Doc Barbara admits error

   Happy New Year to all readers of The Monmouthshire Mouthpiece and particularly to those who follow the fabulous exploits of Doc Barbara so faithfully despite all.
  Doc Barbara is an early riser but she does like to tune in to On The Farm on BBC 4  before getting up to one of her intrepid adventures. Last week she was - somewhat drowsily - listening to this refreshing emission when she heard the farmer say that he was about to clean his cows' teeth and the cheery presenter reply that the mixture had a delightful peppermint smell. Doc Barbara is well aware of modern methods in the countryside but had never realised that bovine dental hygiene was an aim. However, since she is in the middle of a dedicated project of teaching animals to talk, she thought that assisting in this work with neighbouring cows would bond her to the animals and help them chew the cud. [No-one better qualified for that! Ed] She leaped from her bed in mid-programme and set off our young assistant journalist.

 It had to be admitted that the animals seemed to lack enthusiasm for the idea as they presented Doc Barbara with distant but unaesthetic parts of their anatomy. She appealed to Belinda Twaddle for help, quite forgetting that she is a city girl and apt to confuse flora and fauna if over-stretched in her capacities.

    Rarely are our two heroines stumped in their endeavours but, on this occasion, it seemed a good idea to return home and listen again to the programme to see if there were any tips they could follow. Reluctantly packing away the electric toothbrushes, floss, paste for sensitive teeth and interdental tapes, they trudged back consoling each other with epic tales about past successes much as ancient warriors were prone to do in the Anglo-Saxon beer hall but at greater length with less alliteration and more exaggeration.
   Sitting down to iPlayer with mugs of tea and large slices of ginger cake to restore morale, they were somewhat abashed when the farmer stated that his treatment helped to prevent mastitis. Doc Barbara has invested in an ear trumpet which Belinda has agreed to carry on all their next outings.

Doc Barbara's new linguistic mission

  Doc Barbara is always on the alert for a new enterprise that will present a challenge for her many skills but also aid humanity or the animal world.
   She has recently embarked on such a quest: to teach a species the power of speech. The first step was to decide which language to instruct and, because of her innate patriotism, it had to be English. She also felt that British-reared creatures would be accustomed to the sounds of the native tongue and might take fright at the sudden introduction of a French subjunctive as do all school children. It is, after all, a relatively recent phenomenon, being one of William's many cruel impositions on the natives when he conquered us 950 years ago.
   The next step was to choose a species: her first option was the horse because she wanted to attract the attention of whole groups so that numbers of mammalian  linguists could benefit simultaneously. She commenced with a whinnying sound such as she makes involuntarily when she spots a large piece of lemon drizzle cake in a café to consume with her mug of Mocha. [She has been banned from one patisserie: Ed]

   As you can see from the photo above, the horses initially responded well to her vocalisations but, once they realised she did not have a pocketful of equine delicacies, they resumed their grazing.
   Doc Barbara persevered and used the shouts that she felt they would recognise such as "Whoa there" but the resultant traffic jam caused her to desist. The policeman who appeared was unconvinced by her explanation and opined that some things were better left as they were. This is NOT Doc Barbara's philosophy: she feels the world is her oyster to be opened and consumed with relish, by choice piri-piri - [possibly this metaphor is getting out of hand: Ed] Yet, as she frequently states: "Every dog has its own trumpet."

   Help is always nearby as she can call upon our intern, Belinda Twaddle, for support and assistance in her hour of need. Belinda has taken the slogan: "Keep calm and carry on" to heart but finds the first clause too tricky for her excitable and impulsive nature. Asked which species would be more amenable to language acquisition, she spent many hours of research and came up with an answer.

  Belinda asserts that she has induced intriguing and meaningful noises from this hippo in response to her philosophical observations (in particular, it grunted the word "mud" when asked what is the meaning of life) and the two indomitable women are set to carry on. [They really do carry on: Ed]  More research is needed, since, as Doc Barbara also points out: "Buying a pig in a haystack is the thief of time." We will keep our loyal readers informed; unlike some, we are not averse to giving a running commentary.

To read about Doc Barbara's other animal exploits such as her worm-training programme, click here. Ditto her campaign to encourage frogs to mate vigorously and frequently.

Doc Barbara and the Exploding Porridge

   Doc Barbara, without being a health fanatic, always pays due attention to her diet and exercise regimes. Recently she decided to alter her morning repast and bought a microwave oven to make nutritious porridge swiftly and easily.
   She took great care to stand back from the appliance whilst it did its important work as she has never quite rid herself of her anxiety about the direction of its waves: if they were to stray outwards, they might mistakenly cook her liver. In addition, she hid under the table exactly as she recalls doing in the War during a bombing raid and felt much safer there.
   When questioned she opined: "There is no such thing as a free omelette." Her erudite wisdom is a lesson to us all.

    However, on the first occasion, she was dismayed to find that the porridge had exploded out of its special container. This disaster confirmed her worst fears about microwaves and she once more retreated under the table to consult the Internet and Belinda Twaddle by phone about the best course of action.

  Firstly, she typed "Exploding Porridge" into the search engine and was agreeably surprised to see that expert help was immediately to hand.

    However, she had some considerable difficulty in interpreting the equation on the board with respect to her prospective breakfast but, with extreme good fortune, Belinda arrived at that moment of quandary, persuaded her to emerge from under the table and gave her the rational and scientific explanation, the fruits of her hasty research.

    Belinda had spent the brief interim contemplating porridge-like locations and had concluded, putting together all the evidence, that what is crucial to the enterprise is the RELATIVE amounts of oats and water. She and Doc Barbara tried again according to the suggested mathematics and the result was perfect - a delightful bowl of the precious substance upon which could be sprinkled cranberries to taste. As Doc Barbara summarised: "You can't step into the same river twice with a sow's ear."

Doc Barbara rejoices at Belinda's success

Prof. Ramsbottom-Thrutch is knocked sideways.by emotion

  Our regular devoted followers of Doc Barbara's adventures will be acutely and sorrowfully aware that her friend, Professor Ramsbottom-Thrutch (who came to write a sociological study of her unique case) had been prone to semi-paralysing bouts of emotion. Even though social scientists should be detached from their topic, he would well up copiously when lecturing on Roman burial practices if the deceased were under 60 - or diseased.
   Clearly something had to be done and his sojourn with us at our newspaper office has done much to restore his equilibrium. Yet Belinda Twaddle decided that she could help even more.

Her solution

  Here we see her offering the Prof. a variant of immersion therapy whereby he could observe a mock burial which turned out for the best. Shortly after our cub reporter took this shot (relief all round that he didn't inter himself as well as he is not the shiniest pebble on the beach) she jumped up, since she was only lightly covered with sand, danced with joy and encouraged the Prof. to join her merriment. This he did and their joyful ritual of renewal was noted by a small but rapidly growing crowd of bemused holidaymakers.

The next step

  She then took him to a museum where she instructed him to gaze at relics of Roman burials for 2 hours until he became inured: this was so amazingly efficacious that she had difficulty dissuading him from opening the sarcophagus and entombing himself. He explained that he had misheard and thought she said "immured." (We wonder in our darker moments if he simply became so bored that he lost the will to live let alone expatiate on funeral rites in the Ancient World.)

The result
   All doubts and fears were thus put to rest (R.I.P. Anxiety) and we held a celebratory party to mark the occasion: Professor Ramsbottom-Thrutch can now return to his university post and hold forth with dry-eyed vigour on any subject, no matter how potentially distressing. The party went rather too well but we are all feeling better now. We know that he will visit us in the future and continue his valuable research into the Doc Barbara Phenomenon.

"Look, I am Pluto," cried the Prof. "Or do I mean Neptune. Who cares?"

Doc Barbara cheers Belinda Twaddle

   Firstly let me, as Editor, apologise for the asides which crept into our last article about Doc Barbara. The Chief Reporter has a new mobile device with something on it that he seems to refer to as Piri-Piri which picks up his voice and everyone's inner thoughts (although it is possible I mutter aloud when particularly frustrated). He refuses to turn it off and so I suppose we will all have to adjust. Professor Ramsbottom-Thrutch will find particular difficulty as he is prone to voice his sorrow at deeply emotional moments to avoid fits of weeping. Sometimes life on a provincial newspaper can be acutely stressful.

   Yet the good news is that we have now returned Belinda Twaddle to her normal vertical posture by explaining that there is a difference between a sloth and a slug. You will recall that she offered to assist in the attempt to prevent slug proliferation South of Wigan. We are delighted to report phenomenal success here with most slugs persuaded by peaceful means to refrain from sexual activity even after the long wet winter. Belinda heroically established a network of anti-slug-sex (A.S.S.) wardens equipped with the special apparatus she is wearing here. Her brother Bob is holding his back in agony after bending to communicate with too many slugs. [Hoist with his own trumpet, poor man: Doc Barbara]

   She found that slugs respond to music and so played them arias from Cosi Fan Tutte, thus making the females feel that their romantic activities were commonplace and vulgar. These extracts could be whistled if the wardens forgot their gadgets or can be relayed from wires such as Belinda carries with her on her helmet at all times. The opera has had the added bonus of lightening our Professor's mood: he has been seen to smile and even chortle on occasions. Belinda will soon dare to speak to him about Roman burials.

A female slug after  listening to Mozart. 

   The slugs then give up all sensations of passion and retreat to their [Where DO they live? Ed] homes in pensive but celibate mood. [I feel an outburst of racking sobs coming upon me. Professor R-T] This method has produced success everywhere but in Yorkshire. [You can tell a Yorkshire slug anywhere but you can't tell it much. Ed]
   Doc Barbara, when informed, opined, "He who laughs last has a bird in th'hand." [Clearly the mention of Yorkshire has unsettled her. Ed]

A slug warden after an exhausting spell of duty with his wired apparatus in the blue bag.

   Belinda has now decided that the enterprise can be taken beyond Wigan to the recalcitrant Northern hermaphroditic slugs. Her public-spirited determination knows no bounds. [Worse luck. When can we get back to reporting the doings of the W.U.G? and their weekly acrimonious meetings? Ed]