Un-Ready Teddy

At my age you'd rightly be expected to have encountered enough bouts of boredom to be able to stifle a yawn or two when another one comes along. You've been there , yawned that , got the T-shirt, come out this side of alive.

Children's books though are a whole other ballpark. When the wee beloved hauls across her latest favourite for you to read out while you're trying to take in a half decent show on TV you don't break out in spontaneous dance.

You notice the sheer bulk of it. I mean 80 pages ? So you try opening it at page 65.

Fat chance. Wee beloved wants it from the begining.

Which is Goosey Gander , Georgie Porgie , Rock-A-Bye Baby and Tom The Piper's Son. These followed by sustained endurance thereafter of Teddy's Birthday Party , Teddy's Favourites , Teddy's ABC and a seven-page epic entitled Teddy Goes Flying that has you feeling like you're on an especially turbulent flight you decide you've earned the right to skip a dozen or so pages.

Dream on Daddy.

And know that there's no missing Uncle Sailor Bill . Nor anything else in that book.

You have nothing against either reading or reading aloud. Quite the contrary. What pains is the sheer absence of traction, grip , hook.

I mean take Teddy's Favourites. Hardly the stuff you've been dying to know all your life. Or Teddy's ABC - edifying but don't bet on it creating an intellectual breakthough to solve the planet's problems (of which Kid Lit by the way is no small component). Granted Hey Diddle Diddle has a certain surreal appeal but only to a point. The delight of knowing the dish ran away with the spoon begins to wear thin by around the nineteenth reading.

While these pieces can be read away within a reasonable couple of minutes each , things like Teddy Goes Flying are a far tougher kettle of fish. They are long. They are meant to be stories.

Huh ?

Teddy sees a bird and thinks how nice it would be to fly. He tries all manner of ways and can't. His Uncle Bill then gives him a ride in a helicopter. Teddy decides that is exciting enough.

The end.

Roald Dahl it ain't.

Nor an Agatha Christie whodunnit. Nor anything that dwells on the human condition. Why , not even on the bear condition. As I recall it , Milan Kundera in his Art Of The Novel wrote of the five or six stages in which a character or plot progressively develops. You wouldn't find half of one in Uncle Sailor Bill. And one shudders to think what E.M. Forster - author of Aspects Of The Novel (of which sad to say I couldn't understand a word) - would make of The Three Bears.

So there you go. It's not easy.

One thing it has to be said that does link your wee beloved's fav. books to some well known works of high art - like , say , Joyce's Ulysses or William Burrough's Naked Lunch - is the effect it has of decimating any trace of wakefulness within an inch of your life. No doubt the competent author of Grumpy Bertie Bear is in the reckoning for a Nobel and good luck to her.

The difference though is that with Ulysses or Naked Lunch you have a choice not to partake.

With wee beloved's treasure trove of Kid Lit , it's Fat Chance.

So Pigs Have Wings ?

Last time it was Bird Flu which , come to think of it , isn't such a big deal .


I mean , birds will be birds and they will fly.


And a good thing too ; probably wouldn't have got Norwegian Wood if they didn't.


But swines ?

The (brief) Return Of Sherlock Holmes

"Mr Buchanan's theory is not without its merits" , remarked Sherlock Holmes

It was a cold and gloomy afternoon as we sat in our Baker Street apartment watching the IPL on television.

" And what , Holmes , do you base that opinion on ?" , I asked

This took him by no small surprise.

" Well ", he ventured with some hesitation, "Er , ..that is to say ..., it is based on certain logical conclusions that I have arrived at by the usual deductive process of reasoning that you are aware , dear Watson, I hold much store by and indeed - and this at the risk of sounding immodest -have employed profitably in the past ."

Readers of my more recent chronicles would perhaps be aware of my growing dismay with this man's failings of late. Holmes' unquestionably great powers have been on the wane. What has made it pitiable is his attempts to obfuscate the fact with utterly unconvincing bluster , this Buchanan comment not least amidst many.

" Come come Holmes , this is hardly becoming of you " , i rebuked.

"But my dear Watson ! When it came to such aspects as the toss , for instance , multiple captains would spread the risks associated with the luck of any one individual over several and thereby average , as it were , the probabilities. For another , players would have more captains to look up to. Not to mention the fans' delight at having more than one captain to take photographs with and have signed autographs from. And what ,pray, of press conferences where multiple voices would provide a Surround Sound effect in keeping with the times which , incidentally, the IPL is all about. But just think of the commercial opportunities from that alone , man ! I fear , my good Watson , your thinking is much too rooted in the 19th century".

More obscurities that I was not prepared to suffer.

" And I take it you have deduced the outcome of the next Knight Riders game ?" , I asked with a strong tinge of sarcasm , almost scorn.

Holmes' pat reply - it made me to happy to note - had such a ring of confident authority as I had not heard in a considerable length of time : " They will lose."

Quit Pro Quo

We shall smoke on the beaches, we shall smoke on the landing grounds, we shall smoke in the fields and in the streets, we shall smoke in the hills; we shall never surrender!

So Churchill didn’t say that – cigar in his mouth possibly? – but that’s pretty much how it has been for a while.

Not good.

This piece I read suggested that you begin with an analysis of the habit and jot down on a clean sheet of paper the reasons why you smoke.

Why do you smoke? What is a smoke ?

It’s an escape, a seven centimeter-long vacation several times a day. It’s trading off the weight of the world for five mg. of a chemical with bad karma and worse PR. It’s a stimulant of thought, a reasoning aid, a sense maker, a sort out-er.

It’s an agreeable act of thoughtlessness.

It’s a dare. It’s the thrill of doing drugs without the hassle. It’s a natural compulsion to self destruct. It’s a liberating surrender to addiction, to irrationality, to Big Tobacco, to petty worries, to Yes We Can’t. It’s high style at less than two dollars a buy. It’s a boost of confidence, a paper rocket to launch into ash-oblivion whenever you’re bored. It’s a satellite to orbit the world of meals, beverages and coffee breaks. It’s a personality prop, a playmate for your neurons, a function for your fingers. It’s like breathing. You don’t jot down reasons why. You don’t quit breathing. You have to quit smoking.

Or you quit breathing.

Uphill this task.

Excuse me while I light another.

That’s the trouble with cynicism: always seeing the cigarette half unsmoked.

Oh well

Our parliamentarians have an obsession with rushing to the Well of the House.

Protest against the ruling party? Rush to the Well of the House. Protest against the opposition? Rush to the Well of the House.

Nothing to protest ?

Rush to the Well of the House.

A first-time Member of Parliament once felt thirsty. He rushed to the Well of the House. Somebody told him this wasn’t that sort of a well. So he rushed to the Well of the House in protest.

This set off a row between the two main parties. The two main parties rushed to the Well of the House.

They never just walk there, not even a briskly. No, they rush to the Well of the House.

I know of another first time M.P. who didn’t know the deal. During one of those protests he walked leisurely towards the Well. His party colleagues first ticked him off and then rushed to the Well of the House in rebuke.

When I say obsession I mean obsession.

Consider the case of this very senior M.P.:
- The man was in his constituency and busy with his daughter’s wedding when he learned that the jalebis would be delayed. He was livid. So he flew to Delhi, drove over to Parliament and rushed to the Well of the House. The flight back from Delhi was running several hours late. In protest, our distinguished veteran drove back into the city to rush to the Well of House. By the time he returned home , the wedding party had been thrown completely off gear. His wife gave him a mouthful. In protest against which he insisted on flying back to Delhi to rush to the Well of the house. They had to lock him in.

There are many other such stories and i won't get into those here

Suffice it to say it was all getting too much.

At some point it was decided to do away with the Well of the House altogether.

The Well of the House was destroyed so completely that not a trace remained.

This greatly angered the M.P.’s

So they rushed to the Well of the House.

The misadventures of Sherlock Holmes – 5

(Readers of the Sherlock Holmes books will have noted how Watson good naturedly puts up with the patronizing that Holmes often subjects him to. Strawberry Fields Occasionally came across this unpublished memoir that paints a hitherto unknown picture. Incidentally this appears to be the last of Watson’s memoirs)

It was a cold and gloomy afternoon.

“Watson, will you be so good as to fetch my case”, said Holmes.

“Fetch it yourself, Holmes. I am busy”, said I cold but civil.

“Ah Watson! I see you have been visiting Prof. Moriarty’s website. Tut , tut. This is hardly becoming of you”, returned Holmes with what he hoped was a kindly tone.

It only irritated me.

“But confound it, Holmes! You could not be more wrong. I have scarcely used the internet these last few days if only you were not too self absorbed to notice. I am tired of your smug sense of superiority. After all, you haven’t solved a case in ages and such little deductive prowess as you may have possessed in some distant past is long spent.

“I am finished with you, Holmes, quite as much as I am with these chronicles. They have ceased to be worth bothering about.

"I fully intend, Sir, to share this assessment with Conan Doyle - with a recommendation, if you must know, that he switch from the crime fiction genre altogether and pursue a style more along the lines of , say , a Woody Allen.”

The effect this ejaculation had upon Holmes was profound.

Shaken he muttered – “Have I lost you now to Manhattan Jewry and the vulgarities of the New World, Watson?”

Then suddenly he was kneeling at my feet: “Oh no Watson! For the love of God, Watson! I shan’t be able to endure not being written about. What good is a fictional character that is not written about ! Oh for pity’s sake! I shall do anything you wish me to do. From this moment on, my good Watson, your wish is my dearest command. Allow me to but serve you all my life!”

“In that case, Holmes”, I replied coolly “you might perhaps clean my pipe for it is in dire need of cleaning.”

He did a very good job of it too. I was particularly impressed with how he subjected the pipe to an examination through his magnifying lens with a view to ensuring that the minutest trace of dirt had been removed.

The misadventures of Sherlock Holmes - 4

It was a cold and gloomy afternoon. Holmes and I sat by the warm fireplace of our apartment at 221 B Baker Street and watched “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire”. Holmes had had not many cases of late and had begun to spend a lot of time watching TV.

As the show wore on, I began to feel increasingly more appalled at Holmes’ evident lack of any general knowledge of note.

For instance, his answer to “What was Coldplay’s first album?” was “Thriller”.

Or take “Where was Jack the Ripper based?” Holmes’ response to that was – “Under my thumb”

“My dear Holmes”, I could not help blurting out, “but frankly this is shocking! Pardon me for asking, dear fellow, but to what level of schooling have you been educated?”

“Only elementary, my dear Watson”, replied Holmes distractedly as he pondered the capital of Papua New Guinea.

The misadventures of Sherlock Holmes - 3

(Readers old enough may recall the case of the Emerald murders and the ripples they caused in the highest , most exalted Diplomatic circles all across Europe in the year 188- . What is not known is the singular role that Holmes played in solving the case. Indeed, the affair was cloaked in such delicate secrecy that many of the principal players themselves were unaware of the fact.)

I recall it was a cold and foggy morning in the summer of 188- and we were at breakfast when a telegram arrived for Holmes. Holmes had been distracted and keeping to himself of late. He was often confined for days on end within his room. At other times he would lie upon the couch gazing vacantly at the ceiling and smoking his pipe. A silent restlessness betrayed his passive demeanor as he frequently enquired after the mail.

A nervous storm was clearly brewing and it was liable to break in any short matter of time. I knew that the precipitation of a fresh case to consume the energies of this remarkable man was imminent.

Little did I know, however, of how significant, grave and fateful a case it would be in deciding the fate of an entire continent

The storm broke with the arrival of the telegram.

Having abandoned all pretence at eating breakfast Holmes hurriedly read through the note. Every word read seemed to add to the weight of its import. A grave and feverish excitement was much in evidence as Holmes leaped to his feet and cried:

“Your bags, my good Watson! Pack your bags at once! For we have such travel to embark upon as brooks no delay. Make haste, my dear Doctor. To Paddington. At once!”

As it happened, I was scheduled to watch a new Quentin Tarantino film that very afternoon; I could not possibly miss it. I had also planned on a tranquil morning of leisure to precede the show and was seized with no great enthusiasm to upset that plan.

“My dear Holmes”, I replied carefully as I speared the excellent bacon “I fear it is not within the orbit of my good fortune to embark upon this journey and partake of the delightful adventures it no doubt has in store for you. I hope that you pardon my absence. I wish you good luck.”

I played no further part in the adventure. Truth be told, I was unable to even follow up. As I recall, a commitment with the Greenpeace movement had taken up much of my time around that period.

And that is why you, dear reader, will not read about the Emerald murders.

The misadventures of Sherlock Holmes - 2

“Ah Ms Bedford, but this case bestows upon me the most hideous disappointment of having to turn it down” said Holmes.

It was on a cold and foggy afternoon that Ms. Bedford had graced our abode at 221B Baker Street. She had come in with a case that had baffled everybody - that being the case Holmes had just turned down.

“But why Mr. Holmes?” enquired a visibly disappointed Ms. Bedford

“I confess, Madam, that I do not believe I possess such ability as is required to solve it”, said Holmes with what perhaps I alone recognized as a trace of sheepishness.

“Oh Mr. Holmes, I must admit to a feeling of disappointment. I had intended to offer you the consideration of 100,000 sterling pounds for the kind favour of solving this case.” said this beautiful daughter of a wealthy baronet.

Holmes’ eyes lit up.

He said: “Perhaps I can offer a violin rendition of Bach’s Partita in D Minor for a quarter of that sum? Or some Haydn perhaps?”

This offer having drawn a vacant stare from its recipient, Holmes added breathlessly, with a touch of desperation almost: “I shall be glad to throw in a deduction or two as to the state of the weather next week. At no extra cost, of course”

So whats going on then ?

Who's withdrawing support ? Who's extending support ? Who's considering extending support ?

Umm, who is Support ?

Where lives ? What likes ? When eats ? How sings ?

Why are they withdrawing him and extending him ? And considering extending him ? Have they got his permission ?

It's all very confusing.

My scale of understanding on this whole thing is less than atomic.

It's electronic.

How about a new clear deal ?

The continuing misadventures of Sherlock Holmes - 1

It was on a cold and foggy afternoon that Mrs. Hudson presented us with the visiting card of a Mr. J.L.Seagull. No sooner had she done so than Mr. Seagull himself rushed into our apartment at 221 B Baker Street in a state of utmost agitation.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I can barely state the despair that has provoked this uninvited visit, Sir but you must understand ….”

“Ah! Let me see now.” Holmes cut in. “ You have lived in India , no doubt in the Khyber where you served for a few stable if undistinguished years. You are currently stationed in London. You own a modest trading establishment and your wife helps with the accounts. I see also that your taste in tobacco runs to Virginia although you are not very particular as regards the make of your pipe.”

“I could not claim these observations to be true, Mr. Holmes”, said a visibly disappointed Mr. Seagull “For I am a bachelor and have lived in Surrey all my life. I am employed as a postal clerk with Living Living Living & Living. As to my taste in tobacco, it runs to nothing if it runs to anything at all, Sir, for I do not smoke.”

“Confound it - not again ! Oh well, I tried . . .”, I heard Holmes mutter under his breath.

Chennai Super Kris

Last night's game. Chennai Super Kings v Rajasthan Royals.

Asnodkar has a swipe at midwicket . No runs.

Kris Srikanth waxes exciteloquent - " You know I like this man Asnodkar. He's not afraid to take risks. This is 20-20. A batsman has to take a few risks , there's just too little time. And if you haven't taken those risks by the 5th of 6th over it may be too late...i'm very impressed with this lad.this is the right time to take a chance and score some quick runs."

Well said . After all the Royals had only 10 wickets in hand to chase down a mammoth 110 at an all too improbable RR of 5.5 per over.

Anatomy of a hotel (urgently noticed)

Burning Love (Fish with mine please)

In Punjab , India , a love song on TV recently provoked a woman into burning herself as proof of her love for her husband. Sequence of events :
- Love song on TV
- Wife : “Oh I love you sooo much”
- Husband : “How much ? Show me !”
- Wife pours kerosene on herself and proceeds to set herself aflame

I can well imagine a variation on this – as follows :
- Love song on TV
- Wife : “Oh I love you sooo much”
- Husband : : “How much ? Show me !”
- Wife pours kerosene on her husband and proceeds to set him aflame

The following would be a good middle ground :
- Love song on TV
- Wife : “Oh I love you sooo much”
- Husband : : “How much ? Show me !”
- Wife : "I’ll make you some nice fish curry."
- Wife proceeds to kitchen

Yum !

It really was his day

It was Valentine’s day.

He woke up that morning and it was from the right side of his bed.

The sun was up. The sky was blue. There were birds chirping. The one bird that had planned on not chirping had quite forgotten the plan.

Valentine hummed a merry tune as he showered.

“I think it’s going to be my day”, thought Valentine .

At breakfast , the eggs were done just right and the coffee was perfect.

Valentine set out for work. He switched on the car radio and lo ! it was playing his favourite song. A black cat was about to cross Valetine’s path but decided against it.
(Black cat : “Heck , I have eight other lives to do it , pal Val. You go right ahead”)

A message from the government was waiting when Valentine arrived at work :
“Dear Valentine , we thought this might be your day. (Signed) The Government ”. Valentine was very pleased.

Another message arrived soon after from the Finance ministry :
“Dear Valentine , we were planning to impose a 40% Day Ownership Tax but ran out of ink. (Signed) The Finance Ministry”. Valentine was very pleased.

Valentine spent a pleasant morning at work. Then his boss gave him the afternoon off
(Boss : “That’s the way this blog post goes , Valentine”)

Valentine spent the afternoon at the movies. There was a promotion on and the popcorn came with a free coke. The coke was chilled to just the right temperature ! A pretty girl went up to Valentine and said : “You’re adorable !” .

She gave him a Hallmark card that said : “ I think it’s your day ”. Valentine was very pleased.

Valentine got home and what should be for dinner but his favourite roast ! Valentine sighed with pleasure. It was with a happy smile on his face that Valentine went to bed for a refreshing night’s sleep. And why not ! Don’t you just wish you’d checked with him before buying that stock ?