Dinghy

Started work on the eighth Harry Potter novel today. Rowling initially reluctant to countenance outsourcing the project to another author but proved extremely co-operative once the scopolamine had taken effect. In one's defence, one did at first try to pitch the work to her through the proper channels but the author was reportedly dissatisfied with the way that the central plot featured Hogwarts being invaded and then occupied by Chechen separatists. Suffice to say that, not for the first time, border transgressions involving citizens of countries from the former Soviet Union are not resolved by merely shouting "Expelliarmus".  One learned that to considerable personal cost in South Ossetia.

Ultimate concentration is frequently required while indulging in one's artistic tendencies. So much so that one has developed a talent for self-hypnosis that allows one to continue typing even after rubbing cocaine into an open wound (those lovely fellows in the RUF are a fountain of useful information). So it was that, as yours truly sat down in front of the PC with a bottle of gin and a copy of the Harris levels for inspiration, one almost did not hear the incessant buzzing of the early warning system, installed in 1995, alerting one to the presence of a homosexual on the inbound ferry from Hollyhead. Drastic action would be required if the Homeland's dignity and sphinctral integrity was to be preserved.

After galvanising the hull of one's vessel, the dinghy-class HMS Protruberence, with the appropriate level of armour plating required for a soujourn into the arcadian waters of the Irish Sea, one set off, making sure that the Anti-Homosexuality Device was fully loaded and mounted on the prow. The Device is surely a miracle of modern scientific achievement. It is comprised of a large, rectangular speaker mounted on the front of the dinghy with a cable feeding back behind it into a Panasonic cassette player. The cassette loaded into this audio reproduction system contains a variety of anti-homosexual sentiments, playing on an infinite loop, chanted in the manner of a rally and designed to be played at gay funerals; "THERE IS NO PORTILLO HERE", "NO MORE MANDELSONS", "JOHN TERRY WILL FIND OUT ABOUT THIS", "JESUS WAS ALL MAN" and so forth.

Navigating the Irish Sea has traditionally proved a tricky prospect. Various floating obstacles abound, from the bodies of asylum seekers to the jutting wrecks of sunken U-Boats belying the incompetent nature of German seamanship in the first half of the 20th Century. None of these, however, are quite as formidable an impediment as the radioactive turds deposited in the sea by the outstanding Irish sewage disposal system. One of these days a dilligent historical researcher will uncover the true reasons behind the sinking of the Lusitania. Then the population of Wexford will really have something to answer for.  Put it this way; do you really think that's a sandbank off the Wicklow coast? 

Fortunately, one had the foresight to install a lookout post on the Protruberence after numerous past attempts at traversing this cumbersome body of water resulted in considerable embarassment and, on occasion, extreme Hepatitis.  The post itself consists of a broom handle sellotaped to the floor of the Protruberence with a glass tumbler three-quarters way up its length acting as the lookout perch.  Acquiring volunteers for the post was troublesome but one was eventually able to locate a magpie - Jones - down on its luck enough to accept the position.  Avoiding collisions like the Orange Order avoid the Gervaghy Road would surely now be as easy as dropping a cat into a wheelie bin.

One caught sight of one's quarry emerging from a rain squall over the horizon. Taking cue from the actions of the Battleship Hood during the Battle Of The Denmark Strait, one immediately switched to top speed and made straight for the Sealink Ferry with the intention of closing the distance rapidly in order to minimise the risk of plunging shell fire from the Ferry's no doubt extensive clandestine armaments (Ferrying residents of Kilbarrack to and from Wales will inevitably have an effect on ship armaments). Once the distance had been closed, one's aim was to activate the AHD, wait for the individual in question to collapse in a gibbering wreck brought on by the inevitable nervous breakdown, then board the ship, encase the individual in liquid nitrogen and dispose of him in a suitably brusque fashion.

Unfortunately, it was at this point that fate dealt its cruel hand.  After activating the AHD and assuming position at the bow of the vessel, breasts shining in the mid-day sun, a sudden, unwelcome impact reverberated throughout the hull and almost dislodged one from one's pulpit at the prow.  Turning to assess the situation, the cause of the impact was all too apparent: a kamikaze strike from a rogue, radicalised cormorant had compromised the rudder.

Perhaps one should explain; During one's hospitalisation last year in the aftermath of events that took place on the campaign trail for Mr. Ahmadinejad, one passed the time by training various species of avain wildlife to re-enact the Battle Of Leyte Gulf, kamikaze runs being a task which cormorants proved surprisingly adept and, it must be said, willing.  All that time spent being molested or shot at by junior infants on the Liffey would admittedly sap their appreciation for life.  The practical applications of such an endeavour are manifest and obvious.  Should Japanese foreign policy awaken from its fission-induced slumber, what better to combat their encroachment than migratory birds equipped with Molotovs and Tesla Coils (work in progress).  Granted, one encountered considerable difficulty configuring the guidance systems of the birds after one had strapped the ordinance to their torsos but if all else fails there is a flawless contingency strategy: stuff a sperm whale with TNT and beat it into heading for Tokyo Harbour.

One digresses, apologies.

It was during these sea trials that several specimes escaped captivity and fucked off leaving yours truly decidedly non-plussed as to how to relocate them.  The satisfaction of now having rediscovered a wayward test subject however was tempered by the manner in which it was "rediscovered".  The rediscovery now meant that one's vessel could steer in only one direction - bypassing the ferry by some forty feet.  In spite of this setback, one resolved not to lower one's composure for a second.  The sight of one's vessel - Anti-Homosexuality Device active, magpie in the crow's nest, deep-fried cormorant protruding from the engine, yours truly standing proud and erect on the bow - speeding across the path of the ferry as hordes of slack-jawed degenerates on board took time out from romanticising their own kin to observe one's valiant but failed interception was surely a sight for the ages.  An image to rank alongside raising the flag at Iwo Jima or the Execution of KWK only with more war criminals.

With little left to do but hope that landfall took place in that narrow segment of the Cumbrian coastline that does not boast either a sewage treatment facility, a nuclear power installation or an amateur marksman on the rounds, one ended up taking out one's frustrations on Jones.  Bad enough that he misses a perfectly obvious incoming projectile, worse still that his Scrabble skills leave a considerable amount to be desired, hoarding as he did all the "X" tiles when one resolved to rupture the tedium by starting an impromptu game.  One has sympathy indeed for the Apollo 13 astronauts who endured a similar predicament.  But even they, it must be stated, never had to deal with antagonistic avian life.  Unless there is something extremely serious that NASA are keeping from public knowledge.  Which if it exists is probably better for all concerned.

Thoughts for the day:

#1  Serbian film-making seems to have taken a very interesting right-turn recently.  If this is the standard that can be expected from Serbia, what's going to happen in A Bosnian Film?  Three-thousand prostitutes get sent on a forced march naked through a nail factory before being shot in the back by their own children and buried in a mass grave outside an abbatoir that doubles for Sarajevo's finest hotel?

#2  Possibility that ETA declared ceasefire just so they could be back in the news remains likely.  Little known fact that they set off a bomb in the Costa Del Sol recently but nobody noticed or gave a toss.  Sort of like when a band's 10th album goes in at number three then drops out a week later.

#3  Spider disposal techniques in the United Kingdom leave a great deal to be desired.