My nom-de-guerre is Francesca Nelligan-Spume and I live in a plant pot. The other morning at 3am, I was walking my Octopus 'Debussy' across South West England when my middle hand exploded on the Clifton Suspension Bridge. Apart from the fact that this bridge was Brunel's very first project, I am troubled by the mysterious Arab Chieftain who is never there when I get home.
Dear Kalahari Desert,
May I take the time to write in praise of the very tall Chinaman who wrote my diary for me when I was travelling in 'insect keepsakes' last Winter throughout the lowest part of the Polish Carpathians. Apart from the 'stag beetle paperweights', I shifted little stock. I had been ill-advised from a text book - 'How To Clean Up In Insect Keepsakes' by Franz Kafka - that everything except 'bluebottle and wasp bookmarks' would sell well in the Carpathian foothills. My only regret is that I turned a deaf ear to the constant pleas of my infeasibly-tall Chinese ammanuensis. He would not let up with urging me to go to visit the habitats of the yellow-bellied toad. He was always urging. It was terrible, the way he urged me. And still, to my shame, I did not heed his urgings.
Wolverhampton, London and Dawlish.
Dear Pseudo-Riemannian manifold,
May I draw your readers' collective attention to the concept of a Reversed Tunnel? A hole with earth in it is a good example, since a tunnel is earth with a hole in. I am also keen to expound my theory of heterodox economics with reference to the Praxeology of the Austrian School. I dream in corduroy and dine off the back of a tranquilised okapi whose shuddering flanks remind me of my first mother's tremulous earlobes. Every night I am terrorised by six luminescent School Crossing Attendants. They all have the face of Bonnie Prince Charlie and lobster claws for hands and they glide across my ceiling discussing the teachings of the German mystic Meister Eckhart in the Honichi dialect of Japan's Bungo Province. I keep my breakfast cereal under cloches to obviate frost. I am a mole and I live in a hole. That last sentence was a little white lie.
c/o Kiyo and Misha The Aardvarks,