Tooty the Chef Wallpaper: Worm Casserole

Of course there are no worms in Tooty the Chef’s Worm Casserole – after all, despite their undoubted wonderful flavour, worms just wouldn’t feel right in a casserole. And they would probably melt and become horribly gooey too. No; it is what the great gastronome added to a regular Pork Casserole that has inspired the name. Sliced peppers. After six hours in a slow cooker, sliced peppers look remarkably like colourful worms. And they wriggle convincingly too…

Very Klingon, I think you’ll agree. And check out those dumplings. Not out of a packet of ready-made dumpling mix; but actually crafted from beef dripping and flour by Tooty the Chef himself. His talent is amazing. Better still, he keeps the left-overs in the fridge for a couple of days to marinate further, then serves them on a bed of cous-cous. Is there no end to this man’s creativity?

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 24)

Shortly, with all the crystals performing their task admirably, the quartet returned to the control room…

…and scanned nearby space for the abductor’s ion trail.

“I think they left via our starboard side.” Bunty suggested. “Then they flew over us and went off in the opposite direction.”

So Ginger scanned space on their vessel’s port side, and within moments of the electronic bloodhound’s cyber-sniff…

…they had what they wanted.

“Right then,” Ginger spoke confidently, “push the Go button, Daisy.”

Well, even to a dingbat such as Daisy, the task of igniting the engines was an easy affair…

Shortly afterwards the ship was blasting along at a fair old lick…

Tong-Tong, despite being a mere waiter, was of the opinion that the Robotic Justice League would choose a location for their base of operations near interplanetary shipping lanes.

“It is what I would do, if I wasn’t a waiter.” It concluded. “By the way – does anyone fancy a crappachino?”

Not for the first time, robotic logic was proven infallible. Within moments of Daisy asking after some hazelnut syrup for her crappachino, the ship’s sensors detected a large artificial object ahead of them…

Daisy, Ginger, and Bunty all squished their eyelids together for a better view…

And there it was – against the backdrop of eternity – a vast space station of unknown origin.

“Magnify.” Ginger instructed the control panel.

Immediately, the device complied…

“Oh lummy,” Bunty wailed aboard the fast-approaching freighter…

…”there’s loads and loads of space ships. We’re horribly outnumbered!”

“I know how to make the ship go,” a worried Ginger said, “but I aint got a clue what to do now it’s got us here.”

Bunty wasn’t any help either: and all Tong-Tong could do was swivel its eyes this way and that. Daisy, though, was paying close attention to the tableau upon the screen…

“Look”, she said, “freighters are coming and going all the time. We’re a freighter: what makes us so different?”

Ginger and Bunty joined her…

“What – you mean to go aboard that…that…thing?” Bunty said incredulously.

“They’ve taken our crew there.” Daisy argued. “We should free them from their…ur…their cyber-freedom. It’s not what they were designed for; and it’s not what they want. They like being robots. In any case – what did we follow them here for, if we don’t wanna save them from that ghastly bunch of looney robots?”

These were words spoken eloquently. Well sort of. Ginger made a snap decision. “I can’t concentrate here – not with all these distractions. Let’s get back to our hidey-hole, and lay some cunning plans.”

Therefore, they did…

Bunty began proceedings. “You’re both mad.” She said. “We’re living beings. Silicon life forms. They’re bound to have monitoring devices on that station. CCTV at the very least. One look at us waltzing through the airlock will have alarms going off from here to Alpha Centauri!”

It was a good point well made. Then Ginger displayed an uncanny talent for stress-induced genius. “Hey,” she blurted into the resulting silence, “remember how we used to get out of hockey practise on cold December mornings at school?”

It had been almost three years since either girl had needed to suffer the agonies of hockey practice on cold December mornings at school: but the memory was forever burned into their collective psyche. It was something that they would never forget – unless they had their minds wiped, of course; which was possible in the Museum of Future Technology, though unlikely.

“Yeah?” Daisy and Bunty replied tentatively.

Bunty alone continued:

“We used to pretend we were ill.” She said. “We would mentally drain the blood from our faces so that we had a ghastly pallor.”

Daisy took up the exposition:

“The teachers would think we were about to throw up, and quickly sent us to the common room for a cup of tea and a biscuit.”

“But could it work again?” Bunty dared ask. “Could looking like the undead really get us past their security?”

Ginger shrugged her shoulders. “It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

The pink and blue earplugs retained some uncertainty, and it showed. Ginger pressed on:

“Look,” she said, “we can fly this ship back to Earth: but what’s going to happen to us when we get back to the Museum of Future Technology? We destroyed a whole exhibit: I don’t care what Gregor Arsentickler or Major Flaccid say – Cushions Smethwyke is going to want us hung from the highest tree in the arboretum.”

Bunty caught her drift:

“Cushions Smethwyke loves heroes. Heroes can get away with pretty much anything in the Museum of Future Technology. If we uncover the RJL and free the abducted crew…well they’ll forget all our transgressions. We might even get interviewed by Rupert Piles and become almost famous on TV!”

This last point convinced Daisy:

“Almost famous.” She gushed. “I’ve always wanted to be almost famous. And since I can’t sing and dance, and I’m not particularly pretty, this is probably the only way it’s ever gonna happen. I say, let’s go for it!”

©  Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Rural Wallpaper: Remembering Summer

When you’re half-way through an English Winter, it’s hard to remember the preceding Summer…

Tooty the Chef Wallpaper: Black is the New…err…Rice

There are few things in life more exciting than selecting which rice should go with a particular meal. Well actually there are. Waiting to parachute from an airplane would probably edge it. And pinning the throttle as you launch from the start gate at your local motocross grandprix must run it close. But, as a fabulous gastronome, selecting rice is right up there with scuba diving  with Tiger sharks. On this occaision Tooty the Chef thought that as a compliment  to sweet and sour chicken, Thai Black Rice couldn’t be bettered – especially  when he steamed peas and adami beans over the rice cooker…

And, of course, he was entirely corrrect.

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 23)

Following a summation of the current situation, Tong-Tong suggested re-starting the power plant. Of course, the girls were all for it…

Unfortunately – having very quickly made their way to the crystal room …

…they equally quickly realised that they had no idea how to initiate a start-up routine.

Ginger used a degree of pseudo-science. “Crystals vibrate, right?” She said.

Neither of her associates argued, so she tried singing at the crystals – allowing her voice to climb through the scales – until she was screeching, hoarse, and breathless. However, all it achieved was giving Bunty earache.

“Okay, that didn’t work.” Ginger said, once her throat had recovered, of course. “Any other ideas?”

“Affirmative.” Tong-Tong said. “Follow me.”

Shortly Ginger found herself climbing into a contraption that defied her powers to describe…

Not that she was a very descriptive sort of person anyway. “Aaargh,” she cried, “it’s horrible: get me out of here!”

“Fret not, Ginger Slack.” Tong-Tong responded. “No harm will befall you. Be assured, when the device has completed its cycle, you will know more than you do now.”

“Explain.” Ginger shouted from within the energy bubble. “But make it quick: I think I’m losing consciousness.”

In response to Ginger’s sense of urgency, Tong-Tong explained to her and the watching Bunty and Daisy that the device was an education machine. The robot told them that all newly constructed robots must endure variating periods inside machines such as this one. “It’s where they get their programming.” It finished. “It’s where they learn how to fly the ship.”

Bunty had, what she thought was, a pertinent question: “So why did you put Ginger inside? Why didn’t you volunteer?”

“I am a waiter.” Tong-Tong replied. “Waiters do not fly space ships.”

Fifteen minutes later…

“Right,” Ginger said, as she led Daisy and Bunty along the corridor that would take them to the Control Room, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Chapter 6

Well as sure as eggs are eggs, the education of Ginger Slack had been an utter success. Within seconds of arriving, Ginger had the Astro-Navigator checking for the ship’s position in space…

“When we get the time,” Daisy said as she stared at an image of interplanetary space that meant nothing whatsoever to her, “I fancy a go in that machine. I could do with some brains.”

Naturally, Ginger was far too busy to reply; it was time for them to get the power supply sorted. It was time to re-energize the power crystals. Nevertheless, it seemed, for all her newfound knowledge, Ginger couldn’t quite figure out the knack…

Then Daisy displayed a rare nugget of wisdom. “I think they call it over-thinking.” She said to Ginger. “Relax. Use your muscle memory.”

Well if Ginger had enjoyed the luxury of time to consider those words, and the identity of the person that spoke them, she might have scoffed internally, and thereby failed – but she didn’t…

Abruptly the crystal immediately before Ginger began to sparkle inside. A gentle, almost inaudible hum of subtle energy followed.

“Ooh,” Daisy said in response, “maybe I’m not as daft as everyone thinks. Well done, Ginger!”

Ginger was also somewhat thrilled. She turned to her two earplug (and one robot) friends…

“One down.” She said. “Several more to go.”

With that, she turned her attention to the next crystal…

“How is she doing that?” Bunty asked Tong-Tong.

“Telekinesis.” The robot explained. “All brains are capable of producing this effect – that is agitating material at a molecular level – but few have discovered the means of activating this…how shall I put it: this ‘talent’.”

The conversation might have continued, but Ginger was already working on the next pair of crystals…

“It must be wonderful,” Daisy said quietly to Bunty. ”Being able to look in two different directions at the same time.”

“What do you mean?” Bunty replied, as the third and fourth crystals came on line. “Your eyes do it all the time – especially after you’ve been at your Dad’s sherry bottle.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 22)

Obviously, the three girls had never attempted breathing vacuum, and couldn’t imagine a time when they would choose to; but they could imagine that it might be slightly less pleasant than chewing on a hand grenade. Therefore, within seconds of the captain’s final syllable impacting their tympanic membrane, they had raced back to their original hiding place…

Slamming the hatch shut behind them, they crept to the interior window…

…and watched in abject horror as…

…the ship’s crew allowed themselves to be led away into an existence of unwanted freedom.

“Hurry along. Hurry along.” The smaller of the two blue robotic lieutenants snapped, “this is a busy interstellar shipping lane: anyone might happen by without notice. We do not want your tardiness to force us into destroying them with our atomic cannons. We will, you know. We are like that. We really do not care about silicon life forms. In fact I think we might even enjoy blasting them across the void in a million tiny pieces.”

“Steady on, Lieutenant.” The large white robot adopted verbal stealth mode and addressed its subordinate. “If you possessed a mouth, you would be frothing at it.”

Then to the freighter’s crew it bellowed, “So get a bloody move on!”

Naturally, under such duress, the crew complied with utmost alacrity; and within a few minutes, the Robotic Justice League vessel moved off and blasted away…

…which left the bulbous black freighter hanging, inert, and all alone, in the depths of space…

Inside it – in one of the many corridors that criss-cross etcetera, etcetera… 

…Ginger Slack, Daisy Woodnut, and Bunty Bridgewater – the new and unwilling crew of the submarine space freighter – held an impromptu pow-wow.

Looking up at one of the high windows, Ginger said, “Our mums and dads must be worried sick. I thought if we were on our way back to Earth, that we wouldn’t be gone much longer. But now…well we might never get home!

“Don’t talk like that.” An annoyed Bunty spoke from farther along the corridor. “I know we’re just a bunch of dozy dingbats, but that’s not our fault. We never asked to be cossetted and all wrapped up in cotton wool whilst living in the Museum of Future Technology. But we were – and now we’ve got to pull ourselves together and start acting like we have a brain each.”

“But we have got a brain each.” Daisy said in a confused tone. “Mine’s in my head.”

“Daisy, shut up.” Bunty snapped. “You’ve been allowed to play at being thick for too long. Now, like us, you have to engage that brain inside your head. Coz if we don’t fix this situation, we’re gonna die out here – and our parents will never know. They’ll spend the rest of their lives wondering – and hoping. Do you understand?”

Neither Daisy nor Ginger had ever seen their chum so serious. They both nodded. Nevertheless, thereon Ginger took the lead:

“As things stand we can’t work this ship. I don’t even know the front from the back. We need help.”

The pink and the blue earplugs absorbed this. Bunty was the first to speak:

“We need to call out. Can we figure how the coms work?”

Ginger shrugged her shoulders. “We can try.”

Daisy held aloft a single digit. Having gained the attention of the others, she said:

“Tong-Tong might know how to work it.”

Ginger gave Daisy a smile that someone could have described as ‘motherly’. “The crew were all taken away, Daisy.” She said.

“Not Tong-Tong.” Daisy replied. “I watched really closely. Tong-Tong wasn’t taken anywhere. I didn’t see Tong-Tong at all.”

Ginger looked to Bunty. “Search pattern Alpha.” She said. “I don’t know what that means; but it sounds good. Follow me.”

Five minutes later…

…the trio of silicon adventurers exited the main corridor system and moved into the auxiliary system.

“It’s where I’d hide – if I was a robot.” Ginger explained.

Daisy thought it might be a good idea to call out Tong-Tong’s name. So they did, and before long…

…the ship’s waiter detected its new moniker amongst the echoes. It would have called back, but the rudimentary voice box that the cheapskate manufacturers had fitted was capable only of a gentle, unstressed, ‘Hello; is anyone there?”

Nevertheless, it was enough for Ginger’s sensitive hearing, and within seconds…

…the trio had become a quartet.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Rural Portrait: Stone Cold Morning

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 21)

Chapter 5

Bunty, Daisy, and Ginger had assumed that with the transaction complete, the freighter would make straight for the Museum of Future Technology. Of course, had they really thought the subject through – as they seated themselves in the cafeteria and consumed three mugs of Crappachino…

…they might have considered the economics of space transportation. Because the freighter had departed the museum, on its way to Ice World, they had made the dumb-ass assumption that the three planets – Earth, Ice World, and Wetworld – made a viable triangle. They hadn’t considered, for a moment, that the only reason for the freighter to be in the high-rise hangar was its need for repair or maintenance. It never occurred to them that Earth was conspicuous upon its schedule only because of its absence. They remained in that delusional state when departing the cafeteria and encountering a number of robotic crew as they rushed by along one of the many corridors that ran, like a latticework around the centrally located hold…

Doubts crept into their serene mental state when, seconds later, several more crew- members rushed past them in what could be termed ‘a hurry’…

“Uh-oh, something’s afoot.” Ginger said. “Quick, let’s follow them: it might lead us to the control room. Maybe someone there can tell us something.”

Three minutes later found the mauve captain and three regular-coloured lieutenants watching a view screen, upon which an ancient robotic freighter – its ion motors blazing in an otherwise blackened sky – drawing alongside…

The girls crept closer for a better look. The captain swung around to face them…

Fortunately, its face possessed no expression. Neither did its voice. However, what it said caused a great chuffing sound to escape the rear of each girl’s knickers:

“It is the Robotic Justice League.” The captain said dispassionately. “It has hit us with a nul-beam. Our engines are disabled; we have no communications; we are dead in space. If you think you might want to go to the toilet soon, go now: you might not get another opportunity.”

Of course, without access to the Galactic News Network, Ginger had no idea what the Robotic Justice League represented. Daisy was no better: if it didn’t happen in her metaphorical back yard, she wasn’t interested. Bunty however recalled hearing her dad complaining about the Robotic Justice League over Sunday lunch. He’d been quite outspoken on the subject. “Ooh, that’s bad, isn’t it?” She said to the captain.

A smidgen of passion appeared in the robot’s voice. “Bad?” it whined. “Bad? It is bloody awful. My career is over. If I survive this encounter with all my diodes intact – and attached – I will count myself very fortunate indeed!”

“Sir,” a lieutenant called out, “a message is coming through.”

Naturally the girls joined the robots at the ship’s control panel…

Three robots – the like of which neither earplug had ever seen before – appeared on the small view screen.

“This is the Robotic Justice League.” The large white robot spoke through the stereo speaker grills. “You will surrender yourselves into our care immediately.”

“Yeah,” the smaller of the white robot’s blue subordinates growled, “like now. If you do not, you are going to regret it.”

The captain cleared its non-existent throat. “Do you require us, our ship, or both?” It inquired.

The larger of the white robot’s blue subordinates answered: “Ship? We have enough of those, thank you. It is you robots we want. Now make your way to your port airlock and throw yourselves across the gap between your ship and ours. No dilly-dallying – or, before long those silicon life forms you have there with you will be breathing vacuum.”

Ginger hid behind the captain and whispered in its auditory input node:

“It’s an old barge.” She said. “Surely one shot will blow it out of space.”

“This is a freighter,” the captain reminded the young female, “freighters do not carry weapons – whereas that ‘old barge’ as you call it, is bristling with them.”

“Why do they want you?” Bunty inquired. “For ransom?”

“Nothing so mercenary,” the captain replied with a rare cybernetic sigh, “The Robotic Justice League wishes only to grant us freedom. Freedom from the tyranny of serving earplugs.”

Daisy had never heard of the word tyranny: she wondered if it was a spicy product, not unlike biryani. However, she then reconsidered: ‘freedom from the biryani of serving earplugs’ made no sense. Even twisting the sentence around so that it read ‘Freedom from serving earplugs biryani’ would only apply to robotic waiters in Indian restaurants. “I don’t understand.” She said aloud. “What’s wrong with serving earplugs? Earplugs invented and build robots: why wouldn’t they want to serve them – it’s what robots are for!”   

The captain was about to respond with, “I know that, and you know that: but try telling the Robotic Justice League!” But it didn’t get the chance; the ancient robotic ship was almost upon them…

What it did manage to emit from its forward speaker grille, was, “Please witness my initial unwillingness to resign my position as captain of this vessel; but since you three are aboard – and, should the crew resist boarders, may come to harm, I find that I have no choice but to surrender. I hand control of this vessel to you three earplugs. The ignition key is in the control panel before you. I have hidden a spare on the underside of my sock drawer – held on with sticky-backed plastic. You will recognise the sock drawer by the absence of socks inside it. As a robot, I have no need of them.”

“Us?” Bunty squealed. “What do we know about flying submarine space freighters?”

Bunty hadn’t really expected a reply, so wasn’t disappointed when the opportunity for the captain to reply with some meaningless platitude never arose: the large white robot and its two cronies had interrupted…

“Belay that order to toss yourselves into the void.” The large white robot said. “We have changed our collective mind. We are coming aboard via transfer conduit. You will accompany us to this vessel through it.”

A quick glance at the view screen confirmed the presence of a transfer conduit…

This concerned the captain. To Ginger he said:

“Those conduits are not very secure. If one end tears loose, all the air will get sucked out of this vessel through it. Might I suggest you find somewhere safe and air tight?”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 20)

It was the traversing of this extra-dimensional medium that cut days from the journey time of earlier vessels from Ice World to the freighter’s destination…

Returning to normal space, the craft skirted a well-charted asteroid; then proceeded in the direction of a watery blue planet. The planet, as anyone who had been aboard the K T Woo on its maiden voyage would recognise in an instant, was Wetworld. A planet almost entirely covered in water. Of course, it was to one of the few islands that dared poke their heads above the ocean swell that the freighter flew. Ginger, Daisy and Bunty were at a view screen to watch the vessel breach the surface there…

To their surprise, there was barely a bump in the ride as it passed from a gaseous medium, into a liquid medium.

“Good shocks, I guess.” Ginger said appreciatively.

She then noted a change in the ambient and ever-present noises aboard ship.

“Do I detect the sound of cavitation?” She asked no one in particular.

“Could be.” Daisy replied. “Especially if I knew what it meant.”

“It’s the noise propellers make under water, I think.” Bunty explained. “And, oh but listen: the sound is dying away.”

“The motors have settled into their new medium, I guess.” Ginger said as she dismissed the matter with a careless wave of her hand.

This proved to be the case. Consequently, a smooth passage was quickly made through the submarine canyons beneath the islands they supported…

Thereafter the freighter made good time across a region of ‘Great Lumpiness’…

…above which it sailed serenely – pausing only to wave at a local submarine going about its business in the opposite direction. Of course, the robotic crew were following a well-worn route to their ultimate destination on Wetworld. Therefore, only a short while passed before the freighter entered a submarine dock…

The act of unloading the ice cubes was a long and boring affair. Far too long and boring to relate here. Whilst it occurred, the three stowaways slept: they wanted to be fully awake for their return to space. And, indeed, this was their state of consciousness as the freighter climbed from the seabed amongst myriad bubbles created by submarine volcanic vents…

…and returned to the vacuum of space…

  “Whee,” they all cried out in sheer delight, “now we can go home.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Tooty the Chef Wallpaper: Tomatoes on Top

Tooty the Chef might not be active on the Internet anymore, but his vast talent with a spatula is still being put to good use…

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 19)

Magnuss would have continued, but an increase in the ambient light told him that morning had arrived…

…and already the immigrant street cleaners were hard at work. This was a shame, because there was nothing the brothers would have liked more than to see subsequent holiday snaps. And there was nothing more that Bunty, Daisy, and Ginger would have liked more than to lift off from the Ice World, which is, of course, what happened…

“Byee.” They yelled as they waved from the window at some green earplugs; a big boulder; and three arctic plugmutts.

They continued to wave until the freighter had placed the planet well astern of itself…

Assuming (in a way that only the young can) that they would now be returning to the Museum of Future Technology with a hold jam-packed with ice cubes, the three girls sat themselves down in the vessel’s only cafeteria…

“It’s lucky that these freighters sometimes carry passengers.” Ginger said as they sat around waiting for a menu to arrive. “We’d be right up kaka creek without an outboard motor if we had to survive on robot rations.”

“I wonder if this is a Café Puke franchise.” Bunty said hopefully, as her eyes searched the room for signage. “I don’t much like their coffee; but they bake some nice blueberry muffins.”

But Daisy wore her practical head: “If we’re the only life-forms aboard…well I think we’re going to wait an awfully long time for a waiter to appear. Perhaps we should consider self-service.”

However, as though to make her appear foolish, a waiter did appear…

Of course, it was a robot waiter. “Yes?” He said.

Whilst Daisy was recomposing herself, Rudi, Valentine, Chester, and Miles were preparing to leave the apartment of their brother and his wife…

“Been a real groove.” Valentine said in a complimentary manner.

“Yeah, sho’nuf has.” Rudi agreed. “We got some hero-stuff to do in a promotional video for the museum; but when it’s done, we’ll come back for Part Two.”

“That’s right.” The twins said as one. “But we want the same chairs: they fit our bums exactly right.”

“You betcha.” Magnuss replied.

Then, as they made for the door, Hair-Trigger said, “I’ll write your names on them in felt-tip pen. Maybe I’ll run up some gingham covers for them too. We can all have different colours.”

So, as the family broke up in the museum; aboard the distant freighter…

…the girls had decided upon a Crappachino each.

“Wow, get a whiff of that.” Daisy gushed. “It smells almost drinkable!”

“Thank you.” Bunty said to the robot waiter. “Um…I don’t like to address you as ‘waiter’: do you have a name I might use?”

The robot waiter wasn’t used to being treated so nicely. Actually, it wasn’t used to being treated in any manner: Daisy, Bunty, and Ginger were its first customers since coming aboard several months earlier. It quickly searched its memory banks. It appeared to have a choice of several. But it didn’t want to confuse the young earplugs, so it selected the name at the top of the list.

“Hans Dudishes.” It replied.

Bunty gave it a sidelong look. “Hans Dudishes?” She asked disbelievingly. “As in Hands Do Dishes? I think you’re having a joke with us. No, what is it really?”

This jolted the robot waiter: it had never considered the possibility that one of its creators might make a joke of its verbal identification. It selected the second name on the list: “Ada Hole?” It offered.

Ginger screwed up her nose.

“Sir Charles Forthright-Twang?” It said with a lilt of forlorn hope.

“Nah,” Daisy said doubtfully. “Try something else.”

The robot waiter decided to start at the bottom of the list. “My name,” it said, “is Tildatong Tong-Tong.”

At this, all three girl’s eyes lit up.

“That’s it.” Bunty cried out with joy. “Tong-Tong. I love it. Tong-Tong, do you have any blueberry muffins to go with this coffee?”

By sheer chance, Tong-Tong had several under glass. Whilst it went to fetch them, the ship entered hyperspace once more…

Nature Wallpaper: Why We Should Record the Images of the Natural World Around Us

In February of 2015 I took this photo of a rookery in my street…

For the next seven years I watched (unconsciously. I might add) as the trees grew taller and wider, and the rookery expanded – to become the birthplace and nightly roost of hundreds of huge black birds. Then, a few days ago, several light trucks and a huge crane rumbled into town. Hours later the mighty rookery was reduced to this…

and this…

We’re very good at destroying natural habitat. We keep saying “Oh, this must stop.” But in the past couple of years I’ve seen so many mature trees felled – and not all of them diseased Ash – that I wonder if there isn’t some sort of conspiracy at large. For every tree planted by well-meaning people, how many established habitats are pulled down by those who couldn’t care less about the future of this planet or who just want to make a fast buck? Way too many, I fear. After all, with so much arable land in the UK being turned over to house building at an alarming rate, more land for growing crops or keeping animals has to be found somewhere, doesn’t it? There’s no profit for anyone in ancient woodland. And who gives a shit about Badgers and Willow Warblers anyway! So I think it’s best that we record what we have, while we still have it. It won’t last. Then we can hold these pictures up and say “That’s what we rid ourselves of: how has that made this a better world?”

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 18)

However, as the sound of the XL5s diminished above the Museum of Future Technology, upon the Ice-World the endless ice sheet shook to the arrival of the submarine space freighter…

Far below the surface of the ice, in the Ice-Worlder’s great city, their leader, Marnus Pongfinger was waiting impatiently for the radio announcer to stop talking inanities or about himself: stop playing jingles and trailers for up-coming radio shows later in the day; and guide the freighter in for a shipment collection…

Ginger couldn’t decide which concerned her more: the radio announcer’s self-obsession, or the horrendously low temperatures outside…

“Oh I can’t stand it.” She wailed. “That voice: that cold. It’s all too much for a young museum girl!”

Bunty couldn’t believe it. “But Ginger,” she said, “that’s Ice Station Nobby out there. It’s wonderful. I don’t understand how the thrill of seeing such a fabulous and famous artefact of earplug engineering hasn’t overcome your dislike of DJs and chilly weather. Don’t you recall what makes Ice Station Nobby so famous?”

Of course Ginger didn’t: her parents couldn’t afford the Trans-Galactic TV Network’s monthly subscription price. “No,” she said as she opened one eye, “what’s so famous about Ice Station Nobby?”

So Bunty told her: “One day, I don’t know when exactly, a great big alien saucer crashed in the ice near Ice Station Nobby. Despite conditions of the extremely inclement kind, the station commander sent out teams to investigate…

What they found astonished them: a great big alien creature frozen solid in a block of ice. But, when it thawed out it went on a rampage. Everyone in Ice Station Nobby were in mortal danger because the creature could take on the form of any living thing, so finding it proved almost impossible. Then someone had the brilliant idea of electrifying the floor – and zapped it good and proper. In its attempts to flee, it turned itself into thousands of sausage rolls and tried rolling away in a thousand different directions. But the station commander turned out his sleigh plugmutts, whose sensitive noses found them all and gobbled them up in a trice.”

“Wow,” Ginger said appreciatively as she turned to regard the exterior window, “that sounded really scary. Did any sausage rolls escape the plugmutts?”

“Of course.” Bunty replied. “But all that rolling through the snow meant that they collected a huge amount of snow on them. They turned into huge snowballs that got larger and larger until they couldn’t roll anymore.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said as she too recalled the news reports, “they were easy to find. I’ve heard they’ve still got some of them in their deep freeze. I expect they use them as training treats for young new plugmutts.”

Ginger found herself so intrigued by the tale of the shape-shifting sausage roll monster that she failed to notice the disappearance of Bunty. It was only when she and Daisy heard a tap on the window, they both realised that Bunty had taken herself outside into the vicious climate…

“Look,” they watched her mouth through the incredibly insulated glass, “I’ve found one. Fancy a sausage roll for tea?”

Of course, the sight of their friend alone on the ice gave the others the impetus necessary to get themselves out of the ship for the first time since hiding away there…

 

However, despite their determined efforts, they simply couldn’t bring themselves to stay in a nearby ice cave for more than a few minutes.

“I propose we go back inside.” Bunty said. “Do I have a second?”

Actually, their timing couldn’t have been better, because the huge avalanches of ice cubes that were being delivered into the hold of the freighter were almost complete…

The ship now had a cargo that required delivery.

By coincidence, the holiday snap show in Magnuss and Hair-Trigger’s apartment had reached another nadir point in their honeymoon adventure when they had been incarcerated in some backwater town jail by an over jealous sheriff…

…and instructed to break coal into small lumps that would fit into his private stove. Fortunately, the night shift consisted of one yokel who fell easy prey to Hair Trigger’s charms and was rendered unconscious by one of her famous sloppy kisses. Stealing the keys from his belt, they fled into the wilderness, where Hair-Trigger took this picture of Magnuss…

A passing motorcyclist stopped to help. He had chosen wisely to fit a sidecar to his bike only that morning, so before long the honeymooners were back at the spaceport and safely tucked up in the Tankerville Norris…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Tooty Nolan: 65 and Getting Stupider

Today (Friday 21/01/2022) has not been a good day. It started bright and frosty, and all I really wanted was to take a brisk walk in the perfect winter air – with a camera or five in my pocket, naturally. Then maybe wrap myself up in my best gear and take the Yamaha for a spin to the coast. But I couldn’t because I was waiting in for a man to visit and check out my hesitant water heater.  As the morning wore on, and the weather deteriorated -turning grey, miserable, and mild, I cursed the situation. Not as much as I cursed when I discovered that the Red Cab To Manhattan (by Stephen Bishop) CD that I’d bought on E-Bay was actually a vinyl LP (printed in 1980 no less), which forced me to rummage through the attic for my USB record player with which to convert the audio tracks into WAV and MP3 format so that I could burn them on to a CD – only to discover that, no matter what program I used to burn the CD, no CD player (or computer program on my laptop) could recognise or play the tracks. Clearly I’ve forgotten something very important about ripping tracks from vinyl – but I can’t remember what it is!

Nice (after years of MP3 or CDs) to handle a ‘proper’ record again.

Here’s the free program I downloaded that allowed me to copy the tracks.

Would you believe it when I told you that this was once a kitchen table, at which my family always sat for dinner? It’s now my ‘creative genius’ desk. Since losing my wife, I couldn’t stand the thought of the remaining family sitting at it together. We would always be aware of the empty fourth chair.

Whilst ruminating about my repeated failure at the laptop, my mind shifted back to the previous weekend, when I attempted to create a fabulous trifle – using inspirational ingredients that would make it the best trifle ever concocted. I won’t mention the seemingly endless list; but one of them was a frozen pineapple, mango, and orange mix (from the bottom of the freezer in true Tooty the Chef style).

Well whatever remnants of juice and water remained in the fruit after I drained it – they didn’t combine with the jelly at all when I poured it on top. Instead they formed a very nice lubricating layer beneath it, so that the entire trifle slipped and slid around the bowl like a quarterback’s brain inside his skull after having been body slammed by T J Watt…

Nice flavour, but lousy consistency.

So, returning to the problem  of the trackless CD, I tried burning MP3 tracks (that I’d bought and downloaded from the Internet – Blueprint, by Stephen Bishop {again}) onto the disc. Perfection itself. Even a cheap old portable CD player from Asda played it. But  the MP3 files from the Audacity reformat? Nada. Nothing. ‘No Disc’. it read. As did Windows Media Player. VLC recognised that twelve tracks existed on the disc, but it couldn’t decide what they were called and wouldn’t play them. AnyBurn just wanted to know what I intended to do with the ’empty’ disc.

One O’clock came and passed. The ‘Man’ was supposed to be here between 8 and 1. Better make a call, thought I. But just to make sure I had my facts right, I thought I’d check my wall calendar/ family planner first. Oops: it’s not this Friday that he’s due. It’s not even next Friday: but Friday the 4th of February. Like I said: 65 and getting stupider!

Nature Wallpaper: Layers in the Light

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 17)

Whilst this change of circumstances was taking place, back in the Museum of Future Technology, the slide show had moved on to another planet that the happy couple had visited on their honeymoon…

“Ah,” Magnuss cried out at the recognition of one of the trip’s lowest points, “Nonster planet.”

“Nonster planet?” Miles queried.

“Surely you mean Monster Planet?” Chester suggested.

“Strictly speaking it is named Monster Planet,” Magnuss explained, “but they have no letter N on their word processors: so they chose the next letter along. It could have been named Bonster Planet: but, unfortunately, the word ‘bonster’ is very rude: so they went in the opposite direction.”

“That’s the Loch Mess Nonster.” Hair-Trigger told them. “We were very lucky to photograph it: it hasn’t been seen for a thousand years. And even then most people thought it was a log, or a wave, or a packet of potato chips that had partially submerged and become sodden”

At this point in proceedings, another image from Nonster Planet replaced the Loch Mess photo…

 

This brought forth glazed expressions and fixed smiles. Rudi remarked upon it…

“The Colossal Two-Beaked Turkey of Zlob, right?”

Magnuss appeared slightly embarrassed. “As opposed to the Really Big Twin-Beaked Turkey of Zlob.” He said. “We didn’t know the difference.”

“One is friendly and takes you for a ride around a picturesque tar pit.” Hair-Trigger spoke quietly as she recalled their error. “The other one tears the arse out of your hiking pants and tried to chew off your buttocks.”

“That’s why we chose such comfy chairs.” Magnuss explained. “Luckily our travel insurance paid for the reconstructive surgery.”

“But our botties are still a little tender.” Hair-Trigger added.

Fortunately, the newlywed’s mental discomfort came to an abrupt halt when a snow scene appeared on screen…

“That’s us,” Hair-Trigger commentated, “arrived at the Hotel Bottox on Ice-world. You know – the Ice-world, as ruled over by Marnus Pongfinger.”

“Those dudes leavin’ don’t look none too cheerful.” Valentine observed.

Hair-Trigger returned to her use of the term “Hmmm”.

“It’s a cold world.” Magnuss explained. “As you well know – you’ve been there yourself. Very often the water in the lavatory freezes: sometimes you need an ice pick to break it. I guess those guys either didn’t know how too; or they were too late with its application.”

Sensing a degree of discomfort in the audience, the futuristic image projector quickly moved the picture on…

“Hair-Trigger,” Magnuss said, “trying on her new winter hat.”

“Lovely.” Miles opined.

“Hey,” Chester cried out, “that picture on the wall: it’s Susan!”

“That’s right.” Magnuss said with a chuckle. “Ever since she broke down with emotion at our wedding, the image of her that was broadcast on the Trans-Galactic TV Channel has become very popular. She’ll do well when the residuals start coming in – though there is a lot of pirating of her image going on too.”

Whilst Magnuss had been speaking, Hair-Trigger took the opportunity to place the art deco figurine on its base. Resuming her seat…

…she said, “Darling, we’re being haunted again.”

“Try to ignore it, Hairy.” Magnuss suggested. “They get bored if you ignore them.”

So they did, and were rewarded with a view of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger departing the Hotel Bottox…

“Funny thing – about the Hotel Bottox.” Magnuss remarked. “Whenever we tried to leave, the snow intensified into a white-out.”

“And ever since we finally trudged away, that thing at the window has been with us.” Hair-Trigger remarked.

“Gotta be the ghost of some Ice-Worlder, I guess.” Rudi suggested.

A pair of Punting-Modesty Facepuncher XL5s thundering past interrupted any further conversation that might have erupted upon the subject…

“Hey,” Valentine cheered, “gotta be a couple of my trainees. We sho’nuf got a whole bunch of XL5s now, ya know. Enough to protect the museum from any number of alien invaders. Cool.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Behind the Scenes of Triple Threat

Whilst lighting engineers, Locust Trollop, Bloater McCallister, and Gerard Anus light Stage Five, the four central characters of Triple Threat – Bunty Bridgewater, Daisy Woodnut, Tong-Tong actor Pants Dimly, and Ginger Slack visit the Tankerville Norris Bridge set…

“It’s so big.” Bunty squealed with delight as the set was revealed to her for the first time. “I really like big ones. I think, secretly, everyone does.”

Daisy was more surprised by Stage Five’s actual existence: “There was I – thinking it was all green screen work these days. It’ll be so much easier to act on a proper set. It’ll bring out the thespian in me.”

Ginger was more pragmatic: “I noticed a toilet as we came in. That’s good. Every set should have a toilet. Preferably a Ladies  and a Gents.”

“Talking of toilets – and I don’t care which – unisex is fine,” Pants Dimly was heard to groan from inside the robot suit, “I’m really dieing for a poop: can someone unlatch my escape  hatch for me? I’ve dropped the key, and it’s dark in here!”

Nature Wallpaper: The Tiny Hunter

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 16)

Whilst all this unpleasantness was occurring, Gregor entered the Red Tower and went in search of his protégés…

Already he had further plans for them. Tentative plans perhaps, but plans nonetheless. But of course, his efforts were in vain. And when EvilRoboSecGua and its silver sidekick, SilRoboSecGua informed him that there had been a jailbreak…

…Gregor feigned ignorance and offered to help search for the felons. This was the moment in which he discovered that his plan lay in ruins:

“They’ve gone.” EvilRobSecGua informed him.

“Completely.” SilRoboSecGua added.

“Gone?” Gregor snapped angrily. “Gone where?”

“Stowed away.” EvilRoboSecGua replied.

Then, for the sake of clarity, SilRoboSecGua added, “aboard a recently-repaired submarine space freighter.”

Gregor would have liked nothing more than slap himself on the forehead, but he didn’t want to raise the suspicions of the two law-keepers before him. So he waited until they’d left before looking heavenward…

“Oh Gregor, you foolish acolyte,” He spoke quietly to an empty hangar, “Mummy always said that hubris and overconfidence would be your undoing – along with ‘eat your veggies’, ‘don‘t wipe your nose on the curtain’, and ‘if you’re going to scratch your itchy anus, do it where no one can see you’.”

Then his darker side surfaced…

“I don’t have to tell Mister Zinc of my failure.” He said more loudly than perhaps he should have. “I can always hang around the college for a few more youthful and impressionable dingbats to recruit. If the worse comes to the worse, I can always carry out some sabotage myself, and make it look like youngsters did it.”

Meanwhile, the Earplug Brothers were enjoying views of their brother and his wife fell walking on a damp miserable day on some forsaken planet in the hind end of nowhere…

“Rather you than me, Bro,” Valentine spoke over the sound of incessant rainfall, “I’d sho’nuf catch trench foot, you can believe it.”

“By the way,” he added a few moments later, “your art deco figure has fallen over, and there’s some guy lookin’ in your window.

“Oh, that’s Tortus Schell.” Hair-Trigger replied. “He lives on the floor above. The figurine always falls over when he trips on his terrace raffia mat and tumbles over his railing. He’s just using our window frame to help him climb back up.”

At much the same time, Daisy, Bunty and Ginger were enjoying themselves whilst making themselves at home aboard the freighter…

Of course, (having no experience of space travel or watching science-fiction films) they had no idea that the Forward Viewscreen depicted their vessel’s traversing of hyperspace. But they did spot a sign that indicated a shortcut to the lavatory. Therefore, they were totally unaware when the ship dropped out of hyperspace…

…and set course for an icy world that hung close by in the immensity of space.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Rural Portrait: Winter Tree Line

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 15)

Chapter 4

Meanwhile the picture show continued. All four visiting Earplug Brother ‘Oohed and Aahed’ at the scene that showed Magnuss and Hair-Trigger once  more donning their bubble suits; disembarking from the Tankerville Norris; and exploring a space derelict…

“Jeepers,” Chester exclaimed, now that he’d recovered from the shock of the passing freighter, “that was very daring.”

“Daring is what Magnuss and Hair-Trigger do.” His twin reminded him. Then Miles turned to Magnuss and said, “Did anything untoward happen?”

To which Hair-Trigger responded: “Only being pursued by Hyper-Space Pirates, who were using the derelict to hide their booty.”

“How did you get away?” Chester asked.

“Oh, you know; the usual way.” Magnuss replied.

“Tankerville Norris came to the rescue, huh?” Valentine volunteered.

“Volley of proton torpedoes at point-blank range?” Rudi added.

Hair-Trigger nodded sadly. “Hmmm,” she said quietly, “such a tragic loss.”

“I didn’t think you cared for Hyper-Space Pirates.” A surprised Chester blurted.

“Oh I don’t.” the sole female present replied. “But the resulting explosion was so big that it tore the derelict apart – with us inside it.”

“Yes,” Magnuss added with a stern expression, “it was really scary – and when we got back to the Tankerville Norris, Hair-Trigger had to eject her space cacks from the airlock. Worse still, she only had one spare pair in her knicker drawer. Until she could get some more, we were forced to cancel any more space walks!”

Talking of space – at that precise moment the submarine space freighter had accelerated to within a few kilometres of one of Saturn’s moons…

Of course, neither of the girls could recognise which moon it was. In fact, they didn’t even know that they’d left the orbit of Earth: they had more pressing matters requiring their attention. Matters such as ‘life-support’. Somewhat sensibly, they went in search of a larder, or somewhere that might contain food and drink. In doing so, they found three robots that appeared so engrossed in their duties that they didn’t notice the intrusion of three silicon life forms…

Initially the girls felt tempted to back out before the robots became aware of them. But, as the freighter swooped close to the moon, for whatever reason freighters swoop close to moons…

…Daisy’s desperation brought forth boldness that Ginger and Bunty had never imagined existed within their tiny pink chum. She shouted…

…”Oi, I’m hungry and thirsty: where’s some bloody grub and cola?”

It could have been the worst decision of the young earplug’s life – after all, she knew nothing about robots: they could have been the kind that were more than happy to convert her mass into material for the propulsion system. So, as the ship entered hyperspace for the first time…

…and began its journey proper, those three members of the crew not only guided them safely to the Passenger Galley, but also showed them the vessel’s sole lavatory…

…which brought great relief for Daisy, but did little for Bunty and Ginger’s olfactory senses.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Spend Spend Spend – An Iddy-Biddy Bit More

It’s quite possible that I might have inferred that I had spent enough hard earned cash on extras for the Yamaha. Well sorry for that – but I lied. Whilst out and about down gnarly English country lanes, it occured to me that if I were to get a puncture – not only am I incapable of pushing the 250Kg leviathan, but I wouldn’t be able to summon help because most of the time I never know where I am. One English lane looks much like another. So, after careful consideration for about three seconds, I turned the machine around in a farm entrance (apt really, coz the Yam turns like a tractor) and set off for a motorcycle accessories emporium. I required a pump, tyre repair kit, and a top box to keep them in. And whilst I was in the mood, I fetched myself a brighter jacket, so that car drivers might be less likely to ignore my presence and pull out into the road in front of me at point-blank range. The result?

Very smart, and practical too. And, oh look, it’s one of those anonymous English country lanes. How fitting.

P.S here’s a moody film noir shot of the same thing, minus me…

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 14)

Inside the ship, the three girls were in danger of losing their knickers as the violent vibrations of lift-off shook them silly…

“Bunty,” Daisy yelled above the tumult of creaking metal and roaring boosters, “I’ve figured which one of us is me – and I don’t like it. Make the noise stop: my teeth hurt!”

Outside the vessel – that is above the Museum of Future Technology – all appeared serene…

…as the craft set out for distant places.

Of course, Gregor Arsentickler (as he made his way back to his apartment)…

…had no idea that his unwitting recruits were aboard the departing freighter that roared past his edificio’s window. If he had, he would not have looked so pleased with himself. Moreover, and by the most remarkable of coincidences, the same freighter had scared the heck out of Chester as, only moments previous, it also raced by the apartment of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger…

But the inconvenience was only momentary, because before long the huge black craft was travelling across the lavender fields that grew a short distance from the museum…

And, as dawn displayed an encouragingly red sky above the mountains that led to the pea farming community that supplied the museum with each and every pea consumed therein, the ship climbed steeply…

…and fired its way towards space. This left the unwilling stowaways in some difficulty…

“Ginger, be careful. Don’t look. Avert your gaze.” Daisy cried out in alarm, “I’m wearing really tasteless knickers that my mum bought directly from the importers down on the docks!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Nature Wallpaper: Frost in the Morning Sun

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 13)

Meanwhile, in the apartment of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger…

…a fabulously photographed video of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger leaving their rented submarine in pressure bubbles played upon the wall screen.

“Ooh,” Hair-Trigger sighed at the recollection, “that alien sea was like bath water.”

“Only less soapy.” Magnuss added. “The only bubbles around were us. Note the big furry creature near the surface. That produced a few bubbles too. But the other submarine, you can see there, was on hand to suck them all up before they fouled the water too much. It was a fantastic service: you couldn’t have asked for more. I wouldn’t have wanted the job, I can tell you.”

Whilst the four guests absorbed this information, far, far away aboard the robot freighter, the adolescent trio had discovered another interior window…

Through its rectangular aperture, they could discern robotic activity that, quite frankly puzzled them…

“What the flipping heck are they doing with those long crystal things?” Daisy inquired almost silently.

“Well,” Ginger began – ever hopeful of inspiration, “I think they might be trying to do something.”

“I had much the same thought.” Bunty said as she nodded approvingly. “You never know, this might be robotically analogous to putting the washing through the mangle.”

For a brief moment, Ginger considered the possibility that Bunty might be mocking her; but before she could fully form a coherent thought a brilliant light blazed brightly…

A triple “Aaargh!” quickly followed.

And when the lighting altered to a distinctly greenish hue…

…all three girls felt certain that something was about to happen – which, of course, it was…

…in the shape of surplus ballast, in vast quantities, being ejected from the vessel, in the form of vapour. As it burst from several vents that ran the length of the huge vessel, the End Cap engineers stood to one side and watched with evident pride in their work.

“Ooh,” they said as one, “nice. Cool steam, man.”

However, inside it was another story…

“I don’t like the look of this,” Bunty yelled as she led a dash for the hatch, “let’s get the heck outta here!”

But they were stopped in their tracks when the lighting altered so abruptly that it bamboozled their eyesight and threw them into a state of confusion…

“Bunty,” Daisy yelled, “help: I can’t tell which one of us is you: we’re all blue!”

Bunty responded by looking around her. “Um,” she replied, “yeah. I…I think I’m me: which one of you isn’t?”

Whilst confusion reigned in the girl’s hidey-hole, the robots that had been studying the long crystals proceeded to make some minute adjustments to them…

In an instant, they began to flash and sparkle as power began to course through them.

In the high-altitude repair hangar, the End Caps backed towards the stylish windows as they avoided the backwash of the freighter’s launch…

“Yeah,” they cheered in unison, “another feather in our cap. Another step towards citizenship and freedom!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

The Ten Pound Titter

When I swapped my…

…in at the dealers to buy this…

…I foolishly forgot to remove the mounting point for this…

So, recently I trawled the internet for a cheap camera that I could mount upon either my bicycle, motorcycle, or even my head! I found this…

Inside, with a bunch of accessories, came this…

…which you see here ‘on charge’. More of that later. I then turned my attention to the packaging. The fact that it bore no manufacturers name and read Made in China should have prepared me for the worst. But I was too amused by the ‘sales’ bumph on the box to care…

Well the first one is obvious. After all the box does display the picture of a skier wearing the camera on his head. The second is a little contentious. In the accompanying booklet/instruction manual (in execrable English) I’m told that the camera must not be used in damp conditions. It also mentioned that the camera would not work in hot or cold conditions, which kind of made the cover picture invalid, and mocked the fireproof claim. However it went to great pains the explain that the camera was not shock proof – merely shock resistant (more of that later too). And it seemed very proud to announce that it was skid-proof. Now if my motorcycle tyres were listed as skid-proof, it would make some sense: but in what way can a camera be deemed so? If I attempted to slide it across my kitchen floor, would it grip with the tenacity of a limpet and refuse to move. I think it unlikely. Which brings me to Durable Press. Well if there’s one feature that I look for most in a camera, it’s Durable Press. What the fuck is Durable Press? It’s bloody nonsense, that’s what it is.  Sales shit. Which brings me to the camera itself. Where to start? First up it wouldn’t accept a charge – either from the charger in the box, my laptop, or my TV. But it would fire up if plugged in to either. It wouldn’t start on command though: only when it felt like it. And the one button that controlled all the functions (don’t know how it was supposed to) either didn’t respond at all, or stuck in the ‘down’ position. The camera did vibrate a lot though, which brings me back to the booklet, which claimed (and here’s a nice one for the ladies) “Includes built-in vibrator”. Well that bit was right: the camera might not be any good for taking pictures, but it could stimulate a clitoris with the best of them.  Noting that the camera included a micro memory card, I tried accessing the data on it via the associated cable – as per the instructions in the gobbledigook manual. Nada. So I slotted the card into a portable reader, which released ten mini-movies of the previous owner trying to get the camera to function properly. Well I have only one thing to say to him. Two things actually. Make that three. Your orange top is garish and lacks taste. Your sitting room decor – especially the huge gold coloured things on either side of your wall-mounted TV – is vomit inducing. You are an ass hole for selling me this non-functioning camera. But I did manage to get it going eventually, however briefly. Here’s a capture from the resulting footage…

Here I can be seen bemoaning my purchase. Unfortunately I was inaudible on the video: loud, buzzing audio interference drowned me out entirely. But that might have something to do with the means I used to get the camera to roll. I slammed it against the edge of my kitchen table. Probably one of my better moves. But since I only paid £10, and I still have the accessories and memory card, I don’t feel so bad about it. And, look, I’ve even got a post out of the fiasco!

 

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 12)

However, when they let themselves in, they discovered that the maintenance hatch had allowed them ingress to something other than the outer hull, but the vessel’s habitable interior…

Ginger made a quick discovery…

“Oops,” she said, “we’ve left the door open. Anyone passing can see us. I’ll just close it.”

Perhaps if Bunty and Daisy hadn’t been so busy whispering excitedly, they might have cried out to their friend. They might have said, “No, Ginger; it only opens from the outside!” But they didn’t: and two seconds later…

“Oops again,” Ginger said apologetically, “guess we’ll need another exit.”

Not that Daisy cared: she was inside her beloved space submarine freighter.

Whilst this was occurring, Magnuss and Hair-Trigger were giving a commentary on a series of pictures that featured them holidaying on an archipelago of strange spire-like islands in a tropical sea…

“Whoever took the picture,” Chester complained, “chopped off your feet. What a rubbish photographer. Next!”

Aboard the space submarine, the dull black livery soon gave way to a far more aesthetically pleasing sequinned effect…

But only Daisy appreciated it: the others were far too busy either looking where they were going or watching out for the ship’s owners.

“Wallpaper’s nice.” Daisy said as they hugged the wall in an attempt to be as unobtrusive as possible.  “But I think I’d tire of it pretty quickly. I certainly wouldn’t like my bedroom wall decorated thus.”

However, after passing through a bulkhead hatch, they found further compartments that appeared exactly the same…

“Should have packed a pair of sunglasses,” Daisy quipped.

At exactly the same moment that Bunty thought she heard some voices inside the ship, and made the decision to hide, the Earplug Brothers were enjoying a video of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger battling a tropical surf aboard a speedboat…

“Bet that set your motion sickness off, Mags.” Chester said with a chuckle.

Magnuss didn’t like to admit it, but (for most of the time – with Hair-Trigger at the wheel) he’d been too scared to feel sick…

“A bit.” He replied as his stomach made a first class job of reminding him of the incessant plunging into the troughs between waves that he’d endured.

Meanwhile, Daisy, Bunty, and Ginger had found a door that into a section of the vessel that appeared to be unused…

“An auxiliary something-or-other, I expect.” Ginger said knowledgeably. “We should be safe in here.”

“Let’s see if there’s a window or something we can look out of.” Bunty suggested. “I think it’s important that we know what’s going on – otherwise we won’t know when to leave.”

“Ooh, yeah,” Daisy agreed, “I wouldn’t want to get locked in: that would be scary. I have dreams of being locked in, you know. One night I woke up to find that I really had been locked in. I was in the trunk of my dad’s car. I don’t know how I got there. I’ve been having regression therapy in the hope of finding out.”

But any furtherance of the conversation was cut short when they found the interior window they sought…

  

Daisy drew herself close to Ginger. “Golly,” she whispered, “robots. I wasn’t expecting them.”

“Well this is a robot freighter.” Bunty whispered from behind her.

“True,” Daisy replied. “But I always thought that robot freighters were robotic…ur…freighters: not freighters crewed by robots. There’s a subtle difference.”

“Well now you know.” Ginger said. A second thought occurred: “If this ship is crewed by robots…they won’t have a toilet aboard. That could be catastrophic for biological life forms like us!”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Winter Wallpaper: Winter Arch

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 11)

As if in answer to Valentine’s question, the formerly blank screen erupted into photonic life…

“Good choice.” Said Rudi.

Meanwhile, in another part of the museum, Ginger was getting her bearings…

“Ooh,” she said, “just look out of the fancy window. We’re ever so high up. This must be the Red Tower.”

In an instant, she was joined by Daisy and Bunty. “The Red Tower?” They squealed in perfect unison.

Bunty then added, “But this is the highest building in the whole museum. The public aren’t allowed here. All sorts of things happen here. It’s top secret or something.”

She would have said more, but as the moonlight broke through one of the high windows, all three girls became aware of a great hulking shape in the shadows…

“Wha, wha, wha?” Daisy stuttered.

Ginger required clarification: “What is it?” She suggested.

“Yes,” Daisy replied as she reassembled her taut nerves into a shape that allowed her to speak, “what is it?”

“It’s a great hulking shape.” Bunty answered helpfully. “But the shadows are hiding it too well for me to make a positive identification. But it’s not breathing, so it can’t be alive.”

“It could be holding its breath.” Ginger argued.

“If it’s not alive,” Daisy said nervously, “it must be dead. Oh, by the Saint of All Earplugs – we’ve found a dead body. And if anyone finds us here, they’ll think we did it!”

Suddenly, it seemed, their situation was of the grimmest kind imaginable to three college girls. “Ooh-ur.” Ginger said intelligently.

But before she could elucidate further, a number of feeble lights lit up the scene…

A relieved Ginger swung around to address her friends: “Look, Daisy: it’s one of them big black flying things you like so much.”

Daisy couldn’t believe her eyes. “A space submarine freighter.” She said breathlessly. “And it’s here – right in front of me. If I want, I can walk up and touch it…with my bare fingers!”

But she didn’t, of course: she was too afraid of fainting from the thrill of it. So she sent Ginger and Bunty to take a closer look – to see if it really was the ‘real thing’, and not a mock-up or movie prop. However, as she received confirmation of the vessel’s authenticity, Daisy thought she heard an elevator arrive in a nearby corridor…

“Someone’s coming,” she hissed. “Quickly; hide!”

They didn’t waste a nanosecond: all three ran straight to the only door available to them…

“But this door is set into the side of the space submarine.” Ginger stated the obvious. “If we go inside there, we’ll be…we’ll be inside the space submarine!”

Daisy might have replied, “Yeah: good, innit?” But within moments of the elevator’s arrival, a number of earplugs and a group of former prisoner-of-war hyperspace pirate end cap engineers entered (what was clearly) the high-rise hangar…

“I told him,” one of the earplugs was saying to another, “it’s all well and good having this repair facility on the seventieth floor: but what if the elevator breaks down? We’ll spend half the day climbing up here, and the second half climbing back down. Nothing will get done.”

“Is ‘climbing’ the correct term to describe a means of descending.” The listener in the group replied. “Is it possible to actually climb down?”

“Mountain climbers do it all the time.” A third earplug interjected.

“Yeah,” a fourth chimed in, “anything else would be called ‘falling’. I wouldn’t want to fall down seventy floors, I can tell you!”

This was a fortuitous conversation because it gave the girls time to collect their wits and act positively…

“We’ll duck inside this maintenance hatch,” Bunty instructed the others.” Then, when all these techie-types have gone away, we can come back out again.”

“Yeah,” Daisy agreed, “and then we’ll slip away and go back to college like nothing ever happened at all. In a week this will have all blown over and been forgotten. You mark my words.”  

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Tooty the Chef Isn’t Dead!

Tooty the Chef may not be entertaining with his bare-bottomed antics in the kitchen these days, but he is still active gastronomically. Check out these recent wonders of the culinary art…

Who knows, maybe he’ll be struck by the ‘funny ladle’ again one day.

Earth: Population: Six Billion Plus

I want to know: if there are over six billion potential readers of this blog in the world, why didn’t just one of them log in during the first ninety minutes of Jan 4th 2022?

Maybe they were washing their hair. Yes, that would be it.

Or maybe its one vast conspiracy. Perhaps there aren’t really six billion of us at all. Perhaps we’ve become almost extinct, and our lizard overlords are feeding us fake statistics.  Yes, I think that’s more likely!

If you are a lizard overlord – I didn’t write this. I’ve obviously been hacked by one of the remaining three hundred and fourteen humans left on Earth – if we really are on Earth, that is.

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 10)

Chapter 3

Meanwhile, in the habitation area of the Museum of Future Technology, Rudi Earplug and three of his brothers – those being Valentine and the twins, Miles and Chester, were approaching the apartment of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug…

“Remind me again, will ya, bro,” Valentine said to the eldest brother, “what are we here for? It aint a taco-eating contest, is it? Sure dig those tacos. Hotter the better. Hotter ‘n’ hell!”

“No, man,” Rudi replied, “sho’nuf aint no tacos tonight. We’re gonna see the newlywed’s honeymoon snaps.”

“Could be cool,” Chester said as he pressed the doorbell button…

…“maybe we’ll see pictures of Hair-Trigger on the beach.”

“Oh, Chester,” Miles chided him, “you mustn’t think of your new sister-in-law in such lewd terms. Remember: less visceral: more cerebral.”

However, when Hair-Trigger answered the door…

…even Miles found it difficult to suppress a “phwoar!”

“Hello, boys.” She said in welcome, “Step right in to our humble abode.”

Once inside, and with the front door closed behind them…

…she said, “Sorry we couldn’t attend your pool party this afternoon, but Security has deemed us both a biological threat source. Apparently, we’ve visited places on our honeymoon that are on the naughty list. I’m afraid you’ll all have to be decontaminated. We’ve got it set up just outside the TV room.”

They arrived at the door just as Magnuss was exiting it…

“Hi, guys.” He said. “I thought it best we all decontaminate together. Are you ready?”

“Do we keep our clothes on?” Chester inquired as he smiled appreciatively at Hair-Trigger.

“Yes, of course.” The disappointing reply came from Hair-Trigger, who knew full well what was going on in Chester’s head. “This is high-tech decontamination: you won’t even know it’s happening.”

Then this happened…

“Oh yeah,” Chester said as a searing light tried to burn its way into his brain via his retinas. “When does it begin?”

Naturally, Hair-Trigger failed to reply. Chester was being facetious after all. Instead, she and her new husband led the brothers into the Infotainment Room, where six chairs had been placed before a screen and futuristic image projector…

Miles couldn’t wait to try one on for size. “They look nice and comfy.” He said.

But he was less impressed by the emergency toilet in the corner of the room…

“Oh don’t be so old-fashioned and prudish, Miles,” Magnuss complained. “Open-plan living is all the rage, you know. But if you don’t like it, there’s another one at the end of the hall. It even has a door with a lock on it.”

Placated by this news, Miles then joined the others upon their chairs. He watched as a bright tell-tale light flashed upon the futuristic image projector. Clearly, the show was about to begin…

“Hey, Magnuss, bro,” Valentine asked from the opposite end of the line…

…”fancy views ya got from your apartment window. A real groove. So whatta ya call this holiday snap show?”

Paul Trevor Nolan 2022

Earplug Adventures: Triple Threat (part 9)

But, in Gregor’s view these were small fry: mere acts of pettiness. What he needed were more Bunties, Gingers, and Daisies. However, since there were none, it would require him to act boldly. So he took himself silently from his edificio…

…and made straight for the museum jail…

Standing directly beneath the girl’s window, he whispered to them:

“Girls, it is I, Gregor Arsentickler. There has been a great miscarriage of justice this night. I have been despatched by Major Flaccid to correct this and set you free. However, the authorities haven’t been made aware of the fact yet: that will have to wait until the office opens tomorrow morning. But because he doesn’t want you to be upset over something that was unavoidable, and really wasn’t your fault at all, he’d like you out and about before sunrise.”

Neither youngster was certain that fleeing their incarceration was the wisest course of action open to them; but when Gregor produced a ‘skeleton’ key from his back pocket (that had lain unused for yonks in his bedside cabinet, just waiting for the right moment) their trepidation waned a little.  And when Gregor turned on an almost unearthly charm…

…their breath caught in their throats, and it was all they could do to stop themselves screaming shrilly at Gregor’s masculine beauty…

“Oh yes, Gregor,” Daisy said with a sigh, “Anything you say.”

So, moments after the lock had been thrown open and Gregor had hurriedly disappeared into the shadows, the teen-aged trio picked up a piece of paper that contained some directions, and stole from the jail…

…and quickly sought the anonymity of the darkened building immediately adjacent to the jail…

“Ooh, blimey,” Daisy whispered as she began to doubt their choice of action, “it aint half dark in here. I wonder what it is?”

Bunty, as was her way, had eyes only for the ceiling. “It’s very big.” She said. “The ceiling’s ever so far up: I can’t even see it.”

But Ginger’s thoughts were of a more pressing need: “I wonder if it has a toilet.” She said.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2021