Category: Kreated Kues

Noble, or nob?

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“I say, Pater, this is a jolly good wheeze, what?”

“Learn well, boy. This is the life into which you were born.”

“I’m delighted to be accompanying you on this little jaunt, Pater. I do have one question, though.”

“What is it?”

“Must the peasants be allowed to watch us?”

“Remember, Primo, we are only where we are today because these people you dismiss as peasants give their labours, and sometimes their lives, to ensure we can live in the lap of luxury.”

“Shouldn’t they be doing that, then, and not standing there in squalor and filth gawping at us?”

“Shouldn’t they be doing what?”

“Working for us. What was it you said? Giving their labours and sometimes their lives?”

“Primogenitus Topdog, I am surprised at you. Surprised and disappointed. From where do such cruel and heartless thoughts spring, pray?”

“Nanny says we’re better than them. She says they’re not fit to untie my bootlaces. Nanny says that the lower classes can never aspire to the ranks of the upper-classes. And she should know.”

“Why should Nanny know about that?”

“Because she’s one of them. A low-born. She knows how fortunate she is to have the honour and privilege of being my Nanny. And she knows she has the job through my generosity and grace, not through any inherent value or quality of her own. Tell me I’m right, Pater.”

“We may have to agree to differ on that, Boy. All human beings have their own, intrinsic value.”

“Are you listening to yourself, Pater? Ewww. That horse has just defecated.”

“It happens. Get over it.”

“I appreciate and grant that every creature that eats must dispose of its waste. I’m not stupid, you know. What I don’t appreciate is the beast doing it right in front of my eyes. Who was supposed to have trained this animal? I’ll have him flogged. Teach him some manners then maybe he’ll teach the horse some.”

“Your training is going well, my boy. Before you know it, you’ll be reclining in the seat of power.”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 229 published on this site.

Old friends

Hobie and Flash

“Hobie, you awake?”

“No!”

“You just answered me, so you must be.”

“Somniloquy.”

“What?”

“Somniloquy. It’s a parasomnia. It means talking in your sleep.”

“Why not call it that instead of somni-whatever and para-thingumyjig?”

“Usual reason.”

“Just to make me think you’re smart?”

“No. To make you know that I’m smart. Now shaddap and get back to sleep.”

“It’s not just me. You’re awake, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are so. You’re talking to me.”

“We should both be fast asleep.”

“You? Fast asleep? Look at yourself, then look at me and tell me which of us should be fast asleep.”

“Both.”

“Hobie, you are fat and slow.”

“Big-boned, not fat.”

“What did you weigh last time we went to the vet?”

“Fifty-two.”

“Pounds?”

“Kilos.”

“And I was twenty-three kilos. Look at my lines: sleek, aerodynamic and powerful. Then look at yours: pure lard. Hardly built for speed. I should be fast asleep, you should be slow asleep.”

“I’ll grant you that I’m just a tiny bit heavy. I don’t hear you complaining these cold nights, though, when you want someone to snuggle up to for warmth.”

“True that.”

“So what did you want?”

“When?”

“When you woke me up to ask me if I was awake.”

“Oh, that. I’ve forgotten.”

“Go back to sleep, then!”

“Okay. Goodnight, Hobie.”

“Goodnight, Flash.”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 228 published on this site.

Say what?

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“You sure there isn’t an easier way of doing this, Nick?”

“Do you seriously opine that I would be expending energy digging under this fence by hand if a less arduous route to achieve the same result were available?”

“Knowing you, yes.”

“Wha… why are you expressing that assertion?”

“You just answered your own question, Nick.”

“How?”

“For starters, I said ‘an easier way of doing it’; you had to say ‘a less arduous route to achieve the same result’. Then, instead of ‘what makes you say that?’ you ask ‘why are you expressing that assertion?’ You have a way of making the easiest job unbelievably complicated.”

“I would respectfully dispute your proposition.”

“Will you stop it?”

“What particular activity would you prefer I cease, precisely?”

“Precisely? Being a no—”

“Henri. I would prefer that you not resort to employing abusive epithets in such a deleterious manner.”

“It’s Henry, not Henri. I’m not French and I don’t have a poncy French name. I’m Henry, like eight kings of England. In fact, why don’t you call me Harry.”

“Why?”

“Coz I like the name, and you can’t mess with it. Why can’t you ever call a spade a spade?”

“Too imprecise, old chap. The term covers a veritable multitude of similarly constructed but functionally distinct tools used for digging or cutting earth, sand, turf and the like. Many people employ the word ‘spade’ when they really mean ‘shovel’. Do you really resent linguistic accuracy, Henri? Do you, perhaps feel threatened by it?”

“Harry, not Henri! And no, I don’t feel threatened, but I don’t like having to have a dictionary in my hands every time you open your mouth to speak. Why must you make everything so bloody hard?”

“Language, Henri, language.”

“Are you telling me off for swearing?”

“Not at all, my dear chap. Merely pointing out to you that language is important. Expressing oneself accurately displays intellectual respect for one’s interlocutor, whilst modesty of language; choosing one’s words in a respectful and measured fashion; demonstrates basic human empathy with others and an awareness and understanding of their sensitivities.”

“Is that available in English?”

“Oh, shut up and help with the digging. The bloody van keys are bound to be in there somewhere!”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 227 published on this site.