Okay, here it is – the first draft of the guide to Something Rotten. This is only the beta version, and it still needs some work. I’d appreciate it if people using the guide could flag up any lies, bloopholes or references that have been missed, as well as adding any information they feel I’ve missed. Alternatively ignore the 15,000 words of hard work and start an argument about the title instead.
You have until the end of the month to bring things to my attention. Either email me privately (if you’re shy), or post things below. Please include a page reference! After that the guide will be sent to a couple of proofreaders, and once they’ve finished taking the piss out of my typos, it’ll be formatted and passed to Mr Fforde for any comments he might like to make.
Before I start the guide, there are a couple of things to flag up. Firstly, the guide has been written using the UK cheapo hardback, as I’m @#$%&. My thanks to Nicky and Dibs for their assistance.
This guide has been written under the assumption that you already know the punning names from the previous books, which is why you won’t find some characters being mentioned. At 15,000 words long as it is, I’m sure you’ll forgive me. Some of the references to books that were only a title have also been ignored, if you want to hunt them and provide me with a synopsis I’ll be happy to add them in.
As far as possible, I have avoided spoilers. Please respect this in your comments – there may be people reading who have not finished the book. I purposefully posted the guide in this forum to avoid people running into it accidentally, as many of you will know I rarely venture in here otherwise. For all of you who haven’t met me, I’m the thrombosis of the general discussion board, pleased to meet you.
Finally, all the errors are mine. I have already received tip-offs, information and early corrections from Aunt Sassy, Dave and ViolentViolet, but the idiocies are from my head alone.
Anyway, enough of this: bring on the meat!
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Something Rotten Decomposed
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Preliminary details…
There are a couple of references that escape the general confines of the book itself, if you know what I mean. The first is the title, and if you don’t recognise it from Hamlet Act One, Scene IV, then I suggest you go away and mug up on Hamlet before you even start reading the rest of the book. I believe that the Mel Gibson version comes highly recommended as a primer. (Incidentally, anyone else wondering what Ned Kelly’s Hamlet would have been like? “To be or not to be, and don’t come the raw prawn”, ”Alas, poor Yorrick, I knew him, Bruce” and ”Ahh, piss off to a nunnery, Sheila.”. I digress…)
Another reference worth drawing your attention to is the Kaine Publishing Stamp, certifying the book as having an energy content of 19180 btu. This was actually worked out by one of Mr Fforde’s fans using data collected from a government paper on future methods of generating electricity and the known weight of an American hardback copy of LIAGB. Be afraid. Be very afraid…
btu, by the way, are British Thermal Units, equivalent to the energy required to raise one pound of water by one degree Fahrenheit. This obviously varies throughout the world, in Britain the lack of plumbers anywhere south of Birmingham means that more energy is required for the same amount of heating (until someone figures out how to make a turbine small enough to harness the steam coming out of your ears when they give you a quote, anyway).
451°F, famously, is the heat at which paper spontaneously combusts.
Chapter 1:
Pg 1 – Barnaby Rudge
Set in the 1780s, amidst a background of riots and probably something else, Barnaby Rudge features no Martians that I am aware of. However, I haven’t actually read it, so I’m willing to be corrected… Anyone wishing to provide a better synopsis can feel free, but for now the best information I can give you is that it has a raven in it that apparently inspired Poe – another neat Nextian link.
Queen Pasiphae
There are various accounts of the origins of the minotaur – the half-man, half-bull slain by Theseus – and the more lurid ones of them hold that Pasiphae did the bad thing with a bull that was due to be slaughtered in honour of Poseidon. Anyone with an ill-advised curiosity can probably Google for diagrams of how this might have been achieved, but there are places even I won’t go… Pasiphae is the name of a moon of Jupiter that, appropriately enough, is found in an eccentric orbit.
Slapstick
It’s worth mentioning at this point that various methods of tracking have been tried in the real world, with equal success. Perhaps the best of these was a plan by members of Durham University to feed radioactive peanuts to squirrels, so they could trace where they’d been with a Geiger counter. Not, one suspects, the greatest advance in science, but the radioactivity signs proved a great advance in the field of burglar deterrence.
As did the glowing squirrel ****…
Pg 2 – All’s Well That Ends Well.
In a high point of Elizabethan comedy, we find the following:
PAROLLES: I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord's displeasure
LAFEU: You have made shift to run into 't, boots and spurs and all, like him that leapt into the custard; and out of it you'll run again, rather than suffer question for your residence.
Just be thankful that the invention of the custard pie routine was after Shakespeare’s time…
Death at Double-X Ranch
Mentioned in The Third Man, starring Orson Welles and set in post-war Vienna, Death At Double-X Ranch was written by Holly Martins (played by Joseph Cotton), apparently.
2387 – anyone got any ideas if this has significance?
Pg 3 – The Oklahoma Kid
Another film Western, this time featuring James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart, I’ve seen it described as a gangster movie with horses and stupid hats. Sounds good to me…
Pg 4 – Eckley’s Livery Stables
Okay, despite Googling till I turn blue, Eckley appears to be in Colorado. Anyone know what’s going on here?
Pg 5 – Norman Johnson
This has been bugging me for a while. Dustin Hoffman played a Dr Norman Johnson in ‘Sphere’, if that helps? Alternatively, Norman Johnson is a DJ on Radio North Tees. Which sounds like the sort of place a pagerunner might try and hide to me…
Pg 6 – Colt .45
From Googling, there are several guns that could be described as a Colt .45, including some from the WWII era that may have sneaked in under the accidental anachronism barrier (‘Death at…’ would have been written during the same period). However it is likely the gun referred to is the Peacemaker - a Colt gun that apparently came in many different calibres and barrel lengths. The Peacemaker appears to be shaped exactly like the stereotypical Western revolver is, with a six-bullet revolving chamber.
Zane Grey
As noted in the guide to WOLP. Zane Grey is an excitingly named author of Westerns populated with large numbers of bovines. Owen Whister is likely to be similar, and if you need to know more you can Google…
Pg 7 – Sears/Roebuck Catalogue
Sears, Roebuck and Co were formed in Chicago in 1886, and twenty years later employed over 2,000 people just to open the mail orders it received, from a catalogue selling everything from needles and thread (rather optimistically described as a sewing machine…) to cars, or even an entire house and contents.
Pg 8 – Cathouses
If UK readers are wondering whether there’s something dirty about this, a cathouse is a brothel. I have no idea why, having never visited a prostitute, Do they have some kind of litter tray in the corner or something?
Baxters
Almost certainly the Baxters from A Fistful of Dollars, directed by Sergio Leone and starring Clint Eastwood as some character shoes name escapes me… Howell may be important in this context, but I’m drawing a blank…
Howell
I suspect this might be a slightly convoluted in-joke. In ‘Highlander’ there is a drunk at a bar, who in the credits is played by ‘Prince Howell’. Close enough to Prince Hal for me, and only slightly marred by the fact that Jasper worked on ‘Highlander 2’. Oh well – anyone got any better ideas?
Pg 10 – The Winchester Rifle
Winchester sold over 720,000 rifles of their 1876 design, making it one of the most successful guns in the ‘wild west’. The Winchester rifle was semi-automatic – pulling lever ejected the spent cartridge and loaded a fresh one. Interestingly, it appears to have used the same ammunition as the Colt above…
Pg 12 – The Virginian
Written by Owen Wister, The Virginian is one of the earliest novels in the western genre, and features a protagonist who ‘loves Shakespeare and Dostoevsky’, according to the first website I came to. I really ought to read some books sometime – it’d make writing this a lot easier.
Pg 14 – Scrumping
Scrumping is the age-old tradition of ensuring fresh vitamin supplies in a non-financial context (eg ‘stealing apples from a nearby orchard’), and has been a country sport since time immemorial. Being chased home by a farmer just makes them taste sweeter. A handy hint for anyone wishing to try it, however – whilst jumpers do make exceedingly good bags, remember to tie knots to close every hole, and check them frequently. Many criminal masterminds have been caught at an early age by forgetting to check a trail of apples hasn’t fallen out for the farmer to follow…
Pg 15 – Ha’penny
Shortened form of a half penny (worth about one toe-nail clipping in modern UK coinage). 480 ha’pennies made up a pound, for some unfathomable reason. Despite this, old people often insist that the old coinage made more sense…
Pg 16 – Wild Horse Mesa
Written by Zane Grey, and telling the story of some bloke who goes to buy horses off an Indian in Utah, who tells him about a wild mustang that cannot be captured. The star of this story resolves to capture it, even if it costs him the woman he loves. Don’t know about you, but I think I can spot whose brain got sucked…
Pg 18 – ‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown’
From Henry IV, pt 2, in case you were wondering. Worth mentioning if only for the anagram: O what treachery awaits unseen, eh lads?
Joan of Arc
Joan of Arc is either: a) one of the greatest French heroines and military leaders who caused the English no end of trouble and turned the Hundred Years War or b) some cross-dressing tart who went insane and whose only real value was as a novelty cigarette lighter. You decide.
Jeanne d’Arc, or ‘La Pucelle’ (the maid), has long ago disappeared under various levels of mythology, canonised by the Catholic church, revered in France and subject to vast quantities of propaganda from the English, it’s hard to tell what is truth and what is fiction. What is certainly true is that she was at least a mascot for the French army, and quite probably a leader of it (a long running argument, this) and that she was burnt as a witch after being captured by the Burgidinians and then sold onto the English. For all the French curses about this course of action, it’s worth noting that Charles VII had plenty of opportunities to pay a ransom for her life, in fact he did nothing. It has been widely alleged that he feared Joan’s popularity, and used the English to bump off a potential rival.
Xanadu
‘In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn a stately pleasure dome decree’ – apparently this early tourist venture failed when the meeting with his publicist was interrupted by some bloke from Porlock Weir, spelling a hasty end for this troubled venture. Incidentally, anyone wondering if this speech seems familiar should head off down to the bonus features section of the website to see why…
Pg 19 – Zenobia
Readers will remember the unicorn sanctuary from the last book, but it’s worth noting here that Zenobia was Queen of Palmyra from 267 to 272, until Aurelian came and invaded for Rome. In this context ‘leafy forests’ suggest a serious hygiene issue…
Ozymandias
Ah, look on my works, ye mighty, and thank the heavens that Shelley managed to write a nice short poem for a change. Ozymandias was apparently the king of kings, which must piss off Zhark no end. If you haven’t read this poem, you’re missing out.
Biggles
Major James Bigglesworth DSO,DFC,MC is perhaps the most famous fighter pilot ever to take off from Blighty. Written by Captain W.E. Johns, the books invariably had title along the lines of ‘Biggles Flies South’, ‘Biggles Flies North’ and ‘Biggles Flies Undone’. The latter book, sadly, appears only in playground jokes. The enduring fascination for Mr Fforde can only have something to do with the pulse-quickening pleasure of playing about in a flying machine.
Long John Silver
Possibly the only pirate in literature to be named after an item of underwear, LJS was the star of Stephenson’s ‘Treasure Island’, in which he was revealed to be an evil man indeed. Theories as to what caused him to turn evil generally turn upon his lost leg, an accident that led him onto a life of crime as soon as he realised stealing shoes from outside the shop was now an option…
England’s Mountains Green
Various songs fight it out for the title of the English National Anthem, and nobody can ever decide, which is why the English put up with the godawful dirge that by rights belongs to the whole of the United Kingdom. ‘Jerusalem’, by noted crack-pot mythologist, poet and doodler William Blake, is one of the two front-runners. Some pedants argue that England doesn’t have any proper mountains, others say that it does – and it stole them from Wales. More informed pedants point out that mountains are defined by the geological processes that created them, and can, for geographic purposes, be entirely flat. This explains perennial rumours of the existence of Norfolk Mountain Rescue…
Chapter 2
Pg 21 – Wessex
As elucidated last time, Wessex is (depending on your historical viewpoint) the area of England roughly equivalent to Somerset, Dorset and Wiltshire, an ancient Saxon kingdom, or Hardy’s lightly fictionalised setting for his novels. Mr Fforde’s version appears to be a cross between the first and last of these, unless I have missed a reference to a bearded bloke in a furry cloak and a heavy Germanic accent wondering where his sodding hall has gone…
Prince of Denmark
Perhaps, at his first mention, it is best to deal with the tale of Hamlet here. The first Shakespeare character to gain a lucrative contract endorsing cigars (a fashion which faded after the infamous ‘Never alone with a Shylock’ disaster), Hamlet was named after his father, imaginatively named ‘Hamlet’.
Hamlet’s troubles start before the play opens, when his father dies and his uncle, Claudius, takes the throne of Denmark and marries Gertrude, Hamlet’s mother. Hamlet suspects that Claudius bumped off the old Hamlet, and this is confirmed by the ghost of his father, who also reveals it was poison administered through the ear. Hamlet, logically enough, is quite upset at this. Slightly less logically, he decides the only course of action is to pretend to go mad.
At this point the urge to pretend to be mad also comes over the person trying to explain the plot, but here goes…
Claudius and Gertrude, along with Polonius, the king’s advisor, decide to send Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to spy on Hamlet. Hamlet, meanwhile, is being terribly rude to Polonius’ daughter, Ophelia, inducing Polonius to believe that Hamlet is in love with her. Polonius isn’t too happy about this, and forbids her to see Hamlet. Claudius, meanwhile, packs Hamlet off to England to get him out of the way. Before he goes, however, Hamlet organises a company of players to act out a thinly disguised version of old Hamlet’s death to try and get Claudius to go mad – a strategy that fails somewhat when Hamlet ends up stabbing Polonius through a curtain.
Those who have made it this far with me won’t be surprised to hear that the action fails to slow down – Hamlet is still bundled off to England, with orders from Claudius for the English to kill him when he arrives. Hamlet changes the orders, however, to order the deaths of Guildenstern and Rosencrantz but gets captured by pirates one day later.
At this point Laertes, Polonius’ son and Ophelia’s brother, returns from France, where he has been spied on by somebody else. Understandably upset about his father’s death, he’s even more annoyed when Ophelia does the dead goldfish routine (ie goes round the bend) before going for her last bath.
Hamlet is now sold back to Claudius by the pirates, and he has one last go at removing his nephew. Organising a distinctly rigged duel between Laertes and Hamlet (with a poisoned sword for Laertes and poisoned wine for the victor just in case), Claudius’ plan is slightly wrecked by Gertrude swallowing the poisoned chalice, and Hamlet winning – although Laertes rescues the dramatic action for us by scratching Hamlet with the poisoned sword anyway. Hamlet then grabs the sword and cuts Laertes back, ensuring his death, at which point Gertrude reveals she has been poisoned. Laertes then admits the treachery, at which point Hamlet runs Claudius through. Horatio, Hamlet’s best friend, offers to commit suicide too, but Hamlet urges him to stay alive to tell the tale. Right at the end Hamlet gets to bequeath the throne to Fortinbras, the prince of Norway, for reasons that currently escape me. Probably the Scandinavian idea of a practical joke before Ikea flat-pack furniture, I guess…
Got that? Good – you can now hope to understand much of SR.
Fictionaut
It is perhaps worth drawing the casual reader to this phrase, which was coined by Jon Brierley, who instigated the habit of writing these guides.
Pg 25 - Edith Cavell
Nurse Edith Cavell was born in Norfolk in 1865, and was executed by the German military in 1915 for smuggling allied soldiers to neutral Holland whilst working under the banner of the Red Cross. Cavell accepted her execution stoically, and was shot in the early hours of October 12th, handing a propaganda coup to the allies. Cavell’s remains were exhumed after the war, and repatriated to England, where she was accorded a state funeral in Westminster Abbey before burial in Norfolk.
Photographs of Nurse Cavell show her to have a perfectly decent haircut, so why mention her at this point in Something Rotten? Could it possibly be an excuse to squeeze in a reference to the mountain named in her honour in Canada’s Jasper National Park?
Tolpuddle
The Tolpuddle Martyrs were amongst the early trade unionists, using the new right to form unions in the 1832 Great Reform Act to create a union of just six members to campaign for a wage of 10 shillings a week. A local landowner, outraged at commoners getting uppity, managed to agitate for their prosecution under an obscure law forbidding the swearing of oaths in 1834. All six were transported to Australia, but they were released in 1836, after intervention from the then Home Secretary Lord John Russell, who was later to be Foreign Secretary during the Schleswig-Holstein problem (he also held the post of Prime Minister twice).
Emma Hamilton
Emma ‘Lady’ Hamilton was born in 1765, and by the age of 17 was already notorious in London society as a serial mistress and semi-nude dancer in a quack doctor’s ‘Temple of Health and Hymen’, before her life changed when she was swapped as a mistress (in return for payment of various gambling debts) with Sir William Hamilton, who married her in 1791. In 1793, now living in Corsica, she was introduced to Nelson, who despite having only one eye, hardly any teeth, and less than the normal complement of arms, managed to get his leg over. Hamilton tolerated the relationship, but the newspapers took delight in sending her up – despite this she lived openly with Nelson after Hamilton’s death in 1803. After Nelson’s death in 1805 she squandered the money left to her by Hamilton very quickly, and drank herself to death in squalor in 1815, in Calais.
Mr Bismarck
That nice Mr Bismarck is, of course, Prince Otto von Bismarck, the 19th century’s premier warmonger and the person who almost single-handedly drove the unification of Germany under Prussia, and probably the fashion for those funny pointy-hats.
Mr Fforde, in his wonderful ‘Making of...’ says that the ‘von’ has gone AWOL as Bismarck wasn’t a duke in 1864, my own research (or ‘listening to my German girlfriend whinging’, as it ought to be known) suggests that the ‘von’ was there from birth, as he came from an aristocratic family. Whether he should therefore be referred to as ‘Herr von Bismarck’ or ‘Graf’ is a matter of some confusion, however. This is the sort of problem you have when you get rid of a system of aristocracy but still need to refer to the buggers years later…
Pg 26 – Ikea
Ikea, as you will be aware, is the Swedish flat-pack furniture manufacturer that makes a fortune out of tormenting you with instructions that almost, but not entirely, look like the contents of the pack in front of you. This guide is sort of the same – it’s taken hours to put together, and there’s a suspicion lingering that it will shortly fall to pieces but at least it’s @#$%&. I can’t help with any requirements you may have for pickled herring though.
Battenberg
Battenberg cake consists of pink and yellow sponge wrapped in marzipan, so that when you cut it open you get a neat 2x2 chequerboard effect. Battenberg was named after the Battenberg family (there were four Battenberg princes in the Royal family), inspiring the name, although the significance was lost in the Great War, when they changed their name to a less German ‘Mountbatten’. It’s the sort of cake you have with afternoon tea, and the marzipan ensures an argument over its merits every time…
Wittenberg
Wittenberg is the home of a famous university, and was the place where Martin Luther started his novelty doorknocker trade – “no hawkers, traders or ecclesiastical backhanders” - and kicked off the Reformation). Although it has little to do with cake, it’s rescued by being the first place in Germany to have a lightening rod. Well, if you’re going to have blokes like Luther potentially pissing off the almighty, it’s a wise precaution, isn’t it?
Doilies
Doilies are lacy bits of paper to stop cakes sticking to the plate. They didn’t stop the cake sticking to the paper though, but I guess it was free fibre when times were hard… I remember being taught to make them in primary school, but the purpose escapes me. I only remember it as shortly afterwards the nice teacher was forced to resign, we were banned from visiting the old folk’s home ever again, and all the scissors were taken away. Still, it wasn’t as bad as the day they taught us about Guy Fawkes. How was I to know it wasn’t a practical?
Camelot
Ah, Camelot – mythical home of Arthur and the knights of the round table, or non-mythical company that runs the UK’s National Lottery. Or ‘Lotto’, as they insist on calling it. I have a suspicion that ‘Lancelot’ is a dirty pun handed down through the ages, and that Guinevere is a sort of Arthurian version of Emma Hamilton. Camelot is very handy as a rhyme for ‘pram a lot’, as Python proved…
Pg 27 – Gorillas
According to the BBC, females and juveniles readily climb trees. Well, that stopped my pedantic suspicions in their tracks, didn’t it? Still, I’ll include it to stop any thoughts you were having.
Panel beating
The noble art of hitting metal with a hammer to return it to the shape your car was in previously. Not, sadly, the art of taking a baseball bat to politicians on certain political shows…
DH82
I suspect the Thylacine is named after the web-design company, and not the other way round. You never can tell, though. The Thylacine, or ‘Tasmanian Wolf’ as it was also known, was a mangy-looking predator hunted to extinction as a pest species – you could still claim a bounty for shooting one even when it became clear they were running out of them to shoot. Rumours persist that a small population may have survived, but if they do nobody has yet found conclusive proof.
Pg 28 – The Brunel Centre
Named after Isambard Kingdom Brunel, a great Victorian gent whose many achievements include the Thames Tunnel (working with his father), the revolutionary steamship SS Great Britain (the first steamship to cross the Atlantic), the Great Western Railway (that led directly to the growth of Swindon), the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and last, but not least, the daftest hat in the history of engineering. If it’s big, impressive and has several thousand tonnes of iron involved in its construction, there’s a good chance that Brunel was involved.
Pg 29 – Copenhagen
One of the more outrageous of Nelson’s actions, the Battle of Copenhagen came about after the Baltic countries form the Armed Neutrality of the North (basically they just wanted Napoleon to go away, and keeping the British out of the Baltic – vital for supplies of timber for the fleet – seemed like a good idea). The Danes knew the British, under Parker, were coming, and had blocked the deep entrance to the port with their strongest ships.
After Nelson’s proposal for a show of force was rejected, a single frigate was sent with a list of demands. Unsurprisingly, the Danes, secure in their defences, rejected it. The next day Nelson took the 12 boats least likely to run aground and sneaked past the Danes across the shallow water they thought protected them, and proceeded to blow up everything in sight until they surrendered.
Legend has it that three hours into the battle, seeing three boats run aground and Nelson having the time of his life, Parker started signalling frantically to abort the attack. Nelson, so the story goes, stuck his telescope to his blind eye, and said ‘I have a right to be blind sometimes, I see no signal’, and carried on regardless. The resulting victory cemented the Nelson myth.
Interestingly, in 1807 the Danes tried it again, with pretty much the same result.
Elsinor
Elsinor, or Helsingør, is the closest bit of Denmark to Sweden. The castle is actually the Kronborg Slot, and it’s advertised (rather dubiously) as being on the ‘Danish Riviera’. Leave the bikini at home, I suspect…
Pg 30 – French Windows
Perhaps now known elsewhere as Freedom Windows, French windows are basically large paned doors that one can open wide to provide an easy way in and out of the garden of a house – the difference between them and patio doors is they open on hinges, whereas patio doors slide.
Pg 31 – Lorem Ipsum
As explained by Mr Fforde within the book, Lorem Ipsum is a form of pseudo-Latin used to help with typesetting. The advantage of it is that it replicates fairly accurately the sort of spacing you’d expect with English, but you don’t have to make any sense of it. Accusations that it is nonsense Latin aren’t quite true – it turns out to come from Cicero, writing in about 45BC on ethics. The original starts “Neque porro quisquam est qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit . . .” (There is no-one who loves pain itself, who seeks after it and wants to have it, simply because it is pain . . .).
A quick Google for Ipsum Lorem will find you hundreds of websites in construction using it to get the layout right. Richard Clintock, the person who discovered the source of the quote, recalled having seen a 15th century book of typefaces that used it, meaning that it has been used, more or less unaltered, for over five centuries. Not bad, huh?
(I suspect quite a few quotes have been sneaked in by Mr Fforde throughout the book – I have neither the time nor inclination to hunt them all down, but will willingly collate an appendix if people wish to collect translations of Friday’s utterings)
Pg 32 – Mrs Worthing
I can’t find a Mrs Worthing, certain or not, but I can tell you that Worthing, in Sussex, has been voted the worst place in Britain to be young. Known as ‘God’s Waiting Room’, it has two cinemas compared to 15 funeral parlours and 50 old people’s homes. Anyone fancy a right to reply?
Nope, can’t see anyone rushing to its defence. Tottering slowly, perhaps…
Pg 33 – Sister Bettina
There may well be a more mundane explanation of this but the first person to sleep with Casanova, when he was just 11, was a priest’s sister who went by the name of (yup) Bettina. They did sex education properly in those days, didn’t they?
Stroud
Stroud is a genteel Cotswold town in Gloucestershire, with a railway station built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Historically Stroud produced cloth, with mills powered by water from the five valleys above it, but latterly it produced Laurie Lee – author of Cider With Rosie. Several websites link Mr Fforde with Stroud, but I’m not sure this isn’t out of confusion with his cousin-in-law, Katie Fforde, who I think does live there. Never trust the internet, would appear to be the lesson.
Pg 34 – Roger Kapok
Kapok seems the right sort of noise for a croquet ball to make, but unless I’m missing a really bad pun, there seems to be little sense to the name, the kapok tree - Bombax ceiba – produces seed pods whose fluffy interior is used for stuffing cushions and sound insulation, but this name still troubles me.
Pg 35 – Evade The Question Time
As explained in the bonus section elsewhere on Mr Fforde’s website, ‘Question Time’ is a venerable TV programme in the UK, in which a panel of four politicians are invited to answer questions by an audience of ‘ordinary people’. Rarely will they take up this invitation – preferring to talk rubbish about anything other than the matter in hand.
Mr Rudyard’s Cakes
Perhaps the most famous UK manufacturer of cakes is Mr Kipling, whose cakes, we are told in advert after advert, do taste exceedingly good. Surely you’re literate enough to get the joke already? See - just so.
Pg 36 – The Schleswig-Holstein problem
The problem, as I understand it, is that Prussia wanted it, and so did Denmark. At the time, however, it was said that only three people understood it: one had died, one had gone mad and the third had forgotten the answer. The problem came about, in truth, because the territory was home to both Danes and Germans, and it was only settled by referendums in North and South Schleswig in 1920. North Schleswig voted to become part of Denmark, the southern portion remained German. Holstein never got a vote, as it was geographically now surrounded by Germany anyway (a vote to remain German was virtually certain in any case).
Pg 37 – Tickia orologica
As noted previously by Jon Brierley in a previous guide, Tickia orologica is the Latin name given to a plant in Edward Lear’s ‘Nonsense Botany’. Quite what the cod-Latin translates exactly as is a pointless debate, I’d go for ‘horological ticking’, Jon went for ‘ticking clock’ – the difference is mostly as I’m pretentious. Choose whichever flavour you prefer, and hunt for the drawings yourself to see what it looks like.
Pg 38 – Walking with Ducks
Many readers will be aware with the premiere CGI nature spectacular of ‘Walking with Dinosaurs’, which I think I’m right in saying was a joint BBC/Discovery Channel venture, famous for making improbably precise statements about dinosaur behaviour that we can never prove or disprove – what, with behaviour not fossilising very well… As theatre it was reasonably cool, as science it left quite a bit to be desired.
Most amusing were statements about how such and such a beast was highly coloured – colour being the one thing we have notoriously have little knowledge about. Ironically, working out the colours of ducks from fossilised feathers would be theoretically possible – whilst reds, greys, browns and blacks tend to be formed by pigments, the iridescent blues and greens are formed by the structure of the feathers involved refracting and reflecting light via tiny striations (as in beetles, to name another example where colour would show). See, learn something everyday, don’t you?
Anas platyrhynchos
The mallard to you and me – the mallard is the commonest UK duck: the one with the green head and creamy-brown body. The females are less showy, as with most ducks.
Echidna
There are two species of echidna, and along with the platypus they form the entire extant collection of monotremes – egg laying mammals. They are only found in Australia, and look cute as anything.
Pg 41 – Wootton Basset
A more or less anonymous Wiltshire town, by all accounts.
Candice de Floss
Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. If I explain that cotton candy is known as candy floss in the UK, you’ll start looking for a table to bang your head against too.
Pg 42 – Compass Rose
Shamelessly pinching information from other people, in this case Aunt Sassy off the fforum, Nicholas Monsarrat wrote 'The Cruel Sea', in which the corvette on which they hung about constantly wearing duffel coats was the Compass Rose. In the film version, btw, the boat that played the Compass Rose was the Coreopsis, one of the few surviving boats of the Liverpool Escort Force in which Nicholas Monsarrat served and which had directly informed his writing. How’s that for accuracy in a movie, eh?
“And so the tabloids…”
This is a reworking of a poem by Jonathon Swift:
“So, Nat'ralists observe, a Flea
Hath smaller fleas that on him prey,
And these have smaller still to bite 'em,
And so proceed ad infinitum:
Thus every poet, in his kind,
Is bit by him that comes behind”
(Apparently this is the lesser quoted version, most people knowing a different third line, and most people forgetting the last couplet – in light of the reference, I think it rather important to add it…)
Pg 43 – Guinzilla
We’ve all seen the apocalyptic monster movies, and a giant guinea pig (or cavy, for the pedants) seems as plausible as anything else. My betting is that the secret attack is to wee on people. Hell, that’s what every single one I’ve ever met has done. Or is that just me?
Chapter 3
Pg 45 – Angles, Bruts and Flynns
It may surprise no-one to hear that only one of these tribes appear to have invaded (and indeed given their name to) England – the others are a famous aftershave and a swashbuckling movie star.
‘New Oppressor’
Presumably a rival to the modern ‘New Statesman’, formed in 1913 “with the aim of permeating the educated and influential classes with socialist ideas”. It’s worth noting that ‘socialist’ doesn’t have quite the same negative tones as it does in the USA, Socialism and Communism being seen as two quite different things (although obviously there is a grey line dividing the two).
Pg 46 – Cash for Llamas
There was an infamous court case a few years back that proved a British MP had taken money for asking questions in the House of Commons, and I assume that this is what the scandal refers to. Llamas are inherently amusing, and I seem to remember a Goliath plot with them before. Or am I getting confused with the opening credits to Monty Python and the Holy Grail?
Unreform Act
The Great Reform Act, and the later Reform Acts of 1867 and 1884, extended the franchise (those who can vote) to a much wider population than previously. The 1832 Act gave the vote to all males paying more than £10 a year in rent (£2 in rural areas) for property, or owning their own property. It also removed the notorious rotten boroughs (those with a tiny easily bribed electorate) and pocket boroughs (those with just one voter, who could pick who he wanted as his two MPs). The Great Reform Act only extended the vote to about a seventh of the UK’s male population, but marked a huge change towards democracy. Kaine’s Unreform Act appears to roll back the clock to before the 1867 Act, where male lodgers paying over £10 were also enfranchised – an increase of 1.5 million voters.
Pg 48 - Fawsten Gayle
The Beaufort Scale was developed by Francis Beaufort, the commander of HMS Woolwich, in 1805. Scales had existed before to compare wind from day to day, but Beaufort’s position in the 1830s as the Hydrographer to the Royal Navy enabled him to press for his scale to be used above earlier, more vague, scales (his was drawn up specifically with reference to the quantity of sail that could be carried). Beaufort, incidentally, commissioned the voyage of the Beagle, upon which an unknown scientist set forth to see the world. Charles Darwin came back somewhat better known, especially after publishing a well-received account of the voyage. The captain of the Beagle, Robert Fitzroy, subsequently became the first director of what is now the Met Office.
And what, you ask, does this have to do with old Fawsten? Not much, but Force Ten on the Beaufort Scale is officially a gale.
Ernst Stricknene
Ernst, presumably, comes from Ernst Stavros Blofeld, erstwhile enemy of James Bond. Stricknene, on the other hand, is a corruption of Strychnine – a deadly poison. An alkaloid, within twenty minutes of exposure strychnine starts to cause the body to convulse, and the spasms get more severe, and painful, until death comes either by exhaustion or paralysis of the brain stem causing breathing to stop. The popularity of strychnine in literature and film comes from these easily recognised, and agonising, symptoms. Not a nice way to go – the only cure is a massive dose of some kind of depressant (cyanide would work, I think). If you last 24 hours, however, you’re likely to survive.
Lego
From the Danish ‘Leg godt’, “meaning “to stick painfully into the sole of the foot”, Lego existed as a company name long before they came to apply the name exclusively to the ‘automatic binding bricks’ produced by the company. Can there be anyone in the Western world who hasn’t played with Lego at some stage or another?
Pg 48 – Kierkegaard
Søren Aabye Kierkegaard was a 19th Century philosopher and theologian who has been claimed as the father of existentialism, although this is now debated. Kierkegaard can be hard to untangle, especially in his early work where he wrote books under pseudonyms – and then more works arguing against them under another pseudonym…
Hans Christian Andersen
Born in 1805, HCA was considered a strange little boy even by his family. After a few lucky breaks, notably royal patronage that had him sent to school in (of all places) Elsinore, HCA attained his greatest fame through his Fairy Tales, including The Ugly Duckling, The Little Mermaid (without the hideous happy ending and stupid singing crab of the Disney version) and The Princess and the Pea. Apparently the character of Uriah Heep was modelled upon Andersen, after Dickens met him on a visit to England.
Karen Blixen
The only one of Santa’s reindeer to have achieved any literary success (Rudolph’s ‘atuobiography’ detailing ‘my cocaine hell’ was in fact ghost written), Blixen wrote under the pseudonym Isak Dinesen. Her greatest success came from her account of her time in Kenya (where she owned a coffee plantation) ‘Out of Africa’.
Tudor Webastow
Tudor Webasto apparently makes sunroofs. They sponsored the Manx rally in 1985. Here endeth the lesson.
Pg 49 – Fay Bentoss
Quite possibly a relative of Fray Bentos, the pie-in-a-can manufacturers, named (it appears) after the capital of the Rio Negro department of SW Uruguay. Learn something every day through Google…
Miss Pupkin
Possibly named after Rupert Pupkin, the star-obsessed wannabe comedian and autograph hunter from the King Of Comedy. Only possibly, mind…
Pg 52 – Young man with dyed red hair
It is slightly worrying to come face to face with a character from a book, no matter how incidental the character. When you come face to face with them in a mirror, however, it’s just plain weird. For future Fforde scholars, it should be noted that the young man is none other than PSD (Poetscientistdrinker), the thrombosis of the Fforum, who when SR was being written still had dyed red hair.
Pg 52 – Mrs Malaprop
The pineapple of politeness, and famous from The Rivals, by Sherridan. Malaprop consistently mixes up her words with ‘comic’ effect. Shakespeare did the same thing with Dogberry in Much Ado About Nothing, so one wonders why we talk of malapropisms, rather than dogberryisms.
Chapter 4
Pg 57 – Warwick Fridge
Anyone know what’s going on here? He turns up writing about ratings in LIAGB, but then nothing is heard of him. Surely I’m missing a pun?
Leigh Onzolent
Lee on Solent is a Hampshire town, the Solent in question being the channel separating the Isle of Wight from the mainland.
Arkwright’s
Arkwright, played by Ronnie Barker, was the shop-owning star of ‘Open All Hours’, a popular sitcom from 1973. Arkwright had a speech impediment, and one routine – in which he asks for four candles/fork handles - has burnt itself into the nation’s collective humour bank.
Pg 58 – Xplkqulkiccasia
“Hard-to-pronounce medical term used to describe the 'Shock of discovering that what we thought was fiction is real' Sometimes fatal.” – from the master himself.
Pg 60 – Lucky gonk
Lucky gonks were a phenomenon as mascots on children’s TV quiz shows during the ‘70s and ‘80s, and no winner was complete without a mascot in front of them. They were probably provided by the producers, or something – surely at least one kid was capable of staring at a TV camera without needing a fluffy toy to help them?
Pg 64 – MOT
The MOT is a test that motor cars must pass every year once they are three years old, to ensure that they are still safe to be on the roads. The initials come from the Ministry Of Transport, as far as I can tell – although any more information would be welcomed.
Pg 65 – Porsche
How posh people say ‘posh’.
Griffin-6 Lowrider
The only example of such a car on the web appears to be here: [
www.jasperfforde.com]. Which doesn’t get us terribly far, does it?
Pg 66 – Mrs Barnet
A Barnett is cockney rhyming slang (you know, cockney – the accent that sounds nothing like whatever Dick van Dyke was attempting in Mary Poppins) for hair, after Barnett Fair. You can’t play it in Scrabble, sadly.
Pg 70 – Zeffirelli’s Hamlet
The Mel Gibson version, and recommended for its brevity, apparently.
Chapter 5
Pg 72 – rollmop herrings
Pickled herring fillets, rolled up and bunged onto a stick. You either hate them or tolerate them…
Pg 74 – Lake Wobegon Days
Written by Garrison Keillor about a fictional Wisconsin town, I have to admit I know nothing about this except the web has lots of copies going very cheaply.
Pg 76 – Cousin Eddie
Cousin Eddie may well come from National Lampoon films, where he was played (at least initially) by Randy Quaid. Any better ideas gleefully accepted.
Wolverhampton
Perhaps this is a good place to clear something up about Wolverhampton. People from there, whilst superficially sounding like Brummies, are not from Birmingham. They are from the Black Country, which is part of the general West Midlands conurbation of which Birmingham forms the greater part.
Pg 80 – Tarbuck Graviport
Jimmy Tarbuck, erstwhile citizen of Liverpool, golfer and sometime comedian deserves this honour at least as much as the pot-addled long-haired hippy who whinged ‘Give peace a chance’ before retiring to bed with his missus and half the world’s media deserves to have his name on the real world Liverpool airport. Okay, I actually quite like Lennon, but to British ears this is a neat satire on the habit of renaming airports after people’s deaths. Incidentally, in a Nextian twist there are rumours that Coventry airport is going to rename itself Shakespeare International…
Chapter 6
Pg 82 – Gaskell
Elizabeth Gaskell, Victorian author, mate of Dickens and best known for her biography of Charlotte Bronte and for her novel "Mary Barton: A tale of Manchester life.". The most interesting fact I can discover is her middle name: Cleghorn.
Coleridge
Samuel Taylor Coleridge was responsible for the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Kubla Kahn, and the profit margin of several opium dealers. One of Wordsworth’s mates (with whom he wrote “The lyrical ballads”), Coleridge was one of the key players in the Romantic movement.
Pg 83 – Samuel Pring?
Anyone know who this bloke is?
Duff-Rolecks
Rolexes are the world’s most forged watches, and something that is duff fails to work. QED.
Pg 85 – Officer Jodrell
Hmm, there is a radio telescope on the Cheshire plain known as Jodrell Bank (I can see it from where I normally go climbing). This could be a misfiring pun, lots of fishing areas are known as ‘banks’ e.g. the Dogger Bank, the Grand Banks, and this may be a reference to that. Or it might be a lot easier to explain. Anyone?
Pg 86 – “Ydy, ond dydy hi ddim wedi bwrw glaw pob dydd”
“Yes, but it didn’t rain every day” is my best shot at a translation.
Mark Twain
Not surprising that Mark Twain and Samuel Clemens get them confused – they’re the same person, Clemens took the pseudonym from the river pilots on the Mississippi, who would call ‘mark twain’ as they sounded the river.
Chapter 7
Pg 89 – Diatrymas
There were four species in the genus Diatryma, all of which were giant, flightless carnivorous birds and scary as hell. Living 50-55 million years ago (in the Eocene), the largest species, Diatryma gigantean, was anything up to three metres high, with a 50cm beak. The bite was probably slightly less painful than that from a hamster, but I still wouldn’t recommend one as a child’s pet.
Pg 90 – the Solution of Edwin Drood
‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood’ is what actually happens, as Dickens died before he could finish the tale. The villain of the story, conspiracy theorists note, was called Jasper. Is there something rotten at the heart of the conspiracy?
Pg 92 – The Concept of Dread
Or "begrebet angest", published by Kierkegaard in 1844, this argues that the source of dread, or fear, is the ‘eternal’ within man. Without the eternal there would be no dread, and anyone feeling the dread without admitting it is doomed to despair. Or something.
Pg 93 – Cartlandromin
One of the UK’s most prodigious authors, at least in terms of output, Dame Barbara Cartland was a mass of pink taffeta, poor make-up (she was once described as looking like ‘she’d tried to eat lipstick with her eyes’) and inexplicable popularity. Her romantic novels were widely derided, yet she sold over a billion copies of some 724 titles.
Handley Paige
Handley Paige were the manufacturers of the Halifax bomber during WWII, and later the Victor, amongst other planes. Information on them on the web is hard to come by, however, so I can’t tell you much more.
Basil Brush
For people of a certain age Basil Brush is a national institution. A fox puppet in hunting tweeds, he would interview quite serious guests and tell appalling jokes (always following the punch line with a hearty ‘Boom Boom!’) on children’s TV. He disappeared from the screens in the mid-‘80s, and has just made his comeback. To get an idea of the general effect, imagine Squire Weston from Tom Jones doing a puppet show…My English teacher had played a policeman on the Basil Brush show, and saw this as a highlight of his career.
Chapter 8
Pg 95 - Celebrity Kidney Swap
The recent trend in UK television has been for reality TV shows, starring ‘real’ people, to be remade starring ‘celebrities’ – normally the sort that have become famous for showing flesh at awards’ ceremonies and little else (indeed, many of them only became known through reality TV in the first place). By now we really are scraping the bottom of the barrel, although it’s interesting to note that whilst the US market has gone for more extreme formats, the UK market has kept similar formats and replaced the nobodies with somebodies. I’m sure we can all think of people suitable for Kidney Swap, but only if we can swap the kidney for, say, a small alarm clock.
Pg 98 – Winston Churchill
Whilst not killed by a cab in 1932, Winston Churchill really did blot his copy book in the Great War, being responsible for the cock-up that was Gallipoli.
Pg 99 – Berwick-upon-Tweed
Berwick is the northernmost town in England, and has been fought over many times. Incidentally, if anyone tries to tell you that the North Sea oil fields are Scottish by rights, they’re wrong. The border turns north to keep Berwick on the English side, and under international law borders continue out to sea at the same angle they hit the shore – meaning about half the fields are English, no matter how far north they are. There’s no use to this information unless you get into an argument with a Scot’s nationalist, when it becomes rather amusing to drop it into conversation…
Fetlar
As well as sounding like it ought to be part of a horse, Fetlar is one of the Shetland Islands.
Pol Pot, Bokassa, Idi Amin, Mozart, Henson, Mother Theresa
Pol Pot killed up to 2 million Cambodians in his ‘Year Zero’ attempt to return Cambodia to a feudal state – most of the dead were executed for being ‘intellectuals’, Bokasa declared himself the Emperor of Central Africa after a bloody coup in the Central African Republic (wonder how they came up with the name for that?), Idi Amin was a notorious despot in Uganda, Mozart composed some annoying ringtones for mobile phones, Henson created the Muppets, Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock, and Mother Theresa was an Albanian nun who tended the sick in Calcutta.
Chapter 9
Pg 105 – Holmes and Watson
They may not be in the wrong book, actually – they stop for lunch in Swindon in the Boscombe Valley Mystery.
Pg 107 – Julie Aseizer
With this joke, I believe we may have finally passed the punning Rubicon. Alea jacta est, eh Jasper?
Pg 108 – Saveloy
A saveloy is a sort of savoury sausage in a tight, red skin that can only be found in chip shops. Presumably it contains some sort of meat.
Toasters from Hell! And You’ve Been Stapled!
The ‘From Hell!’ TV shows started with ‘Neighbours From Hell!’ and rapidly got less interesting. ‘You’ve Been Framed!’ was a popular show where viewers sent in their ‘hilarious’ videos to some annoying bearded tit. It is now less popular, and the quality of videos is no less ‘hilarious’. They now send them to a fat woman instead, who now I think of it may need her stomach stapling. Or her mouth – I’m not fussed.
Chapter 10
Pg 109 – Fear and Trembling
The thought of trying to understand Kierkegaard fills me with this… Fear and Trembling (Frygt og Bæven) is basically an argument over whether Abraham (in the Bible tale) was acting ethically when he was ready to sacrifice his own son. Kierkegaard basically argues that as he was acting from a higher imperative (the infinite part of being human) but was aware his actions were inherently wrong (from the finite part) he was demonstrating a perfect awareness of self (which only comes from the relationship between the two). If this makes your head spin, you’re not alone.
Pg 110 - orange street lights
Yup, street lamps in Britain are, at least along most major roads, still orange. This has the effect of giving out light whilst simultaneously making it harder to see anything at a distance. The reasons for using sodium lamps are obscure, and on residential streets white lights are often used.
Post-1867
According to the Sandwalk Adventures, this was also the year that Charles Darwin started trying to convince a colony of follicle mites in his left eyebrow that he was not God. What else happened in 1867?
Pg 111 – Starbucks
Started in Seattle, Starbuck s are currently trying to take over the world one street at a time with their faintly weird tasting coffees. Multiplying like mushrooms after a burst of rain, Starbucks’ tend to grow in rings around the initial spore, resulting in some streets having four or five along their length. Eventually every other shop the world over will be a Starbucks outlet, most of the others will be dealing with the chronic shakng brought on by too much caffeine.
Pg 112 – Tailor of Gloucester
Brilliantly if you Google for ‘tailor Gloucester plot’ you get guides to King Lear. Rather less brilliantly the actual work being referred to is Beatrix Potter’s twee tale of a poor tailor and his jealous cat.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
Good God! We're out of our depths here! Tom Stoppard wrote this pair their own existentialist play, in which they are onstage when not onstage in Hamlet, if you follow. Ophelia will no doubt demand a role in it… Perhaps the best quote from the play is “Audiences know what they expect and that is all they are prepared to believe in”.
Lamb’s Shakespeare
Lamb’s Shakespeare, by Charles and Mary Lamb, was “meant to be submitted to the young reader as an introduction to the study of Shakespeare”. However, as Roald Dahl understood full well, the best way to hook children is to include lots of gruesome detail, so it’s a mystery why we don’t just shove them in front of Titus Andronicus…
Lamb’s Shakespeare show’s it’s age a little, as seen in the preface where it states that “it has been the intention chiefly to write [for girls]; because boys being generally permitted the use of their fathers' libraries at a much earlier age than girls are, they frequently have the best scenes of Shakespeare by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look into this manly book”, it’s also, to a modern reader, almost impenetrably dense in places due to their attempts to keep as many of Shakespeare’s words as possible.
Pg 114 – ‘smelling of exhaust’
It is perhaps worth noting that the easiest way to assess the hedgehog population in the UK is by a terminal sampling technique. Or counting roadkill, if you prefer to avoid euphemism.
Chapter 11
Pg 115 – Windowlene
Windowlene is a cleaning fluid specifically designed for, well, I’m sure you can guess. It doesn’t make very good cocktails, even the non-smear version with vinegar.
Tesco’s
Tesco’s are the UK’s most profitable supermarket chain. Formed in 1924 they opened their first store five years later, and by 2003 had over 2000 stores worldwide.
Pg 117 – Cardinal Wolsey
Thomas Wolsey was one of the 16th century’s supreme political operators, working his way up the ranks until he was one of the most powerful men in England. He became somewhat less powerful after failing to secure a speedy divorce for Henry VIII – this upset Anne Boleyn, who subsequently had Henry declare Wolsey a traitor. In a neat link the tomb he had designed for himself was left unfilled until Nelson was selected to fill it.
Sail of the Century
From Norwich, it’s the quiz of the week! Imported from the home of rampant consumerism, Sale of the Century was presented by undisputed King of the Cravat, Nicholas Parsons. Build up cash by answering questions, and then spend them on massively discounted prizes (donated from the back of a lorry, I’ll bet). The format proved highly durable, and versions have been made in every corner of the globe.
The Spanish Armada, on the other hand, was a fleet of ships sent by the Catholic King Phillip of Spain to invade the protestant England. The plan was to sail to the Low Countries and escort barges across from Holland and Belgium that were carrying the troops. A series of cock-ups in the planning meant that the forces they were due to escort were unaware they were coming, and then it turned out that the coastal waters were too shallow for the Armada ships to provide effective cover. To add to the problems fireships – basically floating bombs – were sent into the anchored fleet by the English, leaving the Spanish to cut their anchors in panic and bugger off. The Armada tried to return via a long trip around Scotland, but navigational errors (they failed to allow for the Gulf Stream) and strong autumn storms wrecked a majority of the ships on the Scottish and Irish coasts. Spain never again tried to invade England.
Pg 118 – Revealment 3, 4 and 5
The third revealment refers to King George the Third, monarch when the American states decided to rebel. Gum boots are known as ‘Wellingtons’ over in the UK, after the famous Iron Duke who defeated Napoleon at his favourite sport, which explains the fourth prediction, and finally we all know about the ‘Nasis’. (Note that the Nextian timeline is different to ours at this point, although the Hollywood version is hardly any different).
Denis Compton, by the way, is a famous cricket player who did indeed score 3,816 runs in just one season. I’ll save you from the complexity of cricket, but trust me that it’s an impressive total, as is his average of just over 50 runs per innings.
Pg 122 – St Biddulph’s Hundreds and Thousands
Hundreds and Thousands are little coloured candy strands about 5mm long that are used as cake decorations and to top ice cream with. Very decadent they are too. I have a funny idea they may also be referred to as ‘sprinklies’.
Post Edited (08-13-04 02:13)
PSD
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This is the work of an Italian narco-anarchic collective. Don't bother insulting them, they can't read English anyway.