So – out here under the tropic moon, we have The Team. A Senile Old Fart, too gaga to realise when someone is kidding, plus The Bollinger Chick – a mixture of Fenchurch and Pollyanna on speed perhaps and, just to make it mildly tricky, The Examiner, who lurks about the place in technicolour virtual reality. The Examiner goes in for polka dot pink patent leather, diamond studded stockwhips and a nasty line of evil tests for aforesaid SOF and BK. Right now, she’s taken away all our wind except the memory of what it was once like to have any (she’s also into homeopathy and snake oil)and told us we have to move this old barge in a generally north northeasterly direction and we’re trying – wow are we trying. Little kite up and flopping, kevvo straining every stainless sinew and SOF and BK sweating in turn on getting the kite to work just on the memory of wind. It doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop Herself in pink polka dots from declaring that it absolutely does. And the tropic moon just sits up there and laughs at us as we roll and flop and slat.
The fourth member of The Team – Mr. Speed Himself – is down at the pub in one or another of the Chalfonts beset by another Miss Whiplash as he tries to keep his pint from spilling on his laptop and cutting us all off. But that’s another story.
As you will gather, we have slowed down more than a bit. Barely moving is the go. Frustrating, but what would life be without challenges?? Fiona, I guess it was a bit of a cliche’d rant – serves me right!
Kris – no 3 letter words in today’s cryptic but an interesting puzzle. Any chance you could send me Lincoln’s Gettysburg address? [link here] I think it’s only about 350 words. I’ve been listening to famous speeches on the ipod but no Abe. One of the all timers in wordsmithery and I miss him.
Some of you will know the feeling at the start of a big marathon or a fun run like the City to Surf in Sydney. There are 25+ thousand of you, all packed tight together shuffling forward to get past the start gate and into the race proper. You’ve started, but you haven’t. That’s the feeling for me – that twanging, apprehensive, adrenaline flushed excitement, dampened by the knowledge of everything that can go wrong. We’re only just out on the course, although we are already 1000 miles closer to Dutch. Our world is fragile – our links with all of you depending on so many implausible wormholes in space and all the planning. So I retreat into my head and work my way through the possibilities. I don’t think I will feel we have really got over the start line until we can hear the polar bears barking. Or whatever they do.
The logs ramblings can be cryptic, so we have added: