If only the curators had included a ‘Don’t Bloody Touch The Silver New Something’ sign, Claudius – a law-abiding fellow who wanted only to be told what to do every minute of every day (why else, after all, did he join the army) – would have enjoyed his accidental cultural jaunt, free of any useful thoughts at all. And don’t worry about Strawberry, the cow, Claudius is vegetarian.
The good oil is to check twice and book once, based on the carpenter’s rule of thumb (if he hasn’t already lost both to overly eager sawing) to measure twice and cut once. In Princess Tiffany’s case, one suspects that the so-called ‘wrong’ escort team is actually the perfectly ‘right’ team, for her. Go, you good things.
I admit it, I have a long-standing, and sitting, and lying down and relaxing obsession with Edward Hopper’s magnificent painting Nighthawks. It is one of Mr Hopper’s most famous works, probably his very most famous, really and truly. There is something about the melancholic absence in that diner, despite its’ peopling, that reminds me of beautiful Mars and her silent, contemplative landscapes. So, I created Cafè Night Parrot as a homage to Nighthawks. Respect, Mr Hopper, respect. I dips me feline lid to you.
Here, we have a teaser for others to come, where Efraim, our marvellous barista and 24/7 counsellor of the lovelorn and lonely, meets some of his most ardent fans.
Yes, indeed, his name is Efraim. Mr Hopper may not have mentioned that.
Cyclists: they’re a hardy, though sometimes argumentative and clannish crowd. Nonetheless, we applaud their efforts to champion, and bring, carbohydrates into the healthy dietary choice fold. Or something like that. Or else, they simply want to go to a lovely cafe after their ride and pack on the kilojoules. If they play their carbs right, they can surely devise a route to take in all three destinations, n’est pas so?
There, I’ll say it – black cats fancy themselves as superior to other cats. This is manifested in their silent aloofy aloofness. Next time you see a black cat, make friends with her or him, and who knows, you may move her or him on from ‘aloof’ to ‘benign’ or even ‘cuddlesomely noirish.’ Give him or her, or her or him a pat and a hearty invitation to your next tuna nosh-a-rama and bucket list share-a-thon. Invite me, too.
We all find perspective in our own dubious ways, usually involving confirmation and cognitive bias. Who knows, maybe those two things are one and the same – I shall search for research that confirms my cognitions on this conundrum. Meanwhile, bias away, chaps, or bike away, and make it quick. That arch looks temporary to me.
It is almost a certainty that former hired assassins have limited knowledge of appropriate titles. On the other hand, I, for one, am not going to tell Maxwell Magillicuddy that he should, indeed, second-guess ‘Kebab Your Lamb and Other Stabby Recipes’ now that he’s turned his attention to, let us say, other victims. If he could stomach a dose of vegetarianism, ‘Coleslaw Your Carrot and Other Grating Recipes’ sounds so much less threatening, don’t you agree (unless you’re a carrot, or the friend or relative of a carrot – apologies to all long, orange vegies)?
As a violent pacifist, I sympathise with Linda, and all of us, really, we, the many pawns of the universe, all of us made from atoms billions of years old already. You’d think they would have acquired enough wisdom by now to have nothing to do with war and mayhem. Hmmph – evolution, so protonically, neutronically, electronically slow.