New Splicer Volume 3.4

~NEW SPLICER~

Volume 3.4 June 2012

1952

In this issue Topic of the month: The Annual gathering for those who like to embrace absurdity

Don’t forget to Breathe

The Real Surreal Jasper the Friendly Fforde...

How to clone a Danver The Diamond Jubilee...

Swindon... and much more!

Don’t forget to smile

Fforeword Ffirstly I would like to thank all the Fforganisers for inviting New Splicer to the wonderfully nuts Fforde Ffiesta 2012! It has/was/is [depending on when I wrote/published this “live” issue] a wonderfful event!

A Ffabulous thanks to all the participants of the convention and to the magazine itselff, it has been a pleasure to work with you all! And please don’t stop there New Splicer is designed to bring together all the crazy beautifful minds I can find to help this magazine grow [Published almost every month – depending on how much sleep I do not have!].

And the winner ffor best/wackiest submission goes to - Amy Martinq with the submission “Grow your own Queen” And finally thank you to the man without all this would not be possible Jasper Ffforde! For making the world just a little more ffull off smiles ~New Splicer~

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

~~~~~~~ToPIC of the Month~~~~~~~ The Annual gathering for those who like to embrace absurdity I am attracted to many things but none quite as absurd as absurdity. I see it in all things, beauty, smiles, jokes, drama, science, pretty much all sides of life.

A year ago I was playing lobster space invaders, extreme croquet and name that fruit. To the uninitiated perhaps a little strange; however, for me, possibly an access to the very nature of the universe, at least the one I inhabit, in my slightly less than normal mind. Is also very relaxing, as I deal in genetic code, brain synapse and proteomic patterns most days; so the thought of cheese smuggling in Swindon or a bus tour around its seven wonders is a refreshing exploration. Much like the journey of New Splicer from topic to topic, MiniDinosaursTM to living inside a horse, it is an exploration of creativity, however absurd – as so long as it makes you think or smile.

Why is this so? What makes the silly anything more or less than silly?

One theory, is that the absurd actually lets us see the stupidity of some of the things that we take for granted. Beyond this, we can observe the beauty of the mundane that can only be accessed with the surreal. For example, Why did the human cross the road? He was concerned by the slightly menacing looking chicken on the other side or to get to the other side and go to work. Who thinks about crossing roads, in the immediate yes [no one wants to be chicken feed]. However, on the grand scale of things it is rare to have a memorable road crossing [unless you answered no to the first question].

So crossing a road, necessary that it may be, is not interesting enough for our mind to store it alongside a friend’s birthday. Although, perhaps some friends are less memorable or some roads more exciting; if only some we could choose.

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

Why would anyone think about chickens crossing roads? Generally, these statements involve a juxtaposition of reality or the normal. The joke itself does not have to be funny, removing the listener to the pure concept of absurdity [which the journey could be funny]. i.e. Why did the chicken cross the road. What road? These types of non-jokes, which I love, can be the process of observing how the brain tries to interpret nonsense. Which is a beautiful hang-up of the very logical mind. In my mind the interpretation of nonsense actually allows me to catch a glimpse of the real workings of the world. When you cannot rely on logic, observation and facts what is left?

Interestingly, from a scientific point of view, the only thing we have left for interpretation is belief. Although, I will quickly clear up any miss conception that this is the belief in god, Allah or whomever you guess or are subscripted to follow. This belief is far more powerful.

Oneself, forgetting about all the possible lies we my tell ourselves or be told, is the only person/mind that we can believe in 100% (most of the time and depending if you trust yourself). I somehow manage to maintain an unshakable faith in myself [even through a few beautifully dark times]. With the belief that my own thoughts and feelings were correct or at the very least just. This makes it sometimes difficult not to come across as a little arrogant, especially as I age and I care less and less for being politically correct [especially amongst those who do not merit my temperance].

IF the chicken didn’t cross the road there would be no joke, which makes logic also beautiful and an essential part of accessing the absurd. Like two ends of the spectrum of reality, we can all flitter between the two states of mind but the absurd takes a little getting used to as its not natural or god given or derived from evolution. Where did it come from? Possibly, a result that everything needs a natural opposite, and logic seems to work for most therefore why not illogic. Why didn’t the chicken cross the road? So as this joke would not be funny.

Anon What’s the first three letters of the Greek alphabet?

IOU Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

When all things disappear and you are left alone, In the quiet let your mind roam...

There are no longer any secrets or lies, When you are your only disguise...

In this place between the real world and the absurd you can [if you so choose] confront your darkest fears and darkest truths. Or hide from them forever...

Try not to do that...

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

The real Surreal OR Catcher in the Rittenhouse rye I used to know a fool, they dreamed of both beauty and darkness, warped by clocks and time, crutches and mirrors. In dreams, lay in the peace of their own frightful imagination and by day walked the nightmares that fuelled them.

One day this person woke, not knowing this world from the next.

Day screamed in through the windows, incandescent greens and red blinded the darkness of the room. I had expected something else as I awoke said the songs of the morning to me as I too awoke to its sweet sound. It was dark again so I opened my eyes, much better, to the light. Not as I expected, perhaps the morning song was the sirens of the sea calling me back to sleep... It was hard to tell as I often daydream, sometimes during the night but for now, it was too bright.

Stimulus! And the pain of the pinch rushed over me, unless a vivid recollection of impulses... How does one tell, for now I took it on faith, and gave a little pray to self-belief and a pat on its back. I also felt this. Time to approximate what it felt like to get out of bed, ahh I remember it all too well, as something that is not pleasurable until you are fully awake. Half-awake and half-baked, the phone rang at the same time as I listened out for it, coincidence often occurred.

Ano n Wha t’s pu Wha rple a t Wha orange a nd hums? t’s gr nd go An e e the w e heels en and h s ‘click,c lectric gr ap as wh li . eels? ck’? A ba e.

Gra l ss, I l point ca was l ying rrot. abou t

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A me ro m: Ag lia S B e: t igg 4 ill les wa de F Click, tone, silence... “Are you awake” “I cannot be sure” I replied. “Who are you?” we both returned. Neither asked first. In silence, apart from a second click, I hung up the phone. Telesales, even in my good dreams (I was still not sure which this was, or not). Eating might give me a clue, so I swam in a very ‘one foot in front of the other, kind of way’ to the kitchen. The only cupboard that contained any content was the only one open, so I could do nothing but stare. That strange feeling that the other cupboards might now hold new treasures washed over me, just as I reached for the cornflakes from the open shelf.

Another odd thought popped into my head, milk – is white, I can’t think of anything else white I would ingest? Pills, toothpaste, chalk, slack lime, milk should taste funny but it does not, the first indication that this might be a dream. I needed to find more flaws in reality like this if I was ever to escape. I risked the milk and crunched the cereal to myself for a few moments; I could not hear myself think for those few peaceful moments. They always fade...

Perhaps the walls of my head could be escaped, beyond the confines of my flat? I am assuming this dream takes place on a Saturday, which is why I have not bothered to call in late to work. I dressed in what looked and felt like someone else’s clothes, but they were my own – just new, a trick I like to play on myself to get the most use out of each item. Memory curses like a neverending dream or a wonderfully short one...

Where to go... As it is a Saturday perhaps a walk through the park to seek out those serene colours of the dream. Could nature be so warm? Like in a dream, I skipped time and found myself walking down my stairs, until I came to the door. Upon crossing the boundary to where the road should be I found myself in the park and sat right in front of where traffic should be. Danger appeared present but only in the stares of the pigeons, like a deer in the head lights I returned their gaze until we both fluttered off somewhere.

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

I left the road behind, like I had done already, I felt like I was close to something bordering on reality. Was it as simple as getting a grip? Attempting to touch said reality with, ill go with hands on this occasion. Like a dream that’s how I met her, held her tight without a word. Fortunately, her eyes spoke to me like a narration and in those eyes she heard the same voice. A kiss, without a simple word, I never knew time, space and the universe until now.

I felt her hold me without touch, whisper to my senses and clear my mind to omnipresence. Was I always a god? Almost too obscure to be reality, impossible power to be fiction, I could see dreams and this was not one. I could see people, animals. [See – definition beyond sight, understand, all molecules all emotions, swirls of entropy distilling in my mind. In short, I simply knew].

How does one return from this state? It is impossible, even if I were to wake now this understanding would travel with me unlike any dream. Could I take her with me? Was she the reality and hence would disappear every night I fell to sleep... For the first time fear crept upon me like a cold wind that crept from icy depths to climb my limbs and centre directly to my heart.

I held my breath, it’s ok I was still breathing...

I asked her to tell me everything and she replied, “You already know” and I did.

Grey filled the room, I was in again, I made all this in imagination; all except her. I take her with me, as a memory of a god-like time and imagine the time when she will take my eyes and walk with me once more into reality.

It was a Sunday after all; tomorrow I return to work safe in the knowledge that I am not insane, as I am aware of my own insanity.

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

Emma Warren Age 25 From: Watford Poem – I’m writing a poem without any rhymes, but I have had to redo it dozens of goes.

Imagine my anger, my terrible rage, when the rhymes keep on jumping right onto the sheet.

As soon as on lines put into place, the next comes along and stares me right in the eye.

Saying, “now that you’ve finished that bit of text, you’ve got to have me, can’t you see that I’m here”.

I try for impossible words like ‘cucumber’ but they overhear and awake from their snoozing.

I reach out for ‘artichoke’, porridge’ and ‘sago’ but i find the gyrations just give me arthritis.

[Credit – Roy Bailey]

The Transient Moose

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Don’t forget to smile

How to clone a Danver

The Fforde Ffiesta Danvers appear to be growing without New Splicers knowledge, thus far New Splicer Inc has made only 3 clones which accounts for ~30% of the year’s total Danver clone population. The alternate explanation is that they reproduce asexually or there is a non-regulated cloning body illegally in action.

Asexual reproduction the process by which plants and other filthy organisms reproduce without sex [how boring]. Asexual reproduction is a mode of reproduction by which offspring arise from a single parent, and inherit the genes of that parent only; it is reproduction which does not involve meiosis, ploidy reduction, or fertilization. A more stringent definition is agamogenesis which is reproduction without the fusion of gametes. Asexual reproduction is the primary form of reproduction for singlecelled organisms such as the archaea, bacteria, and protists. Many plants and fungi reproduce asexually as well.

The Danvers, are a pre-aged form of clone [something akin to progeria or advanced aging seen in some humans], even at birth the Danvers are born without hair pigment, giving them the ghostly grey look. They also suffer from a form of zeromacculapigmentosa or light sensitivity to the eyes requiring the highly technical and scientifically advanced shades they generally come with. [£5 at local Walmart or Asda].

The most disturbing genetic defect* is the psychological attachment to widower clothes, witnessing a Danver in colour is about as rare as witnessing a Danver in colour! There outward appearance gives them the impression of the frail and elderly, which is only true of the old ones, but that is difficult to tell. * [as with most clones, especially early models, this always happens. Like the incident with our kitten version 0.2, cute, fluffy, small body, big eyed killer. New Splicer lost several good staff that day R.I.P. In our memories]

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

Old Boiler Age: 73 From: Mainningtree Essex Today the Danvers Clones marched on ASDA gaily singing. Were there any men?

“No, No, No” In high squeaky voices. The last few left in the shop were stopped by security (Goliath??) and closely questioned. Why were we there?

What were we doing? We told them about literary convention at the hotel.

Mentioned Jasper’s Swindon based novels. On such a Jubilympic weekend we hoped to have fun, promoting his books. “let us know beforehand in future” came the stern rejoinder. We wondered where Waitrose was...

Beware

the Men

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of Kent

!

Don’t forget to smile

How to Make Your Own Queen [By Amy Martin] This is your fool proof, step by step guide to creating your own Queenie!

We’ll tell you what to do, what not to do, and what definitely not to do, in order to create your one and only copy of the one and only lady that matters.

To do this you will need: One crown, medium sized.

Hands (preferably in working order, we all saw what happened with Edward Scissor Hands.)

Ability to sleep walk in such a convincing manner that people think you’re awake.

Legs.

Toast.

A vile of pronunciation punch.

One of Hugh Laurie’s missing socks.

Method Take crown

+

+

?

(Unfortunately at this time we do not have an image of Hugh Laurie's missing sock as it is missing, presumed dead.)

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Mix together until leg taut and on show. Place leg at the end of the torso.

NOT at the ends of the arms.

You look at me like that but TANGENT ALERT! the ratio of intelligence in scientists, or as well like to call them here nerdicites, is directly relational to alcohol.

(We were going to put a graph in here, but unfortunately we couldn't figure out how, the nerdicites were too busy reading books by some guy called Jasper Fforde to help.) "£$%&*)(*^$£ NERDICITE TAKEOVER)*&%^$%$££""%&*( 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110011 01110101 01100011 01101011 00100001 00100000 01001110 01100101 01110010 01100100 01101001 01100011 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110010 01110101 01101100 01100101 00100001 TRANSLATION: YOU SUCK! NERDICITES RULE!

TAGENT END.

Assemble hands Wrap in cling film and leave in the fridge to cool for thirty minutes, Add the ability to sleep walk in such a convincing manner that people think you're awake, and shake.

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Mixture should then turn a strange colour, of which is determinant on the maker. For example criminal masterminds tend to see a particularly nasty shade of green, yet evil overlords, whom people often think are similar, tend to see a gooey shade of red. Nobody knows why, that’s just the way of it.

Personally I see the opening scene of Blackadder the Third replayed over and over again.

Return to the hands and mould into a very strange wave, which is very much quite possibly a secretive cry for help.

WARNING! PLEASE READ! DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE mistake the HEAD for HANDS. This was an error we experienced with the Lizzie 2.11 squared's.

We thought it would be okay but they started feeling up foreign delegate’s delicates which lead to a scandal or eleven hundred and thirty-three so we just had to banish them to the Zanobian Plains.

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Bake in the oven at one hundred and twenty million Kelvin until the smell of monarch reaches your ears.

Finally sprinkle gently with pronunciation punch:

WARNING! VERY TOXIC! If you don't believe me take a look at Hugh Grant, he used to be a cockney!

Finally stand back and enjoy you r Lizzie mark 982714343454845121584 56415152155 and EAT TOAST! or else.

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The Art of a short story

Capture the audience with a bang “BANG”

Make things difficult for our heroes “EVIL”

Romance them with a love story “KISS”

Give them something to feel “DEATH” Then save the day “SMILE”

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Don’t forget to smile

Models artfully painted by Andy Walker http://lairofthebreviks.blogspot.co.uk/

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

The Diamond Jubilee Or the Coronation The Queen engineered her own coronation when she was 25, not many know this in our timeframe but that’s because it has not happened yet, or more accurately it has happened already in the future we are just a little behind.

Selfuture-coronation is rare but in this instance imperative, Maam will actually save the entire known universe and most will never know. It would not surprise me if no one gets to read this story as it is likely to be sent back in time to a place where some believe Prince Charles will be king! And none of my time will have happened yet, but that’s not another story.

In approximate non-linear timescale, this is what will happened...

It all ended with a smile, thankfully the Queen was precisely that and not just another coin. As it flipped to decide the fate of mankind it landed on her head not yet minted. “Ill flip you for it” King Charles said in his last act as king, “jolly good” with a wave through time “you know Charles I choose Queen side up, your mug down”...

Only a game of kings and queens for the realm, the tension reseeded in his eyes as he waited hand flipping the weighted coin, safe in the knowledge of his future. Little did he know she thought that all this is my time, as she waited for his speech and her own unfolding of time... It’s all a matter of string theory and diamonds. This is where the story proceeds to the start, shortly to lose a little context.

In 1942 the Queen to be was 16 years old, kind, tender, regal and learned in the ways of folding space and time. Training began before she was born, whispers to the belly, sonograph shifting phase of time all in due course. I wish I could time travel, and then at least I might know this article find its way into an obscure magazine that might just pass the time editors. It is likely they might be a little distracted saving the universe from the evil king not-to-be son Charles, he was born but in your time lacking the evil genius gene lost in the quantum of royal space. In his time his evil gene became untangled in the quantum uncertainty of an accident through simply checking to see if it was there, it now/then was.

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The chase scene after the polo match was something to describe! A young and brilliant Queen chasing King Charles across the fields of Windsor on horseback, the diamond of time held safely in the royal crown and dangerously held in the evil kings grasp. “Care to stake your reign and crown on the match?” said the queen... “Are we going backwards again?” said Charles.

“Only until the world gets it right”.

It was 10-9 in the match King Charles Devils Vs The Diamond Jubilee’s, This result could not happen for time or the story to progress and here is how it unfolded, quite literally in time! The young Queen had the ball and the speed to pass within scoring range she was certain much unlike Schrödinger that this event would happen, with a final spur diverted the horse directly towards the ball as Charles rode directly towards. With a high swing, aimed at the Queens head, an attempted accidental miss of the ball by a good meter and a half, swung into thin air where the Queen should have been.

The Queen was horizontal, not on the ground but remaining attached to the horse and focused on the ball. Tilt-shift and swing, directing the force of the blow into the ground immediately before the ball, which as everyone trained in the art of planetary motion and physics will know sent the ball in opposition to the ground at a momentum equal to the speed of the horse and force of the shot. It leaped beautifully over the goalkeeper as if alive; as if fated, as it it was its destiny to do so [it was this time].

Amy Martin Age: 20 From: Peterborough

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T E A IS FOR MUGS!

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“peeeeeeeeeeeeeep” went the whistle for the end of the game and the crowed rushed the arena cheering and throwing diamante’s in the air.

“Wait it was a draw!” Cried Charles. “Not this time” smiled the Queen. As they presented the royal crown of diamonds at one end of the field, unfortunately within eyeshot of the King-prince [it was at this point status in time was ambivalent]. And so the chase began. .....And as his horse came crashing down with the diamond crown spinning, creating its own microscopic gravity that momentarily appeared to stabilise its plummeting path into the Queens arms.

In that instant only the Queens head could ever appear on the coin flip, destiny is written by the ones who see it happen and change it.

This all happened within the toss of a coin or twinkle of his eye, whatever was faster...

And the rest is, well, the beginning and you know how that ends!

Eliz a over beth R Derek Walter ~ Portsmouth e t Duk he key gina, hid s e,fo i r he ,what a ng her v ’s a pha fluke,s ***** ,be h llic m n iner e marrie ding ! d th e

Ben Valsler ~ Cambridge Haiku poems Her majesty liz 60 years on the throne Her bum must be numb If I was a royal I would travel everywhere Riding on a giraffe Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

A message from her majesty the Queen Elizabeth II [Read in silly high voice]

Kris Russel Age: 60 and ¾ From: Wincanton

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We were delighted to be asked to attend the Fforde Ffiesta 2012 where one was privileged to witness the march of the Danvers and even to receive an honorary ‘Women In Black’ [WIB] membership badge. One wishes to thank Mr Fforde (whose fault this all is), the Fforganisers, New Splicer and all the conventioneers. For their warm welcome on the occasion of one’s Diamond Jubilee. If I am asked again please don’t sing that awful naffing song, one is really royally sick of it.

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Swindon

First, let me clear up a known myth Swindon is not in England. Nevertheless, this is not the first lie you will hear here today unless you read this line twice.

I have been to the Fforde Ffiesta twice now and more peculiarly, I have been to Swindon three times. While nothing could match the magical insanity of the Fforde Ffiesta, nor the wonderful seven wonders of Swindon, I shall recall my other trip to the centre of the comic universe [at least in a microcosm].

The reason of this journey, a simple one of friendship with a splash of dragons, people sized trains and the racing of dogs.

I woke up as if I had been drinking the night before, highly likely as I was still inebriated, so thirsty but knowing that first drop of water would rehydrate another dose of alcohol. It was like my morning was being documented with instagram [add in any photo app here], the edges of my vision were shaded and the colours of my live slightly washed out in an arty way. Fortunately, I hardly suffer the effects of alcohol [also a danger; I’m still young] one day.

A text, possibly in French, I replied “On my way, busses running a little late ;)”. It was time to switch to a normal camera filter. Man, like god rose from the ashes; made fire and the wheel all while another man lay in bed. I hope to be both of them one day. With this drive I fell into some clothes 3 step check 1. Wallet 2. Keys 3. Phone. Check complete. Proceed. Blue post-it note on the wall, blank, to remind me I need to pack a suitcase. 4. Pack suitcase.

Resume.

Contents of the suitcase were unsatisfyingly boring, dam note to self, make up for uninteresting contents with some form of wit or failing that resort to charm, when that fails just tell a bad joke and run.

Katie Kiely Age: 54 From: Hatfield Which King of England had a chiropodist?

William the Corn-curer.

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I ran to the train station, I was not late but knew I needed a paragraph tie-in, which came just in time. My good friend [friend number 1, in this story] stood waiting; from the smile I was getting, now slipping into a slight sigh, I would estimate about 15 minutes. This was acceptable...

With good friends you can travel faster than actual time [this is nothing near the speed of light in application but almost identical in metaphor]. For us two, time disappeared, for a reader of these events time would probably slow; hence, this is why suddenly we arrived!

Friend number 2 stood smiling, that particular smile that is pleased to have seen someone after an absence, or novel to Swindon, seeing anyone from London. She could have been waiting hours, such a friend is she and her smile remained unblemished invoking two smiles in kind. The next journey, by way of car, I have been sworn to secrecy and anonymity so for secrecy sake let us just call this friend “Ffion”. She lived about 15 minutes drive from the station, 15 minutes later we had just left the car park. After a 22 point turn [in a very tight space], and several angry granny drives giving us the look that they are not getting any younger, we exited and turned left. A leisurely and comfortable scenic drive took us through some of the early delights of Swindon, we passed The Hanging Baskets of Babbington. Caught sight of the mystical Elgin Llamas on our way past the super [stupid] Magical roundabout that can only be described as a method for thinning the population of Swindon or at the very least, like a Venus fly trap, trapping tourists for eternity until they get old and look at you funny.

Another 30 minutes later as dusk settled on sleepy Swindon we arrived safely at our castle. A beautiful house, with friendly housemates [not yet my friends], it was long and inviting you could tell it had been inhabited with good memories. In each shade and corner lay a warmth that was reciprocated by comfortable guests.

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Tradition of the first house drink came with a beautiful honey brandy, from some exotic travels and stories that were not my own. The first activity on this whirlwind tour of Swindon would be to race some dogs. I was hoping for a Terrier, my favourite dog to tease; I digress a little to a story of my late granddads Yorkshire terrier, I think it was called Yorky, it used to look after my grandparents with reckless abandon. All I needed to do was raise a threatening hand of attack towards Granddad Fred and this thing would begin to growl, the closer I got the more intense the growl [i could have played music], until it yorky would snap and attack and bark like a rabid monster. He was a clever little bugger and would jump, at about maximal jumping height for him, straight at my nether regions.

Unfortunately, I never go to race any dogs, they were too fast for me that night [I am in training now due to embarrassment]. We merry band of friends blended in with the locals ordering 3 pints of Tennent’s, a strange brew, strange by the fact that we actually had to pay the barman to ingest this nectar!? It was not the only odd thing that night; I also observed the dogs chasing a rabbit that they never caught and people betting on such an event.

I assume they lost a fair amount of money, unless they were betting on which hound came closest to the rabbit before it ran to its burrow.

It was late, a perfect time I was told to observe another particular phenomenon of wildlife in Swindon town centre. It was also cold but this particular species seemed immune the effects [a New Splicer note for future study].

There were clear packs, lek behaviour dominated all groups, it was quite beautiful and horrid to witness all at once. [Note to the kind reader – staring induces aggressive behaviour in these groups and might best be limited to occasional glances, the open eyed dropped jaw stare is a clear give away and should be avoided at all costs]. I also believe it was here in Swindon that the Lek paradox was resolved.

Escaping back to sleep in a nostalgic bunk bed [I called top bunk!] the night drifted into memory.

I made pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs with maple syrup... The day began well...

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The sun rose as we walked through a forest, looking for the tiny train, it was hard to find being so small and in a forest with ducks. After a round of crazy golf [I being the craziest won] we found the train tracks and followed. This would be a tricky ride, atop the train, we had no ‘drink me’ potion to shrink and fit, so there was only one option. The roof of the train was approximately seat size (convenient or not?!) and a little balance and human distribution was required.

All too soon the sun began to set, bejewelling Swindon in a sublime amber glow like a wave goodbye from a 4th friend.

The Loose Mobster!

Alice Parsons Age: 14 From: Chorleywood This was the runner up entry!

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An exposé on the Royal Corgis: More than they seem?

By Christie walker

As most loyal subjects know, Her Majesty the Queen always keeps a retinue of Corgis as her personal pets. However, this reporter recently spoke to Mrs Beryl Wells of Malmesbury, Wiltshire and heard some shocking details of the Queen’s beloved Royal pets.

Mrs Wells spoke of a recent Garden Party she attended at the Palace where she was accompanied by her prize-winning Dodo, Balula. Mrs Wells explained that Balula adores cucumber sandwiches, and upon setting Balula down on the grass while speaking to another guest, she predictably went in search of her favourite snack. After wandering around the tent, plocking at guests who she hoped would share their nibbles with her, she found herself in the vicinity of the Queen. Hoping to share in Her Royal Highness’s cucumber sandwich, Balula plocked louder and louder until one of the Queen’s Corgis took notice. As Mrs Wells frantically tried to retrieve Balula in order to rescue the rather embarrassing situation, Monty (one of the Corgis) turned on Balula and warned her away from the Queen. However, he did not do this by growling or barking, as would be expected. Rather, Monty emitted a fearsome stream of fire from his tiny muzzle, immediately burning away poor Balula’s feathers and singeing her beak.

Mrs Wells said, ‘Although I am of course relieved that Balula was not seriously injured, I am incredibly worried about taking her to the competitive Dodo show that is scheduled for next month. There is absolutely no chance that her feathers will grow back by then, and she has such an unsightly black streak across her formerly pristine beak! Knitting a jumper for Pickwick may be perfectly acceptable for Thursday Next, but my Balula is a prize-winning generation 2.3 dodo! It simply would not be appropriate for her to appear in public, and certainly not in competition, in such a manner.’

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Don’t forget to smile

This strange incident has led this reporter to question whether the Royal pets include more than just Corgis and Dorgis (Dachshund and Corgi mix).

Could the Royal family be involved in some questionable, even illegal, splicing activity? Could they be breeding an army of fearsome small dogs with unusual abilities and attributes in order to protect the Royal Family? This reporter vows to investigate this shocking development further.

Editor’s note: Sadly, Christie ‘Mad Cow’ Walker was found poisoned in her flat before she could finish writing the follow-up to this article. There were mysterious bite marks on her ankles which very closely resembled the size and shape of a Corgi’s mouth. The poison was unlike anything doctors have ever seen, but it seemed to be very similar to a spider’s venom. Christie is now recovering but has decided to give up her reporting career for the safer option of herding mammoths.

Secret Message leaked

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

Jasper the friendly Fforde A ghost in the machine of literal sense...

How did Jasper inspire New Splicer?

The origin of New Splicer as steeped in my own myth, before New Splicer I was indeed something else. Myself just hidden..

It was through the beautiful words of Jasper Fforde, Douglas Adams and two women I used to know that I exploded into creativity [good or bad only time will tell], but creative none the less. It is through the illogical and often logical non-sense that I understand the world. Written most aptly by Jasper the friendly Fforde and that is also key, Kindness appears much a part of his character and the character that inspires [at least the team at New Splicer].

But before that lets talk briefly about a girl or her effect, I became inspired to write one Christmas and now I cannot stop. It is almost as if I would cease to exist without my words, the drive to create is so strong now I feel I could not stop if I so desired. As would have it, I love dancing in my red Powel and Pressburger shoes thus far. Although, the labs are working hard on a time manipulation device that will allow me more than 4 hours sleep each night!

Keep working New Splicer Lab Inc! I remember going to my first ever book signing, Jasper Fforde was promoting One of our Thursdays are missing and I managed to get a lovely dedication for the folk at New Splicer Inc. It was an interesting event, I usually do not get nervous when meeting idols [mostly as I do not idolise anyone], but this was different. I remember mentioning New Splicer [as I had previously spoken to Jasper on email regarding using New Splicer as one of his poster card give away items for the book launch] and offering him the only issue 42, of the first few issues, that I ever made. I wanted to try and not come across as a crazy fanatic [difficult when you are already a little crazy – in a good way]. Jasper was kind and gracious and smiled and we had a quick chat then I vacated the long line of fans.

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

This all happened after a memorable speech by Jasper Fforde, as quite like a fanatic I sat through the story of why he wrote and how he writes continually repeating in my head “That is how I do it! That is what I do!” it was a nice indication I am on the right path, not to success as that is decided by you, but on the correct path for me. Of all the things spoken that evening one quote persists in memory and is most akin to my own beliefs.

“I would go to any length for a bad joke” Jasper Fforde I have amongst good friends earned the nick name “Uncle Mike” in my own pursuits of the absurd and silly. And it is also these wonderful friends and family that inspire and keep me smiling to write as greedily every smile I create gives me fourfold in return. So thank you for your smiles and even your frowns and groans.

Then came the Dodo, a perfect start to New Splicer’s existence. An almost mythical creature of folly; one that has inspired smiles and insults throughout the ages. Yet a creature we have never seen, much like the dinosaurs [hence volume 2.1] and which has managed to capture our minds and dreams.

I as a scientists know a few more scientific facts that the average person, so there is a nature to believe. However, I try to dissuade this with lies and facts all in a nice smiling package. All with the intent to make you think... To see the world in a different light or more specifically to see the world in your own light, in your own way.

I am starting to believe there is much truth in a simple lie, just not the intentional truth.

Just do not believe in it or me...

The lie is out there...

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

And in the next issue...

New Splicer will be trying something a little different for the next volume.

I shall be teaming up with an unsigned musician and good friend to create a magazine/music album fusion! As I weave through the mountains of the moon, he shall sing of the fires of Mount Etna! Lyrics, insanity and mountains in verse, in print and coming to a New Splicer/Record shop near you [“Near” - dependent on how close you live from New Splicer Industries].

The magazine will be, as always, open to all your wonderful submissions! Know any mounting jokes [deliberate misspelling]? wish to sing a mountain song? Tell me your stories and draw your dream mountain!

Submit your works here: NewSplicer@gmail.com Watch the fun unfold here: www.facebook.com/NewSplicer Enjoy ~New Splicer~

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile

~NEW SPLICER~ Volume 3.5 April 2012

In this issue Topic of the month: The Eiger...

Mountains of the Moon The breasts of Sheba...

How to climb a mountain (or other small obstacles) Olympus...

The fires of Mount Etna... and much more!

Don’t forget to Breathe Seriously, do not forget to Breathe!

Don’t Don’tforget forget to to smile

Toast Marketing board

Homage to a superfood...

Nick Parker

Don’t forget to Breathe

Don’t forget to smile