A Surprise Encounter Whilst Gathering Mushrooms.

As always on a Sunday morning, I was walking alone through the glades of Gablody in search of mushrooms with which to make soup. I much enjoy the medative nature of the peace and quiet at such a time of the week so it was somewhat of a surprise to hear the whinny of a horse which seemed to be eminating from just over the brow of the hill.

Someone came a-knocking at my wee small door. Indeed, someone came a-crashing through my rather large oak front door at the un-godly hour of seven in the morning. It was lucky for Dr. Pring, the town archaeologist (for it was he), that I am pleasantly disposed to him on account of the plentiful supply of strawberries he graces me with each year when the season is right for such things.

He was in excitable mood, waving a disc shaped parcel at me whilst speaking in tongues. After imploring him to take a seat and a deep breath, we finally began to get somewhere in relation to making sense of his attempts at communication.

There-in began a second phase in which I was able to decipher key words ('moving pictures', 'flotation toy warning', 'Magnesi Rich',) but no more. It was at this point I held a finger to his lips and handed him a large brandy. After several long sips and a large sigh he proceeded to inform me that in the process of studying the remains of an ancient sea-faring vessel grounded on the shoreline but a mile from my very own abode, he had come across a reel of moving images labelled 'Happy 13'. As to what the contents really were, or by whom they were fashioned was unclear. The only clue were the initials M.R. scratched upon the edge of the metal casing, which Mr. Pring attributed to the fair hand of one Magnesi Rich, reputedly a member of the legendary 'flotation toy warning'.

He placed the reel on the rickety wheels of my moving image projector and we sat back to watch the following....Happy 13

What The Cat Dragged In

Good morning, dear friends. At least, 'tis a good, if rather unusual morning here on the mist encloaked cobbles that form the streets of Gablody. Indeed, one must get used, at this time of year, to walking with ones arms outstretched infront when traipsing through even the most familiar of outdoor spots. For in the month of November the dense fog is such that one can barely see at all.

Which, it has to be said, leads one to marvel at the continued professional success of the likes of the postmaster, who, despite such visual challenges, never fails to complete his tasks as if it were a fair summer's day.

I was awoken this morning by the strangled meowing of Lord Ozymandius, my little black feline friend. For 'twas he who toiled upon my doorstep, in the vain attempt to open a large parcel which, quite naturally, was tugging upon his sense of curiosity. Quite probably he hoped it contained provisions of which he could partake before I awoke. Alas, he was to be disappointed - firstly because the door opened and a human hand (my own) removed the package at which he had been toiling for who knows how long (in the manner that a coal miner might toil at the coalface) - and secondly, as he watched with great interest as I unravelled the brown cloth sack in which it was wrapped, the odour that emerged did not suggest edible goods were contained inside.

Indeed, it was at this point, as I lifted two long thin wooden boxes onto the table, that Lord Ozymandius decided there were far better things in this world that demanded his attention and sloped off into the fog.

In fact it was I, and not my furry friend, who was to be transfixed by the contents. Accompanied by nothing but a simple scrawled note bearing the words 'Found in the warehouse during clearout - in a box containing a selection of parasols. Forgotten all about them! Magnesi Rich. Greenland.', these were treasure indeed. Two wax cartridges bearing the music of 'Flotation Toy Warning'. Each was titled in charcoal scrawl on the side of their respective wooden boxes. Though difficult to read (Magnesi will certainly never find useful employment as a calligrapher!), I could just decipher 'Driving Under The Influence Of Loneliness' on the first, and 'Give Yerself A Stereo Checkout' upon the second.

Ah, such happy memories of the endless nights of Greenland  - for it was there that we had composed them but a season ago. It was then that other titles of as yet incomplete works came flooding back into my mind - 'Lieutenant Yo-Yo', 'When The Boat Comes Inside Your House', 'I Was A Sailor, 'Til They Took The Sea Away', and many others.

It was in this exhalted state that the realisation came across me - it was time! Time to call together the people of Flotation Toy Warning to work night and day in order to complete a new collection of musical works. For we had met upon many occasions over the last few years to experiment in music, and had many unusual new sounds to share. But now, now was the time to collect them together and commit them all to cartridge!

Overjoyed, I ran up all seven staircases to the top of the house. There I scaled the rickety old wooden ladder, carefully easing back the battered old hatch and eased myself onto the roof. Quite forgetting the difficulties presented by the pea-souper currently enveloping our town, I snatched up the bugle and sounded the call for a celebration!

It would prove to be a fine night and a rather busy following morning. For although many made it to my party, I had to somewhat sheepishly apologise to the lifeguard, who spent his evening fishing for lost and confused party goers who, after taking a rather unfortunate set of wrong turns, found themselves in the lake…