| Howling at the moon does not sound that appealing |
[18 Oct 2008|11:57am] |
The Holidays do seem to have a way of creeping up on you, don't they? Halloween is just around the corner, and it seems all the magical folk is stirring restless, about to be set loose on the world. Last night, when I walked home through the park, I happened upon a gabble of pixies, quite obviously under the influence, singing nonsensical songs and defiling public property in their own very special way. Their language would have made a sailor blush, I'm rather glad there were no ladies in the vicinity to overhear. The ghost hauting the apartment above my own has been starting to act up lately, as well; he usually calms down around ten in the evening after the porter brings him a dram, but it seems not even a full glass would do the trick last night. I can't say that I'll be sorry to have Halloween over and done with.
A friend of mine suggested spending the weekend at Stonehenge, partake in the local festivities there. I'm told the Samhain spectacle is well worth the visit, but the last time I was forced into an outing in the country, the inn we spent the night at did not even have indoor plumbing. As tempting as painting my face blue and channelling the ancient spirits does sound, I fear I am too much a creature of comfort.
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| To be social, or not |
[17 Sep 2008|10:49pm] |
I have thought long and hard about it, and have come to the conclusion that ignoring this journal merely out of contempt for the spirit in which it was given is not a constructive course of action. My social calender is overflowing to the point that I am surprised I can take five minutes to write this missive to the magical world, but here we are. My name is Cornelius Wilfried Fudge, how do you do. I'll be thrilled to meet you all as long as you do not rent any rooms from my mother or come with her endorsement. It does seem a little odd, doesn't it? Anyone can pick up one of these and write, and pretend to be something or someone. We may have heard the name and even might be able to put a face to it in some instances, but how do you know even one whit of what is scribbled here is true? A bizarre way of reinventing oneself, these journals. I might write about my man-eating grandmother and the line of scarlet boys keeping her company, when really she's merely sitting by the fire knitting weather spells. Or if I wrote about the lovely blue hat the arch-duchess of York was wearing when she dropped in to have a tipple of periwinkle wine last week, but is it even the season for periwinkle wine? Charm you once, shame on me. Charm you twice...
Even if you see me pen down a laundry list, don't be too certain I'm even in the habit of wearing clothes.
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| Private business |
[16 Aug 2008|11:28am] |
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( Private )
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| Here, why don't you take some Veritaserum... |
[25 Jul 2008|04:04pm] |
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( ... )
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