in a rowThree hedge riders in a row 1

*Great mates… /puff contentedly… I’m so lucky, Clicky…*

Can someone be both a Hedge Rider and Hedge Witch? Yes if they are practicing crossing the veil, second sight and also find their core practice in their garden etc. If one is performing herbal magic without the Journey work, divination,
and spirit work then they are practicing Hedge Witchery and not Hedge Riding. These practices very much compliment each other. Hedge Riders use poison herbs to aid in flight, while the Hedge Witch is able to connect with the spirit world through meditations.

… And flights of fancy.

‘The Solanaceae, or nightshades, are an economically important family of flowering plants. The family ranges from annual and perennial herbs to vines, lianas, epiphytes, shrubs, and trees, and includes a number of important agricultural crops, medicinal plants, spices, weeds, and ornamentals. Many members of the family contain potent alkaloids, and some are highly toxic, but many, including tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, bell/chili peppers, and tobacco are widely used.

Looking out the window, I see that our garden hedge is cloaked in snow…

Haw (n.)

“enclosure,” Old English haga “enclosure, fortified enclosure; hedge,” from Proto-Germanic *hag-(source also of Old Norse hagi, Old Saxon hago, German Hag “hedge;” Middle Dutch hage, Dutch haag, as in the city name The Hague), from PIE root *kagh- “to catch seize; wickerwork fence” (see hedge (n.), and compare hag). Meaning “fruit of the hawthorn bush” (Old English) is perhaps short for *hægberie.

… thinking I’m glad I don’t have to go outside to smoke in this weather. I’d hate to be made go outside to smoke today, Dear Reader. Standing on the street smoking makes me feel like a whore…

*Yikes! /final drag… That’s a different kind of hag, Clicky… /stubs butt… Nightmarish all the same. I can use that…*

Stay warm and enjoy your weekend, Dear Reader. Oh, and… Have a Song 😉

*A train of thought for a flight of fancy eh, Clicky? /pats snout… Come on, I’d better start writing it… /lights up…*

 

Chickpeas A Chance

A tweet caught my attention this morning, Dear Reader…

Ninamoose101 is feeling sad and depressed

I’m not that keen on the VEG(etari)AN movement. I don’t trust it’s zealotry and I certainly don’t trust it’s sponsors

…Butt, as I’d mentioned last weekend, The Secret Sun site has been busy cataloging the current de-luge of Vega/Vegas/Vegan media messaging…

*That’s a concise little video, Clicky… /lights up… Thanks for pulling it out… /drags… I’d only heard of Jeff Buckley for the first time in the Blue universe… *

…I was intrigued to what they were up to now, so I decided to go and have a look at the “so sad and utterly depressing” article for myself…

Metro Vegan Rubies

*/smirks… I doo like to catch a Roobee reference, Click… /snorts smoke…*

‘My current favourite dinner item is Iceland’s hash brown fries (seriously, try them), dipped in mayo (I never said I was classy).

‘Now, I’ve got two ride or die vegan mayos – Plamil’s garlic mayo, and Vegenaise (only if it’s on offer, because it’s hella expensive) but my eye wandered today when I discovered that there’s a new mayo in town.

‘And it’s made from waste water from the hummus industry.

‘Yup, Rubies in the Rubble mayo is made using aquafaba – the water drained from tins of chickpeas and other legumes. It translates from Latin as ‘bean water’.’

*Mmm… I like hummus, Clicky… /taps ash… And I like mayo… /puffs… especially with ham… /smacks lips…*

*/deep drag… Way to kill the messenger eh, Clicky? …/fiddles with lighter… *

… I confess, Dear Reader, when I read ‘chickpea’ in the article, Cicero sprang to mind…

Cicero’s cognomen, or personal surname, comes from the Latin for chickpeacicer. Plutarch explains that the name was originally given to one of Cicero’s ancestors who had a cleft in the tip of his nose resembling a chickpea. However, it is more likely that Cicero’s ancestors prospered through the cultivation and sale of chickpeas. Romans often chose down-to-earth personal surnames. The famous family names of Fabius, Lentulus, and Piso come from the Latin names of beans, lentils, and peas, respectively.’

… Roman Beans, Lentils and Peas, all vegan staples, but what is ‘aquafaba’? Back to the offending article…

”Of course, using aquafaba to make mayo isn’t new – the aforementioned vegan mayos use aquafaba from soy beans – but Rubies’ aquafaba is a byproduct of the hummus industry.

‘‘We were inspired to get back into the kitchen after we saw a vegan foodie blogger was making gorgeous looking meringue with aquafaba, saying it performed just like egg whites,’ says Rubies co-founder, Jenny Costa.’

*You just had to bring it back to physics, Clicky… /rolls eyes… *

Rubble scratch

*Yeah… /pats snout… I don’t understand it either… /final drag… Shall we wrap this one up?*

Hold Your Horses

*What?… /stubs butt…*

chickpea crisis

*Oh fuck! Well that’s even more of a reason for hummus producers to sell their been water to the vegans… Waste not, want knot…*

Apparently, we are in the midst of a great ‘Chickpea Crisis‘, Dear Reader…

Scooby snigger

*I know! Shh…*

‘The price of popular brand Me Too! has gone up by 12p for a 250g pot and 19p for a 500g pot. But the makers say the price rises have been down to the supermarkets.’

Whoa! Brand #metoo is getting kinda pricey. I think we need a Song 😉

 

Sunday Sonday

I thought today, Dear Reader, that I would try to recreate a shamble that I posted in 2013 over at – the now defunct – Sync Miss For Him

hymn

*Hmm… /flicks lighter… I prefer ‘him’, Clicky, but hymn sounds like him, so I guess it could be hymn… /lights up…*

Whilst doing so, I hope to connect the connections I made then to some current syncs and themes being exposed/explored by Christopher Knowles and his reader-commentators over at The Secret Sun blog.

Sew let’s start. It started with a Song…

Strawberry Fields Forever” is a song by the English rock band the Beatles. It was released in February 1967 as a double A-side single with “Penny Lane”. The song was written by John Lennon and credited to the Lennon–McCartney songwriting partnership. Lennon wrote the song in Almería, Spain, where he was filming a role in the anti-war comedy How I Won the War. He drew inspiration from his childhood memories of playing in the garden of Strawberry Field, a Salvation Army children’s home near to where he grew up in Liverpool.

What particularly interested me was the accompanying video that was filmed on the 30th and 31st of January 1967 in the deer park surrounding Knole House in Sevenoaks, Kent. I hadn’t seen it before and I was struck by what occurred to me as the first appearance of a soon to be very famous science fiction character…

*/drags… John Lamb Lash mentioned the connection between the Kubrick‘s ‘HAL’ and the Coptic word ‘Hal’ for Archon simulation, Clicky… /taps ash…*

*Knowles and Knoles has the same root etymology, Clicky… /puffs… ‘knoll‘…*

Knole House is interesting in that it is considered to be a sort of ‘Calendar House’  – 365 rooms, 52 staircases, 12 entrances and seven courtyards. I was a little surprised to find a ‘Cade‘ reference alongside ‘Fiennes/Fine/Feyn‘ in the early history of the house. It would be fair to say that observation wouldn’t have meant anything at all to me back in 2013, when crafting the original shambles…

Christopher Knowles over at The Secret Sun has for the past 9 months been following a rich seam of syncs surrounding the life, loves and music of the singer Elizabeth Fraser of Cocteau Twins

‘The Frasers are believed to have come from Anjou in France. The name Fraser may be derived from Fredarius, Fresel or Freseau. Another suggestion is that the Frasers were a tribe in Roman Gaul, whose badge was a strawberry plant (fraisier in French). The first Fraser to appear in Scotland was in about 1160 when Simon Fraser held lands at Keith in East Lothian .’

… And the explosion of Vega/Vegan/Vegas syncs in the media… 

Las Vegas (/lɑːs ˈvɡəs/, Spanish for “The Meadows“)’

Meadows are fields… Like a paddock

Vega (n.)

1638, bright northern star, the alpha of Lyra, from Arabic (Al Nasr) al Waqi translated variously as “the eagle of the desert” or “the falling vulture” (or bird).

*Las Vegas and a vulture… /puffs… That fucking ad is on my Twitter feed constantly at the moment, Clicky…/snorts smoke…*

*/raises eyebrows… In-fallible with a strawberry, Clicky… Interesting… /final drag…*

The garden strawberry was first bred in Brittany, France, in the 1750s via a cross of Fragaria virginiana from eastern North America and Fragaria chiloensis, which was brought from Chile by Amédée-François Frézier in 1714. Cultivars of Fragaria × ananassa have replaced, in commercial production, the woodland strawberry (Fragaria vesca), which was the first strawberry species cultivated in the early 17th century.’

Pink News John Mahoney death

I had a bit of a ‘Mandela Effect’ myself this week, when I read that the dad in the sitcom ‘Frasier’, John Ma-honey, had died

*That’s where I knew him from! …/sucks teeth… To be honest, I thought he was already dead, Clicky… /stubs butt…*

grey crowned crane

*Ah, a grey crowned crane… They did an episode with a crane…*

Frasier remains one of my favourite comedies and I still watch clips of it on YT. The pilot episode ‘The Good Son‘ was probably the most perfect pilot episode ever made, introducing the main characters practically fully formed… Touched by an Angell

strawberry angel delight.gif

Anyhoo, I’m sure I’ve missed out loads from my original shamble, but I hope you’ve enjoyed this one all the same. Doo go and have a perusal of The Secret Sun’s scribblings; it’s completely fascinating. In fact there is a new post up now, so that’s my early evening sorted 😉

Enjoy the coming week, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song 😀