This is also in the photo album - go look. The idea came to me while on the trip to Goodooga: I had to wait 'til I got back to make it on my computer. 

Okay, the comic didn't work. Maybe someone (I'm looking at you, Fillet) can explain to me how to add pictures properly in a Blog...?

 

I'll add it to an album instead; you can look at it there. It's called Cityscape.

One day, sometime in the future, I will write a blog. It might be the next chapter of the Night After Christmas, or it may be a rant (I have much worth ranting about), or I might yet inform the general viewing public about the recent events in my life, some of which have been eventfully eventful, as Nathan might say.

 

Or, I might write something funny, like giving Maisy and Tugelbert another brief moment of sunlight, or I could continue my shopper stereotypes list. That might be redundant by now.

 

One day.

I present my adaptation of the Australian Nokia 6110 ad. Not as good if you haven't seen the original, of course.

Chapter Six - Exchange

He turned off into a quiet cul-de-sac, and parked the sleigh at the top of the street. He stepped out and straightened his jacket, checking his hair in the reflection from one of the glass horses. Straight in and out, he told himself. No distractions. No delays. No… wasting time. He looked along the street, at the house he was about to visit. All of the curtains on the top storey windows were still drawn; hopefully that meant the family was still asleep.

He set off down the street. Nobody was out walking here at least, though he suspected that in this neighbourhood nobody would pay him much attention. People would be more interested in their own business. He stopped for a moment, bent down and fished a few small stone fragments from the pavers under the slush-covered street.

Quickly checking to see that he was still not being watched, he crossed the lawn speckled with snowmelt, and found the side entrance of the house. Easing the side gate open, he sidled through and carefully shut it behind him.

-----

Kitty woke up, blinking her eyes. She rolled over slowly and looked at her clock, then slumped back beneath her quilt, sleepily wondering what had woken her so early. Curling into a ball, she buried her head in a pillow and tried to go back to sleep.

Something hard tapped against her window. Kitty’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up, rubbing her hair. Tap, tap. Gathering the quilt around her like a robe, she shuffled to the window and cautiously drew back the curtains. There was nothing there. Maybe a bird had hit the window, or maybe it had been the sound of icicles breaking from the roof. She looked down, and suddenly was wide awake.

Dean was standing in the garden, grinning up at her! Kitty’s heart felt like it leapt into her throat. He waved when he saw her, then pointed at the door. Kitty dropped the quilt and padded as silently as she could down stairs to the kitchen, where she carefully unlocked the back door and ushered Dean inside, locking the door again behind him.

She stood back, and looked Dean up and down, trying to hide her excitement. Tall as he was, he stood a full head above her, his broad shoulders and his height making him look incredibly manly. He was grinning his boyish grin, which always disarmed her in an instant.

"You’re early," she said tenderly, wrapping her arms around his chest and looking up into his dark eyes. She resisted the urge just to kiss him there and then.

"Can’t be that early, if you’re awake," he replied quietly, and looked around the kitchen. "Should we go up to your room?"

Kitty nodded, and took his hand, practically dragging him up the stairs. She turned and put a finger to his lips as she passed her parents’ bedroom, pointing at the door. Dean nodded mutely and followed her to the end of the hall, and into her room.

"So," Dean said, noticing the quilt as Kitty closed the door behind them, "you sleep on the floor now? That’s a new one for you."

"Oh ha ha." Kitty sat back down at the head of her bed, crossing her legs. "And what is Junior Claus doing here so early? Christmas is over, school’s not back yet; you should still be in bed." She arched an eyebrow.

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a square, paper-wrapped bundle, which he passed to Kitty. "Straight to business then," she said calmly.

"I can’t stay long. They’re expecting me at the factory soon."

"Honestly," Kitty drawled, turning the package over in her hands, "why do you keep working there? It takes up so much of your time; you almost never come out with us anymore, even when you’re staying with your dad."

Dean shrugged and sat down next to her. Kitty shifted closer to him. "I’m good at it," he said simply.

"Yeah, well, you’re good at lots of things." She slid the package under her pillows, and casually placed her hand on Dean’s leg.

Dean nodded at the pillows. "Aren’t you going to check that?"

Kitty smiled, shuffling closer to him. "I trust you," she said sweetly, and leaned in toward him and kissed him on the cheek. "Why not stay here, just for a little while?"

He faced her, so that their noses were almost touching. "The last time I stayed here ‘just for a little while,’ " he said softly, "I ended up three hours late getting home."

Kitty managed to grab Dean’s hand as he stood up. "And was that such a bad thing? Mum and dad won’t be awake for hours yet," she said, looking up at him. "Can’t the elves manage without you?"

Dean took her hands, and placed them in her lap. "The chief of staff will want to know why I’m late. She’s not someone you want to cross. Look, I should go." He headed for the door.

"So lie."

Dean hesitated, his hand on the doorknob.

"Come on, you can afford not to be on time for once in your life. It won’t hurt." Kitty watched as Dean sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh what the hell," he said, turning back to her.

Now, people get linked to my Space from bizarre sites and searches all the time. That's nothing new, and it's definitely not unique to me. For months after X-MEN III came out and I reviewed it, I was getting hits from Google more than daily about it. Fillet has even made a list of random searches, many from baidu, that wind up at his Live Space. So far, I've managed to avoid doing the same kind of thing, but this one just now takes the cake.

 

 

Why do I have the taste of sulpher (sic) in my mouth when I cough?

 

Go on. Click it, if you didn't already. Here's the link if you'd like. Not only do I show up on the site, but I'm number one. Look: there I am, right at the tip-top of Ask.com's results page. This one has to be about the most random search that has ever landed someone on a Space, ever. Ever.

 

So someone out there has demon-breath, and they don't know why. Which raises a few questions, at the top of which would have to be, "How do you know what sulphur tastes like?"

 

Like I said: Not sure I really want to know... Might pay to go for one of these sometime soon.

 

 

In other news, it's Friday the 13th today! Black Friday, and I've given up on linkaging every second word so if you want to know the origins of the date you'll have to go find them for yourself. And what bad, evil things happened to Azukar this bad, evil day, you ask?

If a tree falls in the forest, and there's nobody there to hear it, does it make a sound?

 

Positivist: "Yes: ker-thump! Trees hitting the ground do tend to make noise."

 

Interpretivist: "No, it would take a person to comprehend the sound and attribute it to the tree."

 

Critical theorist: "What did the tree think?"

 

Yes, this is the title of my essay on epistemological models. If you don't know what that means,   look   them   up   here.

   Maisy smiled as the waiter set down her coffee. Across from her, Tugelbert tapped his pen on the table edge, staring blankly at the homework sheet between them.

   “You know,” he said darkly, “I would happily risk any kind of time travel paradox if I could go back in time and kill Shakespeare before he got to write a single play.”

   Maisy tipped her head to one side, spooning sugar into her cup. “And leave all our English teachers with nothing to obsess over? Maybe we’ll be thankful for it one day.”

   “Mhm. Promise you’ll put me in a straightjacket if I ever one day start actually appreciating this rubbish.”

   Maisy opened her mouth to reply, but a loud shout from the street stopped her. She looked out the window.

   A crowd of school kids, all mismatched clothes and dyed hair and old backpacks, came past the café, most talking at the top of their voices. Maisy and Tugelbert watched them pass by without saying a word.

   When the last one had passed, Tug put down his cup and said, “Public school kids, hey…”

   Maisy stirred her coffee. “Definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy, that.”

   “What is?”

   “Well, Howard doesn’t believe in public enterprise, he thinks it’s inefficient and not worthwhile. So he doesn’t public education the funding it needs, which means it becomes inefficient and, almost, not worthwhile.”

   “Why can’t public schools just do their own fundraising?”

   “There’s a term for schools that raise their own funding. They’re called private schools.”

   Tugelbert shrugged, and went back to dissecting Shakespeare.

Yeah, so, this whole "internet" thing isn't working out in the Bx household, and we don't know why. Which is why all of you, my devoted fans, have been deprived of my presence these past few days. Weeks, even. But we've still got some tricks to try and, if they work, I'll be back online before you can say "Azukar's got a whole lot of work this semester and I mean really got a whole lot of work what with EER409 and the other compressed subjects because they're going on prac in 9 weeks' time so he probably won't be online much anyway but we can live in hope".

 

If not... Well, there's two new Night After Christmas chapters rearing to go, and two Maisy and Tugelbert vignettes, so at the least I might be able to drag my sorry thumbdrive down here and give you something to tide you over until I come back.

Chapter Four - Frost and Fire
December 26

"Thanks for the lift, Jack."

"Don’t mention it Charlie," Jack Frost replied, hoping he was facing the right way. If he concentrated, he could see where an occasional snowflake landed on the figure of the invisible person, or where the faintest of footprints appeared on the ground. Anyone walking past would have thought he was alone in the park. "There was no point you walking in this kind of weather anyway." Behind Jack, his horse snorted quietly.

"Well, there are some downsides to meeting at the North Pole. If I may ask, how do you feel about this new plan?"

Jack caught a snowflake on his outstretched hand, and regarded it solemnly. "It is difficult to say. We may lose out no matter how it resolves itself, and yet, it might be our best option."

"I’ll make sure we get the full approval of the Invisible Friends. We should be able to keep things under control."

"We will need the assistance, I’m sure. I think I will meet with Santa Claus early tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me; there’s a lot to figure out before we start. Anyway, I’ll let you go. Thanks again for the lift."

Jack took a step back. In front of him, the space between two of the tall stone pillars that dotted the park flared and became a portal. There was a brief ripple as Charlie passed through, then it went dark again.

Jack turned and placed a hand on the flank of the horse, which shivered, and crumbled into a mound of snow. He walked onward into the darkness of the park. A moment later, he had vanished.

-----

A high note rang out in the silent darkness, clear as a bell. It went on, and was joined by others, forming a beautiful melody which rose and fell in slow waves. A shape appeared in the darkness, and became an elemental, her long hair draped around her body like a shroud. Her head was bowed as she walked forward, arms held by her sides.

Four other elementals appeared in the darkness of the clearing. They formed a square around the first, who was standing perfectly still. Persephone watched as, in unison, they began dancing around the unmoving central figure, ducking and weaving in a wide circle. As the tempo slowly increased, other dancers appeared, creating a swirling mass of moving bodies in which patterns formed and broke like a kaleidoscope. Arcs of light flew from their fingertips toward the centre of the circle and the motionless elemental, where they spun gently around her.

Persephone smiled wistfully and leaned against a tree, listening to the music wafting through the forest and watching the whirling dancers. A few early autumn leaves drifted down from the trees, spiralling to the ground. Around the edge of the clearing, she could just make out other shadowy figures watching the dance.

A snowflake landed on her shoulder. She turned, and came face to face with Jack Frost.

"Well hello there," she said, holding out her arms. Jack Frost took her hands in his, leaned forward and kissed her.

"Good evening my dear," he said, after breaking away. "I thought you might come here."

"I thought you would be another hour or so. It’s a beautiful dance tonight."

"Which dance are they performing?"

Persephone and Jack turned to the dancers. "It’s a mourning," she replied with a hint of sadness. As they watched, the outermost dancers lay down in a broad ring. The middle figure still had not moved. The streamers of light almost encased her. "They’re foretelling their death."

Jack sighed. "Again? Why are they not healing?"

"Healings cannot keep up anymore," said Persephone, wrapping her arm around his. "You should come here more often and see; the damage is growing so fast…"

"You know the elementals prefer that I do not come here too often. Winter has little place here, hence why they favour your company."

"Some know better than that. They would be comforted knowing that you sympathise with them."

Jack nodded. "I do sympathise. How is the season progressing?"

"I’ve decided to be more adventurous this year. I’ll do some more tropical storms, and start some new droughts. It should give you some ideas for when winter comes around. How did the meeting go?"

"Not very well. The Easter Bunny pushed his manifestation plan again. I can’t help but fear he is going to overreact and try something ill-conceived if we can’t resolve the problem ourselves. And Lavender, it seems, has not inherited much of her mother’s intelligence."

"That’s rather a harsh thing to say. She’s only young, and new to the business. Give her some time, at least."

"Time is what we are running out of, sadly."

"No-one has proposed a good plan yet?"

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes," he said, "and no. The ghost has the outline of a possible plan, but we still need to discuss the specifics. I am going to meet Santa Claus tomorrow to talk it over with him."

"Shall we go home then? You can tell me more on the way; the dance does get depressing after a while."

The pair turned, and vanished into the darkness, while behind them the sorrowful dance spiralled onward among the falling leaves.

Time passed.

-----
Addendum:
My mum has a Puma brand polo shirt, upon which the washing instructions read exactly thus:
"Wash this when dirty".
Instructions obviously designed with today's sport fanatic in mind.

Chapter Three - Black and White
December 26

Lavender stepped out into the snow, locking the door behind her. Far off, the clock tower was chiming midnight. The cold hit like a knife.

Brook and Crystal were shivering at the side of the icy road, scanning up and down. "Where is she?" Brook asked, her teeth chattering in the cold. Treading carefully in her heels, Lavender squeezed between the girls to keep warm. "She should be here by now."

"Come on Deana… Come on…" Crystal called out softly into the snow. "She said midnight, right Lav?"

Lavender nodded mutely. Even with her thick fur coat, the cold went straight to the bone.

The girls shivered and waited. "What are we even going out tonight for?" Crystal chattered. "We’ll freeze to death first."

"We won’t get another chance before the end of the year, and it should be big," Lavender replied.

Suddenly, a bright glow appeared through the mist. The sleigh that pulled up on the road beside them was jet black, very sleek, and very shiny. The glass horse snorted and shook its shining black mane. Crystal gasped as the door opened and Deana stepped out and grinned at them.

"Crystal, Lavender, Brook, dahlings," she said in a put-on posh voice. "So good to see you all tonight." She was interrupted by the girls hurrying over and wrapping her in a tight group hug. "Deana!" Brook practically squeaked. "You got it! You bought it after all!"

"Geez, how did you get your mum to lend you the money?" Lavender looked over Deana’s shoulder to the inside of the sleigh. The seats had leather trims! And there was a pair of giant fluffy dice on the front!

Deana grinned her wide grin. "Oh, I just put on my halo and reminded her of what a good girl I am," she said innocently. "You know, such a hard studier at university, and all that."

"Oh," Crystal replied with a smile. "I bet you even batted your eyelashes at her and gave her the puppy-dog eyes."

"Oh no, is that what you think of me? Puppy-dog eyes are for my dad, silly. He can’t stand to see his little girl upset. So, are we all ready? I’m freezing!"

"Let’s go!" said Lavender. "Shotgun front!"

The four girls piled into the sleigh, running their hands over the trims and seats. "Very posh, De," Brook said, as Deana gently tapped the reins and the glass horse lumbered into a trot.

"I guess," Lavender said after a few minutes, "that the Pole isn’t the best place to show this thing off."

Deana peered into the snow, the sleigh barely crawling along. Shops appeared in the darkness like icebergs, only to vanish again. The only light came from the street lamps, and the cool blue glow of the horse. "Too bad it’s not a flying model, we could take it down to your parents’ place and really test her out."

Lavender looked around. Snow was flowing around the invisible bubble over the top of the sleigh. Crystal was reclining in the back with her legs crossed and her handbag in her lap. She was running a finger along the silver trim. "What do you want to call her?"

Brook gasped. "That’s right! Does it have a name?"

"Do we really have to name the sleigh?"

"Of course you do!"

Crystal looked up. "You could just name the horse. I’m glad you got the glass one; a metal horse would’ve looked cheap."

"No expenses spared for De’s first sleigh," Lavender added.

"It’ll be my last if I crash it in this bloody weather," Deana said distractedly. "Oh, listen: we’re almost there."

Lavender strained to hear. There was a chatter of voices ahead, and the low rhythmic sound of music.

They turned a corner, and saw the club. Light from the flashing sign above the doorway illuminated a line of people, all shivering and stamping their feet in the snow. Deana slowed the sleigh down as they passed along the queue, scanning the waiting people. "There’re a lot of fairies out tonight," Crystal remarked. "Might see someone there you like Lav," she continued, turning to Lavender with a wink. Lavender scowled.

"Lots of elves, too," Brook added. "Probably all came from Santa’s factories to kick-start their holiday month. I swear he works them to the bone."

"Shush," said Deana, still squinting ahead. "Look for somewhere I can park."

Minutes later, the girls stood at the head of the queue. The people waiting in line behind the red rope eyed Lavender warily as she approached the massive bouncer.

"Evening Barry," she said with a charming smile.

"Oh, Tooth Fairy. Good to see you tonight; please, come right through." Barry reached over and unhooked the rope. Lavender did not take her eyes off him as she stood aside and the girls stepped demurely onto the carpet.

"Thank you Barry," she said in the same sweet tone, and the four girls stepped into the club, leaving the rest of the partygoers in the cold.

"You go girl!" Deana whispered as the walked down the short hall to the glass doors. The muted pulse of the music seemed to be coming up through the floor.

A fairy in a top hat and tails was standing near the doors. "Take your coats, ladies?" he asked. The girls shrugged off their coats and handed them over. He handed Brook a ticket with a smile, then pressed a button on the wall.

The doors slid open, and the room exploded into sound and light. Lavender ran to the railing and looked down over the mass of people dancing below. No wonder there was a line up, she thought. The place was packed!

"It’s packed!" Crystal shouted to be heard above the music, looking around.

"Let’s get a drink and find somewhere to sit!"

"No, let’s dance!" Brook linked arms with Lavender and Crystal and headed for the stairs.

"Can’t we warm up first?" Deana sighed as she followed the other girls down into the pit.

They bought drinks, and navigated their way around the dancers to a couch under the balcony.

"Yuck, it’s so smoky over here," Crystal waved a hand through the smoke haze as she sat down.

"It’s not going to get any better my dear," said Brook, "we didn’t bring gas masks."

"How’s you mum these days?" Deana asked Lavender, as the other two chatted away.

Lavender nodded. "She’s not bad. I’ve taken on a third of the tooth rounds, mostly in the cities where it’s so much busier. Me and dad are doing almost all of the paperwork, between us, so she can rest more while she’s at home."

"But she’s recovering, at least?"

Lavender looked wretched. Deana slid her hands across the table and held Lavender’s. "Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. It’ll take more than a little knock like that to shake the Tooth Fairy. Senior, I mean."

"I know, I know. The worst part is the doctors are telling her she needs to rest more, and you know her: try and tell her she’s not as young as she used to be and she just has to prove you wrong."

Crystal put an arm around Lavender’s shoulder. "Lav, come on, you heard it. No kid is going to put your mother out of action for long. Hah, I bet she’ll be out of bed soon and be back down to that kid’s house to take all the rest of his teeth!"

"Sounds like mum to me. Anyway, enough about bad news." She looked over at Crystal, and stifled a laugh. "Crys, the wind! It blew out your fringe!"

"Oh geez," Crystal groaned, trying to look up at her own hair. "Look, I’ll just go fix it. Don’t go anywhere, okay? Mind my bag."

Crystal hurried off toward the bathrooms. Brook turned back to the table and said, "You know, I could have sworn she wanted her hair to look like that."

Lavender casually looked around the room. There were a lot of fairies in the club. A group was dancing near the edge of the floor; wings huddled protectively close to their bodies. A pair of bogeymen dancing near the middle of the floor stood out like hairy icebergs, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. There were even elementals, looking down on the dancers from the balcony.

When Crystal returned, she had a strange expression on her face. Lavender looked suspiciously at her as she sat down. "What’s that look for?" she asked.

Crystal put her fist in the middle of the table, palm up. She opened her hand for a fraction of a second, long enough for Lavender to see she was holding four off-white pills.

"Crystal! Where did you get those?" Deana looked scandalised.

"There’s someone over in the corner near the toilets."

"How did you pay for them? All your money is in your handbag."

Crystal clasped her hands. "Not all of it."

Brook looked at Crystal’s skirt and top. "You haven’t got any pockets."

"Well, I didn’t keep it anywhere that someone were going to go looking for it, did I?"

Deana kept looking at Crystal’s clasped hands. "But… I didn’t think you could get those anymore," she said quietly. Lavender looked around. The elves on the lounge next to them did not look like they would overhear. "Are they genuine?"

Crystal opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again as a pair of fairies walked past the table. "You can tell – these are manufactured. They’re real. We can sort out the cost later. Pinkies, ladies," she said, holding out her little finger.

"Crystal…"

"Oh come on Lav, you need to unwind. Your busy season is right around the corner; enjoy the holiday while you can."

Lavender sighed, and hooked her pinkie around Crystal’s. Brook and Deana joined the knot of fingers.

"Girls, remember," said Crystal. "Let’s none of us go home with any creepy men." She broke the tangle of fingers, and slid a pill across the table to each girl.

Lavender picked up her bottle in one hand, and her pill in the other. "Cheers," she said, raising the bottle. She delicately placed the pill on the tip of her tongue, and the room dissolved into colour and sound.

The following is a poem written by the moderately-famous Japanese artist Ukai Uchiyama in the mid '60s. The calligraphic print he made of it is, as far as I know, still on show in Kohn (Koln?), Germany.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Having read it, I can't help but feel that it loses something in translation.

Chapter Two - The Family Business
December 26 

Santa Claus stamped the last of the snow from his boots before stepping over the threshold. Closing the door behind him, he called out "I’m home!"

"Hi dad!" came the reply from down the hall. Sighing, Santa hung his hat on the stand next to the door, and shrugged off his heavy coat.

In the kitchen, there was a small pile of letters on the counter. He thumbed through them. Nothing that needed to be read straight away. He wandered into the lounge room, where Dean was sitting cross-legged on the floor, springs and bolts and other mechanical parts spread out around him in piles. He was holding some kind of intricate clockwork device, and was peering into it intently. The room smelled of wood smoke from the fire in the corner, where a log was smouldering gently.

"Hey, champ," said Santa, trying to force some cheerfulness into his voice. "What are you working on there?"

Dean looked around, and smiled. "It might be a new regulator for stamping machine seven at factory nine."

"Might be?" Santa asked, coming to sit opposite his son.

"Well, yeah. At the moment it’s a complicated way of sending springs shooting across the room, but I think I can make it work."

"That’s my boy. Did you just get back? How’s your mother?"

"She wants to talk to you, but had to rush off for work. We stopped past factory three on the way here so I could get some parts."

Santa stood. "You just reminded me – I have to go into factory one and see Eva. I’ll have to call your mother tomorrow. Aren’t you going out tonight?"

Dean had picked up a tiny screwdriver and was twisting something in the device. "Yeah, but nobody’s going to be there yet. It won’t get going for an hour or so yet. How did the meeting go?"

Santa hesitated. "Oh, you know," he said. "Once you’ve been to one meeting you’ve been to them all, really. I would have slipped away early if I could, but they like seeing me in the room, you know how it is. I was sitting there with glassy eyes half the time"

Dean held the regulator up to the light, examining the structure again. "You’ll have to teach me one day how to sit still in there and still listen to everything everyone says." He put down the tools and stood, smiling. "Hey, um, if you’re not using it, could I borrow the sleigh on Monday night?"

"Monday night? What’s on Monday night?"

"Gabe and Tim are having an end-of-year party; everyone’s going to be there. Their house is on the other side of town."

"Are you going to drink?" Santa followed Dean back into the kitchen.

"No dad, I’ll be safe." Dean opened the fridge, examining the contents with the same thoughtful expression he had used for the regulator.

"All right then, I’ll leave the reins on the hook by the door. If you stay the night there you’ll have to be home by midday on Tuesday; I’ll need to go into town."

"Thanks." Dean pulled out the water jug and filled two glasses, pushing one across the counter.

Santa idly ran a gloved finger around the rim of the glass, his mind full of the ghost’s plan. He would have to go and see him personally. There was still so much to talk about.

He glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten o’clock. "I won’t be long," he said, then sipped at the water. "I just need to make sure Eva’s finished standing down the elves, and check some paperwork. Will you be here when I get home?"

"I’m not going for an hour or so." Dean’s brow creased. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, it’s been a busy Christmas, you know how it is. The elves are always on edge, and it’s no picnic to manage factories full of overexcited elves." He gestured at the clockwork regulator on the counter. "The stamping machines in factory nine couldn’t have broken at a worse time. I’ve just got a lot on my plate," he finished with a small sigh.

Dean walked over to the sink and put down his empty glass. "Yeah, well get some sleep, okay? At least you get a break now."

"Yes, well, once I wrap up this business anyway." He drained his glass. "I’ll be home inside the hour."

"Okay, see you then."

-----

Dean waited until the door shut, then went to the kitchen window. He watched the reindeer pick up speed along the runway until the sleigh finally left the ground and soared off toward the town. Then he carefully pulled out the bag that had been hastily stuffed into his pocket, and checked to make sure everything was still all right. Exhaling in relief, he moved it to his jacket pocket and picked up the regulator. Hopefully he could stop it shedding springs before he had to go, at least.

...Addendum...
I've been wondering: how do you pronounce "Azukar"? My mum trying to sound it out made me wonder how you people say it.
AZ-u-kaa (that's a short "oo", not "u" as in "you")
a-ZOO-kuh (like #5, but "kuh" like "cut")
AZ-oo-kar (like #1, but sound the "R")
AZ-yuu-kar ("you" instead of "oo")
az-OO-ker (sounds like bazooka, sort of)

I think the title sums it up well enough. No Jack Frosts and Maisys speaking in this Blog, you just get me instead. If I find an internet café, you'll get the next chapter of my (increasingly, as I write it) bizarre story about Santa, Jack, and the other fabulous creatures (not fabulous as in gay, fabulous as in deriving from a fable, y'see) on or before January 4. It might be earlier if I see some actual enthusiasm for the story, shown in comment form, wink wink.

 

Now, why would I, a man entirely equipped of an internet connection, need the services of hire-a-net? For those of you who don't know, I'm on vacation as of tomorrow! New Year's party tonight, and then I drive out to Port Stevens tomorrow morning. The laptop is of course coming with me, but somehow the effective range of our router doesn't stretch to Newcastle... Oh well.

 

We're staying there until Saturday. Everyone else is already in the house/unit/apartment/cabin/whatever-it-is-we're-staying-in, but I'm staying behind to do new year's with friends. Jelly Shots ahoy! Now, a few people are going to be interested as to how this holiday pans out, and at least one other person should be interested but doesn't because they don't know enough about the whos and the whats and the whens. And if that's not enough to tip you off as to what I'm cryptically rambling about, then you'll have to ask me.

 

So that's the next week or so of my life in one little paragraph. Depending on my funds post-holiday, I might be going off on a trip somewhere else while I'm at it. A few readers know about my eclectic plan to head upward to Newcastle, Byron Bay, Brisbane, the Gold Coast and other places. That one fell by the wayside for a number of reasons. I'm thinking Melbourne might be the way to go. I want to go to Melbourne for my next teacing Prac, so it'd be good to scope out the area and just generally Get Away From It All, which councillors tell you is oh so good for you.

 

   "Hey! He's writing a Blog without us, Tug! Quick, get in before he publishes it!"

 

Crap, I've been found out. Better finish this one up before the rest of the crowd arrives. Happy new year, everyone!

 

   "What's g

Joel Alexander
Chapter One - 'Twas the Night after Christmas
December 26 

Santa Claus sighed as he shuffled through the paperwork strewn before him. No matter how many times he looked over the figures, he could not make them say anything other than the obvious.

"People, our situation is grim," he said, still apparently addressing the paperwork. The others around the table shifted uneasily. "Localised belief is down by three percent, in this year alone. The Christmas belief spike is wearing down. New believers are becoming increasingly sparse." He looked up. Almost nobody seemed surprised. "We are being forgotten."

He looked around the table. Only Jack Frost, and possibly Charlie, met his gaze.

The Tooth Fairy leaned forward in her chair. Everyone leaned forward to hear her. "Are we sure it’s really that bad?" She asked hopefully. "It might just be one of those phases, you know? It could still pass us by."

Jack Frost laughed, sounding like ice cracking on a frozen lake. "Pass us by? I do not think we can discount this string of events so easily. Does anyone here truly believe there is no connection between the rise in consumerism, the increasing power of western media, and our waning power? Myriad factors are at work here; the danger is very real."

"I think that might be a little harsh, Jack," the Tooth Fairy replied. "I mean, the tooth industry is thriving, more so than ever thanks to all those wonderful candies children buy. We’re thinking of employing an apprentice or two, especially coming into next year!"

Jack gave her an icy look. "That is all well and good for you Lavender, but not all of us have the luxury of a continued market should these belief rates continue to fall as they are now. Well within five years we may face a crisis."

"He’s right!" The Easter Bunny nodded, seeming agitated. "I for one cannot afford to lose out on belief, especially not lately. Times have not been favourable to the Easter business."

"Well surely it’s not so bad for everyone?" The Tooth Fairy looked around the table, looking for support. "Santa, you can still deliver, can’t you? Jack, nothing stops you from painting the world in ice. Ghost, your people will still be active no matter what, won’t they?"

The ghost shook his head solemnly. "If belief in us stops, then Halloween will no longer be practiced," he whispered. "The Order of Occult Persons would lose its very purpose, and we would be nothing more than unexplained frights in the night. Even now the Bogeymen have been dealt a terrible blow, with so many households installing security blinds and cameras. Children simply aren’t as afraid anymore."

"That’s right, he’s right! And if everyone goes and buys their Easter eggs in supermarkets, where does that leave me? I just can’t compete with that kind of power! I have obligations to keep, you know?"

There was silence for a moment. The Tooth Fairy seemed to have given up. Outside, the wind howled, piling snow in the corners of the windows.

Santa Claus clasped his hands, resting them on the table edge. "This affects us all. Whether we lose business directly as a result of the problem or not is, in fact, not the problem. Without the continual inflow of belief, all of us," he pointed at the ghost and the apparently empty chair, "and the people we represent here, lose our purpose. We lose our true function. Jack here would become nothing more than a force of nature. Lavender and I would be persecuted for breaking and entering if we even attempted to continue our businesses without the backing power of belief."

Jack nodded. "Well said my friend. The ghost has stated our potential future: without belief, we are random events at best, at worst invisible. No offence to you of course, Charlie." Jack nodded at the empty chair.

"Ah yes," said Santa. "You have been so silent thus far. How will your company react to this news?"

"Hmm. As you have said, Invisible Friends cannot survive without belief. We have no link to a human unless they believe in us, as you know, hence why we have so few adult clients outside mental institutions. The board of directors is aware of this concern, and are expecting that this meeting will yield a solution."

"Your design team has not come up with any so far?"

"We have many concerns which we must address."

"I see." Santa Claus leant back in his chair, running his hand over the Christmas tree engraved in the armrest. "Well people, at this point I am open to suggestions."

The Easter Bunny spread his front paws. "I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again."

Jack Frost rolled his eyes. "Not this harebrained plan again," he muttered.

"Yes, this one again. We might not get another option. Manifest. Show ourselves to the world. It’s foolproof."

"No, it is not."

"Why not? After all, seeing is believing!"

Santa shook his head. "No, seeing would be the death of us. If we lose our status as mythic figures, if we manifest, we can be changed. We would lose a great deal of power and influence through the massive shift in belief. Besides that, does anyone really want to be subject to the whims of humans?"

The Tooth Fairy gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. "The very thought! I’ve seen the kind of interest fairies get from humans. I simply could not stand that much attention!"

"Who says it will come to that?" The Easter Bunny scratched at one drooping ear, and then pointed at the ghost. "The Order is fully used to disclosure, isn’t it? You have to get the people nice and frightened, don’t you?"

All eyes turned to the ghost, who seemed unimpressed. "Our circumstances are not as simple as you make out, sir. Even in such a profession as ours, we walk a fine line. We manifest only enough to fulfil our mission, and to insure belief. Never enough to prove ourselves. Do you imagine Billy would survive one day in Loch Ness if scientists knew for certain that he was there to be found?"

Santa’s eyes narrowed. "I dare say those physicists would like to poke around in my sleigh and find out a bit about our ways," he said. "But by my oath, if any one of them tries to start anything with me they’ll be lucky if they can walk away."

"And I have no doubt that biologists would enjoy learning a bit about you, Easter Bunny," Jack Frost added. "How would you like to be a giant rabbit in a cage? Under their scalpel?"

"All right, all right!" The Easter Bunny was becoming alarmed again. "It was a bad idea. Well, does anyone have any better ones?"

Again, there was silence. Santa Claus took the opportunity to stand and walk to the roaring fire behind his chair, which he prodded viciously with a poker. Jack Frost eyed the flames warily. Despite the warmth from the fire, brittle cold was creeping into the room from every corner.

The Easter Bunny stared into his basket, as though trying to find another idea among the scrunched-up foil wrappers and chocolate stains. The Tooth Fairy tapped her hands on the surface of the table nervously. Charlie was silent.

The ghost sighed quietly, and looked up. "It depends," he said, "on how far we are willing to go."

"I fail to see that we have the luxury of choice in that matter," said Jack Frost. The ghost gave him a long, solemn look.

"In that case, I may have a plan that will work."

‘Guess what Tug?’ Maisy placed her tray on the table, and swung her bag off her shoulder as she sat down.

Tugelbert prodded the grey lumps on his plate with his fork. ‘The kitchen ladies have finally admitted to making our lunches out of cardboard?’

‘Ha, ha, no,’ Maisy rolled her eyes, opening her milk carton. 'I saw last night where Shane Warne has retired from cricket!’

‘No way! Since when?’ He picked up his knife and started dissecting a chunk of what might have been meat.

‘Since last night – he announced it on the news in some big press conference.’

'Huh. I always imagined him playing forever, until he just got too old. Look: it wobbles. Should meat wobble like that?’

‘John Howard was on the news too, saying how sad he was that Warnie’s leaving.'

‘I bet he was.’

Maisy rolled her eyes. ‘He said how much he respected Shane for resurrecting "the ancient art of spin bowling", as he put it.’

‘He's good with words, that man.' Tugelbert stuck his fork into the stew in resignation, and shifted along the seat as a group of juniors sat next to them.

‘I wonder what the King of Spin’s next move will be then?’

'Who knows, but I know Warnie's going into sports commentary.' He held up his fork. 'Is this a sultana? Who puts sultanas in stew?'

'Okay, enough picking at the cardboard stew.'

'I think it likes me. Should I call it Stewart?'

'That, Tug, might be the worst joke you have ever made.'

'Coming from you Maisy I'll take that as a compliment.'

This has been a Herman Stamp of Approval Blog, brough to you by Azukar Incorporated Writing, Jozalex Industries and Razuka Limited. Also, tell me about my banner, and how I can make it less blurry.

(Azukar made a boo-boo. If you want to know what it was, read Josh's comment below, then go praise him for uncovering this fact.)

 

Another year, another 64 points' worth of subjects...

 

Another two semesters of psychological torture summed up with eight simple two-letter grades.

 

Probably most people reading this know about the saga of the Psychology lecturer-turned-snap-dragon. Well, any personal feelings aside, or not, two incredibly high-marked assignments can't be denied, so that subject was a resounding High Distinction.

 

Sadly, I got yet another Credit for the actual Prac subject... I dunno. See, a Credit is a fine mark. It's better than a Pass, and since Pass is "average", Credit must be "Above-average", which is nice. But. But. Given that Prac is the most important line of subjects we do (the ones in which we actually teach, y'see), I'd like to think that I can do better. Maybe I can't. Maybe the fact of the matter is that while I go well in enough theory subjects, my theory-into-practice still needs work. Maybe it's a reflection on the fact that I still haven't had a Prac class in the upper grades, and I know for a fact I'm an upper grades teacher. I'd be doing high school if I liked the high school system; as it just so happens I don't.

 

So Practicum Subject Number Two (or three, depending) gains me a Credit. And Psychology a High Distinction.

 

Here's a word for the ol' vocabularies: Privative.

 

Say it: privite. PRIV-at-iv. It's not a hard word to say.

 

A privative is the name for the name we give to an absence or lack of something. And that's amazingly confusing, so let's go for the examples.

 

Dark is a privative. It's the name we give to the absence of light. Dark, and darkness, are not "things", not in the same way that light is a "thing". Cold is a privative. It's the name we give to a lack of heat. Cold is not a thing. You can't close the doors to stop cold from getting in; you close them to stop the heat escaping. Now, without privative words, we'd be talking mighty odd. We'd sound like some super-intelligent rod-up-their-backsides aliens who say things like "your lack of intelligence is alarming in the extreme" instead of just "you're stupid". Stupid is a privative.

 

But we do get into trouble if we forget that we're using privative words as handy shortcuts. You start reifying things that aren't real. It can get a bit bad. Apparently a company once sold a little mirror-like device that focusses cold onto an object to make it easier to cut. It might not sound so bizarre to you - after all, you can focus heat waves, so why not cold? Because cold doesn't exist.

 

And there is such thing as too much chocolate, I've discovered. We went out for morning tea, mum and I, to this little coffe-slash-chocolate shop I've never been to. They have the most amazing hand-made chocolates, half the menu has chocolate in it somewhere, there's a giant chocolate fountain near the back of the shop! And as for the food... Wow. I had hot chocolate, made with and of real Belgian chocolate, and waffles. You get three, massive waffles, covered in molten chocolate, with a huge serve of cream, and I got fresh banana on top as well... Talk about the best morning tea EVER! Actually, no. We both walked out looking like we'd had a night on the booze. I couldn't finish it. Me! And that's saying something, especially when it's that tasty.

I am borderline. Borderline everything. It's like some kind of metaphysical character trait, only one I can't really control. And it's designed and built specifically to annoy me.

 

Case in point: Everyone's favourite assassin got back four of the last five assignments he handed in. Three yesterday, and one today. What did he get, I hear you cry? What did he get?

 

Assignment 1: Credit, precisely half a mark off being a Distinction.

 

Assignment 2: Distinction, one mark off being a High Distinction.

 

Assignment 3: High Distinction, one band off being a perfect score.

 

Assignment 4: Credit, one band off being a Distinction.

 

Borderline, borderline, borderline, border-freakin'-line. Okay, so I'm not upset at the marks. Those are good marks. I'm fine with those marks, especially for assignments one and four. Because we fully and truly expected to fail them. But we didn't. So all is well in the world.

 

What I am frustrated about is my consistant ability to sit on the fence and write between the lines. I'd almost, almost rather get a lower score than 99% for a test, instead of wondering where that 1% got lost in the mail. Especially when it's an essay. That just sucks.

 

I figure this character trait/flaw will define the rest of my life. I'll go on to be a semi-permanent teacher of a multi-stage class (like a class with years four and five, for example), drive a hybrid (petrol/electric) car, live on the border between a rich suburb and a normal suburb (in fact we do already), between the borders of two cities, and be engaged but never actually marry. It'd be about right. And I'll always be just on the verge of paying off the mortage, but never actually do it.

 

And I'll live in a la-di-dah land of permanent Springtime! Not quite Summer, not quite Winter...

 

I can live with that.

I'm not the best driver in the world. In fact, only one person is. I don't know who that person is, but he or she would be pretty damned good at it. But I do know that braking hard when going around a corner heading up a hill is not, really, necessary.

 

One thing that's just plain mean is to not let a person be born or introduced with a clean slate. That's a bit cryptic, so let's expand on it a little. If a child is born out of, say, sexual assault, or to drug-abusing parents, is it fair to put those prejudices on the child? Not really, no. Not unless you believe that the attitudes of the child come direct from the sperm and egg of the parents. Which frankly speaking is garbage.

 

So to restate: the child deserves to be born with a clean record. None of this "sins of the parents" business. Which makes me wonder why they go on about Original Sin. It makes no sense, especially from the perspective of justice and just practices. And after all, who is the almighty master of justice? And if Original Sin doesn't matter, why go on about it? Unfortunately it does matter.

 

Why put reflector strips on a car? Like, eleven of them on the rear end, around the boot and under the rear lights? So you can see the car when you're driving at night? Or maybe it's so the light from other cars reflects off the strips and they can see the road behind them Think about that one...

 

"The beauty of Grace is it makes life not fair". The song is full of little oxymorons like that one. What is the message they're trying to put across? It made me wonder. It's a good one, anyway. You can almost taste the inner mental struggle. Or maybe it's just mine leaking out. Who knows?

 

This Christmas-to-New-Year-to-Beyond is going to be very interesting... Between some tricky time-splicing to be almost in two places at once (no kids, don't try it at home - Laws of Physics were not made to be broken), some possibly dodgy trafficking, and any amount of mayhem and madness up northways, stay tuned dear readers for the updates.

 

I don't like netspeak much, but this phrase just made me laugh. "oh noes! waht u doen?" Don't ask. It just did. Don't expect to see it ona t-shirt or anything.