Sinister: Boolean boolean boolean

[Lucy Alder]

So, I was concerned about the Poetry Parrot.  Is that a crime?  I know
he's an annoying little fuckwit, but that doesn't mean I don't look out
for him.  And if he disappears for any considerable length of time, I get
in touch with the Missing Parrots Bureau.  As it turns out, Daplyn's email
is up the swanny at the moment.  Or, at least, her tappity light box
doesn't seem to like dialling S-I-N-I-S-T-E-R.  So, she asked me to
forward that which she wrote.  And here it is.

--- Daplyn Elizabeth <Elizabeth.Daplyn at haringey.gov.uk> wrote:

> Subject: Boolean boolean boolean
> 
> 
> ATTENTION ADULTS
> 
>   Ooh!  Ken was organised and organised some bowling: this was a good
> thing.
> And Rowan's is dead dead close to my house, hurrah.  Unfortunately, I
> failed
> to feed people tea and cake, but just went to the pub and played rubbish
> pool after being rubbish at bowling.  Also, the Red Bull Dozers had
> their
> live debut in the form of Ken and Stefano performing a song close to our
> hearts. 
> 
> MON AMOUR TOKYO
> 
>   Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I heard the vague whisper of a rumour
> about
> a certain fantastical fowl being sent my way.  I do hope it wasn't true.
> 
>   But what's this?  No sooner do I come back from lunch and get stuck
> into
> some nice satisfying shredding, standing gazing vaguely into space and
> thinking fondly about the rainy train journey to Portsmouth I'll be
> undertaking this evening, than there's an almighty crash at the
> stationery
> room window.  I peek through the blinds to find an infuriated and wet,
> but
> still gaudy, parrot clinging just barely to the inadequate windowsill.
> 
>   "Ach, ye dozy hen, let us in then!  Ah'm bluidy freezin' ma feathurs
> off
> oot here."  I flip the latch and let the bedraggled bird in.
> 
>   "Aye, aboot time too.  Ah tell ye whut, yr lady burrds are fancy doon
> here, but they don't pay any attention to a puir auld gentleman parrot.
> It's no' easy bein' green.  And ah had a veeeery narrow escape frum that
> nuttur Stout Robin.  He kept wantin' me to visit his Dairy or somesuch.
> Ah'm nae fool, ah stay weel aswa' frae coos.  And that Miss Madeleine,
> she'll catch her deeth sitting oot on the fire escape wi' a wee guitar,
> the
> great hussy.  Nice knickers though."  
> 
>   "But when did you develop such an awfully common Glaswegian twang, oh
> Poetry Parrot my old friend?  Have you been hanging around with those
> squirrels again?"
> 
>   "Och, ah dud that to make me sim exotic when ah wis in Australia.
> Besides, they're all convicts' weans there, they appreciate a guid jock
> lad
> awright.  Especially the lassies.  OHO THE LASSIES!"
> 
>   "Quiet!" I hiss, shoving him in a cupboard with lever arch files and
> post-it notes in it.  "I'll get fired if they find you here." 
> 
>   To pacify the beastie, I quickly typed up and printed out a couple of
> nice
> brief verses to feed him with.
> 
> -----
> Perfect (On the Western Seaboard of South Uist) 
> 
> I found a pigeon's skull on the machair,
> All the bones pure white and dry, and chalky,
> But perfect,
> Without a crack or a flaw anywhere.
> 
> At the back, rising out of the beak,
> Were domes like bubbles of thin bone,
> Almost transparent, where the brains had been
> That fixed the tilt of the wings.
>        
>        Hugh MacDiarmid
> -----
> 
>   And to follow, more or less after the work of Hans Holbein (Elder and
> Younger):
> 
> -----
> Portraits of Tudor Statesmen
> 
> Surviving is keeping your eyes open,
> Controlling the twitchy apparatus
> Of iris, white cornea, lash and lid.
> 
> So, the literal painter set it down - 
> The sharp raptorial look; strained eyeball;
> And mail, ruff, bands, beard, anything, to hide
> The violently vulnerable neck.
> 
>         U. A. Fanthorpe
> -----
> 
>   With that for it to chew over, I'll tape that blinkin' parrot's beak
> shut
> with parcel tape and package it up to forward via sneaky use of the
> office
> postal service to: 
>   
> Gordon
> A Very Small Swimming Pool
> Somewhere in Scotland
> (probably)
> 
>   Don't let the parrot drink too much, he gets lairy.  You should take
> him
> to the next Winchester Club, though, which I believe is quite soon.  Cue
> advert from the AlL(uc)y unit.
> 
> BABY PORTABLE ROCK
> 
>   Tara a bit.
> 
>     Love,
>       Liz :x
> 
> 
> **************************************************************
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>  

=====
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