I have wishings to explort the known phrase, that is of "pecking order".
I as you are knowing to, am from the origin, that which is of People's Republic de Chine, or that witch is the "Chinamen" to of old standings, leferences to such Blingo Harlls of etc, Narlwhich, Hrull, Wokington, etc many "Top Rlank" Blingo, fatty comickal jhoke-takure and so Forthe. "Pleas twoe Jingo-Jingo Olled Been." Such and of this "longue flringre-niles" or in "so inascrutabule type Mand-arines", ha ho jollie china china lrestaurante "nhumbar 37 chope sweuey me old chinea fruite chpe chope!"
People's Republic being world's most polypous statue in worlde, comprizes some few 1.3 brillions, amongst this divers city of geologicals elvrinomelt, randsclapes notwrithe-standings. I am one.
Me and hrereinge, are of honrbbable Brlitishe Grovelment, Paliminte. "Whorled Survace johnny."
These we here, of "rlankted peckinges", so:
ah Mr Dhaou, in Pekingue (as of olderne, Bejingue thises days), wombe beings an "stewage operature wastinges". His mann Dhaoeu Msr., his of chargtinged withe "veoy-eurue to an of bhoudoore hiss nayebyoure Misses Jianimine thruw windhowes, spire-spy."
Hisse aslrough brothur "Sang Dhaeou" alsrow "stewinge waistpripes cluner" chirgete mitte bine-ocolours spayine has of "Missus Jinteoao" shoppe-misterous, her bledrume whindaow arslo."
Whitche has worstes, the bothers duel?
Shourley, has it ann "Pekinge hordure peekinge ordrer peckinge ordhrer"!
I amme horrably youreres,
Xi Boxiong (Sire)
your article of this last Thursday next but one gone brought back to me memories of my times on the Bhutanese railways, in those days of that time there, well before I became a man of the cloth. I mainly served in the so-called "Dzhong Ghong" narrow-gauge locomotives that were first introduced to the country by the Dutch pioneer Kwaak de Groote in the 1890s.
These were momentous times on the Bhutanese railways when I was working on it in those days thereof of that time. I had many memorable experiences in those days of that time, not the least of which was meeting the celebrated Chinese lighthouse engineer, Dhzing tse Dhzong (nicknamed "Bell" or "Clapper" by the local Bhutanese!), when he was working on the great lighthouse project at Bumthangholing Trashigang.
He was notorious for being a collector of ephemera and curiosities wherever he went, and Bhutan was no exception. Being from Bejiing, or Peking as it was known in the days of those times when I worked on the Bhutanese railway, he was dubbed "the Peking hoarder" by the local Bhutanese.
It was also the local Bhutanese (indeed, what other kind could there be in that place?) who termed Dzhing "the peaking hoarder" when his collecting seemed to reach a crescendo. This was around the time when the great lighthouse project at Bumthangholing Trashigang began to fall apart. They couldn't get the wood. Further, the local Bhutanese (and what other kind of Bhutanese would you hope to discover in such a locality?) were losing faith.
It was such a long time since they had seen anything of a ship in their land. Indeed, there were those who said that the last such sighting had been as long ago as never. The waterways were not at all conducive to the joys of sail or steam. In fact, it was a landscape that might best be described as utterly hostile and inimical to anything in the nautical line. Few are the sailing craft that can plough their way across the turbulent fastnesses of the Himalaya.
I myself became convinced that the great lighthouse project at Bumthangholing Trashigang was a gigantic "folie de lighthouse". The end came when the local Bhutanese (and I espied no other kind in that remote kingdom) began to call poor Dzhing "the peeking hoarder", due to his increasing tendency to view the lighthouse site through his hands, as if he could not bear to look fully at it.
And who could blame him?
Rev. Gladstone Hippo,
did you ever see such a thing as a trained chicken? Well, I am here to supply the living proof to you and your readerships.
For a number of years now I have been a trainer of our feathered friends. Not always the hen. No. I have tried my hand at many a feathered rascal, who has, not to flinch from the truth, got the better of me.
I attempted to teach starlings to walk backwards when I lived at Hove, on the south coast. Next, after moving to Rochdale, it was the House Sparrow to whom I turned, failing to verse him in the ways of the ballet (I had an - over-ambitious - notion of a "sparrow" Swan Lake to wow the local WIs).
Undaunted after this, I had moved to Leytonstone when I obtained a goodly number of what are best described as Canada Geese. These I exposed to the Jazz music of Bix Biederbecke and Louis Armstrong's Hot Five. My dream was of Canada Geese improvising collectively in a New Orleans style, but with individuals breaking out, after the manner of Bix and Louis, from the collective sound. Again, I was expecting too much of these simple creatures. They would never rise above what to me, seemed a formless cacophony.
And so it is, now fully esconsed in Osmotherley, that I reach my latest project. I have eschewed the notion of melody and taken up the cudgels of percussion. Having recruited to my cause a selection of pedigree fowls, including Spangled Orpington, Wyandotte and Muffed Old English Game, I am determined to have them peck upon a special "sounding board" to my orders, in a percussive accompaniment to Lady Gaga's Judas. They will peck out the percussion as the track plays out, and then in its midst, it will fall silent, and all that will be heard will be the pecking to order.
I have great hopes for this, and I just wanted you to be the first to know of it.