Three Dwarves

(For General Discussion)

Moderators: Jason, Toothy, Tonyblack

Three Dwarves

Postby MongoGutman » Thu Feb 10, 2011 9:47 pm

Three Dwarves and a Tyrant

.......... “Put it on the mantlepiece” Vimes said to the porter with the new bust of Vetinari he had had made by the best sculptor in Ankh Morpork. “No. So that it faces into the room,” he added, shaking his head.
.......... It was a fine piece, made of polished black marble and somehow he felt better for it being there. Not so alone, perhaps. Figuratively speaking, of course - he’d never realised how many interviews and audiences the Tyrant was expected to give. There were people in and out of the Oblong Office all day; Guild officials, clerks, agents, diplomats, accountants, informants, contractors, lawyers, community leaders, journalists, pressure groups and, of course, Mrs Cake.
.......... He’d asked Drumknott, who he’d retained as chief secretary, wether Vetinari had had so many demands on his time. Lord Vetinari had been busy, Drumknott had conceded, but not as much as Vimes was. “What’s the difference?” Vimes had asked.
.......... “With the change of administration many people want to re-establish their position in society vis-a-vis the new Patrician,” Drumknott had explained.
.......... “And that’s it?” Vimes had asked, relieved, “So it should die down a little when everyone’s re-assured?”
.......... “Perhaps... and perhaps not, My Lord,” Drumknott had averred, “Everyone knows, ah, Sam Vimes.”
.......... “Yes? So what? Everyone knew Havelock Vetinari, didn’t they?”
.......... “Indeed they did, My Lord.”
.......... “So what’s the difference?”
.......... “No one believes that Sam Vimes will throw them into the scorpion pit for wasting his time.”
.......... “Oh.”
.......... “Yes, My Lord.”
.......... Looking at the black stone face of Vetinari Vimes grimaced. You knew how it all worked, he thought, had it all running like clockwork, built much of the machinery yourself in fact. And here’s me, struggling to keep it all wound tight and ticking along - and I’m about to throw some sand into the works. But then... did you even know I’d be doing that?
.......... He dismissed the delivery man with a wave of his hand, wincing as he had a forelock tugged at him.
.......... As the porter opened the door to leave Captain Carrot was caught with his hand raised to knock. “Come on in Carrot,” Vimes said, “You were quick, I only sent the clacks a few minutes ago.” Carrot entered the room with two dwarves - two more dwarves, Vimes corrected himself - trailing after like nervous kids hanging onto a dinner lady’s skirts at lunchtime.
.......... “I came by Pipe Sir,” Carrot explained.
.......... “Pipe? Oh... the new Dwarf tunnels?”
.......... “Yes, it’s a Wonder of the Modern Age!” Carrot enthused, “Officially it’s called the Ankh Morpork Subterranean Transport System, but everyone is calling it the Pipe. They say next that they’re going to install stairs that go up and down!”
.......... “Amazing. Wait... stairs that go up and down? How do people get down to the tunnels now?”
.......... “By stair, Sir.”
.......... “And they come up?”
.......... “The same way.”
.......... “So... they’ve already got stairs that go up and down?”
.......... “Well, yes, but not like these, Sir, you see...” Vimes held up a hand.
.......... “No, don’t. I don’t think I need to know.” He pulled at his face. “So, who are your lit... I mean who are your friends?”
.......... “This is Thufvir Renkovil, and Gugrun Shaftpropper,” each bobbed their helmeted heads as their name was mentioned, “We got talking while on the pipe and both had a problem - I mentioned I was on my way to see you and suggested they came along.” Vimes wasn’t suprised; Carrot could strike up a casual conversation anywhere with anyone - he knew half the city and the others he thought of as friends he just hadn’t met yet.
.......... “Thanks, Carrot,” Vimes said, “that’s just what I needed: more problems to solve.” The Captain had the good grace to look sheepish for once. “OK, who’s first?” Vimes asked.
.......... Shaftpropper stepped forward smartly, his head and shoulders just showing over the edge of the desk. “What are you going to do about what they’re doing to Treacle Mine Road?” he demanded beligerently.
.......... “Mr Shaftpropper is chairman of the Treacle Mine Road Traders Association.” Carrot supplied. Treacle Mine Road was the main thoroughfare through the heart of what some called Littletown. While there hadn’t actually been a treacle mine there for centuries, Dwarves felt naturally drawn to the name. What they were doing... Vimes dredged his mind for the relevent information from the hours of briefings he’d had Drumknott give him on current City Projects... ah yes...
.......... “Treacle Mine Road’s in terrible shape,” Vimes said, “it’s well past time it was re-surfaced - I’m told leaders of the Dwarf community have been lobbying my predecessor about it for years. Well we’ve finally got around to doing something about it. You should be happy. Why aren’t you happy?" Vimes demanded.
.......... “It’s these!” Shaftpropper said, pulling a brick out from an inside pocket and slamming it down on Vimes’ desk with the air of someone revealing a triple toenail in a game of Cripple Mr Onion. “This is what they’re using to pave the road!”
.......... “Look, I know Treacle Mine Road used to have the old fashioned round cobbles,” Vimes said, “but I think you’ll find these much better, they sort of build a horizontal wall flat on the ground - it’ll be much quieter when wheeled traffic goes over it, it’s safer for pedestrians, not so many trips and twisted ankles...”
.......... “It’s not the shape, it’s the colour of them!” Shaftpropper interrupted.
.......... “Colour? They’re a sort of light beige. What of it?”
.......... “Light beige? Light beige?” Shaftpropper spluttered, “It’s yellow, man, yellow!”
.......... “Beige, yellow, what’s the difference?” Vimes scratched his head.
.......... “It’s a road, paved with bricks, they’re yellow... d’you not see...?”
.......... Vimes looked at the brick uncomprehendingly. Maybe a small scorpion pit, he thought, more a scorpion trench, maybe. He looked up at Carrot for clarification. For once Carrot wasn’t a mine of information.
.......... “Ah, well, you see... it’s a Dwarf thing, it’s cultural - we don’t really like to talk about it...”
.......... “Oh I see; it’s cultural is it?” Vimes said to Shaftpropper, “Well, fine. If it’s cultural of course we’ll change the bricks for you,” The Dwarf nodded in satisfaction. Vimes picked up the brick and handed it back to him, “And you can just pay the clerk on the way out.” he added.
.......... “Well all right then. I’ll just be... ah what? Pay? Pay what?”
.......... “Well Treacle Mine Road is a long street and it takes many bricks to pave it, bricks that the City has already contracted for. At a penny a brick that comes to...” he looked over his shoulder at Drumknott who was working away at a little desk in the corner. Without looking up the secretary said “Seven hundred and thirty-two dollars, My Lord.”
.......... “Seven hundred and thirty-two dollars...” Vimes repeated.
.......... “And fifteen pence,” Drumknott added.
.......... “And fifteen pence.” Vimes chided himself for the way he took satifaction from the blood draining from Shaftpropper’s face. But he still did. “Add to that the labour costs incurred in ripping up the bricks already laid - oh, let’s call it an even thousand shall we?”
.......... “But, but, but,” Shaftpropper tried to interject but Vimes rode right over him.
.......... “Ankh Morpork is happy welcome newcomers to the city and to tolerate new cultures whenever possible, but any expenses those cultures entails will be borne by those that adhere to them. You can pay in gold if you like. Or would that be too cultural for you?”
.......... “But, but... I haven’t got a thousand dollars!” Shaftpropper wailed.
.......... “Well then, I imagine you’ll be wanting to get back to your committee and start taking subscriptions as soon as you can. Here,” Vimes said, picking up the brick at thrusting it back at the dwarf, “you can take your rectangular light beige cobblestone with you.” He caught Carrot’s eye and nodded to the door.
.......... “Right you are, Mr Shaftpropper,” Carrot said kindly, his hand coming down in a friendly but firm manner on the dwarf’s shoulder, “I’ll just see you to the door shall I?” Carrot, Vimes knew, had a grip that could make trolls wince and the still spluttering Shaftpropper had no choice but to accompany Carrot to the door - unless, of course he felt his arm was a disposable assett.
.......... “Don’t blame me if there’s singing...” Vimes thought he heard the Dwarf mutter as the door closed on him.
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK

Postby MongoGutman » Thu Feb 10, 2011 9:49 pm

.......... “What about you?” Vimes asked the remaining - no, he corrected himself mentally, the other remaining dwarf - there was something about the six foot plus Carrot that just didn’t say dwarf to him. “Ceilings too high for you?” Renkovil was much less aggresive than the departed Shaftpropper and took off his helmet, turning it around and around in his hands nervously.
.......... “Begging your pardon, your worship, It’s the rats, you see...” he began, diffidently.
.......... “Mr Renkovil runs a dwarf restaurant down in Dolly Sisters.” Carrot informed, “The Grub Bucket.”
.......... “Rats? Well, this is the big city, Mr Renkovil, you’ve got to expect rats; put a few traps down...”
.......... “We do expect rats, we depend on them! It’s the rat shortage that’s the problem!”
.......... “The rat... shortage?” They were two words which Vimes had never expected to hear in conjunction.
.......... “The Grub Bucket’s Rat Risotto is considered the best in the City, while their Rat Suprise is even talked about back in the Ramtops,” said Carrot.
.......... “What’s the suprise? No,” Vimes reconsidered, “Don’t tell me, I don’t think I want to know.” Though he knew he’d be wondering in the small hours, he suspected that the wondering would be better than the certainty.
.......... “We just can’t get the rats!” Renkovil complained, “at first I thought one of my competitors was undercutting me with the suppliers, but everyone’s in the same cave-in: all over the city restaurants are having to close early, even turn away paying customers!” This last was said with a wide eyed horror.
.......... “Well, the number of dwarves in Ankh Morpork has been increasing steadily for the past few years,” Vimes ruminated, “perhaps you’re just exhausting the, ah, supply?”
.......... “No,” Renkovil shook his head in denial, “I’ve been talking to the trappers and they say something strange is going on. Places they’d expect to be teeming with them are suddenly deserted, others have reported being attacked by swarms of the little devils and barely escaping.”
.......... “Well... what do you expect me to do about it?”
.......... “It‘s got to be the giant crocodiles living in the sewers! They’re eating all the rats!” The dwarf’s helmet was turning faster and faster in his hands as he got more excited. “You have to hunt them down, clear them out!”
.......... “Oh, not that old story again, look: I can assure you that...” Vimes started, then reconsidered: long experience on the force with those known in technical police jargon as ‘nutters’ - the round-worlders, the 'abductees’ of invaders from another turtle, the tin foil helmet brigade - had taught him that no amount of reasoned explanation would dissuade them from their obsessions. Then again, he thought, maybe he could kill two birds with one stone here.
.......... “You can be assured, I’m going to put our most experienced officers on the case.” Again he gave gave Carrot the nod. Just a few scorpions, he thought, trained not to sting perhaps...
.......... “Do you think that’s wise, Sir?” Carrot asked as the door closed on Renkovil.
.......... “I wan’t to get them out of the way anyway, things could get a little hairy for a while above ground.”
.......... “Is that why you sent for me Sir?”
.......... “In part...” Vimes suddenly had a nagging feeling he was being watched. His eyes slid around the room and came to resst on the sightless stone ones of Vetinari’s bust.
.......... “Has this uh..Major... Ketchup? Turned up yet?” He asked.
.......... “Colonel Condiment, Sir." Carrot corrected. “And no, still missing.”
.......... “What’s he like?”
.......... Carrot flipped open a little notepad. “Middle aged but still fit, six foot, blond hair, muttonchop whiskers, usually wears his old regimental uniform, green, lots of braid,”
.......... “Doesn’t sound much like a grocer,” Vimes frowned.
.......... “He’s old money, Sir.” Carrot explained, “I understand he financed one of his sergeants who was leaving the regiment to open a grocery store, his sergeant had a brother who went into a similar business, the brother knew an established grocer who needed investment to expand... and so on, he became silent partner in so many shops and stalls that when the last Head of the Grocer’s Guild died they found that Condiment was the biggest grocer in the city, without ever actually handling an apple or selling a spud. By the Guild rules he had to become the new head.”
.......... “Does he understand the grocery business?”
.......... “Apparantly not. When he first took over he tried to get involved in running the guild but there were some terrible rows - not used to having people disagree with him it seems. There were a few... incidents they called them - I think violence might have been involved. After the last they came to an arrangement where the Guild was left to the running of the officials and the Colonel was paid a stipend and only made appearances for ceremonial events.”
.......... “Oh? Bit of a hothead is he?”
.......... “A fiery temper, yes Sir. It seems he spent most of his time searching for antiquites and relics. Amateur archaeologist and all that. A good one too, by all accounts - the museum staff said that half their exhibits were found by him.”
.......... “So. Prone to rages. Access to the palace museum. Went missing the morning of the murder. I think we really want to have a little talk with this Colonel. Have his description circulated to our contacts in the other cities of the plains.”
.......... “Already done Sir.”
.......... “Good. Good.” Vimes drummed his fingers on the desk. “What was it Cheery called it? Narrative corsetry...?”
.......... “Narrative causality principle.”
.......... “I don’t like it.”
.......... “No, Sir.”
.......... “Hmm. Find him. Find him quick.”
.......... “Yes, Sir.”
.......... Vimes slapped his hand down on the desk dismissing the matter. “But that wasn’t really why I asked you to come.”
.......... “No, Sir?” Carrot asked, radiating polite inquiry and eagerness - and a faint whiff of soap.
.......... “No.” Vimes gave Carrot a calculating look. “Do you remember what you did on your first day on the force?”
.......... “Um, yes, Sir.” Carrot blushed a litle in embaressment.
.......... “Well...”

......................................................................*....................*....................*

.......... Hubert H. Hibbert III - H3 to his friends - crept down the secret passage in his grandfathers, no, he corrected himself, his house. That H1 had left it to him in his will along with a substantial trust fund had come as a suprise to both him and his father, and a matter of some consternation to the later, who had had plans to tear the house down and redevelop the site, fitting it into the huge commercial empire he controlled. Why he crept, he didn’t know, since it was, he reasoned, his secret passage now, it just seemed that creeping was the correct form of progress for secret passages.
.......... He’d been led to it by cryptic notes in the strange codified journal, bound in red leather, that he’d found by his grandfather’s bed. He hadn’t really known his grandfather that well, being more the sort of rugged outdoorsy type growing up, not one to sit by an old man’s bed and listen to his ailments. Still, he’d thought the old man had liked him, or at least approved of him - more than he had his own son, H3‘s father.
.......... Not that H2 was disliked, by either his father or son, just they hadn’t had much in common. H1‘s accident had thrust his thin, bespectacled son into the world of business at a much younger age than expected as he was forced to take control of the family holdings during his father’s convalescence. Much to everyone’s suprise - especially their competitors - when he was thrown into the sea of commerce rather than sinking it was found that he swam like a shark. Hibbert Enterprises was now the biggest import/export company in Ankh Morpork, accounting for nearly 40% of ocean bound trade.
.......... Now that H3 had seen some of H1‘s keepsakes - etchings, sporting trophies, faded iconographs - he had some inkling of why he’d been favoured: it seemed that they shared an outlook and a physique - before H1‘s accident - that must have skipped a generation. Looking at some of the iconographs it could have been him standing there in old fashioned clothing beaming at the camera. He found himself wishing he’d got to know the old man better - which was why he’d spent so much of the last week trying to decipher the journal. He’d had little success until a line had seemed to mention the portrait of Tacticus in the study. Looking at it he’d noticed a corner of the frame was smoother than the rest. Running his hand along it he must have tripped some hidden switch as a section of wall swivelled out revealing a dark, dank, dusty and dirty corridor.
.......... At least it wasn’t eldricht - he knew that because there was no glowing fungus on the walls and he had to light his way by a simple lantern he found by the entrance and re-filled - just an ordinary everyday secret passage built into the walls of an old mansion in the docklands. Though by the number of staircases he’d descended - some of which had creaked alarmingly, rotten with age or damp - he was far below the mansion and it’s regular cellars by now. He guessed that at the bottom he’d find some sort of storage facility left over from the earlier pirating or smuggling days of his forbears, so was completely suprised when he entered the room at the bottom of the final flight of stairs.
.......... There were benches. There were weights and dumbbells. There were punching bags and vaulting horses and various bars and rings and pulleys and such. It was, without doubt, a gymnasium. Smugglers with a keep-fit fetish? Yo ho ho and a thirty minute workout? Something didn’t add up. At the far end was a door on which could still be seen, discoloured and faded, the coat of arms of Ankh Morpork, though something didn’t look right about it.
.......... Beyond the door was what looked like an artificer’s workroom, there were workbenches with vices and saws and files and things and scattered pieces of strange equipment. He spent some time trying to make sense of the stuff. An odd bellows arrangement seemed to be used to squash air into a number of metal pod like things of various sizes and when he slotted a pod into a contraption that looked as though it should be hand held and pulled a little lever a nasty hook trailing a metal cable shot out of it and buried itself into the ceiling, narrowly missing going up his nose in its progress.
.......... Jumping back in suprise he knocked into another workbench accidently scattering some more devices and parts and spilling a small pile of what he took to be pamphlets to the floor. On closer inspection, however, they proved to be old exercise books such as a schoolchild might use. He flicked through the yellowed pages curiously and though at first glance the faded writing seemed to be in some foreign language he found that there were many doodles and sketches, some in margins, others filling whole pages. One of them appeared to be a diagram of the hook throwing device in his hand, another of what he had assumed was some sort of wall decoration: a large metal plate with a wheel jutting out of it’s center. Closer inspection revealed hinges on one side... another door? There was a little window set in it at about eye height but even tough he held the lantern up he couldn’t see through it. Thinking maybe if he wiped some of the grime off he might get a better view he pulled a dustsheet off of a big wardrobe sized shape set against the back wall, meaning to use the corner as a cleaning rag.
.......... Hubert H. Hibbert III - H3 to his friends - crept down the secret passage in his grandfathers, no, he corrected himself, his house. That H1 had left it to him in his will along with a substantial trust fund had come as a suprise to both him and his father, and a matter of some consternation to the later, who had had plans to tear the house down and redevelop the site, fitting it into the huge commercial empire he controlled. Why he crept, he didn’t know, since it was, he reasoned, his secret passage now, it just seemed that creeping was the correct form of progress for secret passages.
.......... He’d been led to it by cryptic notes in the strange codified journal, bound in red leather, that he’d found by his grandfather’s bed. He hadn’t really known his grandfather that well, being more the sort of rugged outdoorsy type growing up, not one to sit by an old man’s bed and listen to his ailments. Still, he’d thought the old man had liked him, or at least approved of him - more than he had his own son, H3‘s father.
.......... Not that H2 was disliked, by either his father or son, just they hadn’t had much in common. H1‘s accident had thrust his thin, bespectacled son into the world of business at a much younger age than expected as he was forced to take control of the family holdings during his father’s convalescence. Much to everyone’s suprise - especially their competitors - when he was thrown into the sea of commerce rather than sinking it was found that he swam like a shark. Hibbert Enterprises was now the biggest import/export company in Ankh Morpork, accounting for nearly 40% of ocean bound trade.
.......... Now that H3 had seen some of H1‘s keepsakes - etchings, sporting trophies, faded iconographs - he had some inkling of why he’d been favoured: it seemed that they shared an outlook and a physique - before H1‘s accident - that must have skipped a generation. Looking at some of the iconographs it could have been him standing there in old fashioned clothing beaming at the camera. He found himself wishing he’d got to know the old man better - which was why he’d spent so much of the last week trying to decipher the journal. He’d had little success until a line had seemed to mention the portrait of Tacticus in the study. Looking at it he’d noticed a corner of the frame was smoother than the rest. Running his hand along it he must have tripped some hidden switch as a section of wall swivelled out revealing a dark, dank, dusty and dirty corridor.
.......... At least it wasn’t eldricht - he knew that because there was no glowing fungus on the walls and he had to light his way by a simple lantern he found by the entrance and re-filled - just an ordinary everyday secret passage built into the walls of an old mansion in the docklands. Though by the number of staircases he’d descended - some of which had creaked alarmingly, rotten with age or damp - he was far below the mansion and it’s regular cellars by now. He guessed that at the bottom he’d find some sort of storage facility left over from the earlier pirating or smuggling days of his forbears, so was completely suprised when he entered the room at the bottom of the final flight of stairs.
.......... There were benches. There were weights and dumbbells. There were punching bags and vaulting horses and various bars and rings and pulleys and such. It was, without doubt, a gymnasium. Smugglers with a keep-fit fetish? Yo ho ho and a thirty minute workout? Something didn’t add up. At the far end was a door on which could still be seen, discoloured and faded, the coat of arms of Ankh Morpork, though something didn’t look right about it.
.......... Beyond the door was what looked like an artificer’s workroom, there were workbenches with vices and saws and files and things and scattered pieces of strange equipment. He spent some time trying to make sense of the stuff. An odd bellows arrangement seemed to be used to squash air into a number of metal pod like things of various sizes and when he slotted a pod into a contraption that looked as though it should be hand held and pulled a little lever a nasty hook trailing a metal cable shot out of it and buried itself into the ceiling, narrowly missing going up his nose in its progress.
.......... Jumping back in suprise he knocked into another workbench accidently scattering some more devices and parts and spilling a small pile of what he took to be pamphlets to the floor. On closer inspection, however, they proved to be old exercise books such as a schoolchild might use. He flicked through the yellowed pages curiously and though at first glance the faded writing seemed to be in some foreign language he found that there were many doodles and sketches, some in margins, others filling whole pages. One of them appeared to be a diagram of the hook throwing device in his hand, another of what he had assumed was some sort of wall decoration: a large metal plate with a wheel jutting out of it’s center. Closer inspection revealed hinges on one side... another door? There was a little window set in it at about eye height but even tough he held the lantern up he couldn’t see through it. Thinking maybe if he wiped some of the grime off he might get a better view he pulled a dustsheet off of a big wardrobe sized shape set against the back wall, meaning to use the corner as a cleaning rag.
.......... What was revealed, though, completely banished the little window from H3's mind. It was big. It was red. It was... magnificent.


......................................................................*....................*....................*

...to be continued


-Mongo
Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change? ~~ Oddball
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK

Postby MongoGutman » Sat Feb 12, 2011 3:53 pm

bump?
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK

Postby chris.ph » Sat Feb 12, 2011 4:21 pm

you dont have to bump it mongo we have read it and are now waiting for the next bit, we dont like commenting on the story page as some people [ut the rest of the story on the same thread :) and get quite shirty about people commenting (dont you pooh) :lol:
measuring intelligence by exam results is like measuring digestion by turd length
User avatar
chris.ph
Member
 
Posts: 8586
Joined: Tue Aug 12, 2008 11:52 am
Location: swansea south wales

Postby meerkat » Sat Feb 12, 2011 6:21 pm

What Chris said Mongo! :lol:
Just a meerkat from The Effing Forest
User avatar
meerkat
Member
 
Posts: 13475
Joined: Sat Jan 16, 2010 6:32 pm
Location: Wilberfoss East Riding Yorkshire

Postby MongoGutman » Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:01 pm

Ah, well, you see... I need constant re-assurance: if I don't get any comments or feedback I get to thinking I'm just babbling away to myself in a corner and I lose heart and stop writing. So if you want to read any more you've got to respond in some way - you don't have to enthuse or applaud or anything, but I do need to know someone is reading it.
Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change? ~~ Oddball
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK

Postby meerkat » Sat Feb 12, 2011 8:05 pm

WE LOVE IT! GO ON! GO ON!

We are agog :shock:! honestly!
Just a meerkat from The Effing Forest
User avatar
meerkat
Member
 
Posts: 13475
Joined: Sat Jan 16, 2010 6:32 pm
Location: Wilberfoss East Riding Yorkshire

Postby Tonyblack » Tue Feb 15, 2011 9:59 pm

There seem to be five threads with this story - or the first part at least. I assume this is the 'official' version? Can I delete the others, or are they there for a reason? :?
"Goodness is about what you do. Not what you pray to."
User avatar
Tonyblack
Moderator
 
Posts: 28673
Joined: Fri Jul 25, 2008 4:29 pm
Location: Cardiff, Wales

Postby Batty » Wed Feb 16, 2011 12:47 am

This is just the latest instalment, Tony.

All the other threads are preceding chapters. :D
Going to my school was an education in itself. Which is not to be confused with actually getting an education (Schultz)
User avatar
Batty
Member
 
Posts: 4654
Joined: Tue Feb 17, 2009 12:03 pm
Location: East Anglia

Postby MongoGutman » Wed Feb 16, 2011 7:40 pm

Is there a problem? Some sort of thread shortage perhaps?
Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change? ~~ Oddball
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK

Postby Tonyblack » Wed Feb 16, 2011 7:50 pm

MongoGutman wrote:Is there a problem? Some sort of thread shortage perhaps?
No problem. :) Just thought you might have accidentally double posted. I usually clear up double posts, that all.

They all seem to have been posted at about the same time, so I thought you might have had posting problems.
"Goodness is about what you do. Not what you pray to."
User avatar
Tonyblack
Moderator
 
Posts: 28673
Joined: Fri Jul 25, 2008 4:29 pm
Location: Cardiff, Wales

Postby MongoGutman » Wed Feb 16, 2011 9:50 pm

OIC, yes, I did have problems posting this chapter, hence it being split in the middle
Why don't you knock it off with them negative waves? Why don't you dig how beautiful it is out here? Why don't you say something righteous and hopeful for a change? ~~ Oddball
User avatar
MongoGutman
Member
 
Posts: 1244
Joined: Thu Nov 25, 2010 11:29 pm
Location: London UK


Return to The Broken Drum

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: Bing [Bot], Google [Bot], Yahoo [Bot] and 4 guests