An allegorical tale of a man who wanted to be Peter Pan but was really
the crocodile.

“Never smile at a crocodile
No, you can’t get friendly with a crocodile
Don’t be taken in by his welcome grin
He’s imagining how well you’d fit within his skin”

Innocent lyrics from a song from Peter Pan which seem so much less
innocent now after Roger, and seem so very appropriate.

A long time ago, in a land not so far away called Puffinland, was a
family of puffins, mummy puffin, daddy puffin, and the two boy
puffins. Being happy puffins they loved exploring, they loved
swimming, they loved mountains and cliffs, they loved their burrows
and they loved flying and sitting around chatting to other puffins
until the wind dropped. They wanted so much to be able to fly
further than their little swoops around their burrows and they had so
much to learn but so much fun to have.

Roger was a crocodile who liked puffins, Roger was a special crocodile
as he could fly too and could fly further than the puffin family, and
he pretended to be a jolly puffin. Roger helped all the puffins in
Puffinland, he would do lots of helpful things and he especially liked
helping puffin families who had little puffin boys. He was so helpful that he
didn’t seem like a crocodile at all, he would visit their burrow and
tell puffin tales and grew more and more like a puffin himself.

Roger could take one puffin boy flying whilst mummy or daddy could
take the other flying so a puffin squadron was formed and Roger led
the puffins out over the water and far from home. Crocodiles are not
known to be friendly to puffins so mummy and daddy puffin were
suspicious that he might not be a puffin at all and laid lots of little
traps which Roger skilfully avoided, so they thought that perhaps he was a puffin after all.

That was until the day that the older puffin boy was attacked by a flock of neds
whilst out on the fish, he was taken to hospital and Roger picked him up
and took him to another puffin’s house instead of back to his puffin
family or letting mummy and daddy puffin know.

Roger was also giving generous gifts to the puffin boys including safes
to keep their precious things in, out of prying puffin parent
eyes (although being techno-puffins a dash of dusting powder and a UV
light together with a lock pick set soon sorted that one out).

Mummy and daddy puffin started to see Roger in a new light,
perhaps he was really a crocodile and they needed to speak to PC Andy
at Puffin Protection about him. PC Andy had met crocodiles before
and strongly suggested that they speak sternly to Roger,
and that the puffin boys were kept away from his predatory jaws.

Things seemed to cool off and the puffin family went on fishing and
flying with less reliance on Roger, but then sadly once Christmas the
youngest puffin fell ill and was using his Puffin Phone to call his
puffin chicks lots and lots, and when trying to make him better it was
clear that Roger was still giving his crocodile gifts to youngest puffin.

Mr Rat at the river bank was easily fooled to reveal that Roger was
giving lots of sardines to one of the puffin boys from his own river
bank branch – so much fish that mummy and daddy puffin were amazed that a
crocodile could get so much fish, when he constantly professed to not
being able to keep sardines at all. Wise old DSI Badger listened to the
puffins and screwed up his nose – ’something stinks around here and it
isn’t fish’. It was clear that Roger was fibbing and his crocodile
tears were no longer going to work.

Puffin Phones have long memories and one moonlit night when the young
puffin was snoring, his puffin phone revealed lots of messages from
Roger asking if mummy and daddy were away so he could bring sardines.
PC Andy at Puffin Protection was contacted again and this time young puffin
was told that Roger was really a crocodile and that although
he was a smart little puffin this was because he was well groomed.
Young puffin told tales of crates of beer brought by Roger to his young
puffin friends and watching a movie of naked puffin chicks in the
crocodile cave.

DSI Badger was right – this was more than the stench of sardines in the morning.

Roger was told, in no uncertain terms, that the puffin family knew him
to be a creepy crocodile and he slithered away and everyone lived happily
ever after in Puffinland. We hope, but always remember

“Never smile at a crocodile
Never dip your hat and stop to talk awhile
Never run, walk away, say good-night, not good-day
Clear the aisle but never smile at Mister Crocodile”

Kim flew to Bute with an unreliable radio, we acted as ground crew driving past the red sheep on the green pyramids on the M8, past the lonely cranes at Greenock and the cobwebbed oil fired power station at InverKip (used only once and that was during the miners strike) to the wonderful railway station at Wemyss Bay. Fifty quid extracted for car and passengers we had a smooth sail to Rothesay where the top attractions were standing on the Highland Boundary Fault and a visit to the world famous Victorian Toilets on the pier (a tiled paradise and urinals that it seems a pity to despoil with urine tracks).

Kim landed late on the air ambulance strip in the South of the island and we all dashed off to the pub for lunch and an impromptu viewing of the stomach of Richard Murphy (OBE) whilst Stuart and I went searching in vain for a petrol station (it turns out the only one is in Rothesay and closes at 3pm). Kim flew off laden down with lunch, starting her engine with me inches away from the propellor in another aborted murder attempt on me, and we ground crew retired to see standing stones and a wander around Rothesay before returning on the ferry and the long road home.

Easter is a good time to look up differing theories of Christ, including that he didn’t exist at all. This is also the time where articles appear in the paper about the true meaning of Easter i.e. Christ and resurrection instead of eggs and bunnies – rather missing the point since the pagan Ostera predates Chritianity and that the egg and other fertility symbols are the true meaning of Easter.

With our new EcoKettle and solar powered garden lights we are confident the world is safe in our hands – still no need to turn the field into biofuel production yet after reading this article

Ali is still on manic medicine and obsessed with his girlfriend and romping up huge phone bills – the Ditch-The-Bitch strategy simply not working. Of course this has also been complicated with a very difficult situation with a family friend. He will be repeating 5th year at school now due to his obsession and illness.

Stuart and I had a trip to the Netherton fish ladder, and the Star Inn but that doesn’t open until 7:30pm so we missed that and instead went into Rothbury for half a chicken and chips each and a giggle at the posters in the local eco shop. We also saw 5 fire engines racing through Rothbury on their way to a large grass or forest fire.

I had to race to get the final showing at the Baltic gallery as it ended on Sunday and it was well worth it – lovely sunny Sunday and the quayside was heaving with breasts. The exhibitions were startling – Brian Eno music with images that evolve from and into each other in an ambient setting; Vik Muniz portraits made with blood (Marilyn Monroe), chocolate (Marlon Brando), diamonds (Marlene Dietrich), magazines (Seu Jorge) and caviar (Dracula) – then my mobile phone went off as everyone was silently gazing in awe at the photos – I tried to turn it off and had problems and someone came over – I felt awful apologizing and he said – ‘Who is That? Great Music’ – ‘Imogen Heap’ I barbled out and he smiled ‘Cool’. In the Joseph Havel exhibition the guy making sure we didn’t steal the sculptures said ‘Does the T Shirt Work’ – I had my Japanese ‘I am looking for a japanese girlfriend’ T shirt (in japanese symbols). He used to live in Japan.

Visited the awesome Penshaw Monument with a friendly local telling all about the history of the area and anecdotes of the Nissan second hand wind turbines from Germany which caught on fire, landscaped gardens from the mining industry and Lord Lampton involved in a scandal with prostitutes mirroring Profomo – the National Trust should hire that man. Then onto Seaham where coal was dug under the sea and the beach used to be black, up to Whitley Bay and Tynemouth but not onto St Mary’s Island as the causeway was under water. A walk along the quayside at Blyth with its wind turbines at the edge of the sea and the talking visitor boards (not reading the information but providing background voices from people who worked in the salt and fishing industries).

Looking for Silly String I happened upon sites referencing its use in Iraq to detect tripwires. I wonder what other weapons of mess destruction are out there (silly string can stain clothes).