Category Archives: Bottled

Lost and Dangerous…

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Truth

Occasionally, outsiders or people I knew from a previous existence, would attempt to make contact with me. Some would even go so far as to leave the security of street lamps, pavements – the rudiments of civilisation – to visit me in the dark depths of my rural enclave.

One morning I was awoken by a despairing voice on the telephone, pleading for directions.

“Where am I? This is deliverance country, Banjo Lan . . .”

Much to my amusement my caller was cut short by the infamous Mogwashian dampening field that sucks the signal from every passing mobile phone. I could only conclude that my friend was indeed very lost, but at the same time very close, and even with concise directions, a map, compass, and a book of quotations, it would always be impossible for anyone to locate me, let alone the bottle of greed.

A Word of Warning….

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“Do not do unto others as you would they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same”

George Bernard Shaw (1856 – 1950)

The Story So Far…

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Blog

Miraculously my memory returned and with it my wayward identity. I could remember almost everything – that I was an artistic genius of unparalleled proportions; that I was from a tiny East Sussex village called Mogwash; and that my most recent artworks were visual representations of concealed emotional torment. Indeed, with my ‘Bottled Feelings’ I had revelled in the simultaneous expressions of concealment and revelation with a creative flair not witnessed in an individual since August 10th 1903. I also remembered that I was the highly intelligent, yet modest author, of the much loved ‘Wonky Words’ fiction blog that had garnered a cult following of Yahoo slurps, googlebots, and some important people in Washington… FBI bots…
Via my excellent website, wonky-words.com, I had left a series of ingenious clues that would lead my faithful readers to a bottle known as ‘Bottled Greed’, a bottle filled with a smorgasbord of treasured trinkets and priceless family heirlooms – probably hidden somewhere within the vicinity of Luddley-cum-Mogwash.
Frustrated that belief in ‘Bottled Greed’ was minimal, I puzzled over the problem of convincing my readership of my sincerity…
There was only one thing for it…. I’d dig the damn thing up myself…. buy a new car, some new boots…. the Estee Lauder Beauty counter…. invest in some art…. if only I could remember where I’d buried the damn thing….

Desperately Seeking Sanity

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Deja Vu

Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE, was a large rotund jolly gentleman in the same vein as a young Stephen Fry, all floppy fringed with a similar sense of humour.
‘As we can’t locate your previous identity and nobody seems willing to come forward to donate a spare one, then it may be wise to construct a new one for you…. er, the old one probably wasn’t working too well in any case, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up in here,’ he chuckled warmly, as he started scribbling frantically on his prescription pad.
‘Voila!,’ he exclaimed as he tore off my prescription with an extravagant flourish.
‘Here you are child, this should sort you out, now run along….chop, chop…. what are you waiting for? You must start immediately . . . shoo, shoo . . . toodlepipski.’
I hastened out of his office into the reception area where I sank down into a battered leather sofa and read the following:-

Identity Construction, Stage 1

1) Begin writing a bizarre fictional blog relating vaguely to your everyday experiences.

2) Explore the nature of an everyday object such as the humble bottle, find a way to exploit its inherent potential as a receptacle for purely emotional material.

3) Read books of quotations and note down the ones most relevant to your current situation.

I was beginning to feel a peculiar sense of deja vu….

Rudyard Kipling 1865 – 1936 Quotations

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‘Take my word for it, the silliest woman can manage a clever man; but it needs a very clever woman to manage a fool’ [Three and – an Extra]

‘For the female of the species is more deadly than the male’ [The Female of the Species]

‘But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: ‘It’s clever, but is it Art?’ [The Conundrum of the Workshops]

Amnesia

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Addressed

I t was perhaps several months later when I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed in Dorchester. I had forgotten everything – Mogwash, the bottle of greed, my dear friend Sebastian and the fact that I was merely a character from a fictional blog. The doctors spent many hours trying to help me regain my identity, all seemed hopeless… I had been found wandering, dazed and confused in The Booze Bucket – purveyors of fine wines and dubious ciders. Chillingly, I had a fatal head wound and a not unattractive limp.
Nationwide television appeals pleading for friends or relatives to come forward to identify me and take me home proved fruitless. It appeared that I had not been reported missing.
To pass the time I spent many happy afternoons in the hospital craft room teaching myself the ancient forgotten skills of calligraphy; hour upon hour would pass whilst I sat at a desk addressing colourful envelopes to imaginary people with made up addresses.
Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE,

wedding-calligraphy-for-london-bride-uk

Addressed

seemed convinced that clues to my identity/hometown/bottle of greed were to be found in my inky scribblings, I had no reason to persuade him otherwise.