Julius stretched himself out, making sure not to touch the wires connecting the bed to the laptop and gave himself a resounding slap across the head. Just to make sure.
Indeed, it was still as he feared, no change whatsoever.
He was still in love.
This was becoming downright annoying, to say the least.
Where were concentration, dedication and discipline whehn you needed them? Absolutely sodding nowhere, that's where.
Here he was - a reasonable foot on the career ladder at last, after many bitter years of slaving over filthy dishes in a Turkish owned pizzaria in the wrong end of town - and what does he go and do?
No, change that to; what happens to him? What comes over him like a meteorite, flattening him until he is no more than a spastic remnant of his former Self?
Precisely! He falls damned well IN LOVE.
And not with someone understandable. Oh no, that would be too easy. Just imagine it; they could get married then and be done with it in a year or so, once the hormones had run their course. Possibly even have children after a while, to allieviate the boredom and have someone else to talk to (and more importantly; argue with).
He rather liked that idea, mundane as it was. Mundane tends to be a good thing when life has a habit of hitting you hard. From behind. When you least expect it.
But no, this was not to be the case. He had to go and sell his heart (including the Bonus and Limited Edition of his entire emotional and mental well being) to a FAIRY.
What in God's name had happened to him?
For surely there is nothing worse than falling in love with a sprightly nymph from the Neatherworld. She would always have a hold on him - at least until she chose otherwise.
He had to face it. Life as he had known it was over.
His therapist had warned him he might haver issues with Change. The man had some sense after all.
Getting up to make some coffee he wondered silently to himself if losing his sense of direction in life was normal at 32, all because of a girl (a girl with PINK HAIR for heaven's sake).
Andromedea, his Siamese furball of a cat was meouwing loudly (and yes, Siamese and furball are not commonly synonymous. In this instance however, one has to make allowances. This cat is in fact merely a cat by virtue of a minor default. More details and explanation will follow in due course).
Julius meanwhile had succeded in entangling himself and his pyjama bottoms with the cat's legs, meaning presumably that it was time for breakfast. Or else that he had to stop whining to himself. At any rate, she provided a welcome distraction from his darker thoughts and so, despite a sigh of capitulation (plus a bit of martyrdom thrown in) he opened a tin of foul smelling something and placed it before her.
Then he stared out of the window at the wet and dismal day ahead of him.
This was not a cheery start to his Birthday. His mother had warned him that 32 was a difficult year and he was beginning to think she might be right. Yet again.

Snakes and Fairies


Delfinia entered the Party with a strong sense of foreboding. All the props were in place; the Banjo player happily wailing away in his corner, the other Tooth Fairies dispersing themselves toward the various barmen or to the ladiesroom to powder their noses and last but not least, Toby hovering nearby waiting to pounce. She wasn't yet entirely sure if she would give him a chance or not.

Everything was as it should be, as it had been for the last few weeks, if not months.
The trouble was deep in her. It felt as if she were a character in a play, doing her part but not really a part of it so much as a dissatisfied onlooker.
What was there to be dissatisfied about though? She pondered this mystery as she ordered her first Green Drink of the evening and watched the girls grind their hips to some inner rhythm not quite in sync with the music.

Granted, Wuss and she were seeing less and less of each other. That had to do with his work, he couldn't go into details though due to company policy so she left it at that. When they were together it was all fine though, so not much to worry about there she figured.

Perhaps it was her new hairstyle? Maybe the prem wasn't really her thing after all. She still wore her pink tutu, naturally. One had to keep up standards, it was almost expected of her. But she had always felt free to expose the world to her creative side through a new colour, or if she were feeling especially roguish, a new coupe. And as she read so often in all the magazines these days, a new hairstyle did most definitely inluence one's mental and emotional state, no doubt about it.
But no, that wasn't quite it either.

What then? She sucked on the straw of her drink and blithely ignored Toby's slithering, snake like movements right in front of her cornea. He was becoming increasingly vulgar and thus vaguely disturbing. Attempts to make her jealous by grinding himself against her friends were merely succeeding in putting her off.

To go back home, or not to go back? She had avoided answering this question for herself for the past two months but now she decided she must go back. Not only for herself (she was getting more and more nervy by avoiding it, so might as well just go, damn it) but also for Dove. Afterall; how could she live with herself if Dove were indeed to die? She could put off the confrontation with her true origins for ever, in the blind and pathetic belief that she would have Forever in which to change her mind and find out but unfortunately the realisation that Life was Temporary and thus Limited was becoming inceasingly real for her.

Her patience finally wearing thin with all this promiscuosness on the dancefloor, she slurped the last of her drink down and left, without so much as a backward glance or goodbye. (No more Green Drink for her; it was vile and made her feel distinctly sick).

On Regret and Heartburn

Jettisoned out by the cruel, cruel world Lord Huttington sat perched upon his throne and considerd his options.
Obviously, demanding a refund and immediate transferal back into his body below was out of the question. Death was, more often than not, a one way ticket.
He sighed. A man could still dream, couldn't he? His naive optimism, a character trait until now, had suddenly fled and left in it's wake was a dreadful sense that this was IT. The End of his Days had finally come, his number was up.
And he had so looked foreward to fullfilling his dreams. Now it was too late, it seemed...

He looked down from his piece of sky and saw that all was not well with the world Down Below.
This saddend him. It was the first time in his life that he realised he had only been living for himself, for the moment in hand, with never a thought as to the Bigger Picture. Now it seemed that the Bigger Picture was giving him a much awaited and well deserverd slap in the face. As if to say; here is what you could have done, if only. If only what though?
Well, for one; had he had the nouse at the time (when he could still make use of his body) he might have taken Matt up on his unbecoming behaviour. Being father to this twerp did lend him some authority after all. At least in theory.

Yes indeed, he was the supposed Turd Matt's mother, Jaccinta (she of the green garters) had mated with. Not a turd at all then, as it turns out, but a Prince temporarily intoxicated by her wicked sense of dress, which tickled his (until then) very proper demeanour. Bright yellow lycra stretch pants never recovered their innocence in his mind. Nevertheless, I digress toward the tempting realm of nostalgia here, which is never a good thing. Especially if the relationship is doomed from the start, such as this one was. One certainly does not entertain thoughts of actually marrying one's mistress. Unheard of, except in Very Bad Fairy Tales.

So, to conclude; a man is allowed his moment of insanity and he had certainly had his in the form of mating with Matt's mother. Unfortunately the result was not quite as one would have hoped for. Certainly the result was not and never would be, heir material and thus the decision had been made (soley by him, naturally) that Matt was not to know his True Origins. A hefty financial sum had helped cinch the deal in his favour.

Now he was left however, in Death, with a ningling sense that perhaps he should have done a tad more. A 'tad' more was not exactly thought out in his mind, obviously having no idea as to what parenthood involved. But surely he could have done something? Oh, the anguish of being dead. It almost gave him heartburn.
He did now sorely regret not having done anything about Matt's absinth dealings. He alone knew what the boy was up to, but fearing exposure as the Father of the little rascal, he had chosen to save his own hide rather than that of the entire community.
Now of course, he could see clearly that he had only succeeded in temporarily saving his hide. For in the end it seemed he had been bitten by the green bug, too.

He realised that the time was nigh to cease avoiding his responsibilities and thus decided, once and for all, to seek out that damned Totem in the Realm of the Trees. He badly needed some advice.

The Epitomy of Cool

The dusk was fast descending on the hamlet of Little Eaves. While Toby waited for the inevitable he sat calmly picking his nose (this was an almost meditative experience for him and one not to be disturbed) and hummed a little tune to himself in the proces. It sounded rather war torn and creaky but perhaps that was precisely the effect he was going for. One never knew with Toby.
He was a man of many guises and the latest seemed to be Punk with green hair, while simultanously trying out the long suffering Poet look. The result was something of an Irish leprachaun, but this didn't put off the girls at all. On the contrary. And while he hated to admit this, even to himself, the 'girls' were one of his main motives in life.
Of course, he tried out the excuse that really it was all a great By Product of being a Famous Doorstop, but actually it was THE motivating reason behind his sudden leap away from cosmetics design student to Doorstop at the Republik. Not to mention the main reason for founding his Band. It is a well know fact that girls drop their knickers for members of Bands. The days of his playing his lonesome organ in the empty church were so over. Thank goodness.

Anyhow, the Republik was not the worst place one could find oneself in of an evening, espcially in Little Eaves where the only other nightly forays consisted of listening to Old Dove snoring in the roses after one too many drinks or (her tragic demise from Spiritual Turtle to Inebriated Turtle shall be recounted at a later date. Have patience.)....well, let's just say there wasn't much else to do. So the fact that Matt the Mudvark had chosen this dead hole in which to establish his little business was nothing short of a miracle. And like most miracles, it wasn't questioned. Not even once. Face value is a much easier way of accepting things one doesn't understand.

So, people came from far and wide (well, they had to, didn't they? Seeing as hardly anybody actually lived in this far out, sleepy little place) to immerse themselves in the Going Out Lifestyle. This had become a popular pasttime in a Land where the previous excitement consisted of dancing around the Fairy Tree once a Moon. With the entire family).
Was it perhaps the Live Music interspersed with the occasional clumsy but satisfying Fight that did it? Or was it (more likely, seeing as the Music consisted of one very drunk Banjo player with a penchant for country style wailing) the funny coloured drink that made everything seem okay again? We shall never know....all we can know however is that there was shift taking place in society, in which family had become secondary to Coolness and Independence. Big terms that need Capital Letters.

Meanwhile, back to Toby and his fearsome green hair and like coloured boogies.
He was waiting for the night to get entertaining and busy, hoping that Delfinia would be back as she had been yesterday, all high and mighty pretending to ignore him ( he knew when a girl fancied him even if she herself was as yet unaware of this fact).
Lately, you see, she had taken to coming out at nights with the girls from her Gang. Liverwuss was forced to spend more and more time working away from home and this bored her ever so slightly. They were still very much in love but there does come a time when one has to seek one's pleasure's outside the realm of the Home. She had reached such a stage. Now, we are not talking un-monogamous pleasure's here, let us be clear about this. Just because a girl wants some fun with her friends does not mean she is immediatly up for a game of 'let us hop in the sack with Toby'. However much he may think so.

And there she was, resplendant as always in her Pink Tutu. The other girls just faded into non-existence when she was around. She emitted such an aura of come hitherness that he almost drooled at her feet.
Managing to restrain himself admirably though, he merely gave her an Ultra Cool smile and nodded them all in. The Party could begin.

Midgets and Totems

Her sense of balance was overwhelming him utterly. Even for a midget she had not a hair out of place, not a limb unstructurally aligned, not even a tiny hand a-fluttering as she leapt across the Great Divide. He could only swallow and admire.
Plus quake in his boots, seeing as his turn was next.
Just what had gotten him into this predicament he had no idea, although he did have a slight suspicion. This suspicion rested largely on the fact that she had just given him the best mind blowing sex ever, thus rendering him senseless for the better part of the remainder of the day. Toward evening he might slowly come back to his senses, but by then it would be too late. He would be longing for another load of her midgetness.
Usually he didn't like small people. This was the funny thing.
Well, self reflection was never really an issue with him. On the whole he was not bothered by moments of self doubt or delusions of grandeur (to name but a few of the possibilties on the grand scale of Ego Issues most people seemed to have these days). He mostly took himself as he came and found that to be a satisfactory arrangement.
So, paradox or not, here he was lusting after a midget in a pink tutu who was leaping across the Divide as we speak, a feat which he had until this moment thought only possible when drunk on spacewine. She had proved him wrong again. How he loved this woman.
Sentimentality aside, now he was treading the boards, trembling rather a lot and suddenly discovering a curious need to pee.
Nevertheless, onwards. There future depended on this moment, on his getting to The Other Side, where they might finally meet up with the Totem and pay their respects.
This was a passage of right which had been firmly established in 1802 when his grand uncle Neddy had been the first to leap over and discover the Totem at the other end. This Totem spoke wonderful, encouraging words for one's future. Necessary words if one wanted to find one's purpose in life. Which naturally one did. Lolling around on the dole was only permissable until 27 years of age after which Real Life began.
Having already had several, depressingly grown up talks on this subject with both his mother and his father as well as his pet Dahlia (who was actually a house trained maggot) he had decided the time was nigh (or rather, it had been decided for him.)
Luckily, Cherrypoo (for that was her name) had come to the same conclusion, reached the same stage in life and wasn't it nice when you discovered you weren't the only one? This created a bond, which led to sex and now they were a couple, official like.
And what do couples do but leap after each other, blindly and adoringly. Until one or other falls off the deep end, which he was now threating to do.
Luckily she came to his rescue and that was when he knew it was True Love.
Back to the Divide. As the mist parted they saw they had landed in a swampy landscape of indescribable murkiness.
(A little explanation here seems wise. Each time one crosses over it will look different on the Other Side. It is merely a relflection of one's internal state.)
This did not bode well, indeed it did not.
They clasped each others hands with a fervour only found in the very young and innocent and crept forward, expecting at any moment to be hit over the head by a banshee or at the very least eaten by a dragon.
None of this happened however, for a depressingly long time. One can endure only so much sress until the body becomes accustomed to it, so they started to relax and look about them a bit more. Suddenly she pointed toward an attractive looking grove of trees (attractive despite the murky mistiness enveloping them and nearly smothering them.)
The moment seemed right. They decided they were ripe for some more sex.
Just as she was treating him to one of her special party tricks the Totem spoke. For little did they know this grove of trees WAS the Totem, in all it's ornate glory and she was not thrilled about having her respects paid in this manner. Being matronly of nature she was somewhat ruffled by the experience.
She did not, however, let this hinder her in Speaking. For when she spoke, she Spoke.
Thunderously, so that the nearby trees shook in their firmaments, she gave the Word.
And the Word said, he was to become a plumber and she a nurse.
Thus they entered the glorious Age of Adulthood meekend by an experience that would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Not for them the dreams of ambition afforded to so many other of their counterparts.
Reality hit them firmly on the head and said the world needed useful people on occasion and that was the role they were to play.

Crime and Punishment Toadstyle

Now, when you think of Matt and his ugly mug, you must realise one thing. It isn't an easy life being a toad.
People just assume you are going to be an unpleasant fellow and tend to avoid you. Of course, they are mostly right, but he would like the benefit of the doubt. Just sometimes, you know?
Growing up in Swamp Toad Hill had been hard for Matt. All the happiness and chummy go-getting spiritedness of the place got to him. He had spent a lot of his time doing his utmost best to spread a little of the unhappiness he felt, to share it as it were. A pain shared is a pain halved, after all.
Sadly, the kids and teachers, not to mention their parents, didn't quite see it this way with the result that he was often accused of bullying.
Well, that just went to show you how little the simpletons in this town understood him. If he were indeed to stoop to the act of bullying such unworthy opponents as his brainless, halfwitt classmates whom he could just as easily brush off the playground with one flick of his tongue, do you think he would be where he was now? A man of means?
No indeed. He would be a small time crook, perhaps, with not much of a future. Instead he had early on seen that he must bide his time , in order to get out of this town and better his chances at a rich and hedonistic life style.
Thus we find him now a fat (a measure of succes for Toads, let us not forget this fact) and bloated big time crook. Much better, all in all and furthermore precisely what his mother always said he deserved. And Mother knew best, of course, even after all these years and a hefty dose of senility bought on by one too many dosages of Prozac to keep her from lashing out at the world. She was still 'always right'.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, we find Matt the Muddvark running an establishment of dubious reputation called The Republik, deep inside the heart of the Forest somewhere to the East of his hometown. This place is known as Little Eaves but let not the romantic name fool you. Oh no. Hardly anybody actually lives in this town. That would be altogether unwise due to the large amounts of green slime polluting the river running through it. Rumour has it that this slime is actually a by product of the Chemicals that Humans deposit in it, upstream in their own reality.
Naturally, this is a load of twaddle bought on by anxious, left wing parlementarians trying to get a foothold in the hearts of the citizens by scaring them with doom-laden stories about the imminent Ending of the world as we know it. Nobody actually believes this stuff. But it makes for good media coverage. And Lord knows they need media coverage.
The clear thinking Toads among us, Matt being the best of them all, said that it was definitely impossible that pollution starting in the realm of Humans could ever hit their own safe little reality. The twain harldy ever met so how could one possibly influence the other?
Indeed, thought the gullible citizens to themselves, surely one could not influence the other?
Little did they know....

Now you might wonder what all of this has to do with 'Crime and Punishment Toadstyle'? Well, I shall let you in on a secret.
Matt has his Crime in the running of the Republik on precious forest energy and several other shifty dealings which I shall not bother to go into know. As for his Punishment? Well, he succintly punishes his former classmates for their lack of love and understanding of his person, by bottling the green liquid and selling it as precious absinth.
Thus he contributes to the slow mental disease which is corroding this once so very happy and idyllisitc Land of Fresia.

The Hibernating Mole who mistook weed for toilet paper...

Now, one of the curiosities of living in a place like Amsterdam, as I'm sure you all know, is the amazingly large quantities of hash and weed in circulation. And not just circulation. It is snorted, sniffed, eaten, drunken, smoked, inhaled and even injected by all manner of people.
Most of them being over enthusiastic tourists with more cash than sense. However, on occasion, you do get an inhabitant with no clue as to what the stuff is let alone what it can do for you.

Take for instance Mr Mole.
Mr Mole was a bit of recluse for reasons only known to himself and his pet flea, Markus. His seclusion (except on working days when he was forced to make an appearance at the bank) led him to be rather naive.
He thought, for instance, that putting jelly on pasta made a nice dessert and a welcome change to one's usual diet of pasta with tuna...
Clearly he had several issues going on. One of them being a severe lack of taste. Taste is something you acquire. You may have been told otherwise by various people along the way but don't be fooled. Taste is something you are taught, by society mainly.
After one too many, often painful, mistakes you soon realise the error of your ways and adjust yourself accordingly.
Not so our Mr Mole. (B. Mole actually, but this is not something he liked to broadcast. A name is very Personal).
He was alone from a very young age, his parents being hippies of the sort that thought a child would just grow up by himself, if left along for long enough.
So they hiked off to South East Asia, or thereabouts, where they succumbed to dysentery after several rather debaucherous years.
He was told of the fact some six months after it happened by the local flowerboy who, having stolen their gold teeth, thought he could readjust he Karma by calling the Next of Kin.
He was sadly mistaken; his ashes were found some 10 years later in a Bombay gutter. A very sad story and one I shall not discuss any further here.

Anyhow, you get the picture. He was a loner from the word go and was thus never taught by society the proper way to conduct himself. He did meet a rather lovely young (female) mole at a garden party during his 23rd year but although he fell for her and she for him, he discovered after all of three days together that his need to be alone was greater than his ability to adapt to another person and so it ended before it even started properly.


But to get back to the weed. One of his issues concerning life in general was his lack of knowledge as to what people DO in their Free Time.
Things like drinking, flying kites and island hopping were all quite alien to him seeing as he never set foot outside of his hole when not required to work.
What did he spend his time doing in there, I here you ask....Ahh well, here is a curious thing. He was an avid organ player. We are talking mega enthusiast here.
How so? Well, before his parents discovered the High Road due South they had taken him to all manner of Religious Outlets, to let him choose for himself what he wanted to Believe.
One of them, the most memorable as far as he was concerned, was a Church. In it you see, was an organ (at that moment being played by Toby, before he founded a band and discovered Cool. He was only seven at the time so one must make allowances). Anyhow, young Toby wasn't half bad on the old organ and so it happened that a life long passion was born inside Mr Mole (at that point still known as Bernardus).
So this is what he spent his time doing in his hole. Playing (not to mention polishing) his organ.
Come to think of it, he DID have a certain resemblance to Stevie Wonder...not that he would know who that was, of course.

Anyhow, once again I am becoming distracted. My point just now was this; his cluelessness on life in general extended itself to the fact that he knew nothing whatsoever about the liberal drug laws of the city in which he was living.

(Before we go on, let me just explain something...We ARE speaking of Amsterdam, indeed we are. And yes, we are also still speaking of Fresia, I promise you that. Fresia is a place IN Amsterdam, just on a different dimension, that is all. It is really quite simple. Just like Bombay and anywhere else also exists on a different level (several probably). The world is the world the world over, just with a different cast of Beings and a different atmosphere. I hope this is clear? Then I shall continue...)

This meant that Mr Mole had no idea that the green leaves his neighbour was growing in his bathroom (on account of the amazing levels of humidity in this tiny room...no window and no fan assured one of this. Add a special lamp and you have yourself the perfect conditions for a Dutch tradition).
Mole being Mole did not look to see what he was wiping himself with when he was over one afternoon to help with the placement of a new doorframe. (He was very Duty-bound, to the point of overcoming his lack of sociability. Duty was important, even to one's fellow Beings.)
So he grabbed the nearest thing available to wipe himself with and lo and behold it was a Plant.
This did not dismay him however; being a Bachelor for many years had taught him to use just about anything. A plant was no less odd than last weeks newspaper.
The neighbour however, was rather dismayed upon discovering a year's worth of growth thrown away with one swipe. Such things are very distressing.
In fact, he needed a little smoke to calm down.

This lack of respect for a cultural heritage did not endear him to his fellow citizens. We are all very tolerant but ignorance is something we cannot stand.
The result of this little misdemeanour is that Mole became even more secluded, no longer even having duties to perform for others.
A person needs to be needed however much he thinks this is not the case. Thus we find that Mr Mole had a sad demise, literally shrivelling up until one day he just plain disappeared.

His house became available for purchase soon after and this is how Liverwuss and his Delfinia were able to move back into Town.
They had to break down several walls to allow for light (windows not having been a priority for Mole) but otherwise it was a perfect abode for the two of them.
Delfinia even discovered a liking for the old organ herself.