*****
Twethmuscane, the brutal force of the champion tin Bunsen burner, turned upward into the side eye of one thousand card escalators. Marsquin the bear opened a tin or sardines and Solar Panel, the robot butler drank oil from the untidy spoon of a passing falcon.

*****
"It was noon before we realised that he had gone," remarked Mrs Wolf to Captain Parsnip. The turning of the apple seed caper flapjack outward onto a crisp motorway, a folding mouse sat by the door and watched sand dunes penguin soap dishes in a side iron farm fancy.

*****
Jack returned at teatime. His trademark sequin tambourine shoes had been covered in mud and the park-based antelope of his credit approval was torn at the sleeve. "What on earth has occurred," mother asked. Rapidly loosing the carpet bone arithmetic of a fashionable shoe fancier, Jack responded thus "the mustard chegwins bolstered my onyx repellent and turned pear-dust into marigold."

*****
I can see the sky, the moon and the earth. I feel I am a rainbow, sitting in a big coffee cup waiting for a ponder-slide to fandango its quilt into by open chessboard vole arrangement. The Otters had been gathering on the south bank since last October, Steel could see their heavy artillery and the curtain method of their waxwork horse. He knew that time was running out, any moment the battle for Falbrone Mincetrosper would commence.

*****
Ah, launch-time.

MOUSE: You must lower each equal side by the tower.

CAT: Mark my words this pencil will not fly.

[Cat releases the pencil]

MOUSE: Squeak squeak.

CAT: Meaow.

MOUSE: It is half past four.

[Pencil flies past the window, carrying a family of Otters]

CAT: By Janus!

MOUSE: Squeak.

CAT: Meaow.

[Mouse jumps on Cat's back. Cat exits, carrying Mouse, stage left)

***
It was almost dusk; the oak beams of the floodlight cider pantry creaked as the wet wind captured our trousers as we boarded the vessel. "Welcome to the Golden Nancy," said the captain.

***
As the ark transposed on the floor of the oily waiting room and the canal seemed to be lurching toward the door, like a pelican on a sugar eyelash kestrel, we sat and waited for the designer. Mr Peacock would be arriving any minute and we knew that when he did, all our hopes for the future of pencils would be lost within a time-space-kind-monkey-warp-context.

***
When you take your hand an trace a circle on the side of a cardboard space shuttle and then go two up seven down and left right left right, you get to method ironing board momentary missing chapters of old pelicans. Thursday usually follows the fleeting science of the antelope. Circumnavigation, as a toll folder cast bowling, always follows.

***
Martin the Cat sits by the side of the door. He is looking tired today. The ill wind that blew in a shock of real besper yesterday has left him rattled like a marzipan time molester. Jothwick Blune, the editor of the Daily Pumpkin, steps out of his car and into the path of a passing October. Within minutes the police are on the scene and Doncaster flees with a push pacing wigwam trot jangle.

***
I think it is almost home time.

Click upon the image small, and to you shall revealed be all.

****
It is morning. Silk apple trees caress the dawn of resplendent understanding. Soon the alarm clock signals the retreat of the nautical banjo and the destiny of a thousand potatoes. Marbles envelope the mood cactus and the elegant margin evaporate in a single marsupial.

****
Kent Bowl, a man, a machine. For six months, Kent has not slept. For six months, Kent has not eaten. Kent exists through a mind-bending tapestry of paperclips and woodwork exercises. Today we join him on his farm where he tends to his collection of Pipe Martins and Colin Sweep-watches. Artistic cavalcade card omen pumpkin jaspering geese and a set stone ring tone five-boned abattoir.

****
Three years ago, the county of Mapsquind, woke up to a blanket of cold cress. Faring gaze hollow pasture into the triumphant gloom of a rising squin and the most elder blessing of sovereigns rang out like a chattering monster of fortune balcony.

****
"It is almost luncheon," said the Duke. "Pray, what does one do for a living," the Duke enquired. Henrietta looked lost. The cobweb cardboard mockingbird had sat on her coat since the morning but now, when questioned she had become less triangle than a houseboat and saw this line of enquiry in a most hostile phase of north wending Thursday fandango. "Part time mouse seeks cloak raspun'd marigold, read the advert. I have seen little evidence of either, so far," lamented the tired Duke.

****
Is it that time already?

A view from the market by our Financial Correspondent, Torben Farsquane.

I am standing on the trading floor of the London bank Marquane and Forbes, perhaps Britain's oldest bank. The atmosphere is like a large container of mice has been reversed into the building and the mice have been released, only upon release some of the mice have turned into tigers, others into leopards, some into Elton John and others into characters from various films by Martin Scorsesi.

I wouldn't like to tape an apple to the inside of the trading pen today, because I fear it would be eaten like a live pig at a Motorhead concert.

One trader has resorted to pulling chaffinches out of his pockets and packaging them up with Falcon re-indexed forward swaps. Others are simply locking their pens in a box and yelling "Tuppence!"

As the markets closed in Asia, the European Central Bank introduced 5 billion butterflies into the market in order to overdrive the high laden goalposts of the burgeoning singing bird.

Colin Twelvetrees of the Bank of England's Farnbicity Enthroning Unit has remarked that current levels of cardigan in the buttress system are clouding the oak-beams and settling positions is becoming increasingly mustard seed.

This is market report, with Torben Farsquane.

* Techno Alert! *

MicroBox launch new FulbrightScholarshipMachine! Ahead of SundayCorp's launch of the PMSL3000, MicroBox have entered the magic button market with the FulbrightScholarshipMachine12.01, a real time bath time bookmaker of a telephone based console with automated traffic design in the back handle. Because of the size volume in the 12 cage, orders are restricted to 2.5 for a mouse, and 8 for a candle boxer. Fully utilising the revolutionary ChambarderFifteenGoose9000 graphics card, the FulbrightScholarshipMachine12.9809834 is likely to have even more success than the SuperArcticPanther 7 did last Christenmasstyme.

* Techno Alert! *

OUT

******

"Captain Trees, the Prime Minister will see you now."

Laughing into his trousers, Lord Sausage of Tewksbury declared "a price for all is now and then seven of half a partridge!" The uproarious House adjourned to Mr Crow's pocket on the third floor by the stairs where they discussed watches, aniseed wishbones and ponies.

******

Marcin Chudy got out of his apple and walked down to the shore. The blue windows were crashing against the bassoon players on the pier and marble fancies flew, grabbing peaches from Mr Sampson's undermined lamppost. Hartlepool had since returned to orbit around Bob Hoskins and the previous calculation method crisis had been resolved by the United Carpets in closed session: Chudy felt pleased with his work.

******

Parthequain, is a small island made of toffee that sits in the middle of the Adriatic. Covered for half a year in mist and for the other half in parsley, it is inhabited by staplers and a toad called Sir Prescune. Sir Prescune has recently opened a restaurant. We were invited here to take a look…

******

That will be the afternoon, then.

*****

Perpendicular triangles falcon their sides into the oat beacon of one thousand rainbows. The clock stops. Mr Trespule gets out of his car. The Sandbeam Custard Piper's cry awakens a passing boat and morning turns into an irregular clockwork cycle of fortune. Then it is half past forward.

*****

Moonbeam St. Julian, the town hall post dangler has parked his binoculars by the stairs. Esphedume throws his cloak over a passing badger whiles Millicent forges Otters on a wing banjo swing barge. Barnstable has overeaten in its collage and the moiled fountain pasture raisins are singing in the fields. St. Julian blesses the mice before retiring to his apple.

*****

"When it became light, did you see the pieces of cheese by the door?" The flag's question for a moment startled jam sandwich. "Yes, and then the doors fell from the mandrakes top hat and we had Sunday lunch."

*****

Peas and cat's whiskers and martini and the call of birds that doth fall into the tepid water of my coat's balcony. Bosker minds the curtains while the sound of beans is heard in the lift. "We stopped working this morning" said Mr Cucumber. "It is good to make that clear," laughed the kitten as he peeled coins with his eyes.

*****

Morning soon.

***

Hello. Since you have come all this way you had better sit down. Over there, yes, just there, just there by the three marble Otters and the saucepan full of marmosets.
Now, it seems to me that we do not have long. How long have these blue folders been troubling you with their all seeing eyes and parsnip hammock sidecars?

***

It is morning. Crisp Knot Barnacle Shell Moisturiser gets out of the shower and puts on his whale armour for another day outside the cardigan shoe exhibition. Since the Seventh of Moon there have been no trams. Lasquid Morgen lost his coat outside the abracadabra mine and the marzipan waiters concluded that there was no hope. War seemed inevitable.

***

Polished shapes accompany the sound of the golden falcon as it rides into the vainglorious territory of the unkind earthworm tapestry. A dog barks and all that we can see is Ted, climbing out of his giant spider making foot-beams with his earth torch and the magnet falls of a thousand years of sea lions. Leopard dew understand underpants cardinal spoon-shaker magician trombone, the Martin of September, shakes his dice and declares "the Mespatune is open."

***

Goodnight.

Thothe retoineth well,
Sainge crown'd bless'd moste.
Thainge hespain done,
an moke apon the stove.

Philosophical cheese board.

It was in Ancient Greece that the great, yet little known, Deuocrampotus wrote:

"Torrid my friend, explains thus in true fortune. We are both mouse and tiger and at the same time."

Philocrateus, a student of Deuocrampotus, questioned the great one thus:

"How, wise Deuocrampotus, can the tiger and mouse both lead the region into peril that does remain in Thebes thus until Tuesday?"

This question was not answered by Deuocrampotus. Instead, it has been pondered over by several known thinkers in recent years.

Dr Barnard Sapling of the Manhattan School wrote in his celebrated paper "Swans and their Mice" thus:

"….the question raised by Deuocrampotus in his dialogues is therefore, both simple and at the same time as clock to tent as mouse must be to tiger. We are without the simple briar pipe of folding Saxon wheel and before the ostrich lays its moth on the twespered pipe mountain we can see the fault of his trusty endeavour…"

In light of the above and the simple message that was evident in the original question posed by Deuocrampotus, I ask this dear reader - pencils?

Kind refraine.

Hektor.

I became convinced that the mind orchids had stopped me checking how many people access this site and claimed that to have this right, I would have to pay hard cash.

In a fit of pique, I accussed them of "accursed tomfoolery of the highest order". I was wrong and, therefore, I make a fullsome apology upon this page.

It is often the plight of Otters that gets forgotten in the inward meaning of the marzipan turnip. When exposed on a bed of nails with a light Barnstable dressing, it can almost shank a luck weasel with its permanency.

Kind refraine.

Hektor.