The Secret

43.  Watch Out, Love’s About

Love isn’t just charming, but also most disarming, as it can catch you by surprise — yes, for round you it will sneak, and from behind some disguise will peek, and before you realise, mischievously surprise, or perhaps your attention seek.
Sometimes it may hide behind a little gift, one that your sagging spirits will lift, or it’ll grab you around your middle and squeeze, which will invariably please, for it’s the affectionate kind, the kind that says, “I love you,” and, “Just thought I’d remind.”
Oh, it’s so impishly playful, inexhaustible, but in a delightful way, for its intentions are pure, and its surprises reassure, as only nice things they convey.
It simply can’t help itself, can’t be anything but itself, hence its acts of kindness that bring joy, brighten and buoy, and its appearances via a stunning rainbow, a home-grown flower show, or any other means it chooses to employ.
Love cheerily appears in many forms, an encouraging word, a chirpy little bird, a lap snoozing pet, a gloriously inspiring sunset, a lingering kiss or hug, a cute little ladybird bug, a bubbling brook, an enjoyable uplifting book, a turn on a swing, blossoms in Spring, pleasant moments we share, a gorgeous big soft teddy bear.
Yes, love seeks to please, and moments will seize, in order to surprise, delight, enthral, thrill, beguile — be that via a friendly wave, a little note, an encouraging quote, an unexpected visit, a helping hand, or a pleasant smile. Or be that via a favourite cake, cooing sounds that it may make, a warming drink, an approving wink, a happy tune, a starry night and wide-eyed moon. Or maybe via a welcoming bark, a cosy stroll in the dark, an amusing sight, a special invite, or dinner for two by candlelight.
Yes, love simply can’t help itself, can’t be anything but itself, hence its busy activity, those acts that occur spontaneously, intentionally, consistently or randomly, and those joyously concealed (but sometime, somewhere revealed) surprises — and oh, how each one so aptly characterises love’s amazing creativity and endearing artistry.
So, watch out, love’s about.

By Lance Landall

44.  Top Billing

Well hi there folks, gorgeous gals and handsome blokes. Welcome to The Sandbar, where everyone’s a star. Thanks for the wave. What a swell crowd. I’m your host from up the coast, Benny Pelican, NBC’s anchorman. And assisting me up here, like a breath of fresh sea air, the delightful Ella Puffin and Cleo Marlin, who’ve just surfed on in. Give them a big cheer.
Without further ado, and with a round of applause too, let’s greet tonight’s crew.
To my right, bound to excite, a trio just in from Rio — Chet Cougar on lead guitar! Charlie Cheetah on bass guitar! And Earl Puma on acoustic guitar!
Moving along, a sextet en route to Hong Kong — Duke Armadillo on the oboe! Ray Bobcat on the cello! Wes Penguin on the accordion! Louis Chipmunk on the mandolin! Miles Koala on the harmonica! Dizzy Gorilla on the viola! And straight from a sell-out gig, the quintessential harpist, Zac guinea pig!
In the middle, itching to twiddle — Red Fox on the fiddle! Pete Porcupine on the lute! Bud Bandicoot on the flute! Chick Weasel on the trumpet! Dick Woodchuck on the cornet! Stan Mole on the clarinet! Herbie Hare on the recorder! Art Beaver on the synthesizer! Max Gazelle on the bugle! (Sparking on all fours as usual). And rushed back from Cuba, Slam Badger on the tuba!
On my left side, once again with pride — Ed Moose on the banjo! Count Hippo on the piccolo! Oscar Rhino on the piano! (A rhythmic dynamo). Quincy Gnu on the double bass! (Another fresh face). Fats Rabbit on the drum-kit! (Always a big hit). Freddie Chimpanzee on the ukulele! (An evolving celebrity). The zany Loons and Raccoons on the spoons! The amazing Yaks on the sax! (One of our regular acts). Slinky Joe Lynx on the vibraphone! Our very own Chad Bear on the trombone! And last but not least, Mister Smooth himself, organist Jimmy Wildebeest!
Also known to the locals, Nat King Wolf and Frank Coyote on vocals!
Special guest, nothing but the best, Shooby Meerkat, the king of scat! Along with tonight’s backing singers, Sammy Macaw junior (a rising star), Dean Cockatiel, and Billie budgerigar! And dare I forget, from Phuket, the Aardvark bell ringers!
And by popular vote, and musically famous too please note, our current conductor Thaddeus Eel, who for the first time tonight, for your delight, an electric arrangement will reveal!
Take it away, Maestro!

By Lance Landall

45.  Orchestral Overexertion

The members of the orchestra (clutching their repertoire), had arranged themselves on stage, but from what one could gauge, there was a discordant air — yes, a rather crotchety atmosphere, a distinct lack of rhythm and harmony (more a chorus of discontent, just quietly), be it over something minor or major (and probably minor, I’d wager), but nevertheless, as you no doubt could guess, such was starting things off on a bad note, and thus the chances of an agreeable grand finale rather remote.
One of the violinists, who was wearing a bow, and quite in tune from top to toe, seemed to be rather highly strung, and somewhat operatic, judging by her shrill and busy tongue, and for some strange reason, was fiddling with her case, seemingly ruffled and flushed in the face, all of which was bothering the drummer, who seemed to be looking glummer, and who lest there were repercussions, or strident discussions, beat a hasty retreat, thus avoiding a clash, or something rash, which might result in defeat.
Even the ivory haired but clearly ill-prepared pianist seemed keyed up, judging by her tone, not to mention her flitting back and forth like a metronome, which only served to treble the tension, and further draw the maestro’s attention, who felt they weren’t conducting themselves very well, and their excitableness sought to quell, as he raised his baton in order to bring order, before their performance went even further downhill, not to mention, up a decibel.
But before he could rap (perhaps I should’ve said tap), or even say a word, another commotion was heard, for the guitarist had tripped over the kettle drum, and midst rather lyrical but sharp accents, was flat on his back nursing a fractured thumb, now unable to strum — and to add insult to injury (as far as one could see), was receiving a certain harmonic distortion from the saxophonist, who, due to the guitarist’s unfortunate forward pitch, had elbowed and winded the trombonist, who in return, elbowed and blasted the saxophonist, as if to settle the score, which rather than creating peace, simply created a rift, an unpleasant drift, an ominous prelude, given the ensuing feud, which turned into a full-scale war.
Oh dear, what a sight to see, musicians acting anything but melodiously, a right royal cacophony — yes, each terribly out of tune, shockingly way off key — in other words, wildly improvising musically, or should that be vocally?
Soon instruments littered the floor, and even musicians what’s more, midst a mixture of classic and contemporary sounds and movements, which certainly left room for improvements, all of which the maestro couldn’t contain, and in the interests of his health, even wealth, thought it better not to remain — so, not having a bar of it (and why should he, what’s more?), he quickly marched out the door, as fiery fugues, booming canons, crazy concertos, contemptuous rhapsodies, disparaging sonatas, audacious overtures, cheeky minuets, and a climatic symphony (if you please), began to soar.
Yes, what a commotion, so much pent-up emotion, and needless to say, given their getting so carried away, there wasn’t any practice done that day, for by the time they had finished, their energy was diminished, and their battered instruments weren’t able to play.
Oh, what a tall tale, you might well say, and quite rightly so, at the end of the day, for it’s simply designed in order to remind: That no matter how much one’s stressed, it’s all in the way it’s expressed, and that there are far better ways to unwind.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to harp on.

By Lance Landall

46.  Geoffrey (not so) Hilarious

Yes, Geoffrey (not so) Hilarious, just couldn’t be serious — well, that is to say, largely so — perhaps just like someone you know, and all throughout conversations, chipped in with his adulterations, or that which some would call witty (and others, rudeness, getting to the nitty-gritty), they calling a spade a spade, they neither mistaken nor afraid.
Yes, he just making light of what was said, and saying whatever was in his head, thus derailing their train of thought, and hence their often angry retort, for such became infuriating, and they very soon advocating — well, more than advocating, actually — that he not be taken seriously.
Thus, with the tables now turned, a lesson was quickly learned, for anything that Geoffrey said, where wanting to be serious instead, folk chipped in with their adulterations, which soon thwarted his articulations, leaving Geoffrey (not so) Hilarious, thinking such rather mysterious, until it all suddenly dawned, and of much more coming, folk warned, unless he behaved with more sense, and stopped making things so tense, which I’m very happy to convey, was the result of that bell ringing day, for Geoffrey (not so) Hilarious, started behaving more serious, leaving all to sigh with relief, having cleverly resolved their beef, and now able to converse more freely, they no longer dogged by absurdity.

By Lance Landall 

47.  Long-winded Angus Walker

Long-winded Angus Walker, was a terrible talker, and by that I mean, he could talk the hatch off a submarine — yes, no one getting a word in edgeways, his verbal rants leaving folk in a daze, not to mention frustrated too, for they could tell him a thing or two, but no, they didn’t have a show, he clearly unfamiliar with “Whoa!” — and thus as far as listening went, such was purely and simply a non-event, for such would mean he’d have to stop, and then talking for listening swap, which clearly wasn’t on his agenda, and hence he being a constant offender.
Well, one very fortunate day, meaning fortunate in a certain way, he developed a very sore throat, and time for chat was unable to devote, given it took weeks for the virus to go, and oh dear me, how folk seized that opportunity, besieging bed-bound Angus Walker verbally — in other words, until his ears were Rudolph red — and nothing but vowels and consonants sounding in his head, and thus needless to say, after the virus went its generous way, long-winded Angus Walker, ceased to be such a talker, and even went very quiet, I’ve heard some say.

By Lance Landall 

48.  Gossiper Joe

Gossiper Joe would oft tarry so, he sharing stories that spread like weeds (and sometimes despite his victim’s pleads), he too obsessed with every detail, even enhancing each borrowed tale, and much to the delight of many, they more than happy to hear any, all of which kept his tongue busy, and left the heads of some folk dizzy, they not wanting to hear such, but pinned, at which Gossiper Joe knowingly grinned, for he didn’t want anyone to go, nor anything to break his juicy flow, which though pleasing some, left others feeling numb, and why they oft crossed the street, lest Gossiper Joe they meet.
Well, (oh, how I dearly love that well), a very sorry fate Joe befell, for one day midst another cruel tale, and revelations about Abigail, he unwittingly spoke to her father, who not surprisingly got in a lather, and who with the help of a passer-by, who also considered such a lie, quickly taped Joe’s mouth tightly shut, he unable to even splutter “But” and given the tapes stick-ability, it took doctors with much ability, but not before a day or two had passed, and thus Gossiper Joe learning fast, who nowadays very little conveys, having thus been helped to mend his ways, which very clearly just goes to show, that we shouldn’t pass on what we know, lest some similar horrid fate occur, due to gossiping about him or her.

By Lance Landall

49.  Ridiculous Nicholas

Ridiculous Nicholas was truly that — ridiculous — for whenever he bothered to stop and chat, he proclaimed the most ridiculous things, hence all those bells with their “Oh dear me” rings, for listeners quickly became aware, that something quite odd was reaching their ear, hence why they’d politely bid their leave, and on their way, giggle up their sleeve, and why a few examples I’ll share, given that you’re reading what's penned here, and now, are clearly wanting to know, which certainly just goes to show, that one shouldn’t get folk going, given some things aren’t worth knowing — but! — seen as you’re sighing and begging, and I not one for reneging, a few things that he said were (not that I’m the type to stir) — no, I can’t, cause you’d laugh at me, think that I’m talking ridiculously — sorry, I guess I am reneging, and after all your sighs and begging, but what on earth can I do, cause I doubt you’ll think such true — okay! okay! — here’s one thing that he said then, if there’s enough ink in my pen: That when people go to bed at night, tiny little creatures bare toes bite, and that dipping toes in honey (albeit such sticky and runny), will stop them munching on the skin, be one masculine or feminine.
Well, I knew you wouldn’t believe that, so I’d just keep such under your hat, for were you to share this tale, your freedom some might curtail, as happened to ridiculous Nicholas, sadly, they thinking he some danger to society.

By Lance Landall

50.  Rufus Crumbs

Now here’s a wee tale about Rufus Crumbs, he being an obsessive beater of drums, and to make things worse, and what some called a curse, he would pick up his sticks and loudly play, and by that I mean, any hour come night or day, and as an unsurprising consequence, the response of others was quite intense, but without success, I’m afraid, they disturbed by the shouts he made, for nothing at all was going to stop him, and thus they returning home with faces grim.
Well, inconsiderate Rufus Crumbs, who wouldn’t let up playing the drums, eventually cooked his own goose, and as far as anyone could deduce, he falling victim to repetitive strain injury, and thus no longer beating maniacally — yes, too much of a good thing, or was it more a bad thing, and now, he unable to do anything, his wrists being far too sore, something that he never foresaw, but it a lesson he needed to learn though, and how the lights of others soon ceased to glow, they snugly and peacefully asleep, and no longer counting restless sheep, and sorrowful Rufus Crumbs now just staring at his drums.
Oh dear.....I don’t think.

By Lance Landall

51.  Burly Bernie Seize

Burly Bernie Seize always loved to squeeze, which to be honest, would normally please, as we all love a hug, but that was the trouble, and what burst the bubble, for Bernie began to bug, and the very reason why being, which he clearly wasn’t seeing, was that anything can be overdone, and therefore, it no longer seen as fun.
So despite the sighs and groans, and from time to time the moans, Bernie Seize continued to squeeze, which really began to displease, and why folk would often hide (he spotted outside, they dashing inside, he spotted inside, they dashing outside), and so it would’ve continued (and given how discontent had brewed), if it hadn’t been for a loud crack, someone’s ribs or bothersome back, and oh, what a commotion-cum-undiluted emotion — the result being bandages and lotion, and possibly some nasty potion — and where was burly Bernie Seize? — seemingly gone with the breeze — for no one was wanting a squeeze, and he having learnt the hard way, and by that I mean to say, that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and in this distressing case — a squeeze — too late learnt by burly Bernie Seize, whose squeezes soon ceased to please.

By Lance Landall 

52.  Benjamin Sniffer

Benjamin Sniffer was as nosy as can be, someone who couldn’t stifle his curiosity, and hence his cheeky questions-cum-nosy nose, he hoping juicy morsels folk might disclose — well, you know how it goes — and he thus treading on a number of toes, for who likes nosy parkers with itchy ears, who, by the way, something spicy cruelly shares, and hence those repercussions-cum-heated discussions, for what was told soon got the teller in trouble, Benjamin passing on what would burst someone’s bubble — well, every so often, that is — folk in a tizz, they wishing that they’d said nothing at all, and shouting how Benjamin had quite a gall, and how he was heading for a nasty fall — yes, Mister Benjamin Sniffer, the know-it-all — who anything and everything revealed, be it something that appalled or appealed — in other words, his lips not sealed, come warts and all, and hence why folk nicknamed him Sniffer, you see, Benjamin’s nosy nose sniffing obsessively.
Well, one day (and you were expecting this, weren’t you?), things went astray, for he passed on what someone wiser wouldn’t do, and needless to say, things went horribly askew, for what was told caused a right royal riot, and why today, Benjamin Sniffer is…..well, rather quiet…..his nosy nose no longer as nosy, and sporting a rosy red shiner, I see — or was it more a purple-cum-black and blue? — well, I’ll leave that pretty image up to you.

By Lance Landall

53.  Poor Bobby Hugh

Poor Bobby Hugh was feeling very blue (such being an emotional kind of hue), for no sweet lady chose to come his way, one who’d flutter her eyelashes and say, “Oh, Bobby dear, you’re my kind of guy,” and thereby, much of his time occupy, which would’ve seen Bobby soon jump with joy, and extremely creative plans employ, which a proposal would also include (such midst soft lights, pleasant music and food), and he hoping that she’d quickly reply, “Oh, yes dear!” and then they both wave goodbye, for a honeymoon would be rather nice-cum-some cosy little lost paradise, but alas, such hardly likely to be, for poor Bobby was pushing ninety three.
Well, life’s certainly full of surprises, which tend to come in all shapes and sizes, and yes, not to mention advancing years, for midst frivolity, feasting and cheers, Bobby Hugh saw his long-time dream come true (he no longer feeling hopelessly blue), and he carried his new wife up the stairs, his fervour hardly in line with his years, for amidst wheezes and gasps he expired, and much sooner than expected retired, which, to be frank, hardly came as a surprise, and why due thought and care I would advise, for some things just aren’t mind over matter, which reality’s soon seen to shatter.

By Lance Landall

54.  Terrance Snoozer

Terrance Snoozer was in love with his bed, and a fluffy pillow on which he rested his head, hence his struggle to arise come the morning  — and here, I’m not talking about when the day was dawning, skies cloudy or clear — oh no, but rather, half way through the day, and very reluctantly, let me say.
Yes, he dead to the world and snoozing very nosily, his alarm clock upside down and buried inventively — and oh, whenever someone tried to awaken him, or even worse, suggest a workout at a gym, what a hullabaloo, for it was only snoozing that Terrance Snoozer sought to pursue.
Well, life has a habit of upsetting plans, especially those “Just leave me alone” plans, and hence an illness that kept him in bed for months, night and day (not to mention those bed sores, by the way), all of which damped his desire to snooze (that over the top slumbering that no one should choose), and why nowadays he’s up and about, and no one having to prod, shake or shout, not that such did anything anyway, until life decided to have its say.

By Lance Landall

55.  Gary Blighter

Gary Blighter was a terrible writer, his handwriting impossible to understand, and such, let me add, not being due to a shaky hand, but rather, a pen that was seemingly unmanned, for oh, how it would scribble, and why many folk would quibble, cheques bouncing left and right, and ensuing comments not polite, but still nothing changing his style, and thus complaints growing by the mile (or should I say pile?), until, as is oft the case, he pushed his luck and wrongly put too noughts in place, not intentionally of course, but as a matter of course, and out of his bank account went a heap, and he as a consequence minus much sleep, which just goes to show how scribble can cost, for how much was lost? A heap!

By Lance Landall

56.  Sigh