Doc Barbara and the second V.I.P. event

 It will be remembered by the thousands of loyal followers of Doc Barbara's fabulous exploits that her last V.I.P, (Vertebrate and Invertebrate Party) ended in unpleasant discord between worms and snails. Belinda and Bob Twaddle had been charged with finding distracting entertainment for the next one but she was still in West Wales conducting local council meetings in Latin. The news that councillors could avoid pronouncing the names of their villages by talking Latin had gone viral in neighbouring Maenclochog after the success in Mynachlog-ddu. It was rumoured that the inhabitants of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwillllantysilliogogoch were pining to be part of the scheme but Belinda had said she had to draw the line somewhere and that would be after Llanfair. 

Belinda can be very magisterial at times.

Bob Twaddle had come up with the idea - in her absence - of making a suitably sized trampoline for the invertebrates to jump on. His theory (after his return from Australia) was that living creatures are calm and Pacific after bouncing and that all latent aggression wculd be dispelled before it came to the kind of ugly confrontations between snail and worm such as had marred the last event.

I have more teeth than you - so there!

Darwin, the dog, was pleased with this prospect as he prefers a quiet, contemplative life. Doc Barbara had said that she had found some sparkly wool in a charity shop and had started knitting his new hat. He could dream happily about that whilst the others levitated, soared, spiralled, vaulted, leaped and Bobbed. His command of synonyms and puns is definitely racing ahead of metaphor.

After a few days, Bob announced that the trampoline was ready and that he would bring it round for trial on the following Thursday, along with some carefully selected snails.  A coin was tossed, the snails won and had first go. (Worm One was truculent and grumpy in defeat on home ground but no-one cared). The molluscs tucked their tails into their shells and were soon waving their antennae in delight as they leaped high in the air, looking over the fence to see what was going on next door, as they are by nature gossipy and nosy. Darwin was puzzled by that since he couldn't see their noses but he had long ago ceased to try to decode life with Doc Barbara. It was agreeable, if not sensible, and you can't have everything.

"I can see an escargatoire reading together. Half way through Slime and Punishment now." 

The snails dismounted obediently when the bell went (Bob always thinks things through and had brought a timer) and the worms crawled on. How did that go? I think we've had enough unbearable thrills for one episode and that revelation will have to wait. In any case, my spell check has gone on strike and announces that, if there's any more Welsh, it's going back onto its cloud and staying there. 

Doc Barbara recalled her Shakespeare: "All's Well That Stoops to Conquer", she told Darwin as she tucked him up for his cosy night. 

Those readers who are intrigued to know what snails like to read can click on the link on the right hand sidebar to "The Molluscs: an everyday story of snail folk" and search for Snail Bibliography. It's worth the detour. 

Doc Barbara and the V.I.P event

The date had been fixed for the first V.I.P.  (Vertebrates and Invertebrates Party) event on the next Thursday when Bob Twaddle would be back from Lithuania (the movement towards  Lithuania is rather like the drift to Dover in King Lear - but less sad) . He had been looking for a new species of snail which he intended to call Helix Twaddlata but had found none in the desert where he had overturned every stone, large or small.

Just ten more pebbles to go and then I can fly home. 

Meanwhile Doc Barbara noticed that Darwin, her dog, was looking wistful and, when pressed, he blushingly confessed that he envied Worm One's sparkly bobble hat, wanted one like it - and begged her to make it for him.

Maybe make the bobble a tad bigger?

Doc Barbara explained that she didn't have a pattern for a worm hat but the wily hound was ahead on that excuse. He had seen her knitting a tea cosy and pleaded that one similar to that would be perfect. From puppyhood, he has had one ear larger than the other: the more robust one could be slotted into the handle aperture whilst the smaller, puny one slid into the spout hole. That way he, too, would be cosy, he said, like the tea (that's a very good joke for Darwin. Please laugh). She promised that she'd try but it could not be done by Thursday. Dear Reader, you and he will just have to wait. (Note the sophisticated authorial intrusion there.

The party began peacefully with a discussion about soil.

Mine is finer than yours but we won't argue.

The snails favoured coco-coir substrate but the worms preferred a fine tilth. There were no other strong opinions and the topic moved on to teeth. Bob Twaddle said that his were all fine except that one of his canines had grown so large that it had to be filed down to half its original size. Darwin was so terrified by this that he ran whimpering to Doc Barbara who patted him absent-mindedly, decoded the misunderstanding and wished she could perceive the difference in sound between tilth and teeth with her NHS hearing aids. She twiddled them ineffectively and wondered if she should be twaddling them instead. Which had the audiologist advised? Should she buy an ear trumpet? 

Yet even she noticed that the atmosphere was growing alarmingly contentious when an uppity snail called Berowne claimed that he had 14,000 of them (teeth not tilth) on his tongue and that it had a scientific term, a radula. Worm One challenged him, Berowne stuck it out and the scene grew ugly.

So there!

Darwin prodded Doc Barbara with his paw and she drew the party to a close, announcing that there would be entertainment next time in lieu of discussion. She had no idea what that might be but would ask Bob and his sister, Belinda, for ideas. (Belinda was at a council meeting in West Wales at Mynachlog-ddu where they had decided to debate in Latin so as to avoid pronouncing the name of their village). 

"I must pour oil on troubled birds of a feather," Doc Barbara explained to Darwin as he snuggled under his fish-themed blanket to day-dream of his new ultra-sparkly hat and forget about canines being filed down to half their normal size.

Doc Barbara and her revolting worms

Doc Barbara tried to avoid thinking about the rebellion that Darwin told her was taking place under her lawn.  Some would say that she was in denial but Doc Barbara is old-fashioned and avoids such psychological states. She does not do neuroses. However, when the dog informed her that he had, with his ultra-sensitive hearing, detected shouts of "Working Worms of the World unite" and a song that went: "We'll keep the red leaves flying here", even she was forced to respond. Doc Barbara prefers being proactive to being reactive but desperate times call for desperate measures. Darwin set off with his ruler but she called him back.. 

The worm organisation is powerful and has its own website. The URL begins W.W.W. and you should be very careful when Googling any site starting with those initials: they have bots crawling all over your activity - and lawn - because crawling is their dominant mode. 

Doc Barbara decided that they would call a council meeting (no jokes about a Diet of Worms, please) and that Belinda Twaddle would chair it in Latin. Belinda was so excited that she went out and bought a new outfit, whilst polishing her Ciceronian rhetoric.

Worm One donned his best shiny striped jumper and sparkly bobble hat, Darwin asked for his coat to be brushed and Doc Barbara hoped for the best.

They gathered on the leaf-strewn lawn, the result of strike action during which the worms had refused their normal duties.

Belinda began (I will translate for those of you who didn't do your Latin homework) : "Unaccustomed as I am to chairing meetings," ("Diminutio," called one sharp Aleck worm). "I won't go into all the details". ("Occupatio," called another)."  When one yelled: "No circumlocutio, or diversio, Chair", she gave up on democracy and informed them what was to happen next. 

From left to right: Doc Barbara's thick tights; Darwin, coat brushed; Belinda calling the meeting to order; Worm One in his sparkly bobble hat. Lower level: worms ensuring that the red flag leaves are flying here.

Since the worms were jealous of the amount of time that Doc Barbara was spending with vertebrates, Belinda would call upon her brother, Bob Twaddle, a snail expert, to bring round a vivarium containing his escargatoire. This would happen at least weekly for regular parties on the lawn and the worms would resume their important work pulling down the leaves as before.  They are, after all, an underground movement. 

Everybody agreed and each thought s/he had won. Darwin looked up at Doc Barbara for an explanation. Smiling down at him (rare), she offered her wisdom: "The proof of the pudding does not make a summer." All became clear and our canine looked forward to some suet plum duff for dinner. With custard -  because he was worth it. 

Footnote: for those thousands of readers who have written in to ask for an explanation of the technical terms of rhetoric (well - knock off the noughts there and probably knock off the digits also but I am going to expatiate anyway:

diminutio is self-deprecation to get the audience on your side

occupatio is telling them that you won't talk about something but you can, of course, carry on and witter as much as you like

I think that circumlocutio speaks for itself (pun intended) and so does diversio, although Cicero, being something of a party-pooper, laid down strict rules about its usage. 

Doc Barbara lies fallow

Although Doc Barbara relishes a new adventure, she was beginning to enjoy the quiet days when nothing much happened. Neither she nor Darwin realised that the rebellious worms were still fermenting underground. (This was a Good Thing because the dog has a literal mind and the vision of fermenting worms would have totally discombobulated him). Doc Barbara had noticed that leaves were accumulating on her lawn but she did not suspect that Worm One had formed a trades union, Vermicomposters Together, and that the strike was ongoing. Darwin, with his extra sensitive hearing, had caught the word "blackleg" floating up through an old worm cast but thought nothing of it, since even he knew that worms do not have legs, black or any other colour.

In cheerful ignorance they went out every morning, perfectly peacefully, until Darwin was spooked by a new window display in Doc Barbara's favourite charity shop and attempted to leap into her arms for a cuddle: inside every hefty adult canine is a puppy trying to get out, jump up and knock you over.

She explained about All Hallowe'en but Darwin was shaking so much that his ears were banging against his furry cheeks and he couldn't even hear. He begged her to take him to the park so that he could sit by and study his favourite tree, the silver birch with the face of a dog evident on its bark.

Breathe in, breathe out and wag your tail slowly.

Soothed and relieved by dendrology, he grew calmer and, when they got home, he listened from his bed (with willing suspension of disbelief) to her reading aloud from her translation of Worms of Lithuania into Indo-European. The room was warm, the log fire crackled gently and, as he dozed off, he pictured all those Indo-Europeans also sliding into gentle slumber as they heard the narrative drift imperceptibly forwards. He did hope it would have a happy ending.

He rather hoped in addition that she would not summarise their day with one of her semi-comprehensible maxims and drew his fish-themed blanket over his head. To no avail: she had a sudden intuition that there was trouble afoot in wormland (if they don't have legs how can they have feet? pondered Darwin) and she announced, unnecessarily loudly, "You can't make an omelette without counting your chickens". Zzzzzzzzz came from under the blanket.

Doc Barbara and the rest of the cast

 The Dramatis Personae

It is usual to place this at the start of any narrative but we like to be different, don't we? New enthusiasts might welcome a summary and I need to announce - despite the disappointment this will bring to thousands of well-qualified applicants - that all roles are now filled except for those of Worms 7 and 8.  (If your personality indicates that you would have been suitable for a part, it is now time to worry about your identity. It is not too late to become normal).

Doc Barbara. Too modest to be shown in person but she is the eponymous heroine of all the episodes of this thrilling and globally popular series, now in its 75th season. These are her thick tights, always worn pulled up to her arm pits.

Professor Ramsbottom-Thrutch, eminent sociologist and always looking for ways of sweeping away erroneous concepts. At present engaged in a UK bicycle tour, recording the reactions of patients in dentists' waiting rooms to his silly hats. He is not always warmly welcomed on these visits. 

Darwin, once the Professor's dog but now in the tender care of Doc Barbara. Domesticated, cautious, loyal, grateful - but wary of metaphor. Doc Barbara's tendency to mix them is not helping him one little bit. He loves being her adopted canine and being part of her micro-adventures but ....

Belinda Twaddle, newly re-acquainted friend of Doc Barbara. Expert classicist for which quality she has been promoted to Latin correspondent of the Monmouthshire Mouthpiece. Here she is, musing on the ablative absolute whilst imitating a sloth.  Her job is not overly time-consuming. Owner of the dog, Einstein.

Einstein, Belinda's dog, slightly absent-minded and apt to wander off at a  tangent (not the one involved in the dynamic, curved four-dimensional spacetime manifold but the one leading from the park to the woods). Now firm friends with Darwin. Do not ask how the bond was sealed. Dogs are like that and it does not pay to get too closely involved.

Bob Twaddle, Belinda's brother, historian and snail devotee, now working to create an emulative Domesday Book of molluscs in inaccessible countries. Once a sufferer from polysyllabicaphobia (even the term made him feel faint) he has long ago extended the length of his words, which is ironic when the rest of the UK is resorting to monosyllables. If you doubt my claim, listen to Doc Barbara's favourite programme, The Archers, and clap your hands every time anyone uses a word of more than two syllables. You will not spill your cuppa.  

The extras are assorted worms, sheep and snails, too numerous ("And similar!" do I hear?) to be mentioned individually.  A few other personages have been invited to play cameo pop-up parts but have not yet responded. Here's one.

 

Doc Barbara meets an old friend

Darwin, the dog, was very happy living with his new owner, Doc Barbara. Professore Ramsbottom-Thrutch had been extremely kind but she was at home more and he had moments of the day, in her humble abode, that made him almost purr.  He particularly liked it when she put down her huge book, Worms of Lithuania, and sat erect on the sofa, in her blue-and-white checked skirt with her broad black knees poking out. He would emerge from his fish-themed blanket and cosy bed, come up to her and rest his face on her right knee. He then drooped his paw pleadingly over the left knee with his tail in the middle - and ensured that he had a mournful, begging look in his eyes.

I'd be more comfortable on the sofa. 

Often, she would let him jump up and she'd run her fingers in questing fashion down his vertebrae as he dozed off into canine dreamland and she ruminated about invertebrates.

Yet - he had found the last two outings a trifle discombobulating: the worms had been obstreperous and the sheep far from docile. He asked Doc Barbara if they could go for a quiet walk round the park, with no adventures and certainly no antagonists. 

They had just passed the bandstand where her orchestra had once surpassed themselves, when they heard a shout of: "Einstein, Einstein."

Please forgive the worm his Italian solecism.

They paused whilst Doc Barbara racked her brains in order to decode this cry and had concluded (erroneously in every sense) that it was someone calling for a beer: "Ein stein", when there was a loud whoop and a person floated over the hedge.

More clearly, the voice asked: "What are you up to, Einstein?" and Doc Barbara was just about to respond that he had arrived at the space/time continuum that had something to do with fast trains, when she recognised Belinda Twaddle. She was aware that Belinda had come down from her earlier position (six years ago) imitating sloth behaviour but did not realise she was still around. 

Then came the climactic moment, the ultimate and nearly unbearable happiness for woman and canine. Belinda had a dog named Einstein, whose only fault was a tendency to wander off. Yet flaws of character are relative (punning reference again) and soon Einstein hove into view. (Should that be hoved?)

He was given his name because of his unruly hair and has no interest whatsoever in what E is equal to, whether  mc squared  or quadrupled or a pumpkin.

Darwin and Einstein became instant friends in the hygienically dubious way that dogs usually do and which we will not, definitely not, picture here. 

Doc Barbara was also delighted to meet her friend: "It's an ill wind that doesn't have a silver lining," she opined - and Darwin almost understood. 

Doc Barbara and Copernicus, the sheep

 In our last tumultuous episode we left Doc Barbara's worms in revolt under her lawn. She was unaware of this, however, and was devoting her mental energies to solving the question of the snickering sheep, when she became aware of Darwin, the dog, peering meaningfully at her over the sofa arm.

Walkies, please.

Darwin was of the opinion that they needed to visit the field again and question directly why there was snickering when the sheep, Copernicus, was mentioned by name. 

Erasmus, the leading ovine, was embarrassed when addressed but Doc Barbara spoke in her most magisterial fashion - she is VERY scary when she's in this mode - and he ordered Copernicus to turn round.

Even the worm is giggling.

Copernicus was revealed to have a glowing, bronze-coloured rear end of which he was completely oblivious. The other sheep could barely contain their mirth and snickered more obnoxiously than ever. This fundamental (get that pun!) aberration of hue was because of a strange genetic mutation that caused his hind quarters to be similar to those of the ancestral moufflon. "All Darwin's fault," said one sheep and our poor dog was humiliated. 

Why do I always get the blame?

"When we had the meeting to choose our official names, we voted for Copernicus as his nomenclature, claiming it was because he understands the workings of the universe," explained Erasmus, "but really it's so that we can call him, behind his back, because that's where the humour lies ..."

His voice tailed (not that metaphor, please) away but there was a joyous shout from the entire flock: COPPER KNICKERS. 

Darwin guffawed and several passers-by paused to see what was happening but Doc Barbara was in supercilious, regal mood and was NOT amused.

"That is very lambish and hurtful," she scolded them "and you will desist forthwith." 

Things suddenly don't feel very bright.

The sheep looked - there's only one word for it yet again - sheepish and agreed, apart from one who had to have the word 'desist' explained several times. And 'forthwith'. 

Doc Barbara and Darwin went on their way home and she, as usual, summarised this exploit with an old proverb: Two swallows do not cry over spilt milk. The canine was no wiser and looked forward to his bed.