Monday, 28 February 2011


The Dracula Appreciation Society’s members were looking forward to their AGM, and who could blame them?
Their Founder/President beamed with pride in anticipation of all that the annual event would provide.
A new bust of Bram Stoker was to be unveiled and the Treasurer presented with an engraved poker.
The society’s membership had substantially grown, as founder member, Patrick Fussett had somehow always known.
Judging by the number of vampire film and TV spin-offs, regard for the fictive Count was not something held by Patrick alone.
The Dracula fans, gathered by Patrick, often dressed up like the legendary vampire,
Complete with fangs and flowing capes—behaviour seen by others as japes—they’re known collectively as the ‘Caped Crew.’
The Caped Crew’s dos couldn’t do without their eccentric caterer, Ada Fallowball,
Providing more than their refreshments, seemingly she does it all!
‘I don’t know what we’d do without Ada,’ Patrick habitually asserts.
Not intentionally sounding patronising in the manner, which he blurts.
Ada has her flaws, he knows, but atleast she never flirts.
Some of her idiosyncrasies are quirky, but her attitude towards vampires hurts.
To Patrick and the society’s dismay, she seems to think they are real vampires!
To protect herself she wears a garlic necklace, carries crucifixes and vials of holy water.
She regularly checks to see if society members have shadows and reflections, or seem to avoid sunlight.
Patrick’s gentle attempts to disabuse her of her views met with Ada’s brusque resistance and have long since been abandoned.
On balance, Patrick knew, Ada was efficient helper to the point of being indispensable, while her delusional beliefs were an embarrassment to him and his members.
Not that it was her fault, he remembers.
Still, she was theirs—the realisation elicits Patrick’s proprietorial pride.
She is the caped crew’s Ada, he smirks to himself and at the exact same instant she died!

Thursday, 17 February 2011


You can run things through your mind and jog your memory.
Your heart can be racing and there can be things on the tip of your tongue that you can’t put your finger on.
By the same token, a heavy heart weighs no more than it normally does.
Anymore than someone who is tearful is full of tears.
However, sweat pours from pores and fungal foot infections can form spores between the toes.
Chiropody costs money and you can’t foot the bill if you’ve blown your money,
But you should regularly blow your nose, especially when it’s runny.
Butterflies in your stomach would first have to be swallowed,
With great difficulty for those with frogs in their throats, which—
Don’t forget—already have apples in them.
Armpits are no such thing, and while broken arms can be supported by a sling,
For a broken heart, there is no such thing.
Despite the expression to the contrary, palms do not provide eating surfaces for others.
Ambiguously, shaking hands is both a type of formal greeting and a symptom of various neurological conditions.
When you vent your spleen it doesn’t mean it’s ventilated,
Lungs though can be assisted by a ventilator,
While getting things off your chest does not refer to mastectomies or, usually, even the removal of clothes.
Going out on a limb would make most pedestrians hopping mad, etc, etc, ad infinitum…

Saturday, 12 February 2011


By Anji Noracull, Cultural Affairs Editor for Narolc's World.

Despite the current economic climate, the Ministry of Mediocrity is offering to create several dozen multi-millionaires this year. The riches are attainable in fields relevant to contemporary culture like sport, the arts and entertainment—as the Rt. Hon. Digory Polyp, Minister of Mediocrity, explains.

‘Those interested in the wealthy positions on offer,’ says Polyp, ‘Need not have previous experience or inherent talent. In fact, the malleable and mundane stand as great a chance as independent geniuses.’

The well-paid posts, as performing musicians, artists, writers, comics and footballers, will also provide fame through exhaustive media attention.

But critics of the ministerial scheme have called on Mr. Polyp to answer claims that his ideas will accelerate cultural deterioration in the UK and will only attract vapid, pliable puppets.

‘The suggestion that the ministry is seeking to employ puppets is completely misleading,’ Mr. Polyp replied. ‘All the posts are open to applicants without discrimination and with no strings attached.’ He added, ‘The selection process, too, is entirely democratic.’

However, the selection process seems arbitrary and shrouded in mystique with ‘celebrities’ appearing overnight from nowhere. Owing to the ministry’s confidentiality and discretion (‘C&D’) policy, details of how they were ‘selected’ prior to their emergence into the public eye are impossible to find. A cynic might suggest that anyone with half a mind to apply for the positions is adequately equipped.

Tuesday, 8 February 2011


Who invented the phrase: ‘Good grief?’
Surely, it’s a contradiction in terms, but examining the nature of grief opens a can of worms, which is an expression coined by anglers.
Or so I believe.
How do you grieve?
It’s a simple question no two people will answer the same.
Lots of people are emotionally reticent and—unless they’re also inarticulate—they’re not to blame.
Perhaps what is felt cannot be defined, which lends credence to the concept of grief as unique and individually refined.
Whether it is or it isn’t, I really don’t mind.
Grief-stricken people, mind, invariably expect others to be kind.
Scavengers for sympathy are never hard to find, but I suspect, no one suffers like a stoic.
If all emotional experiences are totally unique to the individual, why is there typically a pressing need to share one’s feelings with others?
Why engage in a pathetic quest to find some common ground when, ironically, the only common ground is the grave?

Words fail me, as language fails the human race, when people refuse to agree on their meaning.
This is a habitual tactic—of semantic retreat—adopted by the weak to avoid being deprived of that which they seek.
Moving goalposts only works as a strategy with the complicity of berks.
Like the Emperor’s clothes, it requires the social compliance of persons capable of prolonged self-deception—something a self-respecting person loathes.
To prefer the delusional comfort these regularly occurring scenarios provides indicates, generally speaking, that people’s confidence is typically so shallow their behaviour becomes absurd.

Now, I’m off to shout at the backs of some deaf people in the hope that I’ll be heard!