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| The exhaustive guide to Something Rotten |
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| Something Rotten - decomposed |
My thanks once again to Ben Tymens and the rest of the forum for putting together the following explanatory notes for Something Rotten. I have appended a few notes of my own, where appropriate or to clear up burning questions that had, until now, no answer. Updated: 5th Jan 2005 |
Welcome to yet another instalment in the guides to Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next books, this time dealing with the references scattered throughout ëSomething Rotten'. This being the fourth book in the series, many of the references will have appeared before in other guides, so if a character name isn't explained it may be as well to search one of the previous guides (for example this one does not explain the relevance of Lydia Startright) (And won't - Jasper). As ever, this guide has been written to try and avoid revealing any of the plot, but I cannot guarantee there aren't any spoilers within it. Page numbers are those for the cheaper UK hardback, as that's what I could afford. If you need to find a reference, chapter numbers are included, and you can always hit ctrl-f to find a given word. All errors and mistakes are entirely mine, except when they're not, and I apologise for my occasional flights of editorialising - as Dr Johnson noted, ìto make dictionaries is dull work". Finally it remains only for me to say that feedback and corrections are always welcome, if not listened to (a major rewrite of the information below will only be considered if enough errors are sent to psd at terrascope.co.uk). However, without further nonsense, I present... Something Rotten: Decomposed Preliminary nuggets: 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, does anybody else spend sleepless nights 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?", "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 (or at least 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). 451F, famously, is the heat at which paper spontaneously combusts. Chapter 1 - A Cretan Minotaur in Nebraska 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 Entering upon a tangent, briefly, I can't resist mentioning that various methods of tracking have been tried in the real world, with varying degrees of success. Perhaps the best of these was an attempt 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 signs warning of radioactive contamination proved a great advance in the field of burglar deterrence. As did the glowing squirrel shit... Pg 2 - All's Well That Ends Well. In a high point of Elizabethan comedy, we find the following exchange: 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 In the film 'The Third Man', 'Death at Double-X Ranch' is a book written by the character Holly Martins. So now you know. 2387 - Normally numbers are significant. In this case it signifies the shallows of my knowledge. 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. Sadly there was no indication that the horses were wearing said hats, but we live in hope. Pg 4 - Eckley's Livery Stables Okay, despite Googling till I turn blue, Eckley appears to be in Colorado - and there is nothing else to report. I await the inevitable correction. 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. Late night local radio certainly seems a plausible hiding place to me, maybe we should send someone round with a silver biro? Pg 6 - Colt .45 From Googling, there are several guns that could be described as a Colt .45, but taking the liberty of listening to the same person who advised Mr Ff - "Any Colt 45's used in 'Death at the Double-X Ranch' should be either the Army model of 1860, or the Single-Action Army Model (Peacemaker) of 1873. Being a pulp novel, accuracy is probably not its strongest point, and Thursday is only speaking generally. Chances are that low-grade, generic gunmen will all have Peacemakers/Colts, as the author can't be bothered to think of anything else." Zane Grey As noted in the guide to WOLP. Zane Grey is an excitingly named author of the sort of western that is populated with large numbers of bovines. Owen Wister was another author of westerns, including The Virginian. 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 initially wondered whether brothels were legally required to have a litter tray for more deviant members of the judiciary, but it turns out to be a pun on somewhere you'll find pussy. My apologies for anyone hauled up before their IT Department when the Filth Filter catches this. Baxters Almost certainly the Baxters from A Fistful of Dollars, directed by Sergio Leone and starring Clint Eastwood as some character whose 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'. If anyone has any better ideas, they're politely requested to shut up. 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 1873 version that preceded it was 'the gun that won the west', according to Skiffle. Who knows such things. 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 (eg 'only'- Ed) website I happened to research. 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 via a locally sourced non-financial unidirectional transaction (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 - 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 failing to notice a trail of apples falling 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 a Native American 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. There is absolutely no point in me showing off like this, except to share 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 Burgundians and then sold onto the English via a bishop. 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. In one of my favourite historical ironies, Joan was tried by the clergy,: a bunch of men in frocks who felt that one of the key pieces of evidence was her habit of cross-dressing. 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. I'm not sure why it's worth noting though - perhaps it made more sense when I first started researching? 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, go and get hold of a copy now. What sort of a philistine are you? 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, appearing only in playground jokes). The enduring fascination for Mr Fforde can only have something to do with the pulse-quickening pleasure of messing about in a flying machine. Long John Silver Possibly the only pirate in literary history to have been named after an item of underwear, LJS' life of crime may have started with stealing single shoes from the displays outside shoe shops - a crime facilitated by the loss of a leg. LJS is the star of Treasure Island, no matter what anyone says. 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 that awful 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 - it just 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... (either that or the NMR serve a valuable public service by rescuing carelessly abandoned mountains from the misery of the fens) Chapter 2 - No Place Like Home Pg 21 - Wessex As elucidated last time, Wessex is (depending on your historical viewpoint) the south-west area of England, 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 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, seizes 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 sent astray 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 - now if you'd like to explain it to me... 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, before handing the torch on to myself. Git. 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 she was 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 an oblique reference to the mountain named in her honour in Canada's Jasper National Park? (and if it wasn't, this almost certainly is...) 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. In 1834, a local landowner - outraged at the commoners getting uppity - managed to agitate for their prosecution under an obscure law forbidding the swearing of oaths. All six were transported to Australia, but they were released in 1836, after intervention from the then Home Secretary Lord John Russell - 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'. Her life changed when she was swapped for a gambling debt - the trade ultimately led to her marriage to Sir William Hamilton in 1791. In 1793, now living in Corsica, she was introduced to Nelson, who managed to get his leg over despite only having one functioning eye, less than half his own teeth and a lower than average number of arms. Lord Hamilton appears to have tolerated the relationship until his death in 1803, but the press was less forgiving, making Emma a figure of fun. After Nelson's death Emma rapidly squandered the money left to her by Hamilton, and eventually 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 more importantly 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 going on endlessly about it', as it probably 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 cheap and looks the part. I can't help with any requirements you may have for pickled herring though. Battenberg Battenberg cake consists of 2 pink and 2 yellow sponges of square cross-section, glued together with jam, and wrapped in marzipan, so that when you cut it open you get a neat chequerboard effect. Battenberg was named after the Battenberg family (there were four Battenberg princes in the Royal family), although the significance was lost in the Great War, when they changed their name in embarrassment to the less German sounding '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. And if you're going to have blokes like Luther potentially pissing off the almighty, it's a wise precaution to take. As you may have gathered, Hamlet went to university there. 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 Joan of Arc... Camelot Ah, Camelot - either the mythical home of Arthur and the knights of the round table, or the 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. Lovers of Python will no doubt be reciting a number of desperate rhymes for 'Camelot' at this point, my favourite of which is almost certainly 'pram a lot'. 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, although viewing figures would doubtless rise as people felt a need to 'engage with the political process'. DH82 The DH82, it transpires, is better known as the Tiger Moth - a First World War flying machine of considerable fame. Early Fforde web-pages were apparently put together by DH82 Design. Thylacine 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 behind it (or in the case of the hat, beneath it). 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 water 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 Admiral Parker, seeing three of his ships run aground and a cannon-happy Nelson having the time of his life, tried to call the attack off. 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 (except without Nelson, who was by this time suffering a loss of sight in both eyes, and a loss of pulse in every other part of his body). Elsinor Elsinor, or Helsing¯r, 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'. Having dipped a toe in the North Sea, I advise you to leave your skimpiest bikinis at home. 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 Lorem Ipsum 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. Draw your own conclusions... 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. Sad to see that the decline in standards of education also applies to sex education, isn't it? Jasper Note: Bettina, in this instance, is actually one of the reps at Hodder and Stoughton. 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, 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. Especially if you're using this guide to do your English homework. 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. Beware- p u n s l u r k a b o u t t h i s o n e . P g 3 5 - E v a d e T h e Q u e s t i o n T i m e |