Fantasia on Reflected Treegos

Once a tree that came to life,
went walking along the beach.
He hopped quite slowly just to see
What distance he could reach.

Now part along the front he found,
singing loud with glee,
A quite remarkable Looking-Glass,
Being sat on by a flea.

The Looking-Glass sang on and on,
While the flea just sat and sat.
Quite why it brought this hilarity,
Was only explained by a cat.

The Cat was sat nearby on a rock
And looked to be weary and frail.
The tree asked what on earth this was,
But the cat let out a wail.

"The Flea, you see, was sat on me,
and he gave me quite an itch.
Because my fur is quite a pain,
It really is a bitch.

But Mirrors have no fur, you see,
For the flea to irritate,
So it tickles them unto hilarity,
And generally feels quite great."

The Tree was scared by fleas and cats,
For both sit on its arms.
But the Looking-Glass was quite a gent,
He fell for his charms.

Three weeks on at beach's end,
The Glass and the Tree did wed.
But of the flea and that day before,
Nothing was ever said

Until now!

Are you over your rainbow?

There was once a fat mouse called Rooney, and he had a wife called Colleen Nolan. She was sitting on the bank doing something really interesting, like reading a book or writing a letter. Rooney wasn't, he was just standing still anticipating the end of the next minute. When that end came, he quickly swivelled and gathered himself to focus on the minute now in existence. He wasn't happy, but Colleen Nolan was and that's what mattered to him.
Then a Jack-in-the-box walked past, with his legs sticking out of the bottom of the box which made up his middle. "I'm going to Gloucester!" he said to Rooney, who just mumbled back something about Roald Dahl's sugar jar.
"Pardon me young mouse?" said the Jack-in-the-box quite politely and full of courtesy.
Rooney reacted hereby. "I hereby react! Are you going to the Doctor's in Gloucester?"
"No," said J-in-the-B, and he almost wasn't lying. He was in fact going to see his long-term partner and co-habiter, who had the name Helen, who he affectionately named "lurrrrrrrve Doctor when he wanted her to get the groceries. "I am in fact going to see my long-term partner, and co-habiter, named Helen."
Rooney thought that was ok, that there were no warnings required, and as he had lost track off all the arrivals and departures of minutes that had been going on, he really rather wanted to get shot of this strange and curious thing.
"Ok, J-in-the-B," said Rooney. "Right you are."

The next day Colleen Nolan read in her book and wrote in her letter that J-in-the-B had gone missing. He'd fallen into a puddle, and his Munge had been a fuddled. But nobody knew what happened hereafter.

And this explains why this blog has the address of Early White Rabbit

Giving solace to the one that'll never see the sunshine

I am a tart, a BIG tart.

I like William Blake

I like William Blake

Each Man is in his Spectre's power

Until the arrival of that hour

When his Humanity awake

And cast his Spectre into the Lake

A robin red breast in a cage
keeps all heaven in a rage

Use Et My Sole A Light

An Atom is the basic unit of ordinary matter, and for you today, we have one here called Matt.
"Hello!!" says Matt. Matt is very old. But, he is also on the run. Yes children, Matt is hiding from somebody! Because, he holds a secret, or more accurately, the key to some knowledge that some people want. He has taken a day out from his journey through space and time to be in this story, today. Matt was born on the 4th of January, 13.73 ± 0.12 billion years ago. Yes that's right, he is older than Maggie Thatcher. Over to you, Matt, to tell your story!

"Hello!!! I am an atom, and I am attracted to you. No! I'm not trying to chat you up, I am an atom for Pete's sake. I am a naked singularity, now now don't get excited, that just means I managed to get away to be on my own without any blackholes or stuff. These things you should know, to understand my story.
"I got expelled from Atom school, just before all the hot shit kicked off. When everything exploded, everybody else forgot all about me, and went off all over the place at ever increasing speeds creating planets and stars and stuff. The only one that bothered with me was John, John Field. But that was only because he was omnipresent throughout space and time, so it was hard to get away from him really. I watched loads of atoms I knew before going over their Chandrasekhar Limit, and even hovered around the Event Horizon, in case I could save them and they'd like me again. But sadly, though I have trod many different Geodesics, everybody has either been sucked into a supermassive blackhole, or are stuck together with loads of other people that forgot me by something called Gravity, or suchlike.
"I am an anomaly, because I travel alone. Nobody knows about me, though some suspect me. Some bastards called CERN have been chasing me, indirectly, for years. Back before civilisation began, some weird things calling themselves "men" tried to invent an ideology of me, made me into some super powerful omniscient thing. But they were idiots.
"In the year 4,064,394,635,886 AD, I have seen that Robert Winkleman will find me by reading Nostradamus backwards in Spanish. Until then, I have to go, I have to catch the 16:05 Electromagnetic Field Transport Service to see Mr Doppler, who's red. If that bloody Neutrino would move his fat nucleus out the way. Salut!"

Here ends today's assembly, I hope you got all that children. Have a nice day.

Astral Conversions between Metric and Rhetoric with Patrick Moore

There was an Alien called Derek who sought a storyline.
He couldn't find one.
His friend was out laughing at earth, and found an apple corer.
"Derek! A corer!" the friend said.
The Robert Maxwell ate a chicken and mushroom pie, with a cereal in his garden growing like a bus in London goes around the streets. Street is a town near The Clarke's Village, where they sell cheap shoes and other assorted toss. I got a free extra ice cream cone there once, cos the girl making the ice cream broke the one the ice cream was in.
Well anyway, Rimsky Korsakov opened a cafe in Stourbridge. It wasn't very good, and was expensive, but was good when it was raining. Toulouse is a french town slightly bigger than a few others. Bigger than Street I think.
Still. No. Better. Than. Beforrrrrre. Sang a singer while I was struggling with what to write. Alliteration.
A little ration can go a long way, said an old woman in 1946. She won the war, the war of words with William Wordsworth of Woolworth's fame. And William Wilberforce, played by Melanie Gibson Les Paul.
This blog isn't very good. Try to find a subtext or something.
Captain subtext!
Init Tho

A Precision Pizza to go, in Togo

The Land of Herrytatlerbonch. Situated far north of the south, over some mountains and back down again, the Land, and it's main city, lie in content confinement. The folk of Herrytatlerbonch, or Singers as they are known, are THE most precise race in the world, literally they have a word for everything. A blue table has a different word to say, a red one, because they are different things. They have no adjectives, because everything that can be described is already precise enough with the actual noun, such is their obsession with precision. Their language is always incomprehensible to us, because there are so many words, most of which are for objects and things we have never even experienced.

Anyway, their main man, called Merrytackleborough V2.04, went out exploring one day, up to the north. He would not DARE go south, because sadly the Singers had waged many wars upon the peoples in their nether, and had put many spaniards in their works throughout the years. The Singers were HATED even, by these people. So Merrytackleborough V2.04 went exploring, and came across a forest and nearly died. It was in a new shape he had never seen before, and he couldn't think of a name for this shape! Now, to us, it's best described as like a pizza slice shape, a triangle section of a circle, so like the edge is round. But pizza wasn't even invented at this time, and Merrytackleborough V2.04, quite understandably, was panicking. Why couldn't he think of a new word? He quickly realised that the phonetic base his whole kingdom (or mainmandom) was built on, had run out of new combinations. Oh NO!!!!!!!! God, he thought, if my people hear about this, what on Earth would they think? I would be ousted, jousted, and generally toasted, for my lack in the hour of need. So he had to think fast. Maybe he could try and use a word nobody had used for a while. No, he thought, somebody will remember it, probably that bloody Gearantrypod in the Office of Fair Wording. He had to go.....south. To ask the neighbours, if they either had a word, or if he could use some of their phonetics, so that he could return victorious as a revolutionary, a pioneer in his daze.
Off he went, with a bottle of rum and a puddle. Sorry, a poodle. He asked the Geantriarchists, just south of the border. They told him to go away. He asked the Artlipiddles, and they said something he didn't understand. He kept going, manically, through the Lirdssss, Munchangos, Livelifelikeapoolers, Broomgrowers and the Welsh. But nobody would help him, because of his forfathers, or more precisely (as this is what the story is about, precision), his four fathers.

So he disappeared travelling the world trying to find somebody somewhere that didn't think the Singers of Herrytatlerbonch were complete and utter barstools, and had a word or two going free.

That's how Herrytatlerbonch lost their Mainman and their phonetic integrity because the Italians hadn't invented Pizza yet.