Posted 9:47 AM by Gobbler
Uncle Blog

Hello. sorry i missed you yesterday, i was out of sorts. the night ebfore i sawe something in really didnt want to see, someone doing something with someone they shouldnt have, but there we are. not going to post what i was going to post today, but something random. something about ubncle. Talkbacks another time


Damned Peculiar

Koh Tao, Thailand

July 25 ish

It was Paul’s first night on Koh Tao. As he had signed up before he had got there and was very short on time, he had already started the diving course. It hadn’t been especially riveting so far, they had been given a quick lecture on water safety and then watched a video for a couple of hours; tomorrow they would put the gear on and practice dive in the swimming pool.

Paul now sat in the bar of his diving school with a book. He didn’t feel like socialising at that moment; he was quite content as he was. There were small groups of people sitting at tables and the atmosphere in the outdoor bar and, it seemed, the whole island, was friendly. Pleasant music accompanied the soft hum of voices and laughter and Paul felt that as soon as he wanted to meet some people it would be very easy to do so. Later he would want to meet people, but having just left behind a whole group of people in Chiang Mai he needed some time to recharge his socialising batteries. His reading was interrupted by a voice ahead of him.

"Hey, man." Paul turned to see a man of late middle age come up to him.

"Are you talking to me?" Replied Paul.

"Sure am," the man said, "hi, I’m Mike, pleased to meet you, ah, Paul, is it?"

How did the man know Paul’s name? Paul asked him. The man replied that he had seen Paul’s name on the diving register. He then asked Paul if his surname was correct, which Paul replied it was. This wasn’t as strange as you might think, Paul had a very unusual surname. Apart from his uncle he was the only person he knew with the name. Asking Paul about his surname was one thing but what happened next was outright extraordinary. Mike said that he knew that this was going to sound a bit strange and he was sorry for being so forward but he would like to ask Paul another question if he didn’t mind. Paul replied that he didn’t mind at all. Mike wanted to know if by some chance he knew someone that he used to know. He described a man of Paul’s uncle’s build, height, hair colour, and age. And name. Mike used Paul’s uncle’s name.

Paul didn’t reply immediately. This guy was American, he sounded like he had a southern accent. Paul had seen him about the diving school earlier, as far as Paul knew he was a senior diving instructor. How could he possibly know Paul’s uncle? Paul replied that he knew a man of that name and description and that it was his uncle.

"Gee," said Mike, "you mean to say that he’s still alive? I kinda figured he wouldn’t be."

"Why not?" asked Paul, "he’s not old, why would he be dead?"

"Well," Mike replied, "It’s kinda complicated. After his girl died he-"

Paul interrupted him, "He had a daughter?"

"No, no, no, I mean his girl. You know, like, ah, girlfriend."

"Hold up," said Paul, "I’m not sure we’re talking about the same guy. My uncle’s never had a girlfriend. At least, not as long as I can remember."

"Well, I don’t really know if it’s the same guy. But he always said that he was one of the only people in the world with his name. He said it was pretty unique ‘cos his grandfather had made it up. That’s why I was so interested when I saw your name, figured you must be related."

That sounded familiar to Paul, his uncle had once told him the same thing, but Paul still was not convinced. There was one way to be sure and he said with a chuckle, "When you knew him did he always go on about trains and Belgium and hippies and foreigners? My uncle is mad about them."

"Let me see," said Mike, "not really, no. He did always like trains. He said his English relations invented them, or something like that."

That was all the proof Paul needed. "Hey, we can’t be talking about the same guy, my uncle is English. You just mentioned his English relations; this guy you know is American, right?"

"That’s right, second generation, I belive." There was a brief pause. "Tell you what, I gotta photo somewhere with my stuff, with him in it. Why don’t I go and get it and we’ll see if you recognise him. I’d be real interested to know if it is him. Okay?"

Paul said that he didn’t mind and Mike left, promising to be back in half an hour or as soon as he could.

It was damned peculiar. It seemed that they were talking about the same person, but how could they be? Paul’s uncle was English, wasn’t he? Admittedly, Paul had never seen the birth certificate and his uncle didn’t have, or at least did not admit to having, a passport, so how could Paul actually be sure? His uncle certainly didn’t have an American accent, but then he didn’t have a particularly English one either, it was just sort of his uncle’s accent; unique, like his uncle. Paul had always assumed that nondescript accent was due to his uncle being eccentric, or, to put it another way, mad.

Nope, it was all too strange. But that didn’t stop Paul thinking about the possibilities. He put down his book. If this guy Mike was talking about another guy then it was pretty wierd that there was someone else out there of the same name and age as his uncle. Taking a sip from his glass of rum, Paul looked out to sea. The bar was right on the beach and he could see in the moonlight the waves gently running into shore, a beautiful evening. After about forty minutes Mike returned.

"Sorry I took so long," he said, "it took me a while to dig this out." He produced a battered photo and handed it over. As Paul stared at the photo his eyes widened. Not only did he recognise his uncle in the photo, but he recognised the photo as being identical to the one that he had found in his uncle’s attic when he was ten. It was almost unbelievable but there could be no doubt; it was his uncle.

"I’ve seen this photo before," Paul said with an effort.

"He showed it to you, did he?"

"No, he didn’t show me, I found it hidden away."

"Well, I guess that figures, I don’t look at mine too often neither. Memories of a time that’s dead and gone." He paused. "We had a copy made for each of us, Belle too."

"That’s the girl in the picture?"

"Yeah. Beautiful, aint she?"

"Yes."

"She was named Isabelle. We always just used to call her Belle."

"Was?"

"Oh, yeah. I’m sorry to say she died about two weeks after that photo was taken. Terrible thing." Mike frowned and looked into his drink.

"Was Belle his girl?"

"Yes she was, his and his only. You know in them days we all just kinda belonged to each other, but as soon as those two met, there was nobody else. They were real tight, real good together. I always figured that they’d get married. I mean, they never really talked about it, we never talked about that sort of thing, but I always figured they would, just the same. Tell you what," he went on, "this here bar is closing in a short while, but I’d like to carry on this conversation, if you don’t mind."

"No, I’d like to. I’ve known my uncle my whole life but he’s never spoken about his life before I knew him."

"Okay, good. I know a bar a little way down the beach that I like to go to, if it suits you. It’s quiet and peaceful and they have pipes there."

Off the two of them went. It was the last bar along the beach but it only took them fifteen minutes to get there; Koh Tao is small and still largely undeveloped so nothing is very far away. The bar they arrived at was just that. There was a small bar with a few stools by it but no other tables or chairs laid out. There were just mats and rugs laid out on the sand, with lanterns burning here and there and a few soft, multicoloured electric lights.

Mike obviously knew the barman as he went up to chat and get drinks while Paul sat down. He came back with not only two drinks but also a hubbly bubbly, or hookah pipe, freshly topped up with apple tobacco. Mike handed Paul a beer and sat down, and they began to talk about Paul’s uncle.

According to Mike, Paul’s uncle was born in Atlanta, Georgia, where Mike was from. They had grown up together. Not knowing what they wanted to do with their lives they had been the perfect age when the hippy movement started up in the early sixties and they’d both become a part of it. They’d been to the Newport festival in Virginia in sixty three, and after spending a couple more years in the States they had gone down to South America together.

Paul could hardly believe his ears. His uncle had been in South America?

"Sure," said Mike, "it was his idea. We took a cargo boat from New York down to Buenos
Ayres and stayed there a few months picking up Spanish, then we went up through Chile, Bolivia and Peru, and eventually got a boat back to San Fran from Lima. It was quite a trip. Amazing thing was, we managed to stay friends the whole time. We were like family. See, he didn’t have none of his own. His folks died when he was young, car wreck, and after that he came to live with my family. So we were like brothers." Mike took a long draw on the hookah and passed it to Paul. Exhaling a great, sweet smelling cloud of smoke he continued his tale.
"You know, he was only a couple of months older than me but I always looked up to him. He always had such great ideas about the world and the way you should live your life. I guess it was because he’d lost his family at such a young age, made him appreciate the time he had as he figured it could be taken away at any moment. His grandparents‘d both passed away before he was born and the only other family he had was in England, which I guess is you and your folks."

Paul drew on the pipe. Mike looked at him expecting him to say something. It was something he rarely spoke of, but that night was one for sharing. He exhaled, then said slowly, "my parents are dead too. My uncle is all I have."

"I’m sorry to hear that Paul," said Mike.

"That’s the way life goes."

"Do you mind telling me what happened?"

Yes, Paul did mind. Was it really necessary to ask that question? Paul swallowed, it wasn’t a subject he often thought about. "My father died in the Falklands war when I was two. He was a marine. My mother died of cancer four years ago."

"Seems to me, in a funny way," Mike went on, "that you’n your uncle’s got quite a lot in common. I mean, here you are, travelling round, just like he did, having had to deal with a lot of things already."

"Except that my uncle’s barmy." Paul was glad that the conversation had moved back to the subject of his uncle, and pursued it. He took one last drag on the pipe and handed it back to Mike, exhaling a big cloud of smoke and asked, "What did you do after you got back to the states?"

"Well, it was 1966 by then, the world was changing and so was your uncle. The Vietnam War was just getting vicious. Most of us, you know, us hippies, we all thought that what was going on over there was plain crazy, but I think your uncle kind of admired what they were doing out there. He used to say sometimes that, there we were, just going round doing whatever we wanted without really believing in anything, and out there in Vietnam our government was fighting for something it really thought was right. He said how it was all very well us doing what we were doing, but the only reason we could was because somewhere else someone was fighting for our freedom, and he couldn’t figure how that was right. The communists seemed to want to take over the world and he figured that he had no right to sit back singing songs and doing nothing about it while other people were fighting to keep the world free. Sometimes he’d get angry, say he was going to join up, do what he could. Sometimes I figured he might; he was always like that, head strong. He had a belief, you know? Man, I tell you, your uncle had a belief in life so strong he could a done anything. And then he met Belle and things sure changed." Mike sucked on the pipe but couldn’t get much life out of it. He began to get up.

"What about Isabelle? What happened when he met her?" Paul asked.

"I’ll tell you in just a moment. This pipes out of tobacco so I’ll go get some more. I real enjoy talking like this sharing a pipe. I’ll get you another beer, too."

Paul offered to pay for this round, but Mike refused the offer, saying that he owed Paul’s uncle for so many drinks and other things and he was glad that he could finally pay him back a little. Paul looked out to sea, thinking. Thinking. His poor uncle, the girl Paul was in love with that he’d soon be going to see, the world. Everything was out there, beyond the shore. Mike came back, sat down and Paul asked him to carry on his story.

"Yeah, Isabelle came on the scene and everything changed. Your uncle kinda forgot about Vietnam and changing the world and all that, all he was interested in was her. I can’t say I blame him, she was an incredible woman."

"Where did they meet?"

"They met at a beach party near Monterey which is near San Fran. Cisco, that is. Belle’d already been there a couple of months. She came over to California from Belgium with plans to make herself as an actress, but she fell in with the hippies. It was a new thing for her, the movement hadn’t reached where she was from by then and she figured it never would. She said she was taking a little time out before pursuing acting seriously, but I think she was enjoying herself too much to ever go for it in Hollywood or anywhere like that. Man, I tell you that girl was crazy for having a good time and we all loved her for it. But, anyway, things never got that far, like I said." He passed the pipe to Paul.

"It’s incredible," said Paul, "I had no idea about any of this. You say she was from Belgium?"

"That’s right. Pretty crazy huh, coming all the way over to California from there? But, like I say, she was an amazing young woman."

Belgium. His uncle was obsessed with Belgium. "What happened next?"

"We were travelling from place to place, mostly we stayed on the west coast. I wasn’t with the two of them all the time after they got together, but we were never long apart. I don’t think I ever saw him so happy. In a way that’s the worst part, because five months after they met... she was dead."

Paul asked how she had died. Mike swallowed and asked for the pipe. After a moment he exhaled another large cloud and then slowly continued. "I regret to say that it was kinda my fault. See, I was usually the one who got the hash or whatever else it was we were taking. I’d got my hands on some stuff from this guy and he said it was real special. And it was, I’d tried it and it took me right away, it was real strong. So I shared it with Belle and your uncle, like I always did. God, I wish I hadn’t. I’m sorry to say that it was too much for Belle and she, well she fell unconscious and by the time we got her to a hospital it was too late. Turned out that she’d had a heart attack. Apparently she had had a weak heart, which I guess makes sense. What made it worse, in every conceivable way, and what we hadn’t know beforehand, was that she was pregnant."

"How did you know that?" asked Paul.

"Well," Mike went on, "when a girl of twenty four comes into hospital dead without a mark on her, they carry out an autopsy to find out what happened. I guess they search for poisons, that kinda thing, check there’s no foul play, you know. Yeah, so your uncle’d lost not just his girl but his child also. And it was my fault. Here, you take this." He passed the pipe back to Paul. "I’ve talked a little more than I intended to."

Mike looked out to sea. The waves lapped the shore. Paul felt that he should say something, but he wasn’t sure what. "It wasn’t your fault though, Mike, you weren’t to know."

"That’s what your uncle told me. He took it real hard but he never blamed me for it, at least he
never said as such. Still, if I hadn’t done what I did then things would be different now." Mike sighed and then went on, "anyway, it’s all in the past now. I’ve laid those gremlins to rest a while back." He paused for a moment. "Then, your uncle went over to Belgium for the funeral and I never saw him again. He said he’d come back so I waited a few weeks, but he was gone. I guess he figured it was time to change direction."

Mike paused and Paul didn’t break the silence. They sat with their own thoughts, sharing the pipe for a few minutes. A thought occured to Mike, "Maybe he went straight from there to his family in England."

"No, I don’t think so. I didn’t know him until I was six, I remember meeting him. I always thought he’d just been living somewhere else in England and came to live in my town to help my mum out, but now I’m not so sure."

"Still, I’m glad to know he’s alright."

"He’s alright," replied Paul, "he’s mad as a hatter but he’s alright. Still, I can hardly believe what you’ve told me. It seems too amazing to be true."

"Well, I guess that when you find out that someone is completely different to what you thought they were, it’s a lot to take in. See, for me, it’s not extraordinary at all, it’s just a part of my life."

"How did you end up out here?" asked Paul.

"Strange to say," replied Mike, "that’s got something to do with your uncle as well. It was the same day the photo I showed you was taken. Your uncle told me about these paradise islands off the coast of Thailand and how he was thinking of taking Belle there, away from everything. Well, he and Belle never made it, so here I am."

"You’ve been here the whole time since then?"

"No, no. It took me a while before I first made it. I came to Thailand first time in seventy-three. I made my way to Koh Samui, there were a few of us down there. They were great days, too. And I spent a lot of the intervening years back in the states. Course Koh Samui’s changed a lot, I wouldn’t go near the place now."

"What’s wrong with Koh Samui?"

"Well, nothin’if you like bright lights and whores and MacDonalds, but I don’t. Neither does my wife."

Paul was surprised. "You’re married? I figured you wouldn’t be."

"Well now," Mike replied with a smile, "you figured an old hippie like me’d still be pursuing a life of free love and mind-expanding drugs?"

Paul chuckled, "I suppose so!"

"It aint so, you can’t pursue that lifestyle forever. I’d a ended up like Belle, or as good as. Actually, Anna aint really my wife, not in any legal way. But we’ve been together sixteen years, so I don’t know what else to call her. Maybe that was something else your uncle taught me."

"What do you mean?"

"See, seeing him and Belle together, them being so in love, you couldn’t help but be jealous and wish you had what they had. It made a big impression on me. Hey, is there anything left on that pipe?"

The pipe was just about dead and Paul told him so.

"Tell you what," said Mike, "How ‘bout we get one more pipe and then head home to bed. I’m diving tomorrow, I guess you are too and anyway Anna will be wondering where it is I’ve got to."

"You’re an instructor?"

"Yes and no. I own the school. I don’t do too much instructing these days." He stood up with the pipe and went to the bar. He returned a few minutes later with a fresh pipe and a couple more drinks. As he sat down he carried on talking.

"Like I say, seeing him and Belle together kinda changed my views on things. I realised that your uncle had something right, that we hadn’t really believed in much. Vague concepts, sure, like peace and free love, but those weren’t anything that could pin us down, there was nothin’ we had tostand up for. They were pretty easy."

"Still, they seem to me to be good things to believe in."

"Oh, don’t get me wrong, I agree with you. Peace and love are, are great things, but they weren’t much more than ideas. When your uncle came to me and told me how much he was in love with Belle, how she meant more to him than everything else in the world including himself, well, I realised what love really meant. Then, one day, I met Anna and, well, we’ve been lucky."

"But still," Paul went on, taking the pipe from Mike as he did so, "free love is a bloody good idea, at least from where I’m standing."

"I agree with you again, as long as you aren’t hurting anyone. All I’m saying is that, when it comes down to it, there’s more. But I guess, at least I hope, that you’ll work that out for yourself if you haven’t already. ‘Cos there’s not much good in me telling you, you’ve gotta believe it, it’s gotta come from within."

Paul had found himself agreeing with Mike until something occured to him. "But if you believe, if you love someone like my uncle did and it all goes wrong like it did with him, then you might get as messed up as him."

"Well, I’m afraid that’s true also. Like I say, I’ve been lucky. But look at it this way; if you deliberately choose not to believe in something like love because you’re afraid of what it might do to you, then that’s just it; you’re afraid. And if you live your life in fear, if you don’t do something you want to do, don’t believe it’s possible because you’re afraid of the consequences, then you’re livin’ a half life."

"Fight the madness," Paul said softly.

"What’s that?"

"Fight the madness," repeated Paul, more loudly, "it’s the last thing uncle said to me before I left. He said it was madness to leave home."

"Kinda rich comin’ from him!" said Mike with a laugh, "he was always itchin’ to go places."

"Not any more. But I mean, perhaps that’s why he said it, didn’t want me to go. He was afraid of what might happen. He’s afraid of what’s out there, outside of himself, because he was hurt so badly."

"Maybe. It’d be amazing to me if a man like your uncle really did lose his faith in the world, but if he’s gone crazy like you say then, well, I guess anything can happen." He tugged on the pipe a while before passing it across. "But that reminds me, would you mind telling me how I can contact your uncle? I’m not sure that I will do after all this time but I’d like to have the option. At least now I know he’s alright, which kinda sets my mind at rest."

Paul wasn’t sure that a blast from the past like Mike would be a good thing for his uncle, but he gave Mike the details, warning him about what he thought the repercussions might be. Mike had an idea. He suggested that Paul could let his uncle know that he had met Mike and see what his uncle said, if anything at all. Paul readily agreed, it seemed a good compromise. Having come to this conclusion Mike announced that he was going to bed. Paul decided to stay, he had a few things to think about. They parted with a handshake on friendly terms and as Paul had a few more days on the island and was staying in the school owned by Mike, they were sure to bump into each other sooner or later so there was no need to arrange a time when they could meet again. Mike said goodnight and moved away into the darkness.

Now alone, Paul stared out to sea, thinking. Isabelle. He recalled what his uncle had said to him, "and who is the queen of Belgia, Paul?" Isabelle was the queen of Belgia. Belgia, Belle, Belle-gia. In his uncles head, Isabelle was still alive and well in some star far away. Paul looked up at the sky. Which star was it supposed to be again? It was tragically beautiful, what his uncle had made up about Belgium. A whole dreamworld invented to keep his lost love alive.

Paul’s mind now drifted back to Diane, the girl he had finally realised, a few days before, through an opium haze, that he was in love with. Was it all going to go wrong and he’d turn out as crazy as his uncle? In less than two weeks time he would find out, one way or the other, when he went to see her. Was the padded cell ready?

From a chance meeting Paul now knew a little about his uncle, but there was still a big gap. What exactly had his uncle been up to from 1966 until he turned up in Normalton in 1984? Paul decided that, as he had agreed with Mike to tell his uncle they had met, he’d come straight out and ask him about the rest of his life, too.

It was time for bed. Paul drifted down the beach to his bungalow. It was a beautiful night, a night for dreams.

Posted 11:09 AM by Gobbler
Hello there oh punk like ones

Ive posted two bits today because i strongly suspect that i have posted the rules of engagement before but cannot be bothered to check. i have slightly changed it so if youve already read it it might be nice to read it again and it should make more sense now.

Anyhoiw punks, things trucking on satisfactorily, am heading for copmpletion only a few weeksbehind schedule. Am just finishing the bit on why uncle is mad, but you wont be getting it for a while so tyough chuddies. lets just say, surprise surprise, its all to do with hippies and belgium and foreigners. shcok horror!

The Rules Of Engagement

Normalton, England

June 1st 2003

Dear Paul,

Very concerned to hear that you have decided to go on a little holiday. I went on holiday to a foreign country myself once and to be honest I didn’t like it much. Why on earth you should want to go away is beyond me, but I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world.

I am very worried that you may get into trouble whilst you are away, do be careful. Madness will pursue you at every turn, as will foreigners. It would be extremely poor form if you were to perish whilst away from home although it is quite likely. I will be in communication with you as often as possible; please ensure you keep me updated about your whereabouts and how things are going.

I shall never speak to you again Paul, I shall write. Emails, Paul, technology. The future, science, Belgium. Yes, Paul, I shall write. Because madness is bound to find you Paul, find you and take control. These foreigners Paul, be wary of them, they are nothing but madness. I don’t want you to send me mad, Paul, so I must for my own safety keep away from you. You have made this choice Paul, not me, not me. I always liked you, Paul, I did, I still do, but you can’t expect me to be in close proximity to a madman, no! My email address will be uncle@uncle.com.

There are many things that you are not aware of and many dangers with which you will be confronted whilst you are away. The following information concerns the principle guidelines for travelling abroad. Ignoring the following will drastically increase the danger of perishing whilst away from home, which, as I have already stated, we don’t want to happen. Please read the following Rules Of Engagement carefully. Learning these rules will give you a good chance of coming through the entire experience without perishing though I daresay you shall still go mad. I have told you about these things before, but I feel it important to reiterate the fundamentals here.

Rules Of Engagement


§1 Concerning Foreigners

Foreigners are strange fellows in most respects and on the whole best avoided. However, it is, remember, an inevitable consequence of going abroad that at every step one is highly likely to encounter foreigners. Given this, it is worth bearing the following Key Points in mind:

Key Point i) The Essence of Foreignness

Foreigners are foreign. That is to say, they are not English, even a little bit.

Key Point ii) Language

Being foreign (as established in Key Point i)) they may have little or no knowledge of language. That is to say, they may not speak English. If that is the case, employ the following tactics in order: slow speech; increasingly loud speech; radical hand gestures.

Key Point iii) Types

Foreigners of any given type most generally congregate in large groups, known as ‘Foreign Country’s’. Key exceptions are the Irish whom, presumably because they are sick of eating potatoes, are to be found everywhere, often in a pub.

Key Point iv) Cuisine

Foreigner’s have a limited grasp of what constitutes good food. As an example, let us take the most important meal of the day: breakfast. Most foreigners think that breakfast involves two buns, a cup of coffee and perhaps a yoghurt, as opposed to some hearty meaty affair. Black pudding is a big no no even in a relatively advanced country such as the United States. In short: be prepared for the worst. The only reasonably civilised breakfast you are likely to be able to obtain on a regular basis is scrambled eggs on toast. It’s hardly ideal but it should keep you alive.

§2 Concerning Hippies

Hippies are not blessed creatures, they are damned and best avoided. Often they are not foreign but that is small consolation. Unhappily, they are often encountered in Foreign Countries. Happily, they are easily spotted as they all wear the same thing, like some mad twisted clique. The following Key Points outline how to spot, and thus avoid, these damned hippies.

Key Point i) Clothing

Hippies wear thai-dyed hippy clothing, usually flowing, loose fitting garments in varied hues of green and purple. A common get-up is blue cotton fisherman’s trousers, white buttonless cotton shirt, sandles and purple saree. And that’s just for the men. I mean I ask you.

Key Point ii) Accessories

Hippies commonly wear rings. So much so in fact, they are not content with filling their ears and covering their fingers with them, but also their belly buttons and, most inexplicably, their toes.

Key Point iii) Hair

Hippies do not have hairstyles yet, interestingly, they do have hair. Lots of it in fact. It is distributed in a foul unkempt mop about their heads, faces and elsewhere, often tied up into knots.

Key Point iv) Odour

Hippies are too busy looking for new fisherman’s trousers and toe rings and flowers to concern themselves in any meaningful way with washing. Even if a hippie is disguised as a normal person and you can’t spot them, you will be able to smell them.

§3 Concerning Transport

In general and where there is an option, it is strongly advised that a train is to be employed to get from A to B. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) Origins

We, the English, invented trains. They can therefore be relied upon.

Key Point ii) Road Safety

Foreigners, on the whole, cannot drive with any degree of safety. If you opt for a bus you are therefore putting your life in the lap of the gods. And we are talking foreign gods here, which is unwise.

Key Point iii) Fun

A key aim of venturing abroad is to have a good time. It was correctly observed by Michael Caine in the film ZULU that trains are ‘damned funny’ and thus, of course, highly entertaining and, therefore, will help you have a good time.

Key Point iv) Hippies

Hippies (see §2) do no use trains as they cannot afford them.

Peculiar Yet Important Point: Trains may arrive on time.

§4 Concerning Belgium

Do not forget Belgium. At first sight, Belgium appears to be an inoffensive and relatively unimportant country nestled somewhere in the heart of Western Europe. Furthermore, Belgians themselves have a similarly inoffensive and relatively unimportant reputation as creators of fine chocolates. This is a deception. Belgians are on no account to be underestimated. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) Politics

Brussels is to all intents and purposes the capital of Europe and this makes Belgium very powerful, and they know it.

Key Point ii) Transport

There is a secret underground monorail which is able to reach most of the globe. Its hub is Brussels. This is why Belgians are able to pop up in all parts of the globe at any given point. Plus, if they wanted to, the whole country could just jet off back to Belgia or, in fact, anywhere it wanted.

Key Point iii) Language

Belgians speak English, French and German, which shows that they are very clever indeed. They also have their own secret language, which is I believe called Belgic. No-one except the Belgians can understand this language.

Key Point iv) Hippies (See §2)

There are no Belgian hippies. While this at first sight appears to be a plus point, it is in fact quite unnerving. The question is this: why are there no Belgian Hippies?

I think I have made myself clear and I hope that this helps a little. Above all, fight the madness at every turn.

Good Luck,

Your Uncle

****

Beginnings

Normalton, England

June 1st

Paul wasn’t exactly stuffed full of confidence after reading his uncle’s letter. As far as travel advice goes his uncle’s sage words were about as useful as a book on feminism. And Paul needed travel advice. He was due to leave in a week and he wasn’t at all sure what he was doing or whether he would indeed be able to get back to England without perishing.

The Thursday before, for example, had been a bit of a cock-up. He had drunk one too many lagers and fallen asleep on the train home, missing his stop. He had found himself being ejected from his seat at Oxford station by a curt conductor who informed Paul, as he escorted him through the spike crested gate, that there were no more trains until morning. Paul didn’t have any money for a hotel so he quizzed the conductor as to where the best place to spend the night was. The conductor divulged that most people tended to sleep round at the front of the station. Paul thanked him and stumbled his way over to that locale.

He could find no obvious place to lay down; no becoming benches; no quiet cosy doorway; no kind sir handing out blankets to those in need; no obvious purveyor of Special Brew that might have helped Paul fit in better with those whom he was likely about to spend the night. The front of the station was exposed and bright and this was not ideal, for everybody of class knows it to be improper conduct to undertake an evenings hearty slumber in view of the general public. In any case, there were loud ventilation fans overhead which were, he considered, unlikely to be conducive to sleep.

Yes, the platform was the only reasonable place for Paul. All obvious access to the platform was protected by barbed wire or sharp pointy fence, but he was able to negotiate a small and partially concealed wall next to a billboard at the south end of the platform. He had a look around the now dark and deserted platform in order to discern the hour of the first train of the morning, 5:33, then returned to his point of entry and lay down to sleep.

It was not the most comfortable of evenings Paul had ever endured, partly because he slept rather too close to an ants nest. He was occassionally awoken by a train rolling past, and more than once by little creatures roaming about his person in search of and perhaps finding some tasty morsels to carry back to ant HQ. I do not envy Paul. It cannot be the most gratifying experience to be awoken by an ant crawling over your face, unable to open your eyes and assess the situation because the little bugger is crawling over your eyelid. If you are ever offered a night out at Oxford station then do yourself a favour and give it a firm thumbs down.
Eventually the correct train rolled up and Paul clambered aboard. He promptly fell asleep again, and was woefully close to missing his stop. He awoke to see the train at a standstill at his station, and catapulted himself off the train, ascending the exit stairs two at a time. When he eventually returned home he was too late to go to London and get his visa for Thailand, not that he would have been able to drive anyway; he had left his car lights on and his battery was flat.

The problem, Paul realised, was that if he wasn’t even capable of getting home after a night at the pub, then how exactly did he expect to get himself round the world in one piece without, as his uncle had put it, perishing? And also, as his uncle had said, why did he want to go? I don’t think that, back then, on the 1st of June 2003, Paul really knew the answer. Sure, he knew he wanted to see some interesting stuff, like the great ancient cities; Angkor Wat in Cambodia, Tikal in Guatemala and Macchu Picchu in Peru. He wanted to meet some different people, meet a few pretty ladies, have a good time. He wanted to see the world and find out what it was like. His town wasn’t the most interesting place in the world and he wanted to see some more interesting places. Yes, like the ant that had crawled over his face looking for food the night before, he was a curious little bugger. He didn’t want to go mad, as his uncle foresaw he would, but that seemed unlikely. He also didn’t want to settle down and get a permanent job just yet.

Mind you, most people are like that, except of course the girls who are, on the whole, more interested in handsome boys than pretty ladies. But most people are just like Paul, you and me the same. Paul wasn’t an extraordinary guy. His uncle was an extraordinary guy, his uncle was about as extraordinary as you can get without being locked up, but Paul was ordinary. And he didn’t really know why exactly he wanted to go away. He just knew that he wanted to go.

Of course, I know why Paul wanted to go away, but the question is, am I going to tell you? As I sit here at my hover-desk in my secret moon base, I can tell you anything I like and you have no choice but to believe it. Let me tell you an example. It’s part of the story, it happens on the very first day of the trip. Paul got onto his plane to Thailand and was beaten brutally to death with meatballs by the mad swede sitting next to him who was, being Swedish, an expert on killer meatballs. And that was the end of the great adventure. What do you think of that? Pretty rubbish, huh? Actually, Paul didn’t get meatballed by the Swede, although at one point he thought he might. If Paul had been killed by the mad Swede we’d be without our main character and all we’d have is the mad ravings of his uncle to tell the story. And, believe me, that would drive us all as mad as him. Luckily, and to put your mind at rest, Paul doesn’t at any point in the story perish. He’s still alive and well; he spends his days in Hampshire, England, chopping down trees.

And so, I know why Paul wanted to go away. I’m going to be straight with you, tell you the truth, because if this is going to work we’ve got to get along. All that stuff about wanting to see things and meet people, that was all true, but that’s all on the surface, there was a deeper reason. The truth is, even though he couldn’t have put into words himself, he wanted to understand what life was all about. He hadn’t found it where he lived in Normalton so he figured he’d look further afield. I know, I know, if he wanted to know what the meaning of life was he could have just watched Monty Python, but he wasn’t as worldly wise as you and me and he didn’t know that. And does he find what he’s looking for? Of course he does. What is it? I’m not going to tell you just yet. It would spoil the story. If this was a detective story, the storyteller wouldn’t tell you who did it right at the beginning, just because they new, would they? If they did, it would make for a bad, boring story. "Mr Black has been found dead! Shock horror! Who could have killed him? Bob. Bob did it. The End." Anyhow, how would we know that Bob did it? We’ve only got the authors word for it, there’s no evidence. We want the evidence, we want to be able to see it with our own eyes. So we’re just going to follow Paul around and see what happens to him and find out just how insane his uncle is. Paul wanted to go away, like everyone else. And like some people, Paul actually did go away.

fin for now

Cheesm: luckily paul does not encounter penguins in s.e. asia so he is safe for now...

Undecided prefix rich: sweeeeeeeeeeet! think you can work the same trick with a camera?

Kat: when did i mention punk-like ladies? im quite wiling to accet that i did at some point i juwst cant remember when. Also, of course i appreciate that the only reason anyone is really reading this is on the off chance of some free porn. patience, patience. you know how it is, you wait ages for some people to have sex and then two come at once.

Posted 11:09 AM by Gobbler
Hello there oh punk like ones

Ive posted two bits today because i strongly suspect that i have posted the rules of engagement before but cannot be bothered to check. i have slightly changed it so if youve already read it it might be nice to read it again and it should make more sense now.

Anyhoiw punks, things trucking on satisfactorily, am heading for copmpletion only a few weeksbehind schedule. Am just finishing the bit on why uncle is mad, but you wont be getting it for a while so tyough chuddies. lets just say, surprise surprise, its all to do with hippies and belgium and foreigners. shcok horror!

The Rules Of Engagement

Normalton, England

June 1st 2003

Dear Paul,

Very concerned to hear that you have decided to go on a little holiday. I went on holiday to a foreign country myself once and to be honest I didn’t like it much. Why on earth you should want to go away is beyond me, but I suppose it takes all sorts to make a world.

I am very worried that you may get into trouble whilst you are away, do be careful. Madness will pursue you at every turn, as will foreigners. It would be extremely poor form if you were to perish whilst away from home although it is quite likely. I will be in communication with you as often as possible; please ensure you keep me updated about your whereabouts and how things are going.

I shall never speak to you again Paul, I shall write. Emails, Paul, technology. The future, science, Belgium. Yes, Paul, I shall write. Because madness is bound to find you Paul, find you and take control. These foreigners Paul, be wary of them, they are nothing but madness. I don’t want you to send me mad, Paul, so I must for my own safety keep away from you. You have made this choice Paul, not me, not me. I always liked you, Paul, I did, I still do, but you can’t expect me to be in close proximity to a madman, no! My email address will be uncle@uncle.com.

There are many things that you are not aware of and many dangers with which you will be confronted whilst you are away. The following information concerns the principle guidelines for travelling abroad. Ignoring the following will drastically increase the danger of perishing whilst away from home, which, as I have already stated, we don’t want to happen. Please read the following Rules Of Engagement carefully. Learning these rules will give you a good chance of coming through the entire experience without perishing though I daresay you shall still go mad. I have told you about these things before, but I feel it important to reiterate the fundamentals here.

Rules Of Engagement


§1 Concerning Foreigners

Foreigners are strange fellows in most respects and on the whole best avoided. However, it is, remember, an inevitable consequence of going abroad that at every step one is highly likely to encounter foreigners. Given this, it is worth bearing the following Key Points in mind:

Key Point i) The Essence of Foreignness

Foreigners are foreign. That is to say, they are not English, even a little bit.

Key Point ii) Language

Being foreign (as established in Key Point i)) they may have little or no knowledge of language. That is to say, they may not speak English. If that is the case, employ the following tactics in order: slow speech; increasingly loud speech; radical hand gestures.

Key Point iii) Types

Foreigners of any given type most generally congregate in large groups, known as ‘Foreign Country’s’. Key exceptions are the Irish whom, presumably because they are sick of eating potatoes, are to be found everywhere, often in a pub.

Key Point iv) Cuisine

Foreigner’s have a limited grasp of what constitutes good food. As an example, let us take the most important meal of the day: breakfast. Most foreigners think that breakfast involves two buns, a cup of coffee and perhaps a yoghurt, as opposed to some hearty meaty affair. Black pudding is a big no no even in a relatively advanced country such as the United States. In short: be prepared for the worst. The only reasonably civilised breakfast you are likely to be able to obtain on a regular basis is scrambled eggs on toast. It’s hardly ideal but it should keep you alive.

§2 Concerning Hippies

Hippies are not blessed creatures, they are damned and best avoided. Often they are not foreign but that is small consolation. Unhappily, they are often encountered in Foreign Countries. Happily, they are easily spotted as they all wear the same thing, like some mad twisted clique. The following Key Points outline how to spot, and thus avoid, these damned hippies.

Key Point i) Clothing

Hippies wear thai-dyed hippy clothing, usually flowing, loose fitting garments in varied hues of green and purple. A common get-up is blue cotton fisherman’s trousers, white buttonless cotton shirt, sandles and purple saree. And that’s just for the men. I mean I ask you.

Key Point ii) Accessories

Hippies commonly wear rings. So much so in fact, they are not content with filling their ears and covering their fingers with them, but also their belly buttons and, most inexplicably, their toes.

Key Point iii) Hair

Hippies do not have hairstyles yet, interestingly, they do have hair. Lots of it in fact. It is distributed in a foul unkempt mop about their heads, faces and elsewhere, often tied up into knots.

Key Point iv) Odour

Hippies are too busy looking for new fisherman’s trousers and toe rings and flowers to concern themselves in any meaningful way with washing. Even if a hippie is disguised as a normal person and you can’t spot them, you will be able to smell them.

§3 Concerning Transport

In general and where there is an option, it is strongly advised that a train is to be employed to get from A to B. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) Origins

We, the English, invented trains. They can therefore be relied upon.

Key Point ii) Road Safety

Foreigners, on the whole, cannot drive with any degree of safety. If you opt for a bus you are therefore putting your life in the lap of the gods. And we are talking foreign gods here, which is unwise.

Key Point iii) Fun

A key aim of venturing abroad is to have a good time. It was correctly observed by Michael Caine in the film ZULU that trains are ‘damned funny’ and thus, of course, highly entertaining and, therefore, will help you have a good time.

Key Point iv) Hippies

Hippies (see §2) do no use trains as they cannot afford them.

Peculiar Yet Important Point: Trains may arrive on time.

§4 Concerning Belgium

Do not forget Belgium. At first sight, Belgium appears to be an inoffensive and relatively unimportant country nestled somewhere in the heart of Western Europe. Furthermore, Belgians themselves have a similarly inoffensive and relatively unimportant reputation as creators of fine chocolates. This is a deception. Belgians are on no account to be underestimated. The reasons for this are outlined in the following Key Points:

Key Point i) Politics

Brussels is to all intents and purposes the capital of Europe and this makes Belgium very powerful, and they know it.

Key Point ii) Transport

There is a secret underground monorail which is able to reach most of the globe. Its hub is Brussels. This is why Belgians are able to pop up in all parts of the globe at any given point. Plus, if they wanted to, the whole country could just jet off back to Belgia or, in fact, anywhere it wanted.

Key Point iii) Language

Belgians speak English, French and German, which shows that they are very clever indeed. They also have their own secret language, which is I believe called Belgic. No-one except the Belgians can understand this language.

Key Point iv) Hippies (See §2)

There are no Belgian hippies. While this at first sight appears to be a plus point, it is in fact quite unnerving. The question is this: why are there no Belgian Hippies?

I think I have made myself clear and I hope that this helps a little. Above all, fight the madness at every turn.

Good Luck,

Your Uncle

****

Beginnings

Normalton, England

June 1st

Paul wasn’t exactly stuffed full of confidence after reading his uncle’s letter. As far as travel advice goes his uncle’s sage words were about as useful as a book on feminism. And Paul needed travel advice. He was due to leave in a week and he wasn’t at all sure what he was doing or whether he would indeed be able to get back to England without perishing.

The Thursday before, for example, had been a bit of a cock-up. He had drunk one too many lagers and fallen asleep on the train home, missing his stop. He had found himself being ejected from his seat at Oxford station by a curt conductor who informed Paul, as he escorted him through the spike crested gate, that there were no more trains until morning. Paul didn’t have any money for a hotel so he quizzed the conductor as to where the best place to spend the night was. The conductor divulged that most people tended to sleep round at the front of the station. Paul thanked him and stumbled his way over to that locale.

He could find no obvious place to lay down; no becoming benches; no quiet cosy doorway; no kind sir handing out blankets to those in need; no obvious purveyor of Special Brew that might have helped Paul fit in better with those whom he was likely about to spend the night. The front of the station was exposed and bright and this was not ideal, for everybody of class knows it to be improper conduct to undertake an evenings hearty slumber in view of the general public. In any case, there were loud ventilation fans overhead which were, he considered, unlikely to be conducive to sleep.

Yes, the platform was the only reasonable place for Paul. All obvious access to the platform was protected by barbed wire or sharp pointy fence, but he was able to negotiate a small and partially concealed wall next to a billboard at the south end of the platform. He had a look around the now dark and deserted platform in order to discern the hour of the first train of the morning, 5:33, then returned to his point of entry and lay down to sleep.

It was not the most comfortable of evenings Paul had ever endured, partly because he slept rather too close to an ants nest. He was occassionally awoken by a train rolling past, and more than once by little creatures roaming about his person in search of and perhaps finding some tasty morsels to carry back to ant HQ. I do not envy Paul. It cannot be the most gratifying experience to be awoken by an ant crawling over your face, unable to open your eyes and assess the situation because the little bugger is crawling over your eyelid. If you are ever offered a night out at Oxford station then do yourself a favour and give it a firm thumbs down.
Eventually the correct train rolled up and Paul clambered aboard. He promptly fell asleep again, and was woefully close to missing his stop. He awoke to see the train at a standstill at his station, and catapulted himself off the train, ascending the exit stairs two at a time. When he eventually returned home he was too late to go to London and get his visa for Thailand, not that he would have been able to drive anyway; he had left his car lights on and his battery was flat.

The problem, Paul realised, was that if he wasn’t even capable of getting home after a night at the pub, then how exactly did he expect to get himself round the world in one piece without, as his uncle had put it, perishing? And also, as his uncle had said, why did he want to go? I don’t think that, back then, on the 1st of June 2003, Paul really knew the answer. Sure, he knew he wanted to see some interesting stuff, like the great ancient cities; Angkor Wat in Cambodia, Tikal in Guatemala and Macchu Picchu in Peru. He wanted to meet some different people, meet a few pretty ladies, have a good time. He wanted to see the world and find out what it was like. His town wasn’t the most interesting place in the world and he wanted to see some more interesting places. Yes, like the ant that had crawled over his face looking for food the night before, he was a curious little bugger. He didn’t want to go mad, as his uncle foresaw he would, but that seemed unlikely. He also didn’t want to settle down and get a permanent job just yet.

Mind you, most people are like that, except of course the girls who are, on the whole, more interested in handsome boys than pretty ladies. But most people are just like Paul, you and me the same. Paul wasn’t an extraordinary guy. His uncle was an extraordinary guy, his uncle was about as extraordinary as you can get without being locked up, but Paul was ordinary. And he didn’t really know why exactly he wanted to go away. He just knew that he wanted to go.

Of course, I know why Paul wanted to go away, but the question is, am I going to tell you? As I sit here at my hover-desk in my secret moon base, I can tell you anything I like and you have no choice but to believe it. Let me tell you an example. It’s part of the story, it happens on the very first day of the trip. Paul got onto his plane to Thailand and was beaten brutally to death with meatballs by the mad swede sitting next to him who was, being Swedish, an expert on killer meatballs. And that was the end of the great adventure. What do you think of that? Pretty rubbish, huh? Actually, Paul didn’t get meatballed by the Swede, although at one point he thought he might. If Paul had been killed by the mad Swede we’d be without our main character and all we’d have is the mad ravings of his uncle to tell the story. And, believe me, that would drive us all as mad as him. Luckily, and to put your mind at rest, Paul doesn’t at any point in the story perish. He’s still alive and well; he spends his days in Hampshire, England, chopping down trees.

And so, I know why Paul wanted to go away. I’m going to be straight with you, tell you the truth, because if this is going to work we’ve got to get along. All that stuff about wanting to see things and meet people, that was all true, but that’s all on the surface, there was a deeper reason. The truth is, even though he couldn’t have put into words himself, he wanted to understand what life was all about. He hadn’t found it where he lived in Normalton so he figured he’d look further afield. I know, I know, if he wanted to know what the meaning of life was he could have just watched Monty Python, but he wasn’t as worldly wise as you and me and he didn’t know that. And does he find what he’s looking for? Of course he does. What is it? I’m not going to tell you just yet. It would spoil the story. If this was a detective story, the storyteller wouldn’t tell you who did it right at the beginning, just because they new, would they? If they did, it would make for a bad, boring story. "Mr Black has been found dead! Shock horror! Who could have killed him? Bob. Bob did it. The End." Anyhow, how would we know that Bob did it? We’ve only got the authors word for it, there’s no evidence. We want the evidence, we want to be able to see it with our own eyes. So we’re just going to follow Paul around and see what happens to him and find out just how insane his uncle is. Paul wanted to go away, like everyone else. And like some people, Paul actually did go away.

fin for now

Cheesm: luckily paul does not encounter penguins in s.e. asia so he is safe for now...

Undecided prefix rich: sweeeeeeeeeeet! think you can work the same trick with a camera?

Kat: when did i mention punk-like ladies? im quite wiling to accet that i did at some point i juwst cant remember when. Also, of course i appreciate that the only reason anyone is really reading this is on the off chance of some free porn. patience, patience. you know how it is, you wait ages for some people to have sex and then two come at once.

Posted 9:03 AM by Gobbler
Blog to the beginning

Blog friends,

We've been going backwards and forwwards, we've been round and about. once we almost got to the end. but we've never been to the beginning. it is this omission that i should like to address today, if that is alright with you.

And after the charming words of thanks i left you last time about how pleased i was and grateful and stuff for all the talkbacks you fine people have ¡been leraving me, what do i find today but not a single sodding one! there it is, that is life, i suppose. so i figure that if i get madevil on your punk arses then you might jsut leave more comments. but im not going to get madevuil, not when ive got uncle4 to do it for me.

you havent had enough of uncle, thats my honest opinion. youve had paul getting into all sorts of strange pickels and meeting all sorts of punk like ladies, but we have had barely a sniff of uncle. just one bit about doctor octagon and a few words about foreigners and hippies andsuch like. but ther is much more to uncle. we have to go right back to the beginning of the story to find out the first key to uncle: he ios without his marbles. and so without further delay let us have 'Paul and Uncle'.



Paul And Uncle

Normalton, England

Saturday May 10 2003


"What is this madness?"

At number 13 there was about to be explosion. Not a real one, a metaphorical one. Metaphorically speaking, Paul’s uncle was about to go nuclear. It was the day that Paul had finally decided to tell his uncle about his plans to go away. A volatile fellow, it was always likely that Paul’s uncle wouldn’t take the news especially well. And he didn’t.

"Paul, what are you talking about, have you gone mad?!" he yelled.

"No, I just want to see what’s out there Uncle."

"There’s nothing out there Paul, nothing but madness!"

"I just want to see."

"Madness, Paul!" Paul’s uncle’s face was ascending through the colours. Presently it was somewhere between peach and strawberry.

"Don’t you think it might be interesting?"

"No, Paul, it’s madness, nothing more. Fight the madness Paul, fight it!"

"But I’ve booked my tickets."

"Burn them, Paul. Burn them before it’s too late!" His face passed strawberry colour and moved on towards beetroot.

"I’ve paid the money. I can’t get it back."

"No, Paul, fight it! Fight the madness before it’s too late! Give me the tickets."

"Why? What do you want with them?"

"I shall burn them, Paul. I shall burn the tickets as you are not strong enough to burn them yourself. You must fight the madness, Paul. I shall help you. Give them to me!"

"I am not going to give you the tickets. I am going to go."

"No, Paul, don’t go. Burn the tickets and stay here at home where you belong! Here there is safety, out there you will find nothing but madness!"

"I’m going."

"Paul! Listen to me! Madness awaits you out there. If you go there and do not listen to me, I shall fire you!"

"I’ll be away for seven months, I won’t be able to work. Anyway I don’t work for you."

"That’s it! You’re fired Paul! If you go away you shall come back quite mad, mad Paul, mad! They’re all foreign Paul, all of them, and mad! You must fight the madness Paul, everyday you must fight it!" Beetroot had been transcended. Now it was simply a ghastly colour.

"Uncle"-

"No! No Paul, you’re fired, now get out!" Outrage, terror, madness and lots more things filled Paul’s uncle’s extraordinary face. "Get out of my house Paul, you’re fired and if you go away you will be doomed Paul, doomed to madness! Fight the madness Paul, don’t go, fight it, the foreigners, Paul, quite mad, there’s nothing out there but madness, fight it, fight the madness Paul, fight the foreign madness, there’s nothing out there, Paul, but madness, Paul! Fight it! Fight the madness!..."

Paul turned to leave, there was nothing more to be done when his uncle got into this sort of state. One hour from now his uncle would be a gibbering mess on the floor of his sitting room, mumbling about madness and foreigners. One hour after that he would be back to normal. What passed as normal for his uncle anyway.

Paul’s uncle chased him out the door as he tried to leave and Paul could hear him screaming at him to ‘fight the madness’ right until he turned the corner at the end of the street.
It could have gone better. His uncle may have been walking for several years on the wrong side of Loopy Street, i.e. he was about as close to mad that you can get without being institutionalised, but Paul had always had a good relationship with his uncle and, after all, he had to tell somebody that he was going away. He was going to be away for seven months and his uncle was bound to work out that he wasn’t at home any more. Paul had worked for his uncle for a couple of years before and knew that his uncles brain certainly wasn’t totally kosher but even he would realise pretty quickly that Paul wasn’t in the country. All in all, it had been wise to let his uncle know the score.

It was never going to go very well. Paul’s uncle had a number of eccentric habits and held a long list of spurious beliefs. The most important one, as far as the present situation was concerned, was that Paul’s uncle did not approve of going abroad. He was unenthusiastic about all types of foreigners. He also had a peculiar fixation with trains and was possessed by an inexplicable dislike of hippies. This was strange because Paul was pretty sure that his uncle used to be a hippie. However, something had happened to his uncle since his hippie days that had seriously put him off hippies.

Paul believed that his uncle had been a hippie because when he was ten he had been messing about in his uncle’s attic as you do when you’re young, having a look at all the old, dusty stuff up there. He had been looking for treasure maps and secret things that his uncle might have and had come across a photo of his uncle and two other people, a guy and a girl, all in their early twenties. They were all in hippie garb; long hair and flowing clothes. One of them had a guitar and they were all smiling. It was a classic image of three hippies. Curious, he had taken the photo downstairs and asked hi uncle about it. His uncle was surprised to see the photo, it seemed he had forgotten about it. He took the photo from Paul and looked at it sadly for a few moments. As tears had come to his eyes he had put the photo into his jacket pocket and turned away from Paul. Then, once he had spent a moment gathering himself, he had spun round to face Paul, smiling.

"Paul, young lad," he said, "do you know where strawberries and roses come from?"

"Yes, uncle," replied Paul, knowing what his uncle had told him, "they come from Belgium."

"That’s right, Paul, that’s right! Belgium, Paul, Belgium! Well done! And where does Belgium come from?"

Paul knew the answer to this one, too. "Belgium comes from the planet Belgia, uncle." Paul’s uncle never mentioned the photo again and the one time Paul asked him about it he denied all knowledge of it and instead started talking about trains or how damned the hippies were or about Belgium.

You see, even more disturbing than his hippie fixation, was Belgium. Paul’s uncle was obsessed by Belgium. Apparently Belgium was not actually a real country at all. Apparently, so his uncle assured him, Belgium was in fact a spaceship that had come from the planet Belgia somewhere past the milky way. Paul wasn’t exactly sure where Belgia was supposed to be; his uncle had pointed out which star Belgia was in many times but Paul couldn’t remember which one it was and was secretly pretty sure that his uncle had pointed to a different star every time Paul asked him.

So, anyway, Belgium was in fact a giant spaceship and had come to land in between Holland and France in a conveniently shaped area of the English Channel and the Belgians had since been busy building a huge secret underground monorail network that stretched around the globe which enabled the Belgians to appear anywhere at any time. The Belgians had also, apparently, done lots of other strange things too, they didn’t just get beaten in wars and make chocolate, but Paul could not for the moment remember what else his uncle said that Belgium had done. Like I say, Paul’s uncle wasn’t all there. It wouldn’t be completely unfair to say that Paul’s uncle was mostly gone. But he had to tell somebody that he was going away, and that somebody was his uncle.

For the next couple of weeks Paul did not see or hear from his uncle. Normally they spoke on the phone at least once a week and often met up for a pint, but after their argument there was no contact. Paul knew better than to ring his uncle, it was always better to let his uncle make contact first as it was a sign that he had calmed down. If he didn’t wait then he was likely to get another earful. But his uncle had never been out of contact this long. Then, finally, on the first of June, Paul received a letter, delivered by hand.