Snark. Dictionary definition… oh codswallop. There is only one definition of Snark that matters and that is the Lewis Carroll version.
Carroll is most famous for Alice in Wonderland, however the Hunting of the Snark is equally delightful. This agony in 8 fits about a Bellman and his crew in search of a snark is a quirky, funny nonsense tale. I’m not sure whether there was any ‘rationale’ behind the Snark story. Certainly Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland is filled with characters which are a parody of key figures of the day, or even the author himself. My favourite of Carroll’s subtle jibes is the suggestion that the Lion and Unicorn are representative of the British Prime Ministers Gladstone and Disraeli.
If I was today going to write a parody and feature our new Prime Minister as a character, I’d have to choice between a Goanna and a Puffer fish – a poisonous toady looking thing. Puffer fish are supposedly more poisonous than cyanide. I think Abbott definitely fits that bill.
Don’t you think the likeness is scarily accurate? True, I’m not sure that puffer fishes ride bicycles wearing a set of budgie smugglers but it would sure be hilarious if they did!
Recently I’ve heard of not one, but two people getting married where their parents have refused to come to the wedding. Now there may be some people who are so estranged from their parents that ma and pa aren’t even invited. Here this was not the case. It usually takes hearing something like this to make me reflect on how good my parents are to me. I am indeed very fortunate however the praise shall stop there. If you imagine that like sun screen protection factors, there was a public praise factor, then my parents would be about an SPF 3. My parents would be far more comfortable with me airing their faults to the world.
My mother’s fault, I think I have commented upon before. She truly believes that machines are untrustworthy beasts who have a personal vendetta against her. Even toasters! (I’m sure I once wrote a blog post about her favourite INEFFECTIVE toaster but I cannot find it). To be fair to my mum, she does seem to have an unusually temperamental relationship with mechanical objects. Recently she blew up the oven (I want to know what she was REALLY cooking in there). The other day it was the vacuum cleaner’s turn.
My father on the other hand, is not a technophobe – he’s a “close-a-phobe”. Dad has a habit of leaving open cupboard doors, not shutting down the computer, leaving the radio on… and all of this drives my mother batty! I have to smile at this. If I should ever get to be with one person for 41 years of my life and the thing that irritates me most is that they haven’t logged off the computer, then I will call myself very fortunate indeed. Oh actually, I forgot something… dad invariably likes to unpack his orchids in the house. You may not think this is a great problem until you come to appreciate that these ‘little babies’ are usually packed with shredded newspaper… and some of them fall out of their pots en route. This leaves a trail of bark and paper whenever they have been which results in my mother having to interact with the untrustworthy beast that is the vacuum cleaner – or a broom – I don’t think the latter have a vendetta against my mum… or do they?
My parents also run the cat hotel. It’s 5 star accommodation for your most treasured feline companions. My girls have stayed there, as has Pickle and Gesso. My brothers boys – Tilly and Willow – have also called it home at times, and last, but not least, my grandmother’s cat Tiggy.
Best of all, the usual residents (see left for Poirot and Pippy) are reasonably tolerant of the house guests.
It was also Chilli’s home for most of her life. There she was pampered and spoilt and fed on demand as part of her anti-vomit feeding regime. She even got to sit on the kitchen bench as illustrated below – and mum or dad have given her a mat to sit on. If that’s not 5 star luxury I don’t know what is!
So when the daily post put the theme as what luxury could you not live without, the answer was clear – my public praise factor 3, technophobe, bark dropping parents. I am indeed a lucky girl.
I have a feeling my take on ‘down’ is going to be fairly unique. There may be others who have, macabrely, followed the burial path. Yet, I’m sure that there won’t be others who have both the coffin and the ‘down and staying down’ sign!
For readers who are not Australian, the big red hand in the photo is part of an advertising campaign for one of Australia’s supermarkets. It is an incredibly irritating add with people singing and using giant red hands as props to emphasis the ‘tagline’ of ‘down and staying down’ (referring to the prices).
One day Andrew came home with a giant red hand. I said to him – what are you going to do with that? He couldn’t answer.
Then, a few months later, I found the ‘down and staying down’ hand had met one of Andrew’s other strange collectibles: his coffin. I laughed and laughed. When I read that the weekly photo theme was down, I knew I had to take a shot of this and post it.
Tonight, the blogging community is adrift. Many souls are pacing floors around the world waiting for the Daily Post to upload the weekly photo challenge theme. Someone’s tardiness seems to have caused quite a stir. I bet there’s someone running around the daily post office this very minute in a panic ‘white rabbit style’.
[I’ll be] executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets.
To avoid any untimely deaths, I propose the theme should be ‘late’.
This would allow everyone to spend the week trying to find rabbits in waistcoats with pocket watches. I looked briefly for one; failed; and decided I’d upload a cat photo instead.