It is far too long since we turned our attention to the fair city of Plovdiv. Word reaches me, however, of the intriguing appearance of a supposed watering-hole in north London, pictured below. I say “supposed” because, reportedly, nobody has ever been seen either entering or leaving this mysterious establishment. My hunch is that it is some kind of portal to Plovdiv. Boffins are probably hard at work tweaking the complicated gubbins designed to rend asunder the laws of physics so that, on stepping through the door, one is instantly transported – teleported? – to Plovdiv itself.
Many thanks to Max Décharné for the snap.
And the Lord said “Gather ye wool, and using needles thou shalt knit the wool into the form of a chicken. And thou shalt stuff the chicken with kapok and place it upon thy mantel. But the chicken shall lay no eggs, nor shall it cluck, for it is a false chicken, of kapok and wool, and an abomination unto the eyes of the Lord. And it shall be cast down from thy mantel, and unravelled, and the kapok stuffing scattered, yea, upon the four winds, and the wool strewn across many fields on thy father’s land. Thus sayeth the Lord, regarding false chickens, and other counterfeit poultry.”
The Book Of Ipsy Dipsy Doo, chapter 5,891
This confounded Hooting Yard hiatus has gone on long enough. My apologies for the silence. I am hoping to give my brain a good kicking to get it back on track.
Regular readers will know that the municipal park bench is a recurring motif in my prose. Imagine my unalloyed glee, then, to discover the existence of an actor and director named Park Bench. One of his films is called The Secret of Goat. These things make me extremely happy.