Yes, it is true, in a distant corner of the interwebs far, far away, I was mistaken for a guy called TURNER, Aidan TURNER. Especially poor MsScarlet was shocked when she realised her – all too understandable, I may remark – mistake. I must admit that Mr Inexplicable DeVice lead me astray, and made me take part in his shenanigans – all because of a certain bottle … ah, in the end we have Mogwash ! A part of mine is still buried there, may be a Gummistiefel. Astoundingly not Mogwash, but Sonora did Mr Hampton HAWES (1928-1977 ) (Ger., Eng.) call today’s Sunday Music. This quite elegant samba was released on the 1967 lp Hamp’s Piano, not to be confused with a waltz of the same name (here), published in 1968 on Spanish Steps (here a nice version by Ryo FUKUI (1948-2016) (Ger., Eng.)). I hope you like the music. The road to Mogwash is muddy – now let’s waft ‘n wisp over the puddles easily like ghostly conglombulations of purest Dartmoor fog. Have a nice week.
I spend the evening mostly at the local waterhole, the Mogwash Arms. The locals were a bit, well reluctant in the beginning, but in the course of the evening it became pretty entertaining. A man called Sebastian insisted on a kind of ABBA-sing-along. I think he is also a member of the local teabagging-society. I may have gotten this wrong, but it could be related to the Teebeutelweitwurf of Eastern Frisia. Always astounding what survives in remote regions, maybe there is something to the romantische Kontinuitätsprämisse I just did not get.
The ice was broken and there were some charades or pantomimes. Especially impressive was a kangaroo that lost its tail, the crowd went wild and everybody wanted to touch this strange object. I tried to record the incantations, but somehow my trusted phone would not work.
When order was restored I found myself at the table with a Canadian lady, who showed impressive drinking abilities. She introduced herself as “Mistress NK” and was in the company of some colourful characters, fellow diggers perhaps ?
I remember that there was talk about something like bond & bail and a tall gentleman from Texas insisted that I carry lots of gay coloured bracelets as a precaution, so be it, if they do not cumber with the digging.
I learned a new word – toodlepipski – travelling educates – and then went back to this idyllic guesthouse of Mr. Bates (free wifi), humming ABBA’s greasiest hits.
Ah, the Mogwash parking lot is my oyster !
Toodlepipski y’all, as The Lady said.
I am currently not in sunny Franconia but in an undisclosed location on an island, ultima Thule.
A nice little side-project, if causing perspiration. Only problem so far are the inhabitants, perhaps I should not have greeted with a hearty “Hey-hooo aboriginies!” It could be possible that my trusted travel guide (Berlin 1938) may be a little bit outdated after all.
Sadly my trusted copy of HROUDAs Methoden der Archäologie fell in the mud very shortly after my arrival. Who’d thought that I would need it ever again ?
A nice lady came by and asked me a lot of questions, I do not know whether my papers convinced her about the rightfulness of this little dig, we’ll see. She mentioned a “mouthpiece”, but I found it hard to follow while drilling through the tar. The plan is simple enough – dig, grab, run. The sound of a kind of lawnmower or something is a bit irritating, they may take their love affair with manicured lawn a bit too far here. On the other side – I’m standing in a muddy pit filled with cold book-eating mud. I think they call it “mog” here. Makes manicured lawn look very desirable.
First results will be announced soon. Enough for this evening, I have to search for a bottle of beer or something, Silvaner may be out of reach in Mogland.