I’d write about tiny stockbrokers, Liliputian interior designers and pygmy chestnut vendors, but I’ve never met any. The only dwarf I’ve ever known (slightly) atoned for his main job in the midget porn industry with cameos in Disneyoid kiddies’ films. I would have liked to have been acquainted with A Rapetto, frustrated tenor soloist of the French opera in New Orleans. Two locals:
- Dwarf number one is an apoplectic hunchback who guards a medieval castle/chapel complex on the bicycle ride variant of this walk. His platform is terror. His talent is driving his beat-up Seat at high speed into the group, lurching out and crying, “Stop picking my bay leaves!”
- Dwarf number two volunteers in a local church. Her platform is charity. Her talent, as demonstrated at mass last night, is clambering over the aisle-blocking, plastered-up leg of a deep-sleeping Central American man, after repeatedly head-banging him with her long-armed collection box in attempts to arouse him. This assault may have had some effect: when the priest raised his hands and face to the heavens, our sleeping fruity leapt to his feet and did the same, leaving the authochthonous retards clustered around him fearing for their lives.
- People we meet
The other day, on this walk, an elderly Englishman from G. Speaking with an Andalusian accent, he claimed to be one
- The Two Gardeners
An anti-intellectual French horticultural fable.
- Two Brad Pitt exclusives
French farmer tells him, “Get off my land!” Did a Pakistani Dracula turn Brad and Angelina into zombies?
- Two views of progress
Italy vs England.
- Hell in Cornwall, and Brisola the organ-grinder from Brisola
Two favourite anecdotes from Maisie & Evelyn Radford’s musical mission to the Cornish and thence to the English.