The King of Cornwall
The King's Pages
Correlating on a Chaise Longue
with a pot of black tea, my opium pipe full, in a padded silk gown and in my best lady slippers, with the dictaphone on and with batteries to spare, i begin (then pause... then start again)
listen up chaps (listen up ladies) the king's on his chaise longue today, thinking... (having a sip, lighting my pipe, giving it some thought... pause)
dear jennifer, when you're typing this up, i'd very pleased if you could do it in the nude, or better yet, not in the nude completely, but in a short skirt, and with a pearl necklace, like virginia bottomley might have worn, and little dangly pearl earrings, like that vermeer bird, and they jiggle and glint and sway and swoosh, and your breasts jennifer, your gloriously naked breasts, so hands inviting, mesmerising... (i digress)
so what is it with these global warmers? these climate change twerps? are they mentally ill? deranged? just stupid? what? i think it is for the king to get to the bottom of this (and to note... he's read CA and RC and the IPCC, he's done his research) - and so then, world...
well... (pause for a shortbread finger) - it's like this (having read orwell and kafka and crichton and proust, and all before breakfast, and joyce and szasz and all that jazz, and after having looked at a cezanne on the wall for over half an hour, and listened to the ring cycle too, all the way through, and then passed out)
(long pause) - dear jennifer, we need more tea, and the biscuits are running low... (and shall we try some madeleine?) and...
life is good, is it not? Life, is, Good! (ah, the sweet smell of opium in the morning!) dear jennifer, if a man from porlock should happen to call, and ask for my attention, please slap his face and kick his arse and send him on his way
i must find a corellation and magic it with meaning, and before the day is out... (pause)
now then, navier-stokes equations and the twirling chaotic smoke rising from my long clay pipe, and leaving that aside for a moment...
women! take women for instance... they've got this one egg per month thing going on... whereas we, we men and boys, we got gazillions of these baby-making things, lose a million here, a million there, who gives a toss? we don't care... but for a woman, careful recycling's the de rigeur... but for a man or boy to be recycling, well, he may as well put a dress on and powder his nose and have done with it
there, soon sorted, greenie men are girly men, confused by oestrogen
and have you noticed, in debates and talks they have on the tv, on youtube, wherever, the men on the skeptic side behave as Grown-Ups, trying to be Rational, like those Grown-Up Science men they had on the BBC in the 1950s, and the girly greenie types on the other side, like women having a pre-mentrual tension thing, and there's no reasoning with them
back then, a Grown-Up Science Man (perplexed at the irrationallty of the behaviour opposite) would simply muster a quizzical raising of his eyebrows, and that would be the end of the matter... but now what seems to have happened is this, the signal's gotten lost, got scrambled beyond repair... and the loonies aren't picking up on the signal, the message isn't getting through... that they're simple minded, and that we know that they're simple minded, and that really, really, they need to be in a hospital, or somesuch
what to do? what if, as seems to be the case, the raising of one'e eyebrows is no longer enough? (i have raised mine own for years without success) what if, as seems to be the case, they interpret the raising of quizzical eyebrows as an invitation for them to continue... as if we're somehow interested in their babblings and inanities and want them to continue, as if transfixed by their weirdo insanity
what to do to rectify the matter? slap them smartly about the head? punch them sweetly on the nose? box their ears? just say shoo, shoo, and hope they'll go away?
(pause)
