No, The N.orthern E.ngland, S.outhern S.cotland and I.rish E.levated Isn’t In Loch Ness.

Maybe it’s the weather.

Or my crazy family…students…landlord…musicians I work with…

you get the picture,

But lately, I’ve just been in the mood to write weird and unusual blogs.

Like the one about Irish duck feet.

And Disney.

Or Nobel prize winners who eat eggs from water glasses,

or the Sherlock Holmes phenomenon.

More about that later.

And I’ve made a powerful discovery.

Hey, I’ve been doing this internet thing all wrong.

I mean, to me the www was always a tool.

Like going to the library without actually having to go to the library.

As long as you checked facts with a real person occasionally.

Or do you really believe that anyone:

eats those microwave in 2 seconds meals,

has cats that really tap dance and play the piano,

thinks that the end of the world has come

due to

a. religious (fringe group like the “light bringers” and co) reasons,

b. scientific reasons

(that no scientist ever really remembers putting out there, much less thinking about)

c. esoteric beliefs that are a whole lot funnier than the other two.

(or do you believe that if you buy a ukulele, or a rain-sound maker, or an XXL gong,

for a couple of hundred each,

you are going to shake or plonk your way into saving the world?)

Except financially, of course.

And here, the sad story of a once famous book printer,

on the ropes due to the new non-paper world,

and now making rain-sound makers for a living

springs to mind.

(Not that the sound isn’t nice,

but if you spend several hours per day turning the bamboo tube from side to side,

actually you may as well just ommm in a cloister for a while.

Forget changing the world.)

And unless, of course, your gong playing drives the aliens back to their space ship,

and your ukulele playing

drives the sane people back to where they are hiding from people who do this…

(And did anyone ever ask the Hawaiians

what they think of weird Haolis tiptoeing through the tulips with their culture ?)

Actually, they probably laugh pretty hard.

So, anyway,

back to the weird things I found in my mailbox this morning

with the injunction

that this is something I really have to take notice of:

which brings me back to Sherlock Holmes.

Elementary, my dear Watson.

Which, as we all know, he never said.

Because it is just not true.

Nothing is elementary.

Except schools.

Or algebra.

So anyway,

what I finally deducted,

after much learned linguistic study

of what I am being sent

in my mailbox

or as an ad

in other social media,

is the result of a daily, if not continuous,

once around the block sweep of my writing

by a computer.

Which, as we all know makes no mistakes.

And therefore:

sends me ads for Nordic sweaters

when I write about working at the Nobel factory near Cologne

or medical advice for diabetics

when I mention I cut the sugar content

in a recipe

or an offer for a half-price subscription to the Little Whizzy Georgia morning Herald

when I mention my husband Harald.

And I shudder to think what they would do

if they knew what his name really is.

And then, of course, there is:

Angelfood cake-

an invitation to an esoteric fan club for the angel Raphael.

Dog biscuits

Equals:

Five o’clock tea at the Savoy.

With a ten percent off coupon if you order crustless bread and watercress.

Not that I don’t love the ads.

Who wouldn’t love writing about the N.orthern

E.ngland S.outhern S.cotland and I.rish E.levated trains

and getting a list of hotels

in Loch Ness.

No, what I really object to,

is that I didn’t realize before

that I just am not using the tool right.

For example:

this is a post on:

weather,

family,

esoterics,

wackos,

the N.E.S.S.I.E

aliens

gongs

and world peace.

So just send me my Nobel prize,

(or at least a creative blogger award,)

for world peace,

or maybe for medicine,

through the strategic use of laughter

to take the mickey out of

a world gone ever more

Norwegian sweater ad,

Alien bongo players,

Cats Cats Cats, yes, they are naked, and they are still dancing…

to me here at Quahog,

(or the editorial office of the Morning Herold of Little Whizzy Georgia,)

where,

since I have now planted the seeds,

ie the little cues that hopefully will get things picked up

by that great computer sweep in the sky,

I also hope to find

enough cash from the Nobel

or the creative blogger award,

to finally take a trip on the NESSIE

with stop-over at a just north of Edinburgh

Highland esoteric camp

for alien luring, gong-playing, and ukulele,

fish and chips in Hull or thereabouts,

a quick sweater buying stop near Cork,

and, of course, a quick stop in London,

(the NESSIE is a partner of London’s Dockland Light Railway)

for cream tea at the Savoy.

(With ten percent off ticket.)

Keep them computers movin guys.

Hey, a girl can dream, right?

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