An ABC conversation - Join in!

Beyond the open window stood the tall electric post. Mother sparrow, Father sparrow carried twigs and build their nest on the top of the neem tree that stood magnificently, spreading a shade of green. The woodpecker was at work at the trunk with its tic tac, tic tac, tic taC. Right, your turn! Remember to start with C and end with D and so on! Cheers, Anshuman

Can't for the life of me imagine what all these birds are doing on the Aylesbury estate mused Jude as she merrily skipped passed the woodpecker and sparrows and over an unconscious crackhead on her way to the polling station. She looked up at the vast expanse of sky above the sprawling concrete. "A great day for change" she saiD. jude "Cacoethes scribendi" http://www.judesworld.net

Dave the crackfiend disagreed. 'Change is bad. I like Status Quo.' He called after her. Jude shook her head, not sure if the briefly sentient crackhead had deliberately missed out the article. He hardly looked old enough to have a grandfather who liked that crap. So it was a great day for change, but whom to choose? Boris the Buffoon? Paddick of the Pink Policeman's helmet? Or Chameleon Ken, slippery than a bucket of eels, jellied or otherwisE.

"Frankly, I don't see what all the fuss is about," said Ray. Birds, crackheads, jungle... it's all the same to Ray. But he can remember a time when this estate was brand new. It were shiny, like. You could smell the aroma of bread being cooked. Brown bread it were too. Aye, them were the days. All we had was tuppance and we made it last all day. Real beer and a fish supper, it were lovely. Now look it... wasted! Don't get me wrong, people'll give you a 50p if you ask nicely. All I need is my bottle of cider, my ciggy's and Ginger. He's a good dog, my pal, my best friend and companion, that's my Ginger.

It has to end with the letter G ray! Suggests My pal, my best friend and companion, that's my Ginger. He's a good doG! jude "Cacoethes scribendi" http://www.judesworld.net

Gosh what's happening here? Birds, animals, greenery … is it a movement to tackle global warming? Is it a dream No way I can see the sun high up in the sky. I'll have to hurry not to be late. God 'Hurry' is racing after me. I look back at 'Hurry' and ask, "Do you want some cash"?

Heaven knows I can’t bury them. All these little bugs coming out of nowhere.. Where were they all when the industrialization was happening? Global warming. Lost world. Who will save the human race? I would not know, and I may not be alive to see it too. But in the meanwhile, for all the sparrows and woodpeckers, here I come. I plant a tree while I slurp on spaghettI ! Rusty N

“Just what is it they wanted?” asked Larry the llama of the DJ with the tinny voice (who may or may not have been called “Danny”), who, it seemed, was composed entirely out of the vines that hung from the clouds. “And why,” asked Larry, “are you composed entirely out of vines?” “That would be,” said Danny (for twas indeed his name), “on account of the fact that the encroaching junglification of the city has spread into the genes of humans, such that the fine genetic line between humans and plants is breaking down to the point of becoming almost indiscernible, except through the utilisation of machines specifically attuned to the measurement of such.” “Come again?” said Larry. “I am becoming a tree,” said Danny the DJ, just before his mouth filled with sap and all his orifices were sealed with a thin but impenetrable layer of bark. “Bugger,” said Larry the llama. “Now I’ll never know what makes these DJ types ticK.” pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

Kick off time was approaching - but still no one knew the result of the election. Was it to be trees and plantlife, newts and other animals or even human beings (although they appeared to be lagging a long way third). The DJ was a neem, the mangoes were over-ripe and fetid and life was looking up for an animaL...

Lamppost! Sitting under it I can see Mark with his sketch book and a set of sketch pens drawing the face of someone...I think it is Jude. Tony calls him from the window above. "Mark come into the office I have something interesting to show." "Yes Tony..." he gathers the sketch book and pens...moves up the stairs in a hurry. Sitting at the table sipping coffee from ABCtales mug Tony said, "Come in Mark. Look at these photographs of a sparrow, a woodpecker, a parrot and a jungle. These photographs have been sent by Anshuman taken in India. "Tony these are really beautiful" said Mark. I think I can draw the sketches but not now I have a terrible headache. Do you have a pain balM?"

Meanwhile a few blocks away, Boris was holding court. 'Mayor in waiting, meself, sure of it,' said Boris beaming – weirdly. 'Well, as a polar bear, you're going to find the heat here a bit intense, intya?' said Larry. 'I'm not a polar bear,' said Boris indignantly. 'I just have excellent hair. And, what's more, Llama I want you to be my new head of light entertainment here at the court of Boris the Bear. I want Danny to run the tube and crackhead to be my personal chauffeuse de mon bicyclette. Also now that I pretty much have power I reckon, and as it's so steamy, I think there need to be more tigers and lions roaming the city-veld, and I've decided to introduce across the entire area of Junglotropolis absolutely compulsory yoga, Buddhism, rickshaws, siestas, geothermal springs, nudism, and ,,,' He paused with a weird other idea forming in his mind and resulting in the lower part of his face forming into a weird sort of a griN.

"NURRRRPLE!!!" blurted Danny-the-DJ, as the bark suddenly fell from his gob, the sap spewed forth and he collapsed to the grassy pavement in evident exhaustion and distress. "I need to relax," he then said. "Larry-the-Llama, pass me my Yo-YO." pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

Orange cream biscuit packets were put into the picnic box along with sandwiches, pakoras, samosas, stuffed parathas and a few bottles of coke. There was excitement building up among the children. "At last dad and mom are taking us into the lap of nature and I believe we will enjoy a lot", said little Dolly. "I have heard there are sparrows, woodpeckers, deers, lions, tigers, elephants, chimpanzee, monkeys and different kinds of huge trees. I think we'll learn a lot about plants and animals. I'm so happy I can tell my biology teacher about the different kinds of leaves and flowers", said Pinky the eldest of the three siblings. Their mom was shouting at the top of her voice, "Pinky, Manju, Dolly, get ready soon, we're getting late". The three ran down the hall way shouting clap, clap, claP.

"Purple bloody hell," complained Boris, pushing away a braying PR girl kneeling under his desk and re-oiling his zip, "who let the oik brats in here?" "Never mind that," said Dave Cameron, "put this pearly king jacket on and practice your Lambeth Walk." "Oh swizz," said Boris, "I don't have to keep pretending now we've got the jolly old Conway Twitty in the bag, do I?" "You're the Mayor of London, Boggers, of course you chillin'-well do. At least for a while. Sweet. It's really just like Henley - there's a river and boats and a boat race or one." "Right, then can we put up some marquees on the Oval and serve some Pimms PDQ?"

"Quit all this prancing and political gesticulating!" said Larry the Llama, as he pranced into the room and gesticulated at Boris towards the vines and trees and tigers and buffalo and dragons and elves and chipmunks and so forth outside the window. "What does all this petty human silliness matter now?" he continued. "Can't you see there's a new world order upon us?!" "But--!" said Boris, but he was unable to utter further utterances, as Larry the Llama kicked him swiftly to the flooR. pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

'Rats!' said Boris, springing up from the floor - wonkily. 'Wot?' said Larry looking oddly at him. 'It's the Pied Piper - he's taken all the rats away,' Boris moaned, '– we get the rats back, they kill off the vegetation, that makes the tigers and lions easier to see when I'm out on safari in Borisdon …' … and things go back to drab and normal,' interrupted Larry oilily, ' and we make everyone work till they drop, making more and more money for the toffs and twits who've got all the dosh but need more of it and we subsidise all their losses and pay them double for any profits, and we sell off every last square inch to anybody who's got any gold and then give that money to those wot need more to fight for the right to make life shit for those who've got … got nothing.' 'Hang on a minute – that all sounds too much of the old left-wing sort of story for my taste. Wait a second - if I rip off this mask – ah ha – as I thought, you're actually Larry the Lamb, and if I rip off this mask – ah ha – Mr Livingstone, I presume. How did you manage to break back in so soon?' But then, Boris swayed ungainlily and clapped his hand to his brow, and then collapsed once more to the floor, faintly whingeing, 'I want to go home – where's crackface? I want lickle teddy 'cos our head hurtS.' an i man 'the procrastinator' 'the art of pee' 'that's an odd vinaigrette'

"Stick me on a polo pony and call me Big Ears,” said the real Boris, re-entering the room and zipping up, “who are all these people? Is it bally rag week or something? Get me a coffee would you, Emma, and pull your bloody knickers up, old thing. I’m a serious politician now, got to keep the Tory tottie in the background and think big thoughts. We’ve got to get The Chums back a few perks. Re-establish a bit of order, don’t you know. Can’t have a bunch of chavs and proles and oiks running around imagining they own the damn place. Isn’t that right, Cameron?” “Call me Dave,” said Dave, pulling up the hood of his hoodie and lighting a Havana. “Okay, yah, Dave or whatever, bloody right. First thing I suggest is we get rid of all those unsightly buses cluttering up the streets, make a little more room for the Range Rovers of The Chums. Fella can’t park outside his club or his tailor’s these days or buy a bottle of bubbly for a girlfriend in the rush hour. What’s the point in voting Conservative if every Tom, Dick or Wayne with his arse hanging out can get a look in?” “Shhhh,” said Dave, holding up his hands and looking from side to side furtively, “you know we never talk out loud about that!”

"The thing is," he continued "is to convince the electorate that a white old Etonian can do the inner city. Get on your tricycle and down to trafalgar square for the Sikh festival of Vaisakhi" "Oh Gouranga! I can do multicultural," said Big Bozza "my wife makes a mean chappati." "Well, just try not to speak at all," emphasized Dizzee Dave. As Bozza approached the celebrations, a riot of colours was visible from the far end of the Strand. The pigeons flocked like green Barcelonian Parakeets and the aroma of spices filled the air. But he was unaware that something sinister was unfolding across the square in a small side room on the third floor of the National Gallery. A lot of bitter people were souring the city air and wanting to give Bozza his final adieu. jude "Cacoethes scribendi" http://www.judesworld.net

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"Ut! Ut! Ut!" the bitter people in the National Gallery were saying (and your guess is as good as mine as to why they were using the old-English version of the word "Out!" rather than the... um... well, you know... new-English (or something) version), as they waved around pointy things of various descriptions. "Oh dear," said Boris, as he walked in on the bitter people, only to find himself impaled upon one of the aforementioned pointy things. "Well at least it makes good TV..." pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

"Very noble knights of the red charter, we've come down here to talk to our friend Boris and ask him if he has anything else to say about Liverpool or Manchester or Wigan," said Wayne. "yeh, but now he is the king of the smoke, he won't want to say sorry to us any more. I think we should give him a little incentive... you know, offer him cream buns or something," said Karl. "He says he's going to get rid of the scum, who's he talkin about?" said red. "We've come all the way down here and taken over the National Gallery and we're not goin back until we've seen Boris, even if it is against the laW. Ray

'Wearisome,' muttered a chimp, sat on top of Nelson's hat, 'these human goings-on, so given to umbrage that breed. Why can't they learn from us, that there's nothing that can't be solved with a good thonking or a bonking.' Grabbing a passing creeper that had just dropped from the jungle canopy above, he slid gracefully down, carefully keeping hold of his Dolce and Banana handbag all the time, and flopped into the water just beside the pool-side bar. 'Make mine a sex on the branch, will ya, apeman – thanks.' 'Eh, chimp,' reprimanded Wayne, calmly and with dignity, while dabbling his toes in the water's edge, ' who said you could put on my pop-soX?'

‘X’, she had drawn on the map of London. And here she was, standing on the marked spot. Jennifer opened her eyes wide and glanced around at the altered city. The last time she had visited was in 1999 for an Alanis Morissette concert at Wembley. She knew that Time brought change but this was a revolution. She clutched her notebook and pen close to her chest, a country poet alone and nervous amongst the City of fiction writers. She supposed she could trot out a story, especially with all the visual stimuli that shot her with bolts of terrifying colour. At least she was used to greenery, coming from Wiltshire in May. Startled, she watched a druggie shoot up a lion with what she assumed was heroine. Imagine being a heroin of a tail like this. Shit! She trod on the lion’s tale and…realised there was something very wrong with her homophones. Perhaps it was the jungle air, poisoned as it was with the fug of political jostling. She patted a nearby gorilla absent-mindedlY.

"Yikes!" she said, realising it was a gorilla. But thankfully the gorilla was asleep. And thus the only response her unsolicited patting incited was... "ZzzzzzZ..." pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

'Aaron's rod,' thought BoB.

"Big?" pondered EriC. pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

"Cunt a stupid you are!" said Bob, so annoyed that Eric had some-how read his thoughts, that he spoke in Yoda-speak, a language only understood by those addicted to the dark-side. Bob, alarmed that he had spoken his thoughts out loud, panicked at the thought of him becoming the next "Stars Wars Kid" on u-tube and contemplated going into hiding. "Don't worry" breathed his father, "that post was made by the useless writer and stupid-cunt PepsoiD"

"Don't believe everything you read on the Internet!" cautioned Eric (who, for some reason only known to those who knew it, liked to be known as "E"). pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

'Eros!', thought Tom and Gouri as they stared lovingly into each other's lovely and lovingacious eyes - it is deep love (aside) - as they watched the passing passage of a falling, loving, beloving leaF.

Friends are for life! They are everything. They make our life and we get new ones everyday. Old ones may fade away but new ones keep coming...........

"Getting back to the size of your rod, Bob," said Eric. "Is it--" But, as was almost to be expected on what was turning out to be a rather surreal day, he was distracted from his ponderances by the sudden and inexplicable transformation of his left elbow into a large and scaly fisH. pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

'Huh?' says Bob, ignoring Eric's arm-fish, kindlily, and hoping that no one will notice that his own extra foot is turning into a horse-radish. 'Is it what?' asks Aaron, beaming, and seemingly largely unconcerned about the large proboscis extending out of his ear towards Eric's pint and plate of still live and writhing macaronI.

(bugger, that'll teach me to edit - read above 2 entries in reverse order!) * * * "Is it me," said the face which was beginning to emerge from Aaron's proboscis, "or is that macaroni still alive?!" "Not only is it alive," said Eric's arm-fish (otherwise known as The Rt Hon Gordon McSpinnypot), "but it is reforming into the shape of the letter 'J'!" pe ps oid "the progenitor" "the art of tea" "that's an odd courgette"

J for Jug J for Jam J for Joke J for Joker J for Jump Little Tina was happy with her "J for" ... Enough of your J said Eric. Now move on to K

'Kink me in the pasta shells, this is it, the final curtain,' said one of the macaroni to another macarone, called Bill, as Aaron's ear's proboscis's face, also called Bill, leered ever closer, and as they started to realise the imminent prospect of mastication by either Eric or Bill. Fortunately, after a brief ejaculation of 'Exterminate', causing Bill to go limp, Bill was saved for posterity by a passing Dalek, strangely enough, also called BilL.

'Lift me off from being stranded here, chaps/ladettes!' pleaded Animan, not feeling all that calM.