Boob Pencil Is Conceived. Outside. In Norfolk. Brrrrr!
I got tagged to do this meme (results in the last post) by a friend called Boob Pencil. Seriously, her real name IS Boob Pencil.
Her parents were keen ornithologists for whom the boob was the acme of avian life on earth. Her mum, a flighty girl called Titania Bosom (oddly, she never had a nickname), first met Mr. Richard Pencil in a reedy marsh in Norfolk one early morning as they were both out birding. Thinking they were each alone on the marsh that morning, they were startled as they came upon each other amongst the tall reeds.
“Quack” said Richard, and then the duck-caller fell from his mouth as his jaw dropped open and he beheld the woman he knew he had to marry. By God, she was a beauty!
Titania was impressed by his fine Roman nose, piercing blue eyes, and the tweediness of his deer-stalker. The over-all impression was of an eagle. He’s no booby, obviously, she thought to herself but, still, there was something about this … this … Richard Pencil. She’d noticed his name spelt out in tiny RSPB stickers on the Postman Pat lunch-box he carried.
That was the moment, standing there, in the shallow water, her feet sinking further into the mud underneath, that the water topped her wellie-boots, and she lost her composure, balance, but nothing else (for the moment anyway).
“Eek!” she squeaked, helicoptering her arms as she fell into the nippy Norfolk broad (not the LAST time someone fell into a nippy Norfolk broad that day, if you know what I mean. But I’m getting ahead of myself).
“Erm“, he said.
“Could you just …? she asked.
“Certainly,” he said.
And so he did. He carried her to higher, drier ground. Together, they examined the damage done to her precious copy of “The Field Guide to the Birds of the Southeast“. It was, of course, soggy and ruined, along with the numerous pen and ink drawings and notes on marsh fowl she had spent so many meticulous hours drawing, and had tucked, so lovingly, into the pages of The Guide. She wept when she saw it, and Richard did too because, to serious birders (Richard was a very serious birder – maybe the most serious)The Guide was the very last word in Southeastern British ornithology; it was out of print now, and getting harder and harder to find every year.
Surprised by his weeping, which was growing louder and, to be honest, a bit embarrassing, she fell silent and watched as he tore at his hair and cried “Why? Why did it have to happen? Oh God! The senseless waste!”
She looked at him and in that magic moment in which kindred spirits connect, she knew that here, here was a man who truly GOT birds, and obviously liked the feathery sort too.
Oh, it was a wild and crazy notion, she knew, but she thought she saw how she could be happy. None of the boys at uni. understood, or cared, about birding. This was her chance to have it all. Love and a satisfying hobby that keeps you trim! Now, she thought with an inward smile, now, not only her wellie-boots, but her cup runneth over. She kissed him.
And right there, on a marsh in Norfolk, Boob Pencil was conceived, and the rest, as they say, is history.
March 16th, 2006 at 11:07 am
oh man, I love it! Samiland is a very inventive and wonderful place. And quite, quite bananas.
March 16th, 2006 at 11:34 pm
Hahaha. Brilliant.
But when did you meet my parents, and how did you get them to tell you that story?? They’re normally a bit coy about the whole thing.
March 16th, 2006 at 11:44 pm
she knew that here, here was a man who truly GOT birds
He must have been sharp to have mastered ornithology.
March 17th, 2006 at 12:23 am
Hey GB, I don’t think we birds really want to be got. Do we really want somebody to completely understand us? ‘Course not – just come close is all. And besides it can’t be done. It’s a shifting mark, innit? – pinning a person down to be understood. Worra load of old rubbish all the “nobody understands me crap is!”. Which of us honestly wants that? I only want my good bits understood and hope that, for the bad bits, my friends will, well, understand.
Fluffag – Samiland isn’t bananas, but GB (above) has a site that is: http://japingape.blogspot.com/ If you crave strange fruits then he’s the man fer ye. From everything I’ve read he’s strange but, not I think, a fruit. Anyway – there’s no more fun way to get your daily dose of potassium and fibre (‘binding’ my granny used to call them when we had sore tummies) than Mr. Bananas.
Then, when you’re done there, go check out Boob Pencil (Clare) . She is less bananas and more rainbow-coloured Skittles I think. Fruity, refreshing and always surprising is how I would describe Clare’s site – and every handful is a new flavour sensation. I started ‘The Dying of Delight’ last night and so far, I like it a lot. It’s immediately absorbing, irreverant and you’re right there in the room with her protagonists. Every couple pages, I remember “Hey, I actually know the person who wrote this!” That’s very cool.
March 17th, 2006 at 1:14 am
I am simply popping in to say a quick hello from your own timezone. I should have known you were an Ojai gal; the west coast Woodstock. Next trip I have more time I will certainly shoot you an email…L
March 17th, 2006 at 1:07 pm
Richard Pencil and Titania, forsooth.
Great post, and expalins a lot about Clare.
March 17th, 2006 at 3:55 pm
At last some references to ducks.
you know what you need to talk about soon zahbongo.