Feeding Big Spider
Big Spider is a spider who lives in our house. Today, he came out for a walk, so I fed him a live cricket.
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Alas! I complain
that Yorick is slain
and now he is lain
beneath the terrain
without any brain,
and never again
shall run down the lane
while risking a sprain
from bearing this Dane
on his back like a train.
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Another poem by G K Chesterton
I had grown weary of him; of his breath
And hands and features I was sick to death.
Each day I heard the same dull voice and tread;
I did not hate him: but I wished him dead.
And he must with his blank face fill my life -
Then my brain blackened; and I snatched a knife.
But ere I struck, my soul's grey deserts through
A voice cried, 'Know at least what thing you do.'
'This is a common man: knowest thou, O soul,
What this thing is? somewhere where seasons roll
There is some living thing for whom this man
Is as seven heavens girt into a span,
For some one soul you take the world away -
Now know you well your deed and purpose. Slay!'
Then I cast down the knife upon the ground
And saw that mean man for one moment crowned.
I turned and laughed: for there was no one by -
The man that I had sought to slay was I.
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(TTTO The Grand Old Duke of York)
A man in a film once swore
If he put his ear to the floor
He could learn all about the prevailing mood
From the echoes of the score
And a major key was glad
And a drum meant something bad
And the sound you can make with a muted horn
Would show that someone's sad
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I just dreamed I was starring in a Morgan Freeman film-- I mean, the dream was the film and I was Morgan Freeman who was playing a character in the dream. In the first part of the dream, you got to know his character. He ended up in the state capitol, and then there was some kind of a mix-up which led to him having to pretend he was a Republican state senator whose views on just about everything he found objectionable. (This state senator was in fact Thurman Thomas the football player who had decided to go into politics.) Anyway, you can imagine the sort of comedy resulting from him having to learn the guy's life history in five minutes. And then there was a tense filibuster scene and he saved the day, etc., but the capitol police suddenly realised he wasn't who he claimed to be. Then there was a car chase across three states, because my dreams have BUDGET, and an unsubtle political moment where he put the cops off the scent by taking off a hoodie.
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I'm just writing this down to get it out of my head so I can get on with work. TTTO the Nightmare Song from Iolanthe.
And I jump from my socks when I see a blue box
For it must have descended from heaven
And a man in a fez which he raises and says
Not to worry; he's only Eleven
And he's saving the Earth for whatever it's worth
From the threat of a Dalek disaster
But a fellow nearby has a glint in his eye
And I realise it must be the Master
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So, did I ever tell you about my Auntie Hero? She was my aunt. And it's true, she was only an aunt, but she always strove to be a great-aunt. She was practicing her auntcraft until she could be the ideal auntie-hero, and already I found her at the centre of every strange story. If there was ever someone who could make you feel like you were helplessly lost in the middle of a children's book from the nineteen-fifties, it was Auntie Hero.
Well, Auntie Hero lived in a ramshackle house with my Uncle Stan. That was what they called him, because that's where he came from: Unclestan is the most avuncular country in the world. Everyone there has a moustache, twirlable and waxed, and when you cross the border they'll queue up to pat you on the head and tell you you've grown-- I must say it confused me the first time. Well, strictly speaking, I didn't visit Unclestan, I just visited their embassy, in Niece.
Anyway, one day it was my eighth birthday, and Auntie Hero appeared as she always did, bearing a mysterious brown paper parcel as she always did. But this time, before I could even tear the wrapping...
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The doctor has put me on some tablets to help me sleep better. They're working, more or less. But now that I'm getting more time to dream, I'm finding I remember my dreams as if I'd been awake at the time. For example, I'm fairly sure I was dreaming when I had the chance to hear all four verses of the Betelgeusean Death Anthem aboard a doomed spaceship the other night.
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Kit and I spent a very happy afternoon at St Mary's Church, Thorpe, where they were having a pet blessing service to which Petra had invited us. We met several friendly dogs, and a rabbit. Someone I often chat to when he's working at Sainsbury's turned up with his ferrets. And Fr Damian was going to bring his cat, but she had other ideas.
We brought all three tarantulas and both millipedes. The best part, for me, was seeing people handling the creatures for the first time. A lady who may have been in her seventies said delightedly that she'd always wanted to hold a tarantula-- I think she may now be planning to get one of her own-- and a girl of about eleven was fascinated and called to her mum to take a photo of her holding Ucalegon Millipede.
It was, indeed, a little like The Vicar of Dibley.
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