The Jasper Club

Happy Birthday to the one and only Queen of the Recipe, Those Living in Wooden Houses in Forests and, most importantly, Owning Blogs that do just what they say on the tin (I much preferred that old description).

To the wonderful, AVRILO.

With all sincerity.

Your friend.

Hektor.

Kerris was an octopus
Sir Harold was a 'gator.
They swam together hand in hand
Then Harold went and ate 'er.

I have an audience with the Pope

And I'm saving the world at eight

But if he says he needs me

He says he needs me

Everything is gonna have to wait.

(Blimey is that the time)!

Wattles and throttles
And things jammed in bottles.
The monkeys are bouncing again.

With a hark and a harp,
They whoop in the park.
And dance to a baton called Ken.

To the tune of “Old Smokey”
They fling me in chokey
And push the one key up their bum.

So I sit and I twitch
With a Badger called Mitch
And sit quietly sucking my thumb.

Cantankerous elves
Are fighting themselves
Adrift on a clear purple ocean.

Translucent goats
Capsize all the boats
A cataclysm in slow motion.

The sea lions dance
With mussels from France
And feast upon Donald's fair potion.

While otters of glee
Stipulate unto me
A charming disarming true notion.

i Believe that sentence structure and punctuation are best left to the imagination

When I was a child of 3, I believed that when the tide went out it was because someone had pulled out the plug.

I thought the waves on the sea were like the pleats of a skirt and that if you unfolded them the sea would cover the land.

I knew that the ghost of an old lady lived in the cupboard in my bedroom and that if you didn't want her to come out you must never cry.

By the time I was 10 I had dismissed these ideas and others like them as ridiculous. Now I am not so certain.

And the elves did dance a merry jive around the ancient vessel of jasper while the stone giants watched, immutable, uncaring.

OK in a fight to determine who's the daddy of time and space travel who would win?

Dr Who or Mr Ben?

The sad eyes of Captain Lockwood gazed at a point into the mid-distance, beyond the cockpit window, where the blackness of the night surrounded them.

"I just can't do this anymore, Katrina. Just having you next to me is unbearable. In this confined space all I can see is you, all I can smell is you, all I can hear is you. Can't you see? You are driving me mad!"
Capt. Lockwood turned his soulful brown eyes onto the beautiful Katrina, who had draped herself seductively over the co-pilot's seat. She responded to his emotional outburst by playfully flicking her hair back over her shoulders, her lycra halterneck pilot suit glittering with thousands of sequins. She pursed her beautifully painted lips and breathed a sigh that could flatten mountains, if they were as suggestible as the lovelorn captain.

"Charles! Charles! Listen to me! You have to go on, not just for me, not just for the 108 passengers on this 707 airbus, but for little Jimmy, that kid who doesn't have a chance in hell if you don't land safely at Gatwick Airport!"

The atmosphere grew tense, like a roller-ball pen in a bowling alley.

"Oh my darling! Don't you know that I have adored you since I first saw you in the womens' changing room? When I watched you in the shower I felt something that I have never felt before!"

"What was that Charles?"

"Drips from the shower curtain. But never mind that, my beautiful co-pilot! It will take all my self control not to shout out from the wingtips of this plane that I love you! Do you hear me! I love you, Katrina Brown-Furcoat! Like no one has ever loved anybody before! My love is so big, that, well, it's like something that is very large."

As the captain spoke, he turned his handsome, sculptured head away from her, his declarations of love aimed at the altimeter on his right. He could not bear to look at her. Her volumputous gorgeousness had unnerved him to the point of bladder inconsistency.

As the loveliness that was Katrina spoke, her voice grew soft and alluring, as if she were praying to a God that had dwelt in her kitchen, watching her baking cakes in her polka-dot pinafore.

"Oh Charles! Our love can never be! If I had known that you would have fallen in love with me like this, I would have spurned you from the first time I ever saw you! That time, I will never forget, as our eyes met during the spin cycle in our local launderette. My undies in the machine next to your unmentionables, reaching out for each other!" She cried out in a torment of exclamations.
"Charles! Charles! Can you not see why we can't be together!!!!"

Charles turned his rugged, craggy features to pinpoint her mascarared eyelashes, a small frown burrowing its way along the creases in between his eyebrows, like a caterpillar coming home from a night out on the town at the local lettuce bar.

"Why? O dear God in heaven, why! I am tormented by the longing that I feel for you. My nerve endings cry out for your touch! My toes stretch and curl at the thought of you being there for me at the end of the day, a martini in one hand, my slippers in the other and a newspaper between your teeth. What a picture of domestic bliss I had envisioned for us both! My life would be as empty as this fuel gauge without you!"

As Charles turned to indicate the aforementioned gauge, his attention was drawn to the needle, which was inclined towards the red spot, indicating 'empty.'

"Katrina! Katrina! We are almost out of fuel! I had estimated that we had enough when I thought to take you on a slight detour from Rome to Gatwick via Istanbul, so I could try and win your heart. I have badly misjudged the amount left in the fuel tank. I am such a fool! Can you forgive an old retrobate for his little mistakes?"

Katrina tried to smooth out the frown lines that creased her porcelained features and employ an appropriate expression.
"Charles! Charles! We must do something to save this plane from crashing into the deep, dark, cruel sea! If we don't act promptly now, many lives will be lost. O yes, and I will miss the next episode of 'Torchwood' which I was hoping to catch when we disembarked."

There was a tense silence as both the captain and co-pilot put their respective heads in hands, in a thinkers' pose, a la Michaelangelo.

"I have it!!" Exclaimed Katrina, turning to retrieve her handbag from behind the seat.
"I know what to do, though it will be tricky."

"What, my darling! What!" Said the captain, his voice slightly muffled from being pressed against his chest, with his arms protectively wrapped around his head.

"I do have something that we can use as fuel. It may just be enough to get us to the nearest landing point, but you will have to go outside the plane and tip it into the tank. It will be dangerous, but it is our only hope." So saying, Katrina rummaged in her handbag and brought out several bottles containing a clear liquid.

"This is Stretzanetsoff, a 200% proof spirit that is a thousand times stronger than fuel, so a small amount of this would be equivalent to gallons of gas. I managed to bring back a few bottles, just for personal consumption. We will have to use it. Now, Charles! Do it now!"

"I will do it now, Katrina. Yes! I will do it now! I just need to....."
"No Charles! There is no time for you to clean your teeth!"

As Katrina wrapped her lucky headscarf around his superspy features, the captain grabbed 2 of the bottles and prepared to be a hero.

CATCH THE NEXT THRILLING EYE-CATCHING EPISODE. COMING TO THIS BLOG SHORTLY.
SNACKS AND DRINKS WILL BE SERVED IN THE FOYER DURING THIS INTERVAL.

Thus, in accordance with Rule 5 and the Tedonian Annex (Part IV, not Part V), I accord today as being "Fresh Monday" and, therefore, and following the principles set forth in paragraph (a)(i)(A)(I)(1)(aa)(ii)(AA) of Rule 12(4), the first challenge shall be set.

Jasperfarians are kindly requested to, before the end of the day falling seven days after the date hereof, post, either here in the form of a comment or within their own content scope picture (hereinafter referred to as a "Personal Blog" or "Blog" or "Sonic Peninsular"), a brief account in the form of verse, a picture or good old fashioned prose on the subject of "My Personal Interpretation of The Humble Vole".

So, as we say in Jasperlande - go forth and celetrebune in solace sound like baked anon.

Hail, Golden Seagulls!

I have returneth to fold with quince lock by a post of cold brice. Twofold pieces of cloth bold my bow'd eye under the weight of new moon and twelve mouse tide poultry became a welcome sesame seed in the uncontrolled echo of a past fortune.

I wish most kinde squirrels for you this fine afternoone.

Kind refraine.

Hektor

Wearing stilettos makes no sense.

"Milton, you swine. What have you done with it?"