Uncle Leucocholy's Cacti Enigma

-

Following the prickly pear incident, Uncle Leucocholy insisted on dressing as a deep sea diver whenever close to cacti.

When asked about this behaviour he would always reply, “L’objet d’art, par définition, est le crocodile empaillé”. 

Uncle Leucocholy's Cacti Enigma

It is interesting to note:

  • Uncle Leucocholy did not speak French.
  • Uncle Leucocholy could not swim.
  • Uncle Leucocholy once wore a pair of faux crocodile shoes to a performance of Mussorgsky’s “Pictures at an Exhibition”.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

October 4th 1926, Rue Lafayette

-
Image
October 4th 1926 Rue Lafayette, Paris André Breton sees Nadja for the first time. A new day. I put on gloves of foam. Much later, à la station balnéaire, I became gloves of horsehair. Time for tea. I'm putting the kettle on. Effrontément.
Read more

The Professor Encounters a Cryptozoologist

-
Image
In recent years, the Professor has become fascinated by the legend of The Almost Invisible Cat of Aston by Budworth. He has told me on numerous and, frankly, wholly inopportune occasions that he regards this legend as a fine metaphor for both our age and also the state of Implausible Scholarship.  He was, however, enraged by a recent paper published in “The Journal of Insupportable News and Questionable Theories” which suggested that the creature actually exists in this world (or reality, as it's sometimes called). It went so far as to allege that the cat was known by the name “Rakehelly Sausagement”.  The author of this paper, Mr Stonton Wyville, is both an eminent cryptozoologist and a specious opportunist who is probably best known for his essay “Mermaid of Mawgan Porth” and his televised documentary “The Unexpected Dog Wearing A Hat of Mortimer's Cross”. The Professor has attempted to enter into a debate on this issue but Wyville insists on presenting his arguments solely ...
Read more

Chief Inspector Drongway and the Case of the Disappearing Bails

-
Image
I came across the following photograph, stapled to a receipt for spoon rests, as I tried to make sense of the Professor's treasury of learned papers and other tea chests. The Professor considered the photograph with some interest before beginning to explain.  “Ah, the Case of the Disappearing Bails. A cause célèbre of the 1960s. At critical moments during significant matches, the bails would suddenly and inexplicably vanish. People were up in arms and stiff letters were written to the MCC, various members of the House of Lords and other incorrigibles. Eventually, Chief Inspector Drongway was called in to investigate.” The Professor stared absent-mindedly out of the window at a passing milkman before continuing: “Everybody had the greatest faith in Drongway of the Yard, so called because he owned a small yard behind a pub where he kept his valuable collection of Edwardian unicycles. However, no arrests were ever made. The belief expressed by journalists and other wastrels was that t...
Read more