It is one of the enduring mysteries of contemporary life. How can it be, I hear you cry, that there is not a blockbusting Hollywood franchise based on Hooting Yard? Imagine for a moment that there existed a dimwitted action-packed … Continue reading
One of the incidental pleasures of reading the long-forgotten memoirs of obscure figures from our island history is to stumble upon fleeting mentions of that gruesome ogre of children’s nightmares, the Grunty Man. All of us, I think, can recall … Continue reading
In a staggering breakthrough, tiptop gruntologists at a gruntorium high in the Swiss Alps have discovered what they believe is the diary of the Grunty Man, that terrifying figure from children’s nightmares. As we all know – and shudder as … Continue reading
Apparently, the Grunty Man, that figure of childhood nightmares, has a song. It begins: I grunt at the sun, I grunt at the moon, my grunts do not follow a tune. I grunt at the stars, I grunt at the … Continue reading
I ordered my horse to be brought from the stables. His name is Alan. He is an elegant horse, but tubercular. His shanks are admirable, and he has as fine a mane as any horse in Christendom. The stable-boy, a … Continue reading
Lars and Maud went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. Lars fell down and clonked his crown and Maud came tumbling after. They rolled and tumbled further down, tumbling pell mell, ‘Til they came bumping to a … Continue reading
“Seasons” by Future Islands. I picked this not so much for the music as for the, er, idiosyncratic performance by singer Stanley Kowalski – sorry, I mean Samuel T. Herring. At 3:28 he executes an almost perfect impersonation of the … Continue reading
My reference to Tuesday Weld the other day prompted a reader to request the repotsage [sic] of this piece from seven long years ago. Be it known that on the fourteenth day of the month of March in the year … Continue reading
I write these words with immense difficulty, and in frantic haste. If what I believe is true, I have little more than an hour, perhaps two, before my mind will lose its moorings, the brain inside my head will be … Continue reading
Cocking a snook is an age-old custom in Pointy Town, harking back to the days of Bruno La Poubelle, or even earlier. It is unrelated to the snook-cocking practised elsewhere in the world. That is not the same thing at … Continue reading
Yesterday I went to see the new Walt Dinsey [sic] film Beauty And The Beast. (I know, I know. Don’t ask.) A more fitting title would have been Feisty Bookworm And The Prince With Bad Table Manners. Belle, the Beauty, … Continue reading
Sad news. The Dabbler has been mothballed for an indefinite period – as explained here. I have been contributing to it pretty much every week for five and a half years. Those of you with more leisure time than sense … Continue reading
Today is the Day of Grunting, when all around the world, from Aargau to Zug, people join together as one in celebration of that terrifying figure of children’s most awful nightmares, the Grunty Man. When you have stopped trembling, you … Continue reading
As Hooting Yard is the home of The Grunty Man, I thought I should draw to your attention the latest “Ancient and Modern” column by Peter Jones in The Spectator: What a pleasure it was to watch the men’s final … Continue reading
You are a very sinister servant, Baines, said Lord Boggis, addressing, as he thought, his manservant, Baines, By which I mean that, having brought me my muffin and tap water at eleven o’ clock on the dot, as instructed, you … Continue reading