The Llama of Truth and Freedom

With all my exams and stuff, it's absolutely essential that I stop mucking around concentrate on sensible things such as revision and sleeping. This I have been trying to do, and, I’m sure you’ll agree, succeeding to the highest degree. Enter the llama…

A general update for those who have missed me

My, how much has happened since my last post. Not, of course, that Wolves of the Sea didn’t have its metaphorical finger on the cultural pulse, last week’s Eurovision Song Contest being a phenomenal work of musical genius the likes of which can be matched only (and even then just barely) by the wonders of Rebecca Black’s “Friday”.

What else? … of course, there was the royal wedding, a time of jubilation throughout the land whilst the government blew millions on the happy union of a balding toff and a “commoner” with enough gleaming tresses for the two of them. I launched into the festivities with gusto and have recently finished knitting my very own Wills and Kate, complete with a fully accurate rendition of Kate’s iconic gown as designed by Sarah Burton of Alexander McQueen (“YAY!” squeaked the commentator, with suave professionalism, later adding, “This is such a fashion moment.”)

There is always the possibility that I will improve Wills’ jacket by adding gold stuff and buttons, but, then again, there is the very real possibility that I won’t. The other important thing I’ve forgotten is, of course, Kate’s engagement ring.

I have great tidings: more posts are coming! More posts! So stay tuned for a fabulous fashion competition and some droplets of wisdom from a somewhat unlikely source… (oooh, mysterious…)

Wolves of the Sea: a Pirate-Themed Eurovision Musical

My school are about to take part in a Spanish exchange, and in order to keep the Spanish people entertained my headteacher wants me to write a play for them. I decided that the best way to achieve this is by drawing on something our two great nations have in common: the mighty force that is Eurovision.

Meticulously planned, but unfortunately too complicated for students who hardly speak any English, this is an idea which is unlikely to come to fruition unless Andrew Lloyd Webber happens to be reading this. Do feel free to skip around in the songs if you’re not quite up to watching them all the way through.

The play opens on a pirate ship, tossed upon treacherous waters, bound for land and the distant kingdom of, um, Biscuitland (I'd sail there too if I had a ship, actually). The crew are a boisterous yet loveable bunch with most of the right character archetypes. A suitably boisterous opening number thus begins.

The video was just Latvians pretending to be pirates, but you get the idea: here's the real pirate crew in all their glory. Well, there'll be a chorus of backing dancers as well, but they don't actually have names or anything and I couldn't be bothered to draw them. The main pirates, anyway, are, from left:

• Graham the disabled pirate - comic relief and dispenser of wisdom, both rolled into one. He's weathered some rough times, but his bobble hat has seen him through them all.
• The Captain - nobody knows his real name. Or, for that matter, what his forehead looks like.
• Rodolfo - our hero. Rodolfo is brave, noble, dashing and something of a pyromaniac: everything a hero should be, in short. He is a legend, an inspiration to pirates everywhere. But somewhere, deep inside himself, he yearns for something more.
• Chiara - token female pirate for PC reasons. Obesity gives her the added bonus of being funny as well. Chiara is hopelessly in love with Rodolfo, which she manages to convey subtly through the following song, after a couple of painful jokes in between. (Remember to imagine the singer as about twelve times fatter, and the men in the glass boxes - or at least the ones who would still be visible - as pirates.)

The ship, meanwhile, reaches Biscuitland, and a bout of good-natured raping and pillaging ensues to a reprise of 'Wolves of the Sea'. During this time, Rodolfo encounters Princess Lara of Biscuitland, gamely defending her shores alongside the villagers by flapping a handkerchief or something. Lara and Rodolfo immediately fall in love and sing the perspex piano song.

 

This song also serves to develop the pyromaniac side of Rodolfo's character.

So anyway, there's swooning and a double-ended perspex piano, and then some of the pirate backing dancers grab Princess Lara and whisk her off as a hostage to the pirate ship. Which goes to show that it's really quite stupid to wear a frilly dress and a crown when you're trying to muck in with the commoners and get rid of some devious and extremely greedy pirates.

Now Rodolfo reaches a major moral dilemma. What should he do? Should he let the others cut off little pieces of Lara and send them one by one to her father to remind him to pay the ransom? Should he do it himself? Should he sing the most amazing song in Eurovision history with the aid of some pirate backing dancers?

Rodolfo writhes in the torment of his soul for a bit, then comes to the conclusion that love conquers all etc. and he must use his considerable piratey powers to save Lara. Enter the Chiki Chiki - Rodolfo's almost supernatural ability to irritate his victims into submission, the source of all his strength, all his notoriety (it should be noted at this point that throughout the play, the mention of the Chiki Chiki is met with a highly exaggerated swoon from everyone onstage and a cry of "Not the Chiki Chiki!").

Lara is rescued. She and Rodolfo escape back to Biscuitland, where her overbearing father decides to to hold a ball in honour of her return. To the ball he invites young men from all over the country, with the intent that one of them might win the hand of the beautiful Princess Lara.

Lara happily invites Rodolfo to the ball, hoping that it’ll give him a chance to meet her parents. She leaves him with a single injunction:

He has left his old ways behind, and must no longer use his powers of irritation. A reasonable request? You would think…

At the start of the ball, however, Lara is accosted by the horrific Lord Flobbish McFishity Bathroom-Cleaner of Soapscum, who, of course, serenades her with the heartrendingly romantic ‘Miss Kiss Kiss Bang’.

 

Poor Lara! Scarred for life, she turns to the one person she can trust, the one person she knows will be there for her always. But the music is going and Rodolfo just can’t hold out any longer. (I found a nice pirate version of the Chiki Chiki for you)

Lara has been betrayed. Rodolfo was her soulmate, a single point of hope in a dark and treacherous world (treacherous: as illustrated by Flobbish, found mere hours after the end of the play drowning his sorrows in the ampleness of Chiara. I digress.) She issued to him a sole request, providing him, needless to say, with a prime opportunity of proving his love for her – but he ignored it.

Awash with sorrow, she performs a tearjerking rendition of “Algo Pequeñito”, a song about love, loss and apologising. As far as I can make out, anyway. My Spanish isn’t that great.

N.B. this song is accompanied by a similar dance to the original, not for any particular benefit to the narrative but because I quite like the whole creepy-doll type thing. Naturally the stage invasion will be included, perpetrated by Flobbish, who has not at this stage given up hope of winning Lara’s hand.

In response, Rodolfo sings “I’m in Love with a Fairytale”, which is appropriate because Lara is a fairytale princess. And (intent on challenging the pirate stereotype) he plays the violin! Who would have thought it? Note that in this video several strings on the singer/violinist bow end up snapping, creating an endearing I’m-a-bit-crap-at-this-really-aren’t-I? effect. This will definitely be included.

This heartfelt profession of love from Rodolfo turns out to be exactly the algo pequeñito Lara was looking for. Thus follows a joyous reunion, as Lara admits that actually the Chiki Chiki is pretty cool. The grand finale is everybody singing the Chiki Chiki. You’re probably getting a bit bored of the Chiki Chiki by now, so I put a teletubbies version just to keep you on your toes.

The Cracker Fairy

It's a universal grievance, how you can be eating cheese and crackers and find, suddenly, that the number of crackers you have on your plate is totally disproportionate to the quanitity of cheese. In vain you heap your crackers with Emmental and Red Leicester; to no avail do you slather on the stilton. It's futile; it's doomed to fail, because with all that cheese you simply cannot achieve the perfect harmony of cheese and cracker that this great partnership of foodstuffs was formed for.

In times like these, we live in hope. Hope that maybe, against all odds, somebody somewhere will find it in their hearts to produce more crackers. That, friends, is the role of the Cracker Fairy. So if it ever happens that you are in need of a cracker, and all of a sudden, as if from nowhere, a cracker appears on your plate, the answer to your prayers - remember the Cracker Fairy. Spare a thought for your saviour, and maybe offer her a small word of thanks. Or some cheese, because she has a lot of crackers.

EDIT: I forgot to give the cracker fairy wings. Oops.

Merry Christmas!

Happy festive cheery turkey day and I hope you get fat and presents. I mean, I hope you get presents and eat nice food (mince pies. Yum.) Here is my special Christmas card I made especially for you. That's a total lie, I don't know who you are. You could be a creepy internet stalker and I wouldn't know. Oh well, you can have the Christmas card anyway.

Airport Security

I'm afraid this post has been sitting around for ages, almost finished but lacking a suitable ending. I'm going to give it a shot, but prepare yourself for a shameful anticlimax.

Here's something that annoys me. You're all excited about going on holiday, you've woken up at 4am and have been dragging your suitcase through the dark for hours, you've queued at the check-in and then, finally, you reach customs (you queue for a long time there too) and they're like, "OK, please will you empty out your bag for us? And while you're at it, could you undress as well?"
The one that really perplexes me, though, is shoes. Why on earth do they need you to take off your shoes? I mean, is it some incredibly clever way of identifying a terrorist - - or are they just trying to smoke them out ("I can't handle the smell any more!")?

So, whilst you and the other passengers flounder in a fog of shoe-stink with your trousers round your ankles and the air conditioning cutting through the one layer of clothing you were allowed to keep on, they ask you if you've got any sharp objects.
"No," you say.
They pull something out of your bag. "I'm sorry, miss, I can't let you have that pencil sharpener. That's a dangerous item."

Maybe I'm missing something here, but what on earth am I going to use a pencil sharpener for, other than sharpening pencils?

Maybe all of this would be worth it if it actually kept the terrorists out, but it really doesn't, because if you wanted to blow up a plane it's going to be a much better idea to stick a pipe bomb in your main baggage than, er, hijack the plane with a pencil sharpener. Or play Miley Cyrus so loudly on your iPod that the pilot will do anything if you'll only MAKE IT STOP. In October someone managed to smuggle a bomb into Yemen, and I bet they had to measure out their 100ml of toothpaste, just the same as everyone else.

So I'm going to leave you with two things (because that's what the guy at the public speaking workshop said to do):

1. Don't go to Yemen. Even if there isn't a bomb on your flight it'll probably be really boring.

2. Play along, because chances are the elaborate customs routine is just a way to keep you entertained, while they wait for your plane to arrive four hours late.

The Tale of Patrick the Radioactive Duck: Part 1

Once upon a time there was a duck named Patrick. Patrick was not a happy duck. His mummy had been eaten with hoisin sauce and his daddy had left before he was born. His lake had lots and lots of yucky nuclear waste in it.


Patrick was not a happy duck. He was a very sad duck.

"I must go and seek my fortune," said Patrick, "Somewhere they do not eat hoisin sauce."

On Tuesday, Patrick packed his things, which was nothing, and set out into the big wide world. He climbed out of the yucky squelchy lake, over the horrid smelly bins, and under the electric fence. Patrick's wings were stuck to his sides with nuclear waste so poor Patrick couldn't fly.

Just as he was waddling past the 'WARNING! TOXIC WASTE" signs, Patrick came across an unfriendly face.

"Hello," said the creature, who was big and really hairy, "My name is Eustace. I am a fox. May I be your friend?"

Before the hoisin sauce, Patrick's mummy had always taught him to be a polite little duckling, so he replied, "Why hello, Eustace, what a delight to make your acquaintance. I would be honoured to be friends with you, as I have never had a fox as a friend before. Come to think of it," he added, "I have never had a friend of any sort before."
"How strange," saud Eustace, who had very large yellow teeth, "You seem such an agreeable chap."

TO BE CONTINUED...