Saturday, 13 February 2010

Saturday 13 February 2010

I have been developing a theory.  It involves pigs.

The chap who farms the land adjacent to my partner's workplace has been developing and extending his piggery, at the bottom of the hill, approximately a mile away.  The genesis of my theory came about when I noticed the construction and development works at this piggery.

My theory is this: that if one were to lick (not harm in any way; just lick the flank) of a pig, one would taste the delightful flavour of bacon.  The pig would appreciate the licking - contrary to popular opinion, pigs are actually very clean creatures - and my taste-buds would be happily assailed with one of my favourite flavours in life; everyone's a winner.  I began to formulate a plan.

Alas - all my speculative plots ended in discovery by my partner and the inevitable punishments that would ensue.  I even went as far as mentioning this to Ewan (a dog owned by a colleague of my partner).  If you are a long-time reader of this blog, you will know all about the dog Ewan (diametrically opposed to my partner's delightful 5-year-old nephew, who is also, confusingly, named Ewan.  SO selfish of my partner's brother and sister-in-law to name their child without a thought to the confusion it would cause in my blog.  But some people consider only themselves.  Selfish.).  To Ewan (dog), the act of thinking and thought-processing is just something for others (the boffins) to worry about.  Ewan has an intellect that would shame a parsnip.

And yet it is impossible to hate him.  Many times, I have wished to batter him until the pea that sits in his head, where his brain should be, working the controls, rolls out of his ear waving a little white flag.  But Ewan loves and adores everyone he meets.  His simple capacity for friendliness and good humour in every part of his existence and his selfless concern and enthusiasm for the wellbeing of others more than balances out his cerebral disadvantages.  Above all - Ewan was a sympathetic listener and Fizzy, his basketmate and now (inexplicably - given her intelligence) his wife, even suggested some improvements to my piggy-plans.  But my doubts remained.  I sighed, heavily.

"Oh,"  I lamented, "If only I was in charge of the world.  Things would be so much easier."

"Well...yes..." replied Ewan, doubtfully.  "But it would be SUCH a burden of responsibility.  After all, in any given dictatorship the suppressed proletariat will inevitably revolt against their oppressors - leading to a revolutionised democratic society."

I was unable to bark.  I stared, open-mouthed, at Ewan and his sudden, inexplicable, ascent into lucidity and intellectual debate.

"Also - Jasper - consider the fate of the Capets in the French Revolution, the Romanovs in the Bolshevik Russian Revolution, and - indeed - the changing fortunes of our own Stuart royal family in the Civil War, the period of the Commonwealth, the ensuing Restoration and finally the Glorious, Bloodless, Revolution.  As Shakespeare is wont to remind us: 'Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.'  Dictatorship - however well-intentioned - is fraught with perils.  After all, deprive ANY culture of food for more than three days and you WILL have anarchy.  The example of history confirms it."

I was barkless.  UTTERLY barkless.  As I stared at Ewan, he lit a pipe, and leaned back in an easy-chair, allowing his argument to sink in.

"Oh g-d." I groaned, despairingly.  "This is a s-dding DREAM, isn't it?"
"Ah, poor Jasper." said a giant lamb-chop, as it floated past my head, "Of course it is.  Sorry about that..."

Frustrated and annoyed, I opened my eyes to a brand new day.

I refused to let my dream spoil the day, however.  This was the appointed date for Operation Piggery, after all.  My partner began to grow suspicious as she drove into work and noticed the fixed look of concentration on my face as we passed the piggery.
"What are you up to, Jazz?" she enquired.
"Nothing." I replied earnestly. "Just admiring the piggies."
"Hmmm...."  How do they always know when we are up to something?  I cannot fathom it.

She repeated her query once we had arrived at work and spied me tipclawing out of the work-yard.  I was gently propelled into the office and onto my cushion and blanket 'neath her desk.
"Jasper, you are up to something." she declared.  As I shook my head, my partner continued.  "It's written all over your face.  I don't know what it is, but I'm sure it involves those pigs."
"No, no, no!" I protested. "I have no such scheme.  Upon my honour - upon my life - I have NEVER given a thought to those pigs."

At that moment, Ewan and Fizzy's partner pulled into the work yard and the two dogs leapt from the car.  They were, of course, both complicit in my plans.  VERY foolishly, I had made up a song for Ewan so that he would remember what we were going to attempt and Fizzy had helped me to teach it to him.  We'd set it to the tune of his favourite song.  Gritting my teeth and wincing painfully, I watched my partner through the corner of one eye as the sound of Ewan loudly singing his song with carefree abandon echoed around the yard...

"If you will farm near the woods today,
You're sure of a big surprise!
If you put pigs near the woods today,
You're really not being too wise!

'Cause Jasper and Fizzy and Ewan too
Will visit the pigs who will oink "How d'you do?"
For today's the day the farmer will have his pigs licked!"

As Ewan laughed madly and began his song again, my partner looked at me with one eyebrow raised.
"Anything you'd like to add to that, Jasper?" she asked, dryly.

I flopped down onto my bed and prepared for sleep, reluctantly consigning Operation Piggery to the dustbin of history.
"No, madam." I sighed resignedly.  "Nothing to add at all."

Good night.
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