Our bags are packed and the Charabanc awaits

Dear Chroniclers,

excitement is almost at fever-pitch in the House of electrofried as the time nears to visit our cousins on the opposite side of the pond. You see, we're about to celebrate a plumply rounded birthday in the life of mrs electrofried.

Time flies

I will not bore you, yet again, with tales from our teenaged past (more from fear of incurring the wrath of young teenygoth, as anything else) but suffice to say the dear lady is rather special. An under-statement if ever there was one!

So what more fitting way to say thank you to mrs electrofried for sharing her life with us than flying her across the Atlantic for two weeks pleasuring deep in the heart of Pennyslvania's Dutch Country. Oh, and teenygoth gets to go too.

Instructions to the Staff

Please do keep a weather-eye on the House whilst we're away. We will be leaving Fetlock in charge, a decision I fear we may have cause to regret come our return.

For some weeks now he's been beavering away in the Servants' Quarters, head buried deep in the well-thumbed, but grossly inaccurate Slovenian/English dictionary that is his faltering life-line to communication with the residents of Little Wittering.

If you do call by, expect to be greeted with the cryptic entreatment, "Dve karti za avtobusni izlet v Postojno?". This may come in handy should you indeed wish to purchase, "Two tickets for the guided bus tour to Postojna.", but otherwise is unlikely to be of much substantive use in ongoing conversational repartee.

The assembling of luggage

You will doubtless be pleased to learn I have given Fetlock the afternoon off to conserve his somewhat limited energies. He will need all his strength to hoist aboard our charabanc the substantial assortment of light hand-luggage and general trunkery that has been amassed by mrs electrofried in the upper reaches of the House.

The collection began some weeks ago with one small valise. It now covers most of the visible flooring area of one of the smaller bedrooms in the West Wing and spills over into a considerable portion of the backstairs.

Cook's Tours

Cook is far from pleased. Her garret hideaway lies immediately adjacent to mrs electrofried's luggage repository and the prospect of negotiating its straits whilst bearing her customary crated cargo of super-strength alcohol fills her (and us) with some dread.

It seems likely she will resolve this predicament by consuming half the contents of the crate before venturing past the box-room. Given past form, we anticipate a lager spillage of Exxion Valdez proportions.

In-flight Entertainment

I conducted a brief, but revealing, inspection of the hand-luggage earlier this morning.

Personally, I thought we might leave the Victrola behind for a well-needed "dust'n'lube". However, mrs electrofried is determined it must be packed, together of course with a small selection from her extensive and ever-expanding Perry Como collection.

She has even gone so far as to fashion a curious device out of a pair of heavily embroidered ear-muffs and a short length of garden-hosing. I am informed this is to convert the much-loved Victrola into a personal stereo unit for in-flight entertainment purposes, but I remain to be convinced this will be a viable option given the baggage constraints currently in operation on most Transatlantic flights.

Mrs electrofried is, however, a lady on a mission. And who am I to bet against her emerging victorious from battle with those who man the Customs Stall at Heathrow.

My contribution

Of course, I have made my own contribution to the ongoing luggage assembly. A crate has been duly packed with several Box Brownie bodies, an accompanying assortment of carefully dusted prime lenses and a box-load of freshly emulsioned glass plates.

Oh, and I've bought a clean pair of pants.

The call of the charabanc

Forgive me if I now bid you a fond farewell - I hear the familiar parp of the charabanc as it pulls up the drive toward the House. Happy journeyings all and see you in a few weeks' time.

best regards

electrofried (mr)

All is not as it may first seem

Dear Friends,

sometimes all is not as it may first seem, as I have discovered, much to my embarrassment, this weekend.

Some words of wisdom from Fetlock

"Ne hodi po travi".

A double-take

Forgive me, for I sense we must investigate the concept of confusion a little further before we proceed down an increasingly bizarre path toward the House of Electrofried. No doubt you will have observed on your way in today two portly figures, both of whom are dressed in black and wearing Predator sunglasses.

One clutches to his breast a well-thumbed Slovenian/English phrase-book and the other a manual film camera whose genesis began some ninety three years ago in the mind of one Oskar Barnack.

But who is the real horologist? And why?

Central Exchange

This weekend has seen a veritable frenzy of phone-calls and increasingly confused emails as various members of the family electrofried have emerged, one by one, from behind a series of curiously fashioned Circus masks to reveal their true identities.

Perhaps confusion is a natural hazard of hosting a Chronicle that is subject to the vagaries of the shifting sands of time. So take a seat as the drama unfolds.

An invitation is extended

A few weeks ago (if time can be relied upon) I extended a family-wide invitation to visit the House. The initial response was muted, the electrofrieds being a somewhat cautious and sensitive clan.

Brave nephew, Piercelings, was among the first to visit, though to date he has yet to register his presence formally. Perhaps the mention of his name will prompt a comment - please do keep a sharp look-out for any trail he may leave.

Piercelings was followed closely into the House by much-loved son-in-law, His Imperial Hirsutelessness, who was bold enough to venture into print. His first, but hopefully not last, contribution to the Chronicles appears in the chapter entitled, "TW3".

So take a bow, Piercelings and His Imperial ...

Fungal Growths

All was quiet for some time then, much to my surprise and great joy, a comment appeared overnight like some exotic fungi deep within the woods, from another family member. Enter stage left, Lagerfried.

For those of you who are remotely interested (and I sense you must be in the rather less than significant minority) the debutante pasting of Lagerfried can be discovered by scrolling down to the very bottom of the page.

There you will find the first entry to my journal entitled,"Tap, tap, tap .... ping!!" and hidden amongst the comments is a brief, but highly revealing entry.

Thrown off the scent

It was the reference in that pasting to West Country lineage which threw me off the scent. I automatically associated it with my dear Cousin Frazzle, a Bristolian emigre, mother of two and fellow imbiber of strong continental lagers.

Imagine my surprise, when I discovered the true identity behind this cunningly titled nom-de-plume. Earlier this afternoon, during discussions on the telephone with my elder brother, it became clear Lagerfried, was not a she, but a he.

Step forward then, elder brother. Pray remove your Circus mask, take a bow and lay claim to your rightful title as Lagerfried!

"Nip and Tuck"

Were this to be a Shakespearean opus I would doubtless stand accused of being a gorbellied tickle-brained scut for making such a simple error of judgement. Fortunately, my immediate family are of a more forgiving nature.

Accordingly, I have been able, during the course of the day, to make a number of "nip-and-tuck" operations to the blog to ensure Lagerfried does not have to pass himself off as yet another transgendered electrofried.

Will the real slim frazzle ...

Which just leaves Cousin Frazzle to lay claim to a comment on my blog. She has expert assistance readily to hand in the shape of her gamine like daughters - once suitably rubbed down and oiled with a can of the old super-strength, she too may be tempted into placing finger to keyboard in response.

Should she do so, I feel sure regular Visitors to the House will make her comfortable. Be careful though. Once she's thrown off her tartan blanket and matching bed-socks she's a force to be reckoned with.

A different perspective

So as you leave the House once more, did you guess who was who?

The portly horologist on the right was responsible for the Gallery of Tinctured Abstractions, just a scroll away downstairs. Do call by and have a look - there's a special prize for visitors who guess correctly the subject matter of the photographs.

And as for the imposter on the left, all that remains to be said is, "Ne hodi po travi," or, "Keep off the grass", as the Slovenian/English dictionary would have it.

best regards

electrofried (mr)

TW3

Dear Chums,

so how has your week been?

Visitors from the Flatlands

Another Friday evening arrives in the House of Electrofried, bringing with it a visit by maximouse (our eldest daughter) and her husband, His Imperial Hirsutelessness. The extended Hounds are, of course, in tow.

The younger of them, a sturdy creature of some uncertain parentage, seems intent on nefarious pleasures with sundry items of furniture, Fetlock's right leg and our own dear Dylanne - simulaneously, if at all possible.

Canine Shenanigans

Fortunately, young teenygoth is currently attending the local youth-club for persistent ASBO offenders, so her blushes are accordingly spared. Mrs electrofried does, however, observe that our youngest fruit's increasing interest in the opposite sex might mean she has more than a passing interest in the finer mechanics of these high-spirited canine shenanigans.

One hopes, therefore, all will have cooled on the dog/furniture/Fetlock front, come teenygoth's return to the House.

Downtown Little Wittering

In the meantime, yours truly and His Imperial Hirsutelessness are currently half way through a demi-john of the finest strong continental lager, laid down in the cellar just a few hours ago following a flying visit to Mrs Mills' 24/7 Kebab-bar and Licensed Victullers Emporium in downtown Little Wittering.

There are glasses to be drained and waxy platters to be spun on the faithful Victrola, so I will not dally long tonight.

Enter Lagerfried

And so finally, to the cryptic photograph that introduces this latest pasting on "The Chronicles". Grey-haired and bearing a slightly bemused expression, it brings to my mind my dear brother, Lagerfried, a wise old bird if ever there was one.

The observant may already have spotted a brief exchange of comments in the Visitors' Book at the very start of the blog that bears his name.

Joys to Come

If time permits, I will tell more of the mighty Lagerfried in pastings to follow - his is a story that defies description. Fortunately.

And with that thought in mind, I must take my leave.

yours as always,

electrofried (mr)