Alive! Alive oh!

In Blogland's fair city where girls are so pretty 

I first set my eyes on sweet Ada - alone!

T'was my chance to pursue her

and maybe to woo her...thinking 

"Freckles and Muscles? Alive, alive oh!" 

"Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh!

See my Freckles and Muscles, alive alive oh!" 

So sang my dear Ada, and no one could save her

from smelling too fishy, despite all her charms.

She wheeled her wheel-barrow

through streets broad or narrow,

while I couldn't wait to scoop her in my arms.

"Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh!

See my Freckles and Muscles, alive alive oh!" 

Life now? It's more pithy, and oftentimes gritty;

dear Ada, my Ada don't leave me alone!

But hark! Am I dreaming?

Is my Ada scheming

to gather me into her arms once again?

"Alive, alive oh, alive, alive oh!

See my Freckles and Muscles, alive alive oh!" 

I hear a voice calling - almost caterwauling!

"Oh, Ada, my Ada, please throw me a bone?

I'll sing for my supper, 

show I'm not a duffer, 

for like any trained doggie, I will follow you home!

With apologies to Molly Malone traditional song, and thanks to P&SU 

P.S. This shows  why I have more than one reason for vacating my shed at the bottom of the garden, and trotting back to the house when Ada calls...

What's He Up To Now?

Bet you didn't know, dear reader, that in his younger days my husband Caddoc went in for all-in-wrestling. His favourite opponent was little me, Ada, his best-beloved (he says) wife. "Come now, dearest," he would cry, "three five minute rounds with two falls or a submission to decide the issue." Just imagine it!  In the halcyon days losing to him wasn't too bad, but latterly . . . goodness me, at my age!  Anyway, there he is, holed up in his shed, doing burpees and squats and one arm push-ups and trunk-curls and what are those rumbling sounds I hear . . . has he got a treadmill or an exercise bike in there? And here am I imagining him expanding his chest, toning his biceps and thighs, reshaping his physique to it's useful (oops! I mean 'youthful') splendour . . . though come to think of it 'useful' doesn't sound so bad.  Hold on!  Can this really be me, Ada (call me "Unyielding") Trellis falling prey to slightly impure day-dreams?  Never! No way!  On the other hand . . .

'Caddoc.  CADDOC!  Come here a minute. But take that scarecrow hat off, look you!' 

Magaly's invitation to write about muscle memory is behind this unwarranted and, I assure you, quite untypical outburst. Things are now back to normal and our hero has retreated to his shed. 

 

Aroint Thee, Cad!

 No, I don't know what it means, but it's Shakespeare(*), so it must be good. Unlike he of the burnt rice-pudding face and matching hat who is a bit of a curate's egg(**) - good, but only in parts. He thinks food be the music of his love, or something equally daft, but his little ditty fails to impress me.  It's overlaid with foodie metaphors and he's managed to devise a menu of all the stuff I really don't like.  Like marshmallow. Where on earth did he get the idea  . . . oh, never mind.  As I waded through his tripe (where are the onions)(**), I was waiting for some preposterous 'horses for courses' metaphor and an offer of horsemeat for a horse d'oeuvres (**).  Then what?  A main course where I fight off wandering hands like hands of bananas(**) seasoned with imploring glances, a ratatouille(**) of third rate chat-up lines, when all I really want is my feet up, 'Bake Off'(**) on TV and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.(**)

To say again . . . 'Aroint Thee, Cad. Thou rump fed Runyon.'(*) 

(*) From the 'witches stirring their cauldron' scene in Macbeth,
(**)  'Food' references in accordance with Rosemary's inspiring prompt on 'Poets and Storytellers United.'

WATCH OUT, CADDOC

 Ada's Onto You . . .

In my wee Mini Clubman I went forth today, to shop in Llandudno or perhaps Colwyn Bay.  I drove down the High Street and was leaving the town when I spied an old hat that was wrinkled and brown, perched on the head of a wrinkled old man.  'Twas Caddoc, my husband.  I'll park where I can and follow the varmint. I'll keep him in sight.  I must see what he's up to, something’s not right, some scheme that he hopes will soften me up till I offer the manna from my loving cup. No chance!  I am Ada!  I spurn all romance!

The first shop he entered - a florist, forsooth. He emerged with red roses, I tell you the truth. Thence to Dunn's Hat Shop, the town's only link to his dim, distant past. What must I think? Surely to goodness the silly old bat isn't treating himself to a spanking new hat? A soft grey velour, a deerstalker perhaps?  Whatever it is, it's concealed in a box.  What next? A fresh haircut? Eye-liner? New socks?  He's planning an attack on my stout bedroom door.  "Avaunt thee, you rascal. You're a mind-numbing bore.'  But give him his due, he really does try. And Ada - that's me - should I laugh? Should I cry?

Forty long years I've resisted his charms.  Maybe next birthday I'll open my arms. 

My response to the Poets and Storyteller's prompt for this week, and my warning to my husband.

Are You Listening, Cad-My-Lad?

This week, the Poets and Storytellers blog asks us to take a fresh look at Clichés.

So here goes . . . a ditty with a sting in the tail (And that’s a cliché for a start!)

JUST SAYIN'

I have no box to think outside.

My plate is never full.

I do not basket all my eggs,

By no horns seize my bull.

There’s not a thing I feel deep down,

Nothing I over-mull.

‘Cad's eye?' My sharp stick longs to poke it,

So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Using clichés is not my wont,

Except ‘I love you’ when I don’t.

'My sharp stick?'  You must be joking!

I keep a quiver-full in my kitchen drawer.

What's that I hear?

 Although my shed is far from the house, Ada's dulcet tones carry like no others. I fear she may be looking for me. Heavens to Murgatroyd! Read the following extract I stole from one of her secret journals, and you may understand my trepidation...

Binary

I am Caddoc's dark star, encircling him with ponderous gravity... Behind my back he calls me his White Dwarf. Huge. Hugely dense, each thimbleful weighs tons. We two are bound as one. Paired binaries, inseparable on our collision course. 

I eclipse him and he, me. Virgo and Capricorn locked in heavenly combat. Unchangeable as physic's laws, we would not, could not change our gruesome orbits.

We have peered too long through our telescopes' wrong ends. Together we must admit the background hiss of the space between us, and there perhaps explore the kiss of background love.

Ada's Wrath

 " A plot, I tell you, a plot is being hatched! " I hear Ada cry. 

"Can I help you. Mrs T? What's gone wrong? 

"I've been searching everywhere for my recipe book... Look what I've found in our old dresser drawer! A scruffy heap of dastardly  plans labelled Invasion Of Privacy Project Commencing Soon - and I recognise the writing... CADDOC!"

N.B.  If you want to see Caddoc's reply, click HERE !

Memories are made of this...

 

While rummaging around in my shed today for a length of twine, I noticed a container jutting out at an odd angle from a high shelf on the back wall. I moved closer and could see it was a cardboard box, hidden by the webs of time and spiders alike...I lifted it down, amidst a swirl of dust which had clearly remained undisturbed for years. And though I'd forgotten its existence, my first, tentative huff an' puff cleared the lid enough for me to make out the faded word 'Mementos.'

Of course! Amongst the odd assortment of postcards, photographs and letters lay this faded cutting from our local newspaper. What a pity the photographer hadn't waited long enough for my Ada, in all her bridal finery, to climb into the car, on her way to marry the luckiest man in the world, that day...   

Thanks to Fireblossom and The Sunday Muse for nudging me to remember...

Monday's Child

...is fair of face, according to an old rhyme, which makes me believe that I, Caddoc, wasn't born on a Monday, for sure! Nevertheless, beauty is not the be all and end all, folks.

A modicum of kindness and an open mind may, perhaps, make up for any shortfall in the beauty stakes. Here's hoping my Ada comes into that category...

I've not seen her for an hour or two, since I've been in my shed, cogitating...

Her snapshot is pinned to the inside of the door...  

Thinks:-I wonder if it's safe for me to go  in search of an afternoon cuppa yet?

 

All change, all change!

 That's a cry that brings to mind days from my youth.  Whenever a local train broke down,  passengers had to be winkled out of their comfy carriages and re-instated in a less salubrious bus or coach to finish their journey. Ah, me! What jolly fun...

In these ever changing days of Covid19 lockdowns, taking any means of transport becomes more of a military operation. "Masks on!"..."Keep your distance!"... "Don't travel unless it's an absolute necessity!"

I don't wonder that Ada and Cad have barricaded themselves into Trellis Manor, relying on Food Parcels donated by their local Squire. However, he is by no means as generous as this kind gesture might imply. 

Last week, the Trellis kitchen was the scene of many a ruckus, as Ada attempted to make edible dishes from unusual ingredients such as pigs trotters, bean sprouts, two pounds of homegrown windfall apples (maggots included) and a pack of nine toilet rolls with three already removed...

And tomorrow is another day. Happily, it will be a whole hour shorter in the UK, as Time is given short shrift due to the Daylight Saving procedure of turning clock hands counter clockwise at 2 a.m. until dials register  1 a.m. on their shocked little faces. The whole country (and not a lot of people know this) is full of people who sit clockwatching, wide awake, until the appointed hour arrives. And if you believe that, you will believe anything.

September with no Serenade?

 I'd serenade the world if I, Trellissimo, could only appear once more to find out how Caddoc and Ada are dealing with Covid19 lockdown! :-)

Alive and Well?!

I'm happy to report that Ada and Caddoc are still ongoing, but have been too busy to take time out to relate more of their Marital Mayhem moments. With the autumnal weather encroaching upon their Fun in the Sun lives in which they indulge whenever the sun shines, who knows?  They may decide to do more blogging instead, as an alternative winter sport?!
Watch this space...

What year is this?

Now, that's the sort of question I could believe, if it was being put to a spaceman returning to Earth! But I guess I can lose days, weeks, months or even years, sitting in my shed, in quiet contemplation of my Beloved Ada.
So if anyone asks me such a silly question, I shall give them short shrift...

Caddoc to the world - I am not dead!
I love  you all - especially Ada...

THEY'RE BACK!

Great News, Folks!   My friends Ada and Caddoc Trellis have broken a long silence to tell me about a recent little adventure, prompted by Tess Kincaid's picture at Magpie Tales No. 285

Ada had taken a trip to the West -

poor Caddoc, alone,  -  felt bereft.

Until...

"Yes!" Caddoc cried, and rolled out of bed.

"While Beloved's away, I'll refurbish my shed!

I'll visit IKEA, perhaps B&Q

and with planking and paint I will show all of you

I'm not just a gard'ner, I'm a carpenter too!"

So he sawed and he planed and he painted and nailed

and much he attempted and in nothing failed,

'til his shed had new gables and windows and doors

and some tourists who passed cried as one "Zut Alors!"

while Caddoc, inside, gazing out with a smirk

thought "At last, a real shed! It was worth all the work!"

But Ada, returning, couldn't hide her delight. 

"That looks sooooo cosy,  you can stay there all night!"

(LIke old times, folks. Seems Caddoc can't win.)

We'll Gloss Over This One, I think...

Ada had never used lip gloss before...
Now she pouted up there with the best!
But her lips grew so sore
that it took pills galore
before she could get a night's rest!


Of course, she only got the idea from Tess and her Mag 222!

The Morning After

Ada and Caddoc had partied all night, to fall into bed with the dawn, and when they eventually opened their eyes, they couldn't but help feel forlorn.

The bed clothes were rumpled and all of a heap (I won't mention the mess on the floor). Neither Ada nor Caddoc could even begin to guess what had happened before...
Had a tornado struck?
Had they both run amok?
Was the bottle of whiskey to blame for the way their heads pounded and nothing stood still? Had the world spun and addled their brains?

N.B. I think A & C may have been having one long party session ever since 2013. Must be the hovering scent of Spring in the air that has tempted them, and me, out of our shells.

Apologies to Tracey and Tess for the effect Magpie Tales' prompt had on the Trellis household this week.

What A Charmer

Ada can drive me up the wall but I thought it only right that she modelled for this mural. Ain't she a winsome sight?

I could've placed her on a pedestal, the way that lovers do...but " I will not squat on porcelain, not even, Cad, for you " said Ada in her sharpest tones, which made me think anew- so I've drawn her in a treetop crown.

"Forgive me, Ada dearest, for when you've simmered down, you'll realise I put you there 'cause you're way above the best, and will charm the birdies from the trees!" 

And there my case shall rest.

Inspired by The Mag, where Tess gave us artwork by Jeanie Tomanek to get our juices flowing.

Did She Fall Or Was She Pushed?

Caddoc arose from his bed with a scream. "Beloved, I've had a most terrible dream. O, Ada, my Ada I saw you outside the window! I thought you had gone for a ride on the wing of a bi-plane but had taken a header and fallen to Earth - you couldn't be deader as you landed below in a blood splattered heap..."

"Caddoc, you ninny, I've been fast asleep beside you for hours, not walking on wings. What makes you think up such terrible things? Must be the cheese you ate for your supper?
Now snuggle back down and don't be a duffer!"

Tess gave us more food for thought today with her Mag which featured a photo by Elena Kalis.

Olé !

We'd gone and bought tickets for some local hop to be held in our village hall - the kind of occasion where everyone goes, the long and the short and the tall; the young and the old and the fit and the lame - all welcomed, and everyone treated the same... 

But Ada and Caddoc, I'm certain you've guessed, would add their own spice to the mix- "We'll dress in our Spanish-type costumes. We can dance a wild tango, for kicks!" Caddoc cringed at the thought of the spangles and lace, but manfully plastered a grin on his face.
" Beloved, I'll follow you where'er you lead, but I beg you to keep it polite, for tango's, if danced with abandon, can be a right turn on. All right?" 

" Caddoc", cried Ada, " Just finish your drink - sometimes it's best that you don't stop to think!"

Written for the Mag 181, with thanks to Tess and apologies to Toulouse-Lautrec .

Unhand Me, You Cad!

"We've always," quoth Ada, "been drawn to each other. But sometimes I think he treats me like his mother; and some days I think I'll go out of my head unless he slopes out to lounge in his shed with his droopy sad face like a wee bloodhound pup; he’ll hide there while I wash the breakfast things up!

(And don't you agree, come now, won't you confess, his hat is a terrible, terrible mess?)

But then he'll come in and he'll creep up behind and I must pretend that I really do mind how his left and his right hands unerringly know the very two places where they should not go!

So I always pretend to be stern and severe and cry "You great Welsh lummox, less of that here!" And then he says "If not there, where then, my dear?" as he smiles his daft smile and gives me a cuddle, knowing he’ll soon throw my thoughts in a muddle till I’ll give him a kiss, and forgive him his hat. Now tell me, could you resist chat-ups like that?"

Cad's hands took a slightly different approach from Escher's... but thanks go to Tess and her Mag for the image.

Night Rider

And Tess has once again tempted us to write a tall tale for her Mag... which follows on from the previous nightmare saga which you will find  here.

Caddoc Goes Solo

 

After breakfast Caddoc said, "Dearest, I'll be in my shed, beavering, for quite a while. My new plan's sure to make you smile!" Though Ada smiled, her smile was grim. "Now what mad scheme's got into him? Last week he put me on his bike, but what came next I did not like - chasing robbers in the buff  to reclaim all our biking stuff. So what's he up to now, my Cad; something more than half-way mad?"

Caddoc had reappeared by noon with many more than one balloon blown up with gas lighter than air. Cried he, "Come see, my dearest fair! We'll lift our little car aloft - " Said she  "Now you've gone really soft!"  "Not so!" said Cad "for up so high, no robbers will be speeding by.  We'll not lose helmets, leggings, boots, and be left in our Birthday Suits! We'll paraglide to Colwyn Bay. The wind will take us all the way."

She fixed him with an Ada stare. "Your off your trolley, I declare. You're on your own! I've had enough," so Caddoc took off in a huff. "I'll ride the skies, alone and free. A wild, Welsh airman I will be."  

He should have heeded what she said. Better - he should have stayed in bed and not let air dreams fill his head,  for his landing wrecked his garden shed!

Not Quite A Moonlight Serenade

This picture by Andrew Wyeth which Tess gave us for her Mag 178,  put me in mind of a Trellis  Saga, akin to the poem by John Keats. Cad and Ada are renowned for such exploits in their long and varied relationship...

La Belle Ada Sans Culottes.
(With apologies to John Keats)

"O what can ail thee, Caddoc T
 alone and bare and pale and wan?"
"My biking kit's been nicked, look you!
And Ada's gone."

"O what can ail thee, goodly Cad?
You seemed chilled through, and woe-begone?"
"You deaf? No boots. No gloves. No wife.
I'm all undone!"

"I see the anguish on thy brow,
as if great sorrows overtook -
and on thy cheeks..." "Hands off, you swine! 
Don't push your luck!"      
       And here Caddoc launched forth into yet another                     tale of mishap by moonlight...
I thought to give Ada a spin,
(beloved wife — she's just 'the most' )
We'd hit the road for Colwyn Bay,
along the coast!

I bought a helmet for her head,
and leathers black and biker's boots.
She flipped her helmet's visor down,
said "Cad, let's scoot!"

I sat her on my racing steed,
and nothing else felt all day long,
but Ada pressed against my back,
with sweet Welsh song.

She bought me pink Llandudno rock
and Ninety-Nines and bags of chips.
And then in language strange she said—
‘Mmmm -  tasty lips!’

She hauled me to a trysting spot,
and there she lay and sighed full sore,
and there I shut her dear Welsh eyes
with kisses four. 

And so we lulled ourselves to sleep,
and there we dreamed, but later on
we woke up in our Birthday Suits
our leathers gone!

We saw the robbers making off,
masked brigands, ugly brutes, a brace.
But then things went from bad to worse!
Ada gave chase!

And so I stand here in the gloam,
and horrid thoughts go through my mind -
If I join Ada in the chase
what will I find?

Two robbers cowering in fear
cornered by Ada without her vest?
She'll be arrested too!  I'll plead
"She did her best!"

Ciggy Saga

On  holiday in Clacton, Trell saw this awesome pair in a photo in a junk shop, and he had to stop and stare at the most uncanny likeness...
( Cad and Ada, I declare! BUT – cigarettes? Good Heavens, that surely could not be – what could be their story? We’ll have to wait and see!)
It's really very simple. They're now both clapped out wrecks.  "'Cos smoking," argues Ada, "is an antidote to sex. "
(Pass the Woodbines, pet . . . )
But Caddoc knows that Ada knows that Caddoc is no fool.  And Caddoc knows in Clacton boarding houses it's the rule to avoid unwonted loss of life when fire disaster looms -
"ALL GUESTS AT ALL TIMES MUST REFRAIN FROM SMOKING IN THEIR ROOMS!"

Many thanks for sparking this off, Tess, with your choice of Togan Gokbakar's photo for the Mag 168

All About Caddoc

Caddoc's Version

Again I've caught Caddoc playing,
straying from his work, perhaps?
A lapse in his attention
I mention here, but I must smile
the while to acknowledge he's a
wizard when it comes to art -
part of why I fell for him -
grim though he may appear from time
to time. (Just look at his hat!
That is too awful for words,
absurd in fact.) But what he did
with a fiddle of his mouse today,
I must say was appealing -
stealing part of a painting! He's no dope,
I hope you'll agree;
he could see in his mind's eye
why a version with arms missing might
have more bite...I reprint it here,
my dear reader, but urge you to go
show him how you feel
for real about his home grown
poem - which I now plagiarise
as a surprise for him...
Thin end of the wedge? Maybe.
We'll see if he thinks
mine stinks...


After many moons of not being visible on this Truce blog, I can assure you I nevertheless remained behind the scenes to keep my gimlet eye upon Cad. So when I discovered today that he had got all creative, it spurred me on. Thank you, Mag 167!

Courtship

Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodin

Remember in the early days how Cad could never wrench his gaze from fairest Ada, so  demure,  and how he thought that he might lure her to his favourite garden shed?

But prim and proper Ada said

"Divest your mind of such ideas.  For, Master Caddoc, it appears to little Ada (sweet and twenty) you promise naughtiness in plenty. I sense behind your moon-calf eyes imaginings that would surprise the girls from Colwyn to Tranent who don't know that your thoughts are bent on getting into Ada's bed. Chase such malpractice from your head!"

And yet (in brackets, so to speak) our Ada thought 

"If I can tweak his urges to a fever pitch he might decide to soothe his itch by making me an honest girl. Then I’d have me a willing churl!"

 So in due time the pair were wed. Poor Cad spent more time in his shed, not less - for Ada proved a tartar and soon poor Caddoc was a martyr, prostrated by the fires of love … for Ada was no turtle dove!

Until, that is, he’d lined her nest; she found he really was the best of thoughtful lovers, sweet and kind… Then Ada slowly changed her mind; she learned to tolerate his ways. No longer were there stressful days, and life turned out to be just fine – at least for eight days out of nine!



Thanks to Mag 164 for inspiring this tale.

Winter Woes

Winter chill had gripped my heart (and other less romantic parts) for snow and ice, or days of grey had chased my sunshine’s smile away. My Ada, mostly game to grouse, crept sad and silent through the house, too struck by winter weather blues to rally round - try to amuse us.

"You two ninnies are a hindrance. Remember last weekend, for instance; I heard you chatting in the shed. Why don't you talk to me instead? You lounge around and cause a muddle and then start whispering, in a huddle. For you it must be very nice, there in your Fool's Paradise, where meals are placed upon the table like clockwork. I am never able

to take a well earned day of rest..." and so her wittering progressed.

But Trell and I had hatched a plan, long before this strife began.

"That whispering, Ada, don't you know, was us plotting how to show appreciation of your labours. We thought we could do you a favour, book you a holiday, my pet, in some suave place where you could get pampered to the N th degree- far from the likes of Trell or me!"

But look at where we’d booked a place! Their advert’s blurb was a disgrace – Ada’s face was full of woe! 

“Forget it, Caddoc! Drive! Let’s go! Foot on the gas and let’s get home; I’ve lost the urge to ever roam!"

  

Many thanks to Tess and Jacek Yerka  over at The Mag 156 for inspiring this tale of woe  from Trellisland.

Tailpiece

My Guilty Pleasure, if you please

is wearing panties just like these.

Having perused most of the posts in response to Isadora's challenge from the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, I concluded you'd all lived pretty blameless lives and needed cheering up a bit. 

But after a night's sleep of lying awake (!), I was inspired to elucidate further...

Last night as I lay on my pillow
Last night as I lay on my bed
Last night as I mused next to Caddoc
some more lines came into my head...

"My Guilty Pleasure if you please
is wearing panties just like these.
It's just for fun. No one gets hurt
unless I wear my see-through skirt
and stroll about in Abergele.
Then knobbly Welsh knees turn to jelly.
One day I'll get myself arrested
by PCs whose resolve is tested.
They'd fling me in a prison cell.
They would not treat me very well -
I hope!  But things aren't what they seem -
My Guilty pleasure's just a dream."

You Dancing?

Last year, Ada and Caddoc were late for the ball at Willow Manor - possibly because it took them so long to get dressed.



This year, Trellissimo and Ada jumped the gun a month too soon, and tripped the light fantastic wearing the minimum of gear, as they sampled the delights of Paris.

Caddoc had suggested, for a change, that they dispensed with clothing all together, and adopted a more cherubic attitude to life.

He became engrossed for a while in the manufacture of wings, but discovered, too late, that Ada was allergic to both feathers and glue, with the result that she refused to wear anything but this for the 2012 bash at the Manor >>>>>>

The sight was so awesome, he retired to his shed, post haste, and hasn't been seen since...

The Trellis Tribe, however, would like to thank Tess for the invitation, as they realise their weekly shenanigans over the past year have probably tried the poor girl's patience to the limit, at times! You're a good sport, Tess. :)

Entente Cordiale

We went on a coach trip to Paris - that's Caddoc and Ada and me - we thought we could parler en français, but, eh bien! that was not to be. Peut être the natives, when talking, confused our sad, xenophobe ears as we floundered in incomprehension; their patois reduced us to tears! 
So we sought out un thé dansant café where très jolie musique was played and dames et messieurs in tight trousers their pulsating rhumbas displayed.

I offered to partner Ms Ada;  we abandoned all plans to converse, and took to the dance floor, gyrating, but events took a turn for the worse when, carried away with the rhythms, my elbow  knocked off Caddoc’s hat. Then along came a frenetic français who trod on his chapeau - KERSPLAT!
At this point friend Cad really lost it. He rose, and emitting a roar, he grasped the jeune homme by his collar and frog-marched the Frog through the door. (*)

The café fell silent.  The patrons first stared, then whispered and muttered till I (prudently) hid behind Ada,  in case a clenched fist should whirl by.
Le garçon cried out "He deserves it!" 
"Who, Caddoc?" 
"Non! Gaston,” said Cad. “That chap I just dumped on le trottoir. He strutted like he’s Jaques-le-Lad!”
"Steady on!" cried someone in English, in time with the fiddle and  bongo, which commenced with a popular chorus. You'd know it - "It Takes Three to Tango!"

And so after all we were fêted;  they toasted le tout Trellis tribe – but don’t believe all of cette histoire – just try to spot where I have lied!

(*) "La porte" would suit here, but it doesn't rhyme with "roar."  Suggestions anyone?


With apologies to Tess and Salvador Dali for this spot of Magpie Madness!