Universal jigsaw puzzles

Dear Browsers and Browserettes,

it has to be said, the hands of my dear lady electrofried are forever dancing balletically across fabric and thread. Be it the simple sampler or a quilt exploding into patterns of the most exquisite colour and beauty, I never cease to be stunned by her work. It adorns every part of the House and extends to our wider family beyond.

A wedding treasury

I reflect on this at length during our recent visit to maximouse and His Imperial Hirsutelessness, further details of which appear just below in these increasingly bizarre meanderings. Adorning their conjugal bed is a purpled, kaleidoscopic treasure - a wedding present from mrs electrofried.

I look at it in wonder, studying the intricate fabric patterns that have been woven together in an extraordinary fabric jigsaw. How many generations to come, who have never met mrs electrofried or her half-wit husband, will also stand and gaze in awe at her work.

And then my thoughts pass to strands of DNA forever twisting and delivering messages, like the threads of a treasured wedding quilt, to those who must follow. Where did it all start and when will it all end?

More questions than answers?

In truth, I have no answers. I am content just to follow - and in this I find rich peace. There are many places in the House I fear we must visit together in the fullness of time, locked doors and bricked-up rooms. But for now, there is just one destination to which I would like to take you. Will you join me?

Along the corridor

It's good to walk with you along a corridor that exists only in a simple binary coding. As if to illustrate the point, may I adjust the lighting as we go. Here's a switch we will push up, and now another we will push down. And so it goes until a recognisable pattern emerges.

dot, dot ... dash, dash ... dot, dot.

Of course, it's no more than simple illusion, a little Vail code delivered by means of a carefully secreted squeeze-button, and yet in the flashing lights we sense a pattern we recognise. Which is a place we are now about to enter.

A room full of mirrors

Let me open the door for you - please do come in and let your eyes grow accustomed to the light.

We've just entered a large, high-ceilinged room. The windows are shaded by cream voiles that diffuse the fading sunset into a pleasing soft warmth. There is no need for further artificial illumination as the remainder of the walls are clad in ormolu-framed mirrors that reflect our image.

Who do you see standing next to you? Perhaps a portly horologist clad in black and wearing Predator sunglasses!

Table-topped jigsaw

There is, of course, one more thing to be seen. In the centre of the room squats a chunky wooden table and on it rests an album. Let's walk across together and see what's in there. We open it at random to a page that contains a photograph of a hand pouring out pieces of a jigsaw.

And at this point, please could I ask you to look up as I ....

A blinding flash of light

Oops, sorry! I should have warned you, but this is my studio, the place where my threads come together. Please forgive me for capturing your image.

There are many photographs in the electrofried family albums. They line an entire room in the House, and a brief selection from their pages already decorate this diary.

There are some that are my own wedding gift to maximouse and His Imperial, but they must remain as personal a jigsaw puzzle as the wedding quilt lovingly patched together by mrs electrofried. There are others that are blurred or over-exposed. And each is an observation - my take on life.

Room full of mirrors (slight return)

Which is where we step out into the light of a fresh day!

Would you care to come back another time to look through the family albums again with me? There are many stories to be told and, one day, all the pictures will link together in the universal jigsaw puzzle.

Until then, may I wish you as always,

best regards

electrofried (mr)

... in which electrofried becomes lost in the mists of time

A portly, black-clad gentleman wearing Predator sunglasses has just become lost in time. The annual summer holiday having reached its customary dampened and premature conclusion, he must once again return to the horology factory at the far end of Little Wittering and take up post as Chief Time-Keeper.

In pursuit of gainful employment

Regular readers will be aware of the unstable finances of the House of Electrofried following an unfortunate speculative venture. With much of the family silver sequestered by trade creditors, subsequent generations have been forced to eek out a meagre existence as best they can.

In the case of our host, the Black Dowager indentured him at an early age to the service of Little Wittering's very own Master Horologist, a greek emigre by the name of Eudor Clesiastise. It was at the feet of this strange and shadowy figure that electofried duly learned the trade which has since sustained the House through many a dark year.

His vain hope is that one day the opening of the House will provide sufficient income for him to resign his position as Chief Time-Keeper and return to Baronial duties. However, for the time being, needs must.

electrofried returns

Accordingly, on Monday morning electrofried rises early from a fitful night's sleep to extract the family charabanc from the stables. After a few turns of the cranking-handle the engine splutters into life and he's ready for the off.

The journey to Eudor's factory is uneventful. The motorised maelstrom that is the village High Street is, for once, blissfully free of traffic - scarce a soul moves. Almost before he knows it, electrofried enters an avenue of white-daubed tree trunks at the approach to the factory gates. Eudor is seated at the entrance, worry-beads in hand, waiting to greet him.

"Ellinika, electrofried!" and the day begins.

The drying room

Life in the horology factory is a strange business. Eudor seems quite mad, though in a way that might just convince us the reverse is true.

For many years now, Eudor has been in search of time. Rumours abound in the factory as to where he locates the fleeting moments and stolen seconds that are hung up to dry in the small whitewashed store opposite the main gates. Electrofried's job, however, is not to enter into idle speculation. As Chief Time-Keeper his sole duty is to ensure not one of the precious elements of time escapes the treble-bolted door and makes off in search of its rightful owner.

It is a task he takes most seriously indeed.

Selling time by the pound

Monday is a "red-letter" day at the factory. Over the preceding months, sixty precious seconds have been collected, dried and bound together ready for sale and now the customer is about to take collection.

Electrofried carries the precious cargo, wrapped in finest crystalline tissue paper, to the factory gates. He's accompanied by the Master Horologist, Eudor. A tall figure dressed in a sharply creased business suit awaits their arrival, thick wads of used banknotes padding out his pockets.

They greet, papers are exchanged and the customer departs. Electrofried counts out the money. Funny how much people will pay for one more precious moment at the end of time.

A brief history of the electrofried lineage

Dear Browsers and Browserettes,

First, and most importantly, may we thank our very first visitors to this new (and already somewhat rambling) blog for their most kind comments and encouragement.

Honorary Life Membership

In recognition, the electrofrieds have voted unanimously to bestow on Samsarajade, Kaspar and Panama honorary life membership of the House and a key to the Executive Restroom Facilities.

For future reference, these are to be found adjacent to the Scullery - turn immediately left after Cook's patented mouse-trap and combination crumbly cheese dispenser, then look out for the two green doors.

Please do feel free to sample the extensive collection of toiletries whilst there. These include (in the case of Samsarajade and subsequent lady visitors) a small sample bottle of Aquamanda - an inexpensive but curiously alluring perfume of 70's origin which carries a distinctive orange citrus note. It was worn by the good lady electrofried in her youth and is guaranteed to drive the man of your life wild.

Gentlemen will be relieved to learn there are no corresponding complimentary sachets of Brut in their facilities.

And now - back to the blog!

At the request of Samsarajade, there now follows a brief history of the family line of electrofried. (If truth be known, it is not so much a line, more a squiggle - not unlike that adopted for several years by "the artiste formerly known as Prince".)

Research Sources

The history below is based on research from two seminal works, both of which have been retrieved by Fetlock the Butler from the extensive electrofried bibliotheque and soundly dusted down, namely:

• "On the Origin of the Species electrofried by Means of Natural Selection: or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life". (C. Darwind - publ. 24 November, 1859); and

• "A Brief History of Time Reloaded". (S.W. Hawklord - publ. 1 September, 1998).

Early Days

Rumour has it the very first appearance of an electrofried takes the form of a mysterious black-clad figure to be found in one of the more minor paintings at the Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc Cave in France.

Curiously, despite the fact the galleries were composed for the most part in the Paleolithic era, the figure would seem to be wearing a pair of Predator sun-glasses and holds in the right hand a glass vessel containing red tincture. Detailed scientific study suggest this may well be an early example or wine-making, possible Beaujolais Tres Nouveuax.

The Trail Goes Cold

The trail then goes cold for several millenia, only to resurface in an ancient shipping docket. This was located recently during an extensive refurbishment of the former offices of Ye Anciente P&O Lineum at the historic Cinque Port of Sandwich.

The docket reveals the entry to these sceptred isles of one Eli Trop-Fried, a Huguenot farmer fleeing his native France in wake of the Edict of Fontainebleu. His sole possessions on arrival were, apparently, a small jar of pickled onions, a French passe-en-porte and a crumpled pink broadsheet ("Le Sportive Rose") containing details of the latest Tournement de Boules.

All of these were carried through Customs in the mandatory clearview pigs-bladder wallet.

Military Service

We then fast forward a century or two for the next credible sighting of an electrofried during the Crimean War. Declassified Military Service Records disclose the existence of a French zouave by the name of Yves le Crowflied, a foot-soldier in the 3rd Trousered Dragoons. Yves was apparently responsible for the brewing of a malted milk-beverage used for restorative purposes by allied troops during the siege of Taganrog.

From there it is but a brief hop, skip and jump to the trenches of the First World War - not those of the Somme, but instead at Aldershot Barracks. Private Alex D. Fraid (objector unconscionable) holds the record to this very day for the quickest construction of an outside latrine, a skill it would seem has been passed down the generations of electrofried.

Beverages Again

The beverage link then re-appears with the end of hostilities and the award of a sales franchise by the nascent Horlicks Marketing Department following the death of founder, James Horlicks in 1921.

The lucky winner was Master Alistair Defrayed, who subsequently changed his name by deed poll to "electrofried" in order to put chasing creditors off the scent, the concept of the franchise proving to be a little too early in the history of modern commercial practice.

Black Monday and the Misfortunes of the House

Despite initial setbacks, the electrofrieds persevered in beverage promotion with ever-increasing success, amassing a not inconsiderable fortune in the process. That is, until the fateful day of 19 October 1987, otherwise known as "Black Monday".

In one single trading session the Dow Jones lost 22.6% of its value and an ill-advised punt on the malted beverage futures market by Great Uncle Electrofried nearly brought the House to its knees. Had it not been for an illicit and highly suspect off-market powder trade in a Gentlemens' Convenience behind Threadneedle Street all would have been lost. Even then, the House was reduced to a state of penury from which it is only just starting to emerge.

The Story to Date

And that, dear Browsers and Browserettes, just about brings us up to date. There is, of course, more to share with you concerning the current lineage - characters such as the Black Dowager, our darling children, maximouse, reallyfried and teenygoth - but time, and we suspect your waning interest, does not permit. Perhaps on another occasion, if we can tempt you to return to the House of Electrofried.

In the meantime thank you so much for your ongoing patronage - and remember, it's good to invite a friend to join you on your next visit to the House. Insanity is a thing best shared.

with cordial regards,

your humble servants

electrofried (mr and mrs)