Nature Wallpaper: Summer Burst

The Traffic Cone Picnic

Sing along now…”Today’s the day the traffic cones have their picnic.”

Rural Portrait: Cow Parsley Profusion

So much vegetation, I was hard pressed to find the footpath!

Rural Wallpaper: The Scent of a Hampshire Spring

This was shot with  an early Olympus digital camera from 2001. Not bad, huh? This is what it might look like on your computer…

And here’s a charming picture of your intrepid photographer out and about…

…combining two activities that brings pleasure to his tedious existence. Actually it isn’t that tedious: I think I’m really rather fortunate.

Tea Dust Art / Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Blasting Off With Some Urgency

A Zanahoria Negro lifts off from an asteroid at maximum boost…

I wasn’t planning on writing another Earplug Adventure, but these teadust art and plastic carrot shots are giving me an idea. Hmmm…

Tea Dust Art / Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Alien Visitation?

What’s this – a potential squadron of Zanahoria Negro lookalikes making planetfall upon the home world of a primitive pastoral earplug civilisation?

Could be.

Tea Dust Art: The Zanahoria Negro Above a Winter Forest

The forest of conifers is good old tea dust  shaken and stirred inside a white cardboard box. The Zanahoria Negro is a plastic carrot painted black. All good stuff, you understand. Only the best for my art…

The falling snow was added later. Who knows, maybe it will appear in an Earplug Adventure.

Didn’t That Go Well? The Coronation of King Charles III

I was one of millions who sat at their TV to watch this spectacle…

…that proved that the UK can still cut it when it comes to pageantry, pomp and circumstance…

Of course there are centuries of history behind it. Look at the age of that chair…

…or ‘throne’ as it should be termed correctly. There are continents younger than that piece of furniture. All in all that was the good old UK doing what it does better than anyone: showing off and making us proud. But of course it wasn’t all official stuff. Up and down the country, citizens of Charles’ realm did their own thing. Take, for example, my neighbours across the road…

…as they festooned their house with bunting and balloons. In fact they had the king crowned a day and a half early…

…many times over, with a Charles manakin and a powered crown that went up and down all day long. And look closely, there was his mum looking down on him from heaven too. So very silly, and a perfect counterpoint to the real thing. Sadly, two days on, there are people moaning about the cost, and the fact that protesters were arrested before they could hurl rape alarms amongst the procession and spook the horses! Are there really people who wanted to see animals and human beings hurt on such a joyous occaision? Shits – the lot of them. And there was me thinking that it might bring the people of Britain together in common celebration!

Best show on television this year. Proper ‘reality’ TV.

 

Simple Wallpaper: Forget-Me-Not Shadows

Carnage at the Castle

When I decided to lengthen and widen the entrance to my Fantic’s bike-port (or lean-to, as it’s probably described more accurately)…

…it became necessary to re-locate the hedge-hog house…

…as mentioned in these earlier blogs 1 and 2. I was concerned that the occupants might have been disturbed by the ‘building’s’ uprooting, so set up a camera to check out the scene, so to speak. I needn’t have been worried; life clearly carried on as normal…

Hey, doesn’t this next mouse look rather like the Plastic Annihilator?

Whatever, once the task was complete (and having surveyed the rest of the garden) I found myself surplus one box-like flower pot that had been split open by repeated winter freezing. So I up-ended it and created a mouse ‘castle’…

Well a ‘ruin’ anyway. Naturally I tossed a few seeds, fat pellets, and what-have-you inside it; set up a camera; and awaited developments. Due, probably to a sudden downpour, the first to arrive were some small black slugs…

But before long the Plastic Annihilator and his buddy – we’ll call it Brian – joined the feast…

PA and Brian remained for some while, before being supplanted by a late-coming  vole of some kind…

Vole didn’t stay long, because minutes later an unexpected caller…er… called…

Yeah…I do have an incumbent hedgehog afterall. Hoorah!

Oh, but what of the small black slugs?

Gobbled up and polished off, that’s what. Carnage at the Castle!

The Plastic Annihilator!

For many years, before I assumed the role, my wife would keep the feed for the wild birds in our garden in a transparent plastic bucket with matching lid and a similar breakfast cereal container. These proved sufficient to keep the contents inside safe from the rodents that would have liked to eat them…until a few days ago when I found this on the shed floor…

Judging by the condition of the bucket lid, a very smart rodent had discovered a way of breaching my defences…

It simply sat on the inner surface of the lid and chewed around the edge until the plastic sagged enough for it to gain purchase on the lid itself and make a hole through which it could enter Alladdin’s Cave. The following day I replaced the lid with a spare. It didn’t survive the night. Transfering the contents of the bucket into the cereal container, I felt confident that no further losses would be incurred. I was wrong. Oh dear…

Clearly I was up against something considerably more imposing than a mere mouse. More like a Meerkat. So, after replacing the ruined container with a wooden wine box, I set up a camera to capture images of the invincible perpetrator. What could it be? It’s jaws must be incredibly powerful. A super-rat perhaps? Then the images came in…

Just a diddy little house mouse. Nothing special at all. Or is it? I call my four-legged un-buddy Andromeda Strain. If you’ve ever seen the movie of the same name, you’ll know why. The Andromeda Strain was a micro-organism that destroyed plastic and threatened the entire world. However, in real life, the wooden box defeated it entirely.  Those ravaging gnashers barely scratched the surface. Who’d have thought? We’ll see what tonight brings though: I’m expecting carnage.

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Woken By An Ice-Age

Choreographer and troupe leader, Margret Greenhorn is woken early by her dancing girls – The Greenhorn Girls – only to discover that the alternative reality in which they live is about to enter a new ice-age. From Winning Numbers. Fascinating factoids: Tooty attempted to create a look that suggested COLD by photographing some ice outside in the yard where he worked (and created this scene five minutes later), then placed his ‘actors’ upon the A4 print-out from a laser printer. It didn’t work entirely; but he liked Margret’s dull-eyed look enormously, so it doesn’t really matter. In retrospect, he should have taken the scene outside in the real cold. Still, too late now. The Greenhorn Girls are loosely based on the famous Parisian dance troupe, The Bluebell Girls, created by Margret Kelly during the Nazi occupation of France. Tooty’s late wife was once a Bluebell Girl.  

Earplug Adventures Disaster Wallpaper: Estimated Point of Impact

Bad news for the silicon inhabitants of this particular city that  squats like a defecating toad upon the vast plain that leads to the distant Museum of Future Technology…

But do we care? Not a jot. And maybe the disaster will find it’s way into an earplug adventure!

Now That ‘Northern Mist’ Has Reached It’s Climax…

…it’s time to remind you that by clicking on

All Earplug Adventures in PDF Format Unexpurgated & FREE!

you can read or download (or both) the entire tale. It looks exactly like this…

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part thirteen)

So this is it – unlucky number 13. The thirteenth and final episode of the first earplug short story. It’s been quite nice, hasn’t it?

It was Fanny’s good fortune that she had been blessed with substantial hip padding – or ‘fat’ as it is more commonly known. Consequently she suffered no more than a bruised ego and a grazed knee. Muttering to herself she exited the maintenance tunnel and proceeded past two comatose earplugs and across the disused roller skate parking area…

“There she goes.” The fourth member of the security suite cried out. “What is that in her back pocket – a packet of gobstoppers?”

Of course, what the junior RoboSecGua couldn’t possibly have known was that Fanny’s pockets bulged with antidote packages, which, once she had gained access to the main thoroughfare, she proceeded to cast to the floor, where they burst spectacularly…

“Look at the smile on her face,” EvilRoboSecGua called out as it rushed for a close-up of the main viewer, “it can mean only one thing: she has a potion that counteracts the Northern Mist. I’m so excited I could slip my differential!”

“Quickly,” RoboSecGua snapped at the machine intelligence that operated the communications panel, “inform the maintenance operatives in the nul-space generator control room. Tell them to start the ventilation system and begin pumping whatever that gaseous material is around the museum.”

Shortly, the aforementioned maintenance operatives, cocooned as they were in their control room, did just that…

“Looking good.” Rikki said. “A few more packets of that magic dust, and were home and dry!”

Well Fanny was perfectly capable of delivering those ‘packets of magic dust’, so before long customers of the nearest Café Puke…

…found themselves reviving; clambering to their feet; and wondering why their coffees were stone cold with a nasty skin on top.

Further, two trainee baristas in the neighbouring Skanki Kaffe fired up their Vomitino machine for the first time, and treated all the second-fix construction workers to an inaugural cup of vile brown muck and a stale croissant…

Of course once everyone was made aware of the situation, earplugs from every quarter of the museum raced to thank their saviour…

Equally of course, many were surprised by her identity. They had expected an Earplug Brother, or failing that Hair-Trigger. As the Angel with a Huge Nose went to show her gratitude by enfolding Fanny in her huge angelic wings, the intended recipient couldn’t help but recall her vision of the sun shining from the angel’s rear end. But her smile was quickly erased when, from the opposite direction, a swarm of zombies slithered…

“Fanny,” their spokes-zombie, former TV cricket commentator Brian Trouserflap, belched, “and you too, RoboSecGua: we’ve just detected Mister Zinc and that blue tart entering the museum. If you hurry, you’ll head them off at the pass. Or, in museum parlance, the Grand Hall.”

Meanwhile, the main door to the Grand Hall had opened upon well-oiled hinges to allow ingress to the would-be conqueror and first lady…

“It’s a little Spartan.” Blue observed. “And dark too.”

“I’ll take anything after a year or so in that damned watchtower.” Zinc replied bitterly. “Hmmm, I do believe this would make an excellent throne room. High ceilings: I like it. My stentorian tones would echo nicely off the walls in here. All the serfs and peasants could gather to hear my latest edicts. And all of their body heat and personal stench would be carried up to the extractor units above. I just wish I could see the whole room. Don’t tell me the electrics are on the blink.”

Blue had an idea. She shouted, “Lights!”

Instantly both interlopers were bathed in a bright, but warm light…

…which made them aware that they were surrounded by security forces.

Initially they said nothing, especially when they realised that Rupert Piles was transmitting their arrest ‘live’ on his huge Three-Dee TV camera. Of course they failed utterly to recognise Fanny as their nemesis, or even acknowledge her presence. Fanny didn’t mind, of course; anonymity had its advantages, especially when the ‘bad guy’ was prone to thoughts of revenge.

“Oh dear,” Blue finally said as the nearest RoboSecGua prepared to deploy it’s lasso ‘tongue’, “Do you have a Plan B, Zinkipoo?”

“No,” the artificially silvered earplug replied, “but if I did, it would be a lobotomy. I assure you it’s no fun being a failed megalomaniac.”

So, following a day of celebrations, and as the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, those inside the Museum of Future Technology could look out of their windows and watch Fanny’s antidote coruscate delightfully in the air above that fabulous edifice…

The End

©Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Welcome To My World…

…none of which is real, of course…

Earplug News 24/7: Great Discovery Made!

Unexpected news concerning Uda Spritzer’s scientific mission is filtering in. Photographic evidence supports her assertion that she has discovered the mythical lost city of Gertrude Worthington!

 

 

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Youngsters on the Ice

This post first appeared in a blog so vile that it’s name eludes me. Now it appears once more, resplendent upon a site of unequalled brilliance.

Young earplug friends, Fulham Peach, Crudlove Twang, Fledgling McCormack, and Spodney Gridlock are accidentally drawn into the mountains by Buttox Barkingwell’s psychic siren song. From Plunging Into Peril. Fascinating factoid: Although the falling snow in the foreground was added in post-production, the apparent (but fabulousy convincing) snow in the background was actually salty corrosion on a sheet of bare aluminium. The snowy ground was originally a broken ceiling tile from an abandoned office building. It was a tricky shot to get because the aluminium was riveted to a bicycle shed, so I needed to balance the ‘ground’ on my knee whilst standing upon one foot and using my hands to operate the camera. I think they call it multi-tasking – or perhaps a circus act.

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part eleven)

Without further ado, it’s on with the tale…

It was Fanny’s good fortune that the sleet only fell at higher elevations. By the time that she reached the access tunnel that led from the old quarter to the region of Lemon Stone that contained the artisan quarter, her personal deflector bubble had shed its fine mantle of moisture..

So it was with great relief, shortly after exiting the tunnel, that Fanny could shuck off her protection at the front door of her hovel and enter the sanctuary of her kitchen… 

However, despite a thorough rummage through the cupboard under the sink and a good old delve into the odds ‘n’ sods she kept in an old suitcase beneath the stairs, she could find nothing with which to create a potion that would counteract Zinc’s futuristic fog.

“Oh bum!” she yelled despairingly.

However Fanny was not the type to accept defeat so easily. Her mind wandered – or perhaps ‘raced’ – back to her most recent visit to the Museum of Future Technology – in particular the drop-in to the proto-Skanki Kaffe.

“Ooh,” she sighed as her thoughts began to coalesce into a plan. “Those baristas have access to all sorts of concoctions and coffee machines: surely I can put those to good use. Ah-ha, and there’s a branch of the Café Puke on the Rincon del Excremento – not more than ten minutes from here!”

Ten minutes later Fanny let herself into the darkened café…

She was grateful that Lemon Stoners were lazy sods and didn’t get up until after half-past ten in the morning: it meant that the mist had struck before the café had opened. There would be no inert earplugs littering the place with sightless stares that would inevitably break Fanny’s concentration upon her monumental task.

Flicking on the lights also activated the air-conditioning. Soon the wisps of poison that had penetrated the worn door seals were extracted and Fanny could set about finding the items she required…

However, having completed her search, she felt no confidence in her ability to conjure up the necessary antidote. There were still one or two ingredients that would make success more certain. Then, once again she recalled her thoughts concerning the rival cafes inside the Museum of Future Technology. More specifically she recalled the different ways in which the Café Puke and Skanki Kaffe remove the caffeine from their respective coffee granules. For the briefest of moments despair almost overwhelmed the artistic earplug. Would she really have to trudge all the way back down to the partially-completed Skanki Kaffe inside the museum – in the forlorn hope that the barista’s equipment and ingredients had been stocked in the storeroom prematurely? Surely not! However, as her eyes swung from the customer area to the front door, she noticed the day’s mail that had fallen from the letter box and had been casually kicked to one side. Amongst the confetti of communications lay several flyers and advertisements. One of them featured the Skanki Kaffe. This was the breakthrough that Fanny had been unconsciously praying for. The flyer included an address: Plaza de Aromas.

Within a mere five minutes the green female earplug stood inside the soon-to-open Skanki Kaffe…

Because the doors were new and had opened and shut a mere handful of times, the Northern Mist had made no encroachment into the establishment.

“Oh goodie,” Fanny said as she cast off her personal deflection bubble, “I can now operate without impediment and restraint. Where’s the storeroom?”  

Chapter Four

In the time-honoured way for heroic earplugs, the Skanki Kaffe had supplied the very ingredients Fanny needed most desperately. No sooner had her eyes alighted upon them, as they nestled cosily upon the storeroom shelf, when she snatched them up; dashed from the building; and raced to the artisan quarter…

Following the briefest of tinkles in her rudimentary downstairs loo, Fanny set to work at her bench with a mortar and pestle…

The work, though not particularly demanding in a physical sense, was long and mentally arduous. Trial and error was Fanny’s greatest ally. As the hours passed by inexorably, Fanny grew weary; but she would not break from her task. She would either discover the cure, or collapse trying. However, as daylight returned to the mountaintop citadel, the zillionth test in her crucible proved the value of the time and effort she had put into the task. The concoction sparked and flamed…

“Flipping heck,” she exclaimed with delight, “I’ve only gone and bloody done it!”

©Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part ten)

Part Nine went down like a lead balloon, so let’s not waste any more time with that literary pile of junk and forget all about it by going straight to Part Ten, which, I should mention is much better…

Fanny continued to follow the route supplied by her RoboSecGua device for several minutes until she paused to regard the view and take stock. With the citadel behind her, the only building visible to her in the darkening air was the Northern Watchtower. So she screwed up her eyes and squinted at it. Was that smoke emerging from the viewing platform?

Or was it the fake Northern Mist? Her device suggested she get closer. So she endeavoured to do just that. However, as she picked her way carefully along a narrow path, she discovered a Precipitous Ledge Walker, who had been indulging in a morning bowl of muesli when she was overcome and rendered inert…

Fanny had forgotten how hungry she felt, having missed her tea. She was almost tempted to consume the rapidly coagulating cereal / milk amalgam; but quickly reasoned that it had spent several hours open to the effects of the mist, and would probably be heavily contaminated. She didn’t like sultanas either; so, despite her rumbling stomach, she passed on by.

A while later – Fanny couldn’t calculate how long precisely because of fatigue and boredom – the green-faced earplug arrived beside the watch tower…

She wasn’t sure, but it appeared to her that the quantity of smoke / mist that climbed into the surrounding air from the viewing platform seemed to be lessening. Then she spotted an alleyway that would lead her to the outpost’s living quarters. Naturally she followed it…

Aware that she might be detected, she crept slowly and silently to the nearest window. Taking a chance, she sucked in a huge lung full of air, and removed her personal deflector bubble. Having done so she pressed her face to the glass…

What she saw shouldn’t have surprised her: everyone knew that Mister Zinc and his biological android Blue had been banished to this lonely spot where they were tasked to keep watch for travellers on their way to Lemon Stone from the wild lands beyond the mountains. As a result she wasn’t even slightly surprised. However she was startled that they should have a table from the Café Puke as furniture. Even more so by the glasses of Bilge White that rested daintily upon the cheap melamine table top. But what caused most concern was the conversation that took place between the megalomaniac and his partner:

“Oh Zinkipoo,” Blue said as she eyed the coffee before her, “I’ve just prodded the goo upstairs: I think the last few grams of poison stuff have pretty much been exhausted.”

“That’s fine,” Mister Zinc replied in his emotionless tone, “I anticipate that it has succeeded in its task. By now everyone inside the Museum of Future Technology will have been neutralized: tomorrow, just after breakfast, we’ll wander down there and assume control. I’m really looking forward to kicking Cushions Smethwyke and her gang of curators out through the sewage outlet. And as regards to any Earplug Brothers still at home…well I wouldn’t want to be one of them when I’ve finished with them.”

“It was a lovely plan you had, Zinky.” Blue replied. “How did you ever find that disaffected barista who had stolen those plans from the future?”

“I was collecting used cigarette butts in the marketplace.” Zinc answered without a qualm or shame over his loss of status in earplug society, “I encountered a ‘new’ earplug in town whom I considered was acting furtively. I asked what he was doing in Lemon Stone. He told me he was looking for a buyer for something really illicit. I took an interest. He told me what he had. I also took an instant dislike to him; so rather than pay him with money I didn’t have, I punched him in the head and stole it from his satchel.”

“Inspired,” Blue gushed. “And to think; we had all the primary ingredients we required in that delivery to the Café Puke that mysteriously disappeared from their storeroom last week.”

Mr Zinc almost chuckled at this. “Indeed,” he said, “who would have imagined that Stasis Melons, suspended in Parma Violet Glycerine, set on an insulating layer of Pistachio Custard…

…and heated by a halogen bulb could wreak such havoc amongst our enemies?”

Outside Fanny almost stood aghast. Fortunately, in order to follow the conversation further she recovered her decorum and quickly dashed to the next window…

…where Mr Zinc now regarded his own cup of coffee.

“To think,” he said to Blue, as she joined him, “this time tomorrow I will rule the Museum of Future Technology. And when I do, the whole Galaxy is gonna find out!”

Fanny need not hear another word. She quickly stole away; replaced her personal deflector bubble upon her head; and made best speed down the alleyway…

Shortly, having consumed their Bilge Whites, Mr Zinc and Blue resumed their duties in the watchtower…

“Ah, drizzle,” Mr Zinc said with a sigh. “You can always tell its Summer time up here: gentle precipitation accompanied by low clouds and thunderstorms.”

But Blue wasn’t so sure: Zinc’s ‘drizzle’ looked rather more like sleet to her. “Hmmm.” She said in a non-committal tone.

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part nine)

In Part Nine we watch as Fanny Gander goes forth upon her mission to save the Museum of Future Technology. Yet another name is about to be added to the pantheon of heroic earplugs. Well we hope so anyway…

However, when she calculated the sheer distance involved, that resolve waned slightly…

“Oh flipping heck.” She said, “I can’t even see the mountains. Oh, but wait a minute: it’s that bloody fake Northern Mist: it’s hiding them from view. Maybe it’s not so far after all.”

But all too quickly Fanny realised that the return journey to Lemon Stone would require that she walk up the mountain. Up being the significant word. Whereas she had walked down from Lemon Stone with relative ease, the reverse course would be quite the…er…reverse. And so it proved to be…

“At least I can breathe on the way back up.” She gasped. “All I need to take into account is the reduced oxygen levels at higher altitude.”

Soon any potential cameras that tried to follow her journey watched as she traversed a high ledge through a thickening fog. Had anyone watching been conscious they would have sucked in their breath, clutched their buttocks and whimpered:

“Oh Fanny – take care. One misstep…”

Night was having a bloody good go at falling when Fanny finally reached the plateau from where she could see the distant citadel standing proud before her…

“Fifteen minutes ought to do it.” She said confidently. “I’m so glad I found that small vial of my strength and endurance potion in my back pocket. These last few steps would have killed me otherwise. Moreover, all this exertion, and the resultant sweatiness has entirely dried up my bladder. It’s great; not taking clandestine tinkles beside the mountain path every five minutes.”

She didn’t know it, of course, but Fanny had another reason to be grateful that her bladder made no demands upon her modesty. She was being followed by the Council of Zombies in the Museum of Future Technology on a futuristic three-dee projector…

Zombies, not really being strictly ‘alive’ were naturally immune to the fake Northern Mist. They weren’t aware of the fact, so they had locked themselves off from the rest of the museum by sequestering the meeting room of the Sewage Workers Union, the doors of which came, of course hermetically sealed.

“Go for it, Fanny!” One of them would have yelled. But because he didn’t breathe, the best he could do was a torpid croak. “Kick ass.”

Chapter Three

Fanny’s estimate of fifteen minutes proved extremely accurate as finally she climbed the shallow ramp that led to the outer wall of the citadel…

As she looked along the length of the dark stone construction, she said:

“What dim-wit architect decided to build the gate almost a hundred metres from the access ramp? Am I ever gonna get where I need to be?”

Worse still, when she finally reached the gate, she found it too low to fit her overly-tall personal deflector bubble under…

So she felt compelled to travel farther to a freight entrance, inside which she discovered several fallen and non-responsive earplugs…

Her breath caught in her throat. “By the Saint of All Earplugs, in a pathetic attempt to negate the Northern Mist, these two desperate chefs were forced to breathe sewer gas – for all the good it did them. Stupid chefs; they would have been better off breathing oven gas!”

Farther inside the citadel, the situation appeared no better…

“Oh,” Fanny wailed, “I feel like I’m the last girl in the world. This is so depressing. Really, I’m not sure I’m suited to this sort of malarkey – not psychologically anyway. Physically I’m nice and fit and loaded with potions; but my ego and self-confidence could do with a boost.”

Then, as if on cue the detector that the RoboSecGuas had given her chimed pleasantly.

“Ooh,” she said – her mood brightening, “that sounds rather more interesting.” To the voice-controlled device, she said: “Give me a heading. Which way do I go?”

To which the hastily-designed gizmo replied: “proceed one hundred and fifteen metres in a westerly direction.”

Naturally the female artisan knew next to nothing about compass headings; so she tried a random direction. The device responded with:

“Please turn around and retrace your steps two and three-quarter metres; turn through sixty-seven degrees and proceed one hundred and fifteen metres in a westerly direction.”

Fanny was impressed. “Very intuitive.” She said admiringly. “Those security robots sure know their stuff.

By chance Fanny’s route took her past several competing artisan outlets…

“Emily Dumbleton,” she scoffed, “Emily Dumbass more like. She calls herself an artisan; huh. Specialisation: Brussels Sprouts. More like a fartisan to me!”

Any further denigration of her fellow artisans was cut short when Fanny entered a long tunnel she recognised would take her out of the citadel at its northern end…

“The only problem I have with the oldest quarter of Lemon Stone,” her voice echoed off the cold stone walls, “is that it’s a bit…um…up-and-downy.”

Very few of her friends and colleagues were aware that Fanny had a dislike for uneven surfaces. She particularly loathed stairs. And even more particularly stone staircases. So it was very unfortunate indeed that shortly after exiting the link tunnel she found herself going arse-over-head down them…

More fortunately she was protected, to a certain extent by her personal deflector bubble, although the final landing could have been better…

For a few moments Fanny and her device became separated. Whether it was the effects of the gas, or the knock on her noggin, she began to hallucinate. She could have sworn she saw Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug performing a popular mariachi number in an alcove, whilst fabulously lit from above by a diffuse glow that shone brightly from the Angel with a Huge Nose’s angelic bottom…

“Magnuss,” she croaked, “I’m one of your greatest fans. Hair-Trigger; you’re an inspiration to all females who long to become bounty hunters.”

Then good sense regained control of her tongue:

“Oh, you silly artisan,” she said in her best chastising voice, “Magnuss and Hair-Trigger are piloting the Tankerville Norris upon some distant uncharted world, where, more than likely they’re coming under heavy fire from a superior alien attack craft…

With that she reattached her personal deflector bubble, and made off in a direction that took her away from Lemon Stone…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

If you would like to read a complete Earplug Adventure, please click here. https://hamsterbritain.wordpress.com/all-earplug-adventures-in-pdf-format-unexpurgated-free/

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part eight)

 In this episode,  a seemingly insignificant scene appears that could easily be missed. It will become significant later in this briefer-than-usual story. See if you can spot it. 

As she went about the museum, Fanny couldn’t help but feel sad…

…Only hours previous the huge building had been a cauldron of silicon activity. How quickly the mighty edifice and its multifarious defences had been brought to its knees.

“I was going to come here shopping at the week-end too.” She said in a dejected tone. “By kite.”

The word ‘kite’ when she spoke it, reminded her of a similar word – ‘bite’. This in turn caused her to think of the museum’s best-known primitive silicon life-form, that being Nature Beast. “Heck,” she roared inside her tiny insulated world, “if anyone can fight off the Northern Mist, it’ll be Nature Beast: he resists technology like similar magnetic poles reject each other!” So, turning on her heel, she made straight for the control room of TWIT…

However, upon entering, all thoughts of Nature Beast’s heroic resistance to the mist were cast aside. His commanding officer, Major Flaccid seemed to be staring straight at her from inside a personal deflector bubble of his own…

But when she spoke to him, all she received in response was his usual intense stare. Then she realised that the bubble was full of mist.

“Oh, you silly sod,” she said to the still form before her, “you’re supposed to get inside the bubble before the mist gets you. You were too slow, you dull-witted oik!”

Then she spotted Nature Beast’s lower half. His upper half was hidden by the control room lavatory. Obviously he’d fallen into it – probably trying to escape into the sewer via the u-bend.

“There’s no helping the truly stupid.” She said with a sigh.

Thereafter she went straight to the security suite and presented the RoboSecGuas with the samples they required…

The tests were begun with alacrity. The results came thick and fast.

“Well we’ve traced the chemical composition of the mist to a region in the mountains very close to Lemon Stone.” The senior RoboSecGua informed Fanny. “The combination of elements exactly matches that of a gas that will be developed in the not too distant future – the plans for which were sent back here from the future, for safe keeping. The self-same plans that were stolen from the museum, by a disaffected barista in the Café Puke organisation, not more than two weeks ago. The barista was arrested and threatened with a good kick up the arse; but he still refuses to give us the identity of the earplug to who he sold the aforementioned plans.”

“We’ve cobbled together a detector of sorts.” EvilRoboSecGua chimed in. “Your task – on your way home, I might add – is to use the detector to trace the origin of the erroneously-named ‘Northern Mist’. Once you’ve done that, just give us a call, and we’ll come running to capture the potential megalomaniac.”

Fanny was no security expert, but it sounded like a good plan to her. So, five minutes later, and with the detector in her pocket, and with a spring in her step, she set out once more…

Moreover, she was elated at the thought that she felt no desire to visit the adjacent lavatory too. But she tried to hide the fact by keeping a straight face in front of the RoboSecGua that saw her off.

During her brief passage through the museum towards her pedestrian exit of choice, Fanny dropped by the almost-complete Skanki Kaffe…

“How interesting.” She said to herself as she poked an inquisitive nose in through the foyer, “I’ve heard they use an entirely different way to make decaffeinated coffee. Their Desalinated is nothing like Café Puke’s Defecated: its pure coincidence that they just happen to taste alike. Oh, well nothing happening here: best be moving on.”

Thereafter she followed a route supplied by the RoboSecGuas that would cut at least an hour from her journey time…

It was a complicated route, and Fanny might have become lost at any juncture; but the members of the security suite were following her on CCTV, and called out to her via the public address system every time she took a wrong turn…

So, before too long Fanny found herself standing upon the verdant pastures that led from the museum to the foothills…

“Right,” she said resolutely, “the only way is up.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Eject With Alacrity!

The ancient alien lifeboat flees the Drunkard’s Vomit with only seconds to spare before the auto-destruct sequence begins. From Climatic Calamity. Fascinating factoid: Apart from the fact that both vessels are made from products found in Tooty’s bathroom – yes that distant airless planetoid really is a chocolate covered digestive biscuit…from the Waitrose Essential range. Tooty doesn’t use just any old chocolate covered digestive you know!

Earplug Adventures © Paul Trevor Nolan

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part five)

This being my first earplug short story, I’m delighted with the progress. It has taken, quite literally less than half the effort a regular book takes. I think I’ll do this more often. And look – it already has a cover!

But for now  I think it best I don’t get over excited: on with part five…

Farther inside the museum, Rudi Earplug received a text message whilst waiting to be served by the baristas of a local Café Puke…

“Flipping heck, everyone,” he roared – startling twins, Desmond and Anthony Hedgewarbler by doing so, “I’ve just got a text. Something really weirdsville is going on outside. We’d better hang on in here until I get more info. You dig?” 

Of course what Rudi could not possibly have known was that the mist had enveloped the entire building…

Naturally the museum’s electro-magnetic defensive shields had been raised as a precaution. However, and much to the dismay of the maintenance department members on duty, the mist appeared to have multi-phasic properties that allowed it to alter its temporal location at a sub-atomic level, which meant it could move, fractionally, in time. This, in turn meant that it could bypass the mono-chronological screens with ease. In desperation the operative tried to combat this rare talent with additional power to the shield emitters.

“That’s it.” A yellow female End Cap engineer screeched from a com-panel screen. “If that doesn’t work, nothing will stop this mysterious gas from gaining access to the entire museum – including the ladies toilet on level thirteen!”

“What’s so special about the ladies toilet on level thirteen?” The yellow earplug inquired in the hope that it would divert his attention from the fears and trepidation he was feeling at that moment.

“My mother is an illegal immigrant.” The desperate End Cap replied. “She lives there – in a secret compartment behind the cistern.”

The orange maintenance worker shared much the same emotions as his yellow partner: “That’s terrible.” He yelled, “Who does her shopping and laundry?”

Meanwhile, in yet another Café Puke outlet…

…staff and customers wondered why the lights had dimmed.

“Sorry,” the pink barista said to his yellow customer, “but energy levels had dropped below those required to operate the Crappachino machine. I can do you an Iron Lungo. I’ll even throw in a complimentary sausage roll.”

At the precise moment that the yellow earplug responded in the negative, Fanny Gander had gained a pedestrian door that would allow her ingress to the museum. But, as she looked downward disconsolately, she wondered if there was any real point to her efforts: despite her speed and endurance, the mist had overtaken her: it was already too late…

And she might have been right too. Already the Age of Stone exhibit was enshrouded…

Worst still, so was the boating lake, where Gobby and Panta Lonez were enjoying a brisk hike across the undeveloped ‘bad lands’…

Now if Gobby had managed to recognise the threat he might have been able to utilise his minimal time-travelling capability and taken himself and Panta backwards fifteen minutes in time – giving them the opportunity to seek the sanctuary of an air raid shelter. But he didn’t, so this happened…

Poor old Gobby and his new friend.

Meanwhile, all across the museum, customers and staff alike remained ignorant of the ever-encroaching menace. Café Pukes carried on as normal…

But, like Rudi Earplug minutes earlier, some customers were receiving confusing texts from friends and family. It made them look about themselves furtively…

“Do I mention this to anyone?” They would ask themselves. “Or do I lock myself in the lavatory and adopt the brace position?”

Some of them went so far as to put on false smiles and pretend that nothing was wrong…

…which, because they lacked any tangible facts, might have been the actual truth. What would been gained from worrying anyone unnecessarily?

But elsewhere, like on unprotected walkways, earplugs were succumbing quickly…

“Ooh-ur,” this particular individual was heard to say, “I don’t half feel wonky. It’s almost as though…”

But all too quickly the scent of fear permeated the plasterboard walls of the local hostelries. Customers became alarmed…

“By the Saint of All Earplugs,” they would wail in an unpleasant discord, “that scent: its fear. I don’t like it: make it go away!”

No sooner had that occurred, when someone in the Curator’s Suite hit the Vermillion Alert button…

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

My apologies for all the meaningless techno-babble during the maintenance control room scene. As my son pointed out, “That’s very Star Trek: Voyager shit from the nineties.”

Portrait of Spring: Sheltered Beneath a Wall

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 4)

With exactly 150 photos processed for this first-ever earplug short-story, the photographic part of the job is complete. My mouse hand is feeling the strain, I can tell you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to operate my Yamaha’s throttle properly for the next couple of days. My eyes are kind of bleary too. And my bum is of the numb kind. Oh, how I suffer for my art. But that’s by-the-by: it comes with the territory: on with part 4 of Northern Mist!

Meanwhile Fanny raced through the stone corridors upon her self-imposed mission…

As she did so she gave thanks for her decision to test her potions upon herself. She was certain that no one else in Lemon Stone had the strength and endurance required to battle the effects of the mist whilst running like a looney.

Soon she found herself thundering from the citadel through one of several pedestrian gates…

Within moments she had placed a considerable distance between herself and the vast edifice…

However, as she paused to slake her terrible thirst in a mountainside stream…

…she noted the unusual colour.

“Oh flipping heck,” she wailed, “not only can I not drink from this contaminated stream, but these are the headwaters of the river that carries the coolant for the Museum of Future Technology’s Nul-Space power generator. Oh bugger!”

This new situation reminded Fanny of the wisdom she’d displayed when testing her potions upon herself. Now, more than any time before, she would need the strength and endurance her potions would afford her.

“Right then,” she said, “I’d better a get a bloody move on.”

With that she ran all the way down the seemingly endless flight of steps from Lemon Stone; across the valley below it; and up the other side. Moreover she needed to contend with the mist pursuing her all the way…

…which she did with aplomb, if not a little bitterness:

“Sodding mist,” she growled through mandibles pressed hard against each other and acting as a rudimentary air filter. “Thank the Saint of All Earplugs that the cold temperatures have made my nostrils get all bunged up with coagulated snot. But enough of my physical difficulties: onwards to the Museum of Future Technology!”

Meanwhile, deep within the unsuspecting museum, Rupert Piles busied himself filming two members of Las Chicas De La Playas as they demonstrated one of Anton Twerp’s latest works of art…

“Muy linda,” Carmen said to Belen who stood upon the opposite side of the painting, “but what is it supposed to be?”

“No lo se,” Belen replied, “a colon perhaps? Some liver maybe? No mi gusta!”

Of course the girls and the TV reporter weren’t the only earplugs out and about. In fact the corridors and places of interest were absolutely thronging…

However, as the inhabitants and visitors continued upon their merry way in blissful ignorance, poor little Fanny Gander struggled onwards through a thickening fog of Northern Mist…

By now the situation had worsened to the point where she must squeeze her eyes shut and, using her remaining senses – those being hearing, touch, and smell, guess her direction of travel.

In her semi-delirium she imagined herself seated in a Café Puke outlet beside her best friend, Bubbles Gloor…

But despite her low red blood count, she retained enough intelligence to realise that Bubbles was far away with her boyfriend, aboard the Prowler as they investigated an oceanic world many light years distant from Earth…

“Huh,” she grunted – almost dislodging a lump of bogey in the process, “can’t expect any help from her then.”

Meanwhile, the very thing that Fanny had most feared happened. The dissolved mist in the coolant river evaporated out as the water met the warmer air of the museum interior. The first earplugs to notice it were passengers waiting at the mag-lift train station nearest the intake valves…

“Ugh,” the blue-hootered Belinda Noseguard uttered a moment before she recognised the danger, “what a horrible smell. I’m absolutely dis…”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 3)

Once the first couple of episodes were posted, I kind of ‘got into the groove’ so-to-speak. My rate of photo production accelerated. As of this posting, there are now 130 completed scenes , which may not sound much, but this was only ever going to be a short story anyway, so 130 isn’t too far short of the number required to tell the tale. But that’s for the near future: for now let’s get on with the story…

Moments later they raced through the narrow walkways of the artisan quarter…

But all too quickly Dumper’s physical reserves depleted sufficiently to leave him far behind in Fanny’s wake. So it was Fanny alone who reported the news of the Northern Mist to a RoboSecGua that was on-loan to Lemon Stone from the Museum of Future Technology…

If it was possible for a servomechanism to be startled, Fanny felt confident that she witnessed it that feverish evening.

“Cripes,” it yelled through its tinny forward speaker grille as its cyber-eyes bulged, “I shall instigate an alert instantaneously. But first I must implore you to make your way immediately to the Museum of Future Technology. They too must be alerted: the wind is blowing in their direction!”

By now other earplugs were discovering the horrible truth. Already the first tendrils of the mysterious mist were beginning to make their presence known…

“Run, run,” some would yell, “but try to hold your breath at the same time!”

In their watchtower that overlooked the valley that led from the museum to Lemon Stone, four monks of the Order of the Holey Vest quaked in their sandals as the mist rolled by…

“Shut the window, Augustus,” one of them snapped, “and ram a periodical or some toilet paper into the gaps.”

Monks soon swarmed from the monastery dormitories…

“Honestly,” many would complain, “the order demands that we all go to bed at a ridiculously early hour; and now we’re turfed out by a sodding siren. Despite not being really tired, I was just nodding off too!”

Other, quicker-thinking monks went straight to their closest air filtration units…

“If we only breathe the air that’s coming out of this,” they reasoned, “we won’t be overcome and suffer whatever fate befalls those who encounter the Northern Mist.”

Fanny Gander meanwhile was trying to hold her breath as best she could…

George and Edie Peashuck, who had only recently moved to Lemon Stone, following a lifetime tilling the soil as mountain pea farmers, could only watch in bemusement as the green-faced earplug shuffled by, en route to the giant toad religious icon…

…where she quickly passed on some advice to the Father Superior and his retinue:

“Hide yourselves away in a sealed room.” She yelled. “And, for good measure stick a paper bag over your head too.”

Then she was gone – in the opposite direction to almost everyone else…

When questioned they answered that they were hoping to catch one of Lemon Stone’s emergency hot-air balloons and float above the scary mist.

Meanwhile the monks at the filtration units were beginning to have their doubts…

“Maybe if we sat on it,” one of them suggested, “and breathed through our bottoms. It’s only an idea, you understand: but I think it’s a good one.”

Meanwhile a group of visitors couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about…

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” The shorter of the two purple earplugs was heard to complain. “If everyone wore an atom-proof helmet like mine, there wouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

By now the stairs to the highest towers were being scaled by the vanguard of fleeing earplugs….

Within moments the first emergency hot-air balloon lifted serenely from the ramparts…

“Well that’s us up and away,” the escapees would say to one another, “I don’t give a fiddle what happens to the dimwits who didn’t make it. It’s a plugmutt eat plugmutt world where only the strong survive. If they didn’t escape the Northern Mist it’s because they didn’t deserve to. In fact I bet it was one of them who brought it here – you know, like people bring germs home from holidays abroad and that sort of thing.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Rural Wallpaper: Chill December

Bare trees, frosted roofs, and gently smoking chimneys. Rural England in Wintertime.

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Poolside

Like the Earplug Adventures wallpapers that immediately precede this one, Poolside appeared in a nasty, deservedly defunct blog that should never have seen the light of day.

The Earplug Brothers take some welcome time-off at the holiday home of their Auntie Doris. Naturally the Pong Sisters join them. From The Grand Tour Volume One. Fascinating factoids: The rippled ‘water’ effect was obtained by running a butane flame across a slab of industrial insulation material. Also, Chester appears to be sans important facial features. This is not an error by the creator of the story: it  simply reflects the fact that Chester doesn’t sleep with his mouth open.

Northern Mist: An Earplug Adventure (part 1)

With so many subjects clamouring for Tooty’s attention, the great author/ photographer has been pressed for time regarding the Earplug Adventures. So pressed, in fact that he has managed to create a mere seventy-seven finished scenes for the next wondrous project – that being Northern Mist. However, despite this paucity of material, he thought it best that he share it with you. So, although there’s bugger-all story to date, please try to enjoy the opening barrage of literary and photographic glory. Ladies and Gentlemen…Northern Mist.

Earplug Adventures: Northern Mist

Tooty Nolan

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

Prologue

It was another pleasant evening as the sun set upon the Museum of Future Technology…

A time for inhabitants of that revered emporium of technology from the…urr…future to open their evening news sheets and read an article concerning something dear to their hearts, if not their taste buds.

Details of a catering merger have emerged that could threaten the continued success of the purveyors of the most vile coffee inside the Museum of Future Technology – Cafe Puke. Secret photographs taken in the undeveloped region of the arboretum strongly suggest that construction of a new cafe is well underway…

Although including a distinctive foyer, the building appears to follow the design of the majority of Cafe Puke outlets. However, as this photograph clearly shows, the hoarding apparently makes mention of the rival cafe chain – Skanki Kaffe…

Despite the fact that leaked pictures of the interior do not support this assertion, workers on-site were tight lipped when quizzed about the new-build. Even Rupert Piles and his huge 3D TV camera, (despite trudging back and forth across the doorway all morning) could garner no information…

Nevertheless rumours continue to propagate, particularly when posters purporting that the endeavour is supported by the youngest of the Earplug Brothers – twins Chester and Miles…

…and the famous Ice World scientist Uda Spritzer…

…appeared inside the half-completed future place of business…

Despite denials from Skanki Kaffe that the company has designs on supplanting Cafe Puke as the cafe of choice within the much vaunted and hallowed walls of the Museum of Future Technology, photographic evidence of a conversation between a representative of Skanki Kaffe, and Mister Pong – owner of several Exotic Food restaurants within the museum and the neighbouring conurbation of La Ciudad de Droxford cannot be ignored…

Further evidence came when the museum’s Avatar and the Angel with a Huge Nose were seen blessing the almost complete catering outlet in the middle of the night…

Apparently only the installation of a whooshy, gurgly coffee machine and a futuristic urinal is required to transform the building from a potential cafe into a proper emporium for the celebration of the humble coffee bean – complete with labels such as Cafe au Belch, Vomitino, and Desalinated – all well-known labels belonging to Skanki Kaffe. When interviewed through the side window of a Cafe Puke concession, general manager, Cool-Dude Plantagenate…

…was quoted as saying: “Couldn’t give a plugmutt’s arse. Bring it on Skanki: your Vomitino aint got nothing on our Crappachino: it’s almost potable!”

We await developments.

Chapter One

As sunset turned to night, high within the distant snow-capped mountains, electric  lights began to flicker into incandescence. The mountaintop citadel of Lemon Stone was pushing back the darkness…

Inside his artisan’s workshop, Dumper Collins was busy developing his latest farting gourde. With his back to the sturdy wattle and daub wall, he pleaded with the gourde to display the ability to produce hitherto unimaginable amounts of noxious gases from its centrally located pseudo-bottom…

At the same time, a pair of Lemon Stone police officers became aware of Fanny Gander, as she exited the public lavatory in the Artisan’s quarter, on her way home for tea…

“Nice bum.” One of them said to the other.

“Best keep that to yourself,” the second officer whispered in reply, “Fanny absolutely hates any sexist talk. If she finds out you’ve been ogling her rear end, she’s likely to yank your helmet from your head and shove it up yours!”

“Oh,” the first officer responded nervously, “she’s that strong, is she?”

“She creates potions.” The reply came quietly. “They include potions for strength and endurance. She always tries them on herself before she places them on sale in the market square. So, yes she really is that strong.”

© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023

 

Tooty the Chef and Nazi Goering

Tooty the Chef and his late wife were both born into  the latter part of the Baby Boomer generation. This meant that they spent the first ten to fifteen years of their lives immersed in documentaries and action films that featured the exploits of World War Two – a five year war that spanned the globe, between the forces of the Free World and the might of the Empire of the Rising Sun in the east, and the tyranny of fascism, via Nazi Germany and it’s  ally Italy in the west. The Soviet Union was involved too, but it’s best we don’t mention those bunch of shits: if ever there were perpetrators of an ideology that rejected freedom and democracy and treated it’s people disgracefully, it was the communist arse wipe leadership of the Soviet Union. But enough of that  for now; it’s far too serious. Because she too shared a slighty quirky and irreverent sense of humour, Tooty the Chef’s wife often renamed meals with non-politically correct alternatives. In this case Nasi Goreng became Nazi Goering – named after the commanding officer of the Nazi German Airforce during the late thirties and early forties, Herman Goering. And why not? – it’s silly. Naturally Tooty the Chef has chosen to continue this nomenclature into the second decade of the twenty-first century. And why not again? – it’s still silly, and insults no one from that era because they’ve all died of old age, or are too doddery to give a shit.

“Tooty,” I hear you sigh, “enough of the history lesson and political crap: get on with the cooking.”

Okay. So, to the kitchen…

A good (Tooty the Chef style) Nazi Goering requires that some ingredients are well cooked, whilst others remain al dente. So first into the hot olive oil go diced onions and sliced carrot…

Followed shortly by the sliced peppers – to produce some much needed moisture…

Hot on their heels comes the diced chicken…

This is generously sizzled until its clear that the chicken has cooked through and no longer presents a threat to humanity with its potential salmonella virus content. Zap them bugs – the bastards!

Then, in this case, some greenery should be added. He’s not quite sure what greenery was added on this occasion, but it could have been cabbage, or pak choi, or perhaps spring onions. Anything will do really…

The items that require the least cooking should now be cast into the pit of culinery doom. Here we see sweet corn, baby corn cobs, and snap peas suffering horribly…

Of course, whilst one hand is stirring this conflagration of flavour into a lather, the other has been cooking some jasmine rice in the well-establish Tooty the Chef way, via the Chinese rice cooker…

As fabulous as the colourful  dish may appear, it aint Nazi Goering until the spices have been added. Today Tooty elected to leave his vast repertroire of spices in the cupboard, and instead proceed with this…

It saves so much time and uncertainty. Subsequentally stirring the rice into the meat and vegetables, cookie-boy allowed that lot to simmer for a moment or two. Mean time he whisked up a bunch of eggs, salt, and black pepper and made a simple omelette…

…which he sliced up and lay (like a urine-stained mantle of snow) atop the finished mountainous article…

Ladies and Gentlemen; a complete Nazi Goering. Now proceed to your own kitchen and become as politically incorrect as the great chef himself!

 

 

Kitchen Wallpaper: Ingredients

Portrait of Nature: The Woodland Path

Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Vile Coffee: Cozy Chat

This post first appeared in a blog that was so unpopular, it staggered belief. Not like this one at all!

Having escaped the island of Doctor Adolf Weil-Barrau intact, former head of security Slomo Chewings buys a cup of vile coffee from a Barf machine for fellow islander and potential love interest, Daffney DeMauritainia. From Mutant Island. Fascinating factoids; The Barf machine is the lid of a sweetener dispenser. The table is a filter from a pneumatic pump. This is the first occurrence in an Earplug Adventure of a non-heterosexual relationship. P.S If Daffney looks very similar to Bubbles Gloor in The Veil of Shytar, it’s because the same earplug was used in both stories. Waste not; want not – or so they say. They also say everyone has their double somewhere in the world. Well there’s the proof – sort of.

Tooty the Chef and Citrus Semolina!

One day, in a kitchen far far away, Tooty the Chef searched desperately for inspiration. The family, sick to death with shop-bought yoghurts and the like, wanted a nice pud. It was down to Tooty to deliver the goods…

Being a ‘chuck-it-all-in-and-see-what-happens’ kind of chef, delivering a nice pud was always going to be a challenge for the pointy-nosed idiot. However, after much deliberation (i,e ten seconds) he settled on these primary ingredients: lemon merigue sauce mix; cornflour; Valencian orange food flavouring; and semolina.

Well obviously (being the heaviest item on the list) the semolina would need to form the bottom layer of a  three-layered delight. So he boiled some up…

…and slapped the resulting goo in several eqally small serving bowls. As it cooled, he bubbled up the lemon meringue sauce and poured it on top…

So far, so esthetically pleasing. But what wonder was he going to conjure up from a jar of  cornflour and a small bottle of food flavouring. Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Custard! Orange custard…

Actually it went well. The orange didn’t make the milk go all wonky, and it thickened nicely and evenly. Sadly the colouring was somewhat lacking, so – as you can probably see – he added some yellow food dye. It didn’t  work: the finished custard  remained pale and insipid…

But good old Tooty didn’t give a monkey’s toss…

…coz when (that evening) he warmed them in the microwave, they were scrummy! Of course they were. Unfortunately the serving bowls were made of melamine and duly absorbed more than their fair share of the heat created by the microwaving. On the outside he might appear pleased with himself: but on the inside he’s smarting – just like his fingers and thumbs.