Mystic Mystical Person Speaks Mysteriously! (and fails!)

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Secrets in the Clouds

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Mr Pots! Would you like a tea?

 

                                                       Mr Pots                                  Rob

Frog-Snail, or Rob as he was known for short, was walking home from work, minding his own business, when he accidentally tripping on the pavement and fell over.
  He fell right on his back!

  The squirrels in the trees were laughing with glee it was such a funny sight!

  Then out of nowhere a strange looking tramp jumped out of a bush, lifted Rob up and shouted at him, 'Here have some of this son!' then he poured a bottle of whiskey down Robs throat!  'This will make it better!' he said, assuringly.

  Just at that minute Mr Pots came rushing hp the lane.  'Now stop that my friend!' he cried at the tramp.  'Don't feed Rob whiskey!  He is allergic to it, so his doctor says.'

  'O sorry,' said the tramp, and he bowed his head in a sad way.  'I was just trying to be a gentleman and help out a fellow frog.'

  'Slow down son,' said Mr pots to the tramp.  'Rob is not FULL frog.  He's half snail, you see?'

  'I shall remember that next time I jump to someone's rescue,' said the tramp.  'Look,' he went on.  'I feel so guilty I want to make it up to you.  Here.  Let me give you this.'

  He gave Mr Pots his tatty old bow tie!

  'Have this,' said the tramp.  'I wore it to a wedding once.  Someone confused me for the best man - this was back during the war remember.   YES!  I am that. young!'

  The tramp was being sarcastic of course!  He spat on the floor and then he walked away, leaving Mr Pots with his pot head spinning with great confusion.

  What was this?

  This was the first time he had seen a bow tie before.

  'I have never seen such a confusticated thing,' said Mr Pots.

  Rob didn't respond.  He was far too drunk to say a single word of the Queen's English!

  ... but he could still speak a little bit of double dutch!!

  'I will need help with this,' said Mr Pots.  

  'I think you wear it about your belt,' said Rob.

  'Really?' said Pots.  'Okay.  Maybe you are right.  But how would I tie it to my belt.  Maybe someone could help me with this?'

  But every person he asked ignored him.

  One person actually knocked him down to the ground!

  'What unhelpful people,' said Mr Pots standing up and brushing his coat down.  'What's wrong with people these days?  What's wrong with respect and manners?'

  'Vanished down the drain,' Rob replied.  

  Mr Pots was fascinated by the metaphor.

  'Down the drain?' he said.  

  'Yes like my marriage,' said Rob.  'Don;t get me wrong, Mr Pots.  I lixed my ex wife dearly.  She introduced me to whiskey after al!'

  'Ah yes!    That stuff you are allergic to!  Come now my good sir.  Let's forget the good stuff and seek help with this matter of mine concerning the bow tie!'

  They sought out one of the local shops, a garage to be precise, where the prices were enormously high.

  Mr Pots strutted right up to the counter and threw his bow tie down upon it.  

  Then he turned and said to the shopkeeper, 'Tell me what to do with this and I will make you a tea.'

  'Make me a tea hey?'said the shopkeeper.  'Will there be a little nip of whiskey in it?'

  'Rob will help out with the whiskey,' said Mr Pots.  'So what say you?  Do we have a deal?'

  'I will take this bow tie for now,' said the shopkeeper.  'I will return with an answer, if you agree to look after the shop while I am gone.'

  'Of course!' said Mr Pots.  'I have no idea how to run a shop but let's do it!  Where are you off to if you don't mind my asking?'

  'I am going to attend a wedding,' said the shopkeeper.  'It's an old friend of mine whose getting married!  A tramp, no less.  He was in the war as well!  How marvellous for him and for the rest of us, as it was men like him who fought for our freedom!'

  'The best generation ever to live!' said Mr Pots.

  So Mr Pots was left to run the shop.

  'This is so exciting!' he said.  'I am a shop owner!  I am finally self employed!  The job centre has nothing on me anymore.'

  'I say there can sample some of that whiskey,' said Rob.  'I just want to make sure I am not allergic to it anymore.'

  'Better not risk it,' said Mr Pots.

  'Why you beast!' said Rob, and he fell to the floor shaking about like a 90's Disco going luny!

  Just then the doorbell rang.

  Mr Pots had his first customer!

  And in strutted a big fat old horse!

  'How can I help you?' said Mr Pots.

  'High there sir,' the horse replied.  'Do you have any nuts.'

  'No idea!  We could sell elephants for all I know!'

  'Okay.  What about acorns?  Do you have any of them for sale?'

  'I'll have a look.  No!  NO Acorns for sale.  But there is an acorn tree growing out in the back.  I can pick some of them for you, and then you won't have to pay!'

  'That sounds like a plan!' the horse replied.  'Just as well they are free because I don't have any money with me!  Haha!'

  'No worries,' said Mr Pots.  'Just wait a moment.'

  Mr Pots came back five minutes later with a handful of acorns.  

  But when he returned the horse was gone.

  Standing in place of the vast beast was a man with a gun.

  'Hello there,' said mr Pots to the armed stranger.  'It's nice to have new customers but I must remind you that we close in the next five minutes.'

  The man with the gun looked unimpressed.  'I mean to rob this place he said.

  Mr Pots chuckled.  'Well I can't help you with that,' he said.  'But I can offer you some free acorns.'

  Just then Rob woke up from his drunken stupor.  'I don't suppose you have seen a horse about have you?' he said.  'That mare owes me a bag of peanuts.'

  'I will give you peanuts,' said the man with the gun.

  He swung round, meaning to shoot, but just then Mr Pots sneezed out of his snout - his lid jumped in the air and fell on the man's head!

  The armed man was out for the count.

  'I hope he is alright,' said Mr Pots, 'he seemed like a nice fellow!'

  Just then the armed police arrived.

  'You have done a fine job Mr Pots,' said the leader of MI5.  'We have been looking for that foul man for many a year!'

  'Who? Rob?  No!  He is no man.  He is half frog and half snail.'

  'No!  I mean the man you just cunningly defeat with those acorns there.  Nice job Mr Pots!  You're a public here.  We want to invite you to a celebration!  There will be drinks and all sorts of good things!  Are you up for it Mr Pots?'

  'Sure thing!' said Mr Pots.  'I am ready and raring, or should I say ready and brewing?  Haha!  Because that is what I do, you see?  I brew tea.  And the best tea you will find in this part of the country.'

  'And I supply the whiskey!' said Rob.

  'That's good stuff,' said the leader of MI5.  'O!  But Mr Pots!  There is one thing you will need to bring with you if you want to join the celebration.'

  'O Yes and what is that might I ask?'

  'Your best bow tie!'

  Mr Pots recovered his tea pot lid and let a lot of steam out of his snout.

  'O damn!' he cursed.  'Looks like I will be spending the night alone with a cup of tea!'

  'And me!' said Rob.

  Mr Pots said a nasty swear word.

  It was all he could do!

  

THE END  

... or is it ?????
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Make the Heatwave Stop!

Want to do a deal ?

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We live in it

A drink in my hand

a smoke in my mouth - these are the things I live for,

Sing for - 

There are certain things I hope luck bides by time,

and offers up to me:

To live old enough to live, but not too old to forget

Live long enough to see what's inside of my head finally put outside of my head - 

A world placed nicely down on paper.

Too Live long enough to know I have been me - and no one else.

Live long enough to see the madness through,

say I won,

Say I finally beat that damn thing - 

but darn is it one tough thing I must beat - 

to think and live in Hope,

Like hope is going to have great wings that are going to scoop me up

and then grow great sails on its back and with these go forth, with a gentle sea beneath and a silver cloud flying above,

As we go sailing together into the light.

What a thing to live for...

Living for a thing that doesn't think - 

Only hovers outside of the brink...

in a place where knowledge has no meaning,

and thoughts and souls are evaporating into the wind.

What a thing it is to live for something that is not there,

and yet governs all things:

Where lightning falls,

where flowers grow:

who lives

who dies.

In my eyes there are stars that are dying,

and yet I hold my drink

and I take a deep breath

and I live in Hope,

I hope I live long enough to see it through...

Worlds born on paper,

and the madness evaporating into the wind.

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Bob's Axe

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Loud hooligan ruins the peace and quiet! (+ Isle of Wight tribute!)

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