Imaginal Casements

After all that prattle about the Gashleycrumb Tinies, I have a Cunning Plan. (cackles, rubs hands together) Soon. Very soon.

The day was full of work. One of those days. Coworker appreciated her 60th birthday present (from the team, which I had been coordinating contributions/purchase of) - a bottle of champagne. Good champagne, even. Phew.

---

(more Gorey limericks from The Listing Attic)

A young man of acumen and daring
Who'd amassed a great fortune in herring
Was left quite alone
When it soon became known
That their use at his board was unsparing.

As the breeches-buoy swung towards the rocks,
Its occupant cried, "Save my socks!
I could not bear the loss,
For with scarlet silk floss
My mama has embroidered their clocks."

A lady both callous and brash
Met a man with a vast black moustache;
She cried, "Shave it, O do!
And I'll put it with glue
On my hat as a sort of panache."

A lady born under a curse
Used to drive forth each day in a hearse;
From the back she would wail
Through a thickness of veil,
"Things do not get better, but worse."

A very boring meeting today, which took half an hour to get started due to problems with the audiovisual links to other sites, and which then wandered through a morass of vague complaints and passive-aggressive whining. Let us change the subject to something more, um, well, agreeable might not be quite the right word. More interesting, perhaps.

In honour of Halloween, today's entry will be enlivened by various disconnected limericks from Edward Gorey, from his book The Listing Attic.

---

The sight of his guests filled Lord Cray
At breakfast with horrid dismay,
So he launched off the spoons
The pits from his prunes
At their heads as they neared the buffet.

There was a young lady named Rose
Who fainted whenever she chose
She did so one day
While playing croquet
But was quickly revived with a hose.

A lady was seized with intent
To revise her existence misspent,
So she climbed up the dome
Of St Peter's in Rome,
Where she stayed through the following Lent.

A gift was delivered to Laura
From a cousin who lived in Gomorrah;
Wrapped in tissue and crepe,
It was peeled like a grape
And emitted a pale, greenish aura.

There was a young woman named Plunnery
Who rejoiced in the practice of gunnery
Till one day unobservant,
She blew up a servant,
And was forced to retire to a nunnery.

The babe, with a cry brief and dismal,
Fell into the water baptismal;
Ere they'd gathered its plight,
It had sunk out of sight,
For the depth of the font was abysmal.

Augustus, for splashing his soup,
Was put out for the night on the stoop;
In the morning he'd not
Repented a jot,
And next day he was dead of the croup.