Rambling Uphill

As I watched Roth pulled a small tube from a pocket on his snow jacket and deftly, despite the gloves, pushed a small button. Out of one end came a point and shaft, out of the other came a flag which unfurled in the harsh cold wind. He turned it up the right way and spiked it into the ground.

He stood back and saluted, "For King and Country," he bellowed against the wind.

"We have a Queen now," I bellowed back.

"Does no one tell me anything, anymore?" came the reply.

We sat down by a nearby snow covered rock, which gave some shelter from the blizzard that had enveloped us.

"You know," I said, "I'd always expected the top of a mountain to be kinda, well,... "

"Pointy?" Roth completed.

"Yes, exactly. Pointy. This is quite flat. Because of the blizzard we've had to walk around quite a bit to make sure it doesn't go up more than this. When I drew mountains as a child, they always had a point on the top and a completely obvious place to put a flag. We bumbled around for ages before we found what you called The Right Spot."

"Shall we explore?"

"Yes, OK. The snow and wind seems to have abated a little."

We set off towards the middle of the summit and were surprised to find a petite woman sitting in a slightly snow encrusted padded armchair. It was our friend Eolist.

"I wondered when you two would turn up. Did you stop off for a curry on the way?"

"Where would we find a curry house half way up a mountain?" exclaimed Roth.

"Well, there was this doorway in the rock face that opened directly into...Owwww!" Roth dropped his rucksack on my foot.

"What are you doing up here?" I asked, knowing that if the question were returned I couldn't begin to answer.

"Getting away from it all, seeking a bit of peace and quiet," she reflected for a moment, "although the blizzard was somewhat loud and annoying."

Answering the question that hadn't been asked, Roth said, "I'd invited iDifficult here over to help me with something at the bottom of my garden. Last Tuesday."

"I thought I was perfectly safe, seeing as he lives in a third floor apartment. I thought I'd go there, he'd realise he didn't have a garden and we'd go and eat pizza."

"Yes, my apartment comes with a share of a large communal garden."

"In bloody Nepal..."

Resolving to be Less Rubbish

Lets face it most new year resolutions are not kept. I've been to the future and, trust me, I've broken all of the ones I've made so far. There is just no point in getting hung up about this, what I need are not more stupid, hard to keep, challenging resolutions, but a better class of resolution.

So here is my list:

• Eat more curry.
• Put on at least 5lbs before the end of January.
• Wash my car one less time than I did in 2010. Simple arithmetic yields the answer of zero times.
• Avoid walking past a gym.
• Never bathe the cat in jam.
• Don't wear wellington boots on my hands at work.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE

The Slacker's Art

Roth and I have been on a mission to return dignity to the art of loafing.

In addition to loafing, I am a black-belt in lurking and Roth has achieved similar status in looming. He has the height on his side, although I wouldn't wish to detract from his obvious skill.

Whilst neither of us are entirely work shy, we do blush quite a bit and run away most of the time.

In his earlier work (I use the word carefully, but mostly because it only contains four letters and is hence less effort to type) In Line With My Worldview, Roth explains that he is a fractal slacker and at any level, whichever way you choose to view things, he is a raving success at doing absolutely nothing.

Having the technology at my disposal, I have become the world's first* Temporal Slacker. Throughout time, at major points in history, if you look carefully in the background I am there, doing absolutely nothing.

When the Berlin wall fell, there I was at the bottom resting up against it with my head on a pillow. Asleep.

When Stephenson's Rocket first shot down a railway track, I was there. In first class, reading the daily paper.

When the apes were waving sticks around at the base of a huge black obelisk, I was on the other side, leaning against it, sipping a beer and pondering why navel fluff is always purple.

You can think of me as an alternative Doctor Who, but without the heroism, the TARDIS, the assistant, the enemies or the charisma.

There are, without doubts, moments of frenetic activity in my life. Just the other day I lost the remote control down the back of the sofa. They are rare.

* Designations like world's first in time travel are rather hard to substantiate. So I haven't bothered, I've just claimed the unprovable.

---

iDifficult will return in the Chronicles of Nana, a tale of yellow fruit, flatpack bedroom furniture, a lion and snow, in the new year.

Balls

As recounted by Indigo Roth in a wonderful Lemsip fueled haze called Making a break for Venezuela, we shared an interesting few years at the same school.

The school was typical for it's era and location. Wood panelled, ancient, dimly lit, and with masters that looked like they had fought in both World Wars. On the wrong side.

At the end of each year there was a test. Unlike today where this involves individual desks, a piece of paper and a sharpie, tests in our school had a more practical nature. This has been so since the year a master gave Roth a pencil and turned his back.

Roth, myself and Bernard Drentwistle, the principle boy, were chosen for this particular test. We were taken from our normal classes and ushered down the wood panelled corridors to an area of the school I believe none of us had seen before. The floor was dusty and we left fresh footprints. Ultimately we arrived at a corridor with three white doors cut into the wood panelling.

The masters moved as, none too gently I seem to remember, in front of a door each. This close I could see the door was absolutely perfect. Not a blemish. Nor a handle.

The doors hissed open in front of us and we each were ushered into the room beyond. And what a room it was. It was perfectly cubic. The walls, ceiling and floor were brilliant white. It was hard to work out where the light was coming from but it was bright, almost painfully bright.

"You have one hour," said the master, in tones that would have made Death give up his job as a voice over artist. The door shut behind me. Perfectly. So perfectly there was no line around the edge of the door that could be seen. If I rubbed my nail across where the join should be I could just perceive a faint click.

The room was empty, so very empty. Except for two 12 inch diameter stainless steel spheres. I walked over and attempted to pick one up. It was absolutely solid and heavy as lead. This could be an interesting hour I thought.

Some weeks past, during which time Roth and I amused ourselves in biochemistry lessons by making the lunchtime custard sentient. In physics we were successful in electrostatically levitating our physics master up to the lab ceiling, until he had this misfortune of touching the metalwork of one of the light fittings. Brightest flash I've ever seen.

And we managed to restore the library building to it's former position although the selection of pre-historic predators in the reading room was not truly appreciated as the educational aids we had intended. As Roth said, "You try to help some people."

It was a November assembly when we got the results of the test. The headmaster was walking from his office to the lectern whilst the music master played "The Death March" on his piano.

The headmaster cleared his throat and projected, "I'd like to read out the results of our end of year tests." He proceeded to describe the test we had undergone, "Three identical clean, cubic rooms, three pupils, six solid steel balls, two in each room. No communication and one hour to work."

"In first place, Bernard Drentwistle, did extraordinarily well. When we returned to the room he had got one ball balanced on top of the other. Clever chap indeed."

"In second place, by a huge margin, is Indigo Roth. When we returned to the room he had his head on one ball, his feet on the other and was fast asleep. There was a pizza box next to him. We aren't sure how he managed to order a take-away."

"In last place, and banned from ever taking the test again, is Mr Difficult. When we returned to his room, he'd lost one and broken the other."

"Would everyone please clap and show their approval for our excellent pupils." Under his breath he was heard to say, "and restrain Mr Difficult NOW!"

Lacklustre Weapon

"We have quite a few things to question you about," said the younger man in the suit.

"Yes, we do, Mr." the older man looked down at his notebook, and squinted, "Mr. I.Difficult."

"Who are you?" asked I.

He held up a badge, "I'm DCI Fred Ender, and this," pointing to the younger man, "is DS Dave Smith."

"Oh!" There wasn't much to say to that.

"Would you like to do this here, or down the station?" asked DS Smith.

"Can I decide when you tell me what it is about?" I asked.

"I have a list here in my notebook," DCI Ender turned the book around to reveal a carefully numbered list in small well proportioned handwriting. Each page had roman numerals at the bottom.

I looked at the list:

• Disappearance of the Eiffel Tower. Later found. In Basingstoke.
• Nuclear submarine in the Slobbering-under-the-Bed Town Centre ornamental pond. Scared ducks.
• Street lighting broken in the Town Centre.
• Parking a genetically modified animal in the wrong timezone.

"Oh dear," I muttered. Hopefully they couldn't read anything into my expression.

I needed an alibi. Quickly. I thought hard. "I was watching TV, " I said.

"For all of these? And we didn't say when they happened?" DS Smith looked unsure.

DCI Ender helped him out, "What did you watch?"

"Oh, I hadn't turned it on. I was just watching it. And eating a curry." Quick think. Think. Must make this sound plausible. "Actually the cat had eaten the curry and was wearing the tin on it's head." Sorted. Very convincing.

Maybe a change of subject would work here, "Have you two been working together long?"

"Two weeks," replied DCI Fred, "They like to pair together odd couples like in the movies. You see I'm the straight-laced and by-the-book family man," he paused for dramatic effect, and possibly breath, "and DS Dangerous Dave here is the devil-may-care maverick whatever-it-takes-to-get-the-job-done shoot-to-kill hard-drinking hard-living womaniser with a death wish."

"Bugger, I thought you were the maverick with the death wish?!" exclaimed the somewhat surprised and newly nicknamed Dangerous Dave.

The two besuited detectives looked at one another with a look that surpassed surprise. I felt somewhat left out. "I don't know anything about these things, but I know a man who almost certainly does. Well, not know, more sort of acquaintance. We've done a little business. Have you got your notepad?"

"Yes," they both said in unison.

I spelled out the name, "I-N-D-I-G-O R-O-T-H. He'll be able to help. Hell, he may even be responsible for these crimes."

"That's odd," said DS Dave, raising an eyebrow.

"It is indeed."

"That's the name of the chap who gave us your name..."

Balloon

There we were in the basket of a hot air balloon. Indigo Roth, Eolist Petite and I. Roth was looming up from the basket with his head awfully close to the flames of the burner. Ms Petite didn't have that particular problem as she could barely see over the edge of the basket. I had my hand wrapped around a rope.

I looked down and Ms Petite was busy screwing a holy shit handle to the rim of the basket. This is always a good idea when transport and Indigo were in close proximity.

On the far side of the basket Indigo was steering the balloon with a steering wheel. He felt happier when he was driving. The steering wheel wasn't attached to anything, which made Eolist and I feel happier.

"Where do you think we are?" Eolist asked.

"I've no idea. Slobbering-under-the-Bed kinda disappeared after we went straight through that glowing fog bank," I replied.

"I did try to guide us around it, but it's like this steering wheel isn't attached to anything." Ms Petite and I looked at each other. "It doesn't look like there is much down there."

"Odd, isn't it. We should be over England where there are fifteen pubs and twenty-four curry houses per square mile. I can't see a single one."

It was peaceful floating along in the balloon with the gentle rush of air and creaking of the basket. The peace was occasionally interrupted by the firing of the burner. What was below looked like desert with rolling dunes and the occasional patches of scrubby grass.

Roth was the first to spot something a little odd. "Look!" he said.

"I can't see!" replied Ms Petite, bouncing up and down.

"It's probably just a mirage," said I.

"Nope, definitely not a mirage. Look there's a sign over the door, but I can't make it out from here. Mirages never have signs over the door." He seemed very sure of this.

At this point I felt a pull on the rope I held in my hand. I followed the rope and looked over the side of the basket. On the end of the rope was a very well dressed chap of asian appearance.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Would sir mind pulling me up?"

"Excuse me, but what are you doing there?"

"Hanging on a piece of rope, 40 feet above the ground." He seemed anxious, "Would sir mind pulling me up?" he repeated.

We started pulling the man on the rope up towards the basket. Eventually he was lifted over the rim and into the basket. He paused. Dusted himself off and laid a white napkin over his right arm.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I would have that would have been evident, sir. I am your waiter for the evening." He handed us a menu each. The menus were each bound in fine brown Italian leather, with the gold lettering spelling out the name of the establishment and the word menu.

"What were you doing on the rope?"

"A good waiter anticipates his customers every wish. I am here to take your orders and show you where to land."

At this point the couldn't-be-a-mirage-with-a-sign-over-the-door came into closer view. All three of us whispered the words, The Euthanasia Curry House.

"What is the big circle with a B in it for? The one next to the big circle with a H in it."

"The B circle is for balloons to land. H is for helicopters."

"What is the barrier with bales of hay and old tires for?"

"In case Indigo drove you here." replied the waiter.

                                                                                     


The tale continues at Eolist Petite's Blog with Balloon too and/or while i waited...

Darkness and Solitude

I was alone, sitting in a folding chair. I've known this place for years. Granite lumps rolled under my feet. The sky was the dark blue of an August evening. I could see the English countryside laid out below me in all directions past the nearby heather. A single tree stood siluetted against the growing dusk.

How many times have I been here? Honestly I don't know.

It grew darker and one at a time the stars came out. This was a good place to see the stars.

A voice spoke. "I knew I'd find you here," it said.

I looked around and there was no one to be seen.

"It's a glorious night, isn't it?"

I decided to ignore the apparent absence of my companion. "Yes, yes it is."

"The old tree is still standing."

"Indeed it is. Survived the storms at the end of the 80's I remember."

"Yes, me too," the voice sounded surprised and distant at the same time.

Nothing more was said for quite some time. I thought perhaps my companion had left. I certainly didn't hear him arrive.

Then it spoke again, "There are places and moments that stick in the soul. This is one, I think."

Curiosity overcame me, "Who are you and why can't I see you? Are you in my mind?"

"It's quite complicated."

"You aren't in my mind?"

"That would be an easy answer. It isn't true, so I'm not going to leave you believing that."

"Who?" I asked. I didn't expect an answer. Whoever it was just came to share the moment, and didn't feel the need to explain himself.

Just at that moment, in front of me, two eyes appeared. Nothing more. No face, just two eyes. I looked into them. They looked familiar and most terribly tired. For an instant I thought I understood. Then the instant passed and the eyes faded.

A young lady pulled up in an almost silent electric sports car, "You ready to go, Dad?"

I nodded and threw the chair in the boot.

"Mum's got us a takeaway back at base. Wouldn't want it to get cold."

As we pulled away, a voice behind me whispered, "Don't eat the left-overs from the foil containers tomorrow morning."