Peanut butter sandwiches

children’s storybook with • mummy’s interjections and questions

Once upon a time there was a happy farmer named Farmer Giles. He was a very rich man and had a big, big farm.

On his farm he had cows (moo, moo) and sheep (baa, baa).

• How many sheep can you see? Mummy asks. Yes, ten!

And on his land he grew barley, oats but mostly wheat.

• Do you know what lovely thing to eat we can make with wheat? Yes, that’s right, we can make bread for sandwiches, or cakes, or spaghetti, or meusli, depending on which bit we use. You like meusli for breakfast, don’t you? Oh, yes, wheat is very useful.

And in his farmyard the farmer had ducks on the pond, (quack quack), cats in the barn (mieow) and his faithful dog Towser by his side (woof woof).

Now, Farmer Giles has two sons; one called Ernest, which is a quite nice name, even though it’s a bit old-fashioned. The other son is called Waster.

• That’s an unusual name, isn’t it?

Another fine sunny day dawned. There were lots of jobs to do, down on the farm. The cows had to be rounded up and milked and then sent back to pasture. The sheep were given their drive-through bath and then were allowed to get busy, mowing the lawn. The goats had to be looked after, too. The crops were growing in the fields, and needed a little care and attention, and meanwhile the ducks were splashing in the pond, (quack, quack) the cats were sleeping in the barn (purrrr) and Towser was standing faithfully at Farmer Giles’ side (woof woof).

• Can you see the cats in the barn?

• Which crops do you think are growing the best?

Once the work was done, Ernest went to see some friends, but Waster went to speak to his father.

‘Dad,’ he said, ‘I have made a decision. I am a bit fed up with living here, working for you, doing chores and having to do as I’m told. So what I’d like you to do is to gather up all the money that you would leave for me when you die, and let me have it now.’

It was a very strange thing to ask, but the Farmer loved his son. ‘I will give you your share of my wealth, my boy,’ he said. It did make him rather sad, though.

Next day, before sunrise, Waster got up and packed his things. He said goodbye to his dad, to Ernest and to Towser (he didn’t say goodbye to the cats, as they were asleep, and only a foolish person would talk to ducks), and he set off.

He had all his money wrapped up in a red and black-spotted handkerchief tied on the end of a stick. He also took a packed lunch – fizzy pop, and peanut butter sandwiches – his favourite. He marched out of the farmyard, up the lane, across the meadow and up the road to the top of the distant hill to the old tree that everyone said was a funny shape.

• Can you see the tree? What shape do you think it looks like? That’s a funny shape for a tree, isn’t it?

Waster didn’t look back, strode past the tree, and went on his way. After a few days’ walking, he arrived in the Big City, where he soon met people who were very happy to help him spend his money. He bought plenty of peanut butter sandwiches and lashings of fizzy pop, and went to shows almost every night and learned some new card games and bought some toys and met lots and lots of interesting people. Everyone was glad to see him, and even more glad to see his money, which they started to spend very eagerly and very quickly.

One day, Waster noticed that the black and red spotted handkerchief was getting rather empty, and that most of his money was gone. He bought another peanut butter sandwich to help him think, and as he munched, he read the local newspaper. The headline said ‘Hunger Warning.’ Waster read on. ‘There will be a famine in this land very soon, so get ready to be hungry.’

• Oh dear. Just when his money had run out, too!

Next day, he didn’t have a peanut butter sandwich or any fizzy pop so Waster decided to sell his red and black spotted handkerchief, and with the money he bought one last peanut butter sandwich and a small glass of fizzy pop.

The day after that, Waster was hungry, and all the people who had pretended to be his friends ran away when they found out that he had no money left.

• They weren’t really his friends at all, were they?

After a week or two of being very hungry, Waster eventually found a terrible job looking after pigs, and he was so hungry that he was almost about to eat some of the smelly thrown-out food scraps. Those pigs were being fed on nasty, stale half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches made damp with tiny drops of fizzy pop that had gone flat.

• They would have tasted horrible, wouldn’t they?

But instead, Waster suddenly realised what he should do. ‘I know what I must do!’ he said. ‘I will get up, go back home to my dad at the farm and tell him how sorry I am for being so selfish. I will ask him if I can work for him like one of the farmhands.’ His tummy rumbled very loudly.

He started the journey home at once, without saying goodbye to the pigs (because talking to pigs is almost as foolish as talking to ducks), and without saying goodbye to the pig farmer, either, which was a bit rude, but Waster was in a hurry. He walked and he trudged and he ran a little and walked again; then he hiked, strolled, marched and walked some more (it was long way home).

By the time he got to the old tree that everyone said was a funny shape, his shoes were worn out. One of them fell off, as the sole had worked loose. He couldn’t walk with one shoe on and one shoe off, so he threw them both away and walked in bare feet. Well, this was a bit painful, so he sort of ambled, tottered, shuffled and staggered.

• Can you see him in the distance?But look, who is that, up there on the rooftop, looking out for him?

While he was still a long way off, Farmer Giles spotted Waster coming up the road. He ran to meet Waster, and Towser ran along beside him (woof woof). Farmer Giles hugged Waster. In his excitement, Towser jumped up a few times (woof woof woof woof woof!). ‘Get down, Towser!’

The farmer kissed Waster and gave him a coat and a ring and some brand new shoes.

• Look, he’s wearing the ring! That’s a big coat, isn’t it? What sort of shoes were they? And can you see the big brass buckle?

Waster was just going to say ‘Dad, I am so sorry that I have been foolish and spent all the money. Please let me come and work on the farm as one of the farmhands, tending the crops, milking the cows and looking after the farmyard…’ But before he could say any of that, his father welcomed him and forgave him and made it clear to everyone that his son had returned.

• He’s a very kind farmer, isn’t he? How can you tell that Waster was being welcomed back into the family?

Farmer Giles threw a great party, inviting everyone locally to come and join in the fun. They played Twister, Ludo, skittles and Snap and the musicians played all evening, with fiddles and accordions, a packing-case bass and a drummer, too.

• Can you see what the drums were made from? What a noise!

The ducks quacked along, and the cats couldn’t get to sleep because it was so loud! What a shame! Farmer Giles made a speech, toasting his son with glasses of fizzy pop. ‘My son was lost, but now he’s found! We thought he was dead, but now he’s alive again! Rejoice! Do please tuck in.’

Camp fires burned merrily all evening, and there was dancing and laughter. To eat, Farmer Giles arranged for a spit-roast for everyone to enjoy, with plenty of cake as well. And right in the middle of the long row of trestle tables was a huge jug of fizzy pop and the biggest plate you ever did see, piled high with…

• Can you guess? Yes, of course you can!

U

‘Ubiety? Unlikely!’ ululates underfinanced usurper Uri. Ulterior-motivated, ups. Unites usually uncouth urbanites.

Uniquely underweight, universally ultra-hungry until… umpteen unclean ungulates? Ugh! Utterly unappealing!

Unravels, understands, U-turns, ups.

Unbridled, unashamed, unceremonious, unselfish, uncritical. ‘Unbuttoned uniform, utilitarian underfoot upholstery user!’ Unbelieveably unctuous underbelly’s user-friendly, unifying utopian upbeatness.

‘Uri upset unto utmost unconsciousness? Uh-huh. Update: ultimately undead!’

100, 50, 25, 10 & 5 words

100 words

Son asked his father for his inheritance, and went to             10

a foreign land to spend it in wild living. Soon                          20

all the money was spent, and famine struck. The boy             30

sought employment on a piggery, where he longed to eat     40

the pigs’ scraps. He came to his senses and planned              50

to return, intending to offer his services as a farmhand.        60

But while he was still a long way off, his                                   70

father ran to him, welcomed him with kisses and various     80

meaningful presents, and threw a celebration. 

‘My son was lost,                                                                           90

but now he’s found; he was dead, now he’s alive!’                100

50 words

Son grasped his inheritance; wasted       5

it in wild living. Famine                           10

struck, and boy wanted to                       15

eat the pigfood. Inspiration dawned,     20

so boy returned to offer                           25

to become an hireling. But                      30

while still at a distance,                            35

his father greeted him, gave                    40

gifts and rejoiced. ‘My son                       45

was dead, but now lives!’                          50

25 words

Son took his inheritance; wasted                            5

all. Destitute, famine-struck, desired pigfood.    10

Came to senses! Returned humbly.                       15

Father welcomed generously, celebrated. ‘Son   20

was dead; now he’s alive!’                                       25

10 words

Credited, debited. Famined!

Humbled, inspired.

Returned, greeted, gifted, forgiven, welcomed.

5 words

Rebelling. Reducing. Revealing. Repenting. Restoring.

Wise enough

Madam Sadie

Oh, it was sordid, yes, but a whole lot of fun while it lasted.

I always wanted to run a high-class gin joint, but never quite made it. So a ‘low-class drinking shop with an exclusive reputation’ was the best we achieved. Saucy Sadie’s Sarsapirilla ‘n’ Spirits A-Go-Go was a big success, for a while.

We had a long, highly popular bar, with a wide range of drinks available, including cocktails, shorts, beers, wines and vermouth; we provided snacks and light meals; we had a pool table and some gaming machines, too. There was a secluded back room for card games and doing deals – and the local police used to leave us alone (apart from the detectives who used to come to play poker, of course).

We had dancing girls, who would accompany gentlemen upstairs for a small consideration (so long as I got my cut, naturally) and no questions were asked, not even by the policemen. Some of the girls were more popular than others, as you mght expect.

I do recall one young man who seemed equally keen on all my girls, because when he came into the bar of an evening, he spread his money out on the table, and the girls would practically fight each other to get his attention, knowing that he was very generous and heavily loaded. We must have made an absolute bomb out of that fellow, you know.

Then the liquor licences became more expensive and we tried to branch out into the import-export game. We even set up a still in the back yard outbuildings, but the ingredients were hard to find and then income was dropping. Eventually, of course, we went the way of everyone in the district, and there was no food to cook, no grain to distill, no booze to stock our bar, and, naturally, no customers. The famine hit us very hard, and the girls had to find legitimate jobs in offices, factories, the homes of members of the nobility, kitchens, hospitals...

I survived, because I’d been wise enough to invest the surplus from my income into a small pig farm, which did okay even during the famine. The quality of meat we could produce was low, since the only food the animals got to eat was rotting pods and husks and other people’s throwaways. But we didn’t pay huge wages to the farmhands, so that all balanced out.

Yes, sometimes I wonder what happened to those girls I used to employ. And to the barstaff. Yes, and to the really down-on-their-luck men who looked after the pigs – some of them didn’t stick around for very long, it has to be said.

But I don’t worry too much about the customers. They always seemed to me to be able to look after themselves. They knew what they were doing was illegal, unwise, immoral perhaps. It was their choice.

After all, if I hadn’t provided them with the opportunity, someone else would, then they would’ve made all the profits, and there’s no point in letting anyone else walk away with the cash, is there?

Fault (part two of two)

Each day, Richard's father went to the roof to keep lookout. But he continued to deteriorate.

'Oh, oh, he’s in danger, I know it! And it’s down to me. I did send him away, after all. At least three-quarters of the blame, if not more. Say four to one against me. It is warm today. My nails need trimming. Oh, Richard, where are you, my son, my loved son? I am to blame almost entirely. He had to go to teach me this hard lesson. He had to. My fault. All my fault. Yes, all my fault. My responsibility. My error. I was too harsh with him, and drove him away. My hair is growing long, too. Like Nebuchadnezzar. I cannot stand this heat, this loneliness, this guilt. Entirely my fault. He was innocent! And the animals have broken into the grain store and our reserves are rapidly diminishing. I can’t remember why that’s bad… not as bad as I have been towards dear, sweet misunderstood Richard; I should suffer for it. He was without error or blemish…’ He raved in whispers, admonishing himself, weeping, tearing at his clothes, becoming more sad and confused each day.

Life in the fast lane was growing dangerous, as Richard had lost his handkerchief, all his money was gone and so were his ‘friends’ (Romans and countrymen alike), including one girl who distributed flowers and taken a fatal swim; another who refused to flatter her father and been misunderstood; and a third who was bitten by a snake while waiting for a servant to fetch asses’ milk.[1] The famine had struck.

‘I shall go to the countryside, and get a job in the agrarian economy. Perhaps animal husbandry…’

He found a post at a pig farm, and was looking after the thin, scrawny beasts as they rooted about among the rotting vegetation they were given. Such was his hunger, he was about to pick out the least mouldy pod; and that was when he came to his senses.

‘The hired men on my father’s farm eat well; I should lay aside my pride and return. The only reason I’m in this mess is because of my horrible attitude – it’s entirely my fault. So I shall arise and go home and say Make me one of your hired men. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ He got up and went back home.

Richard was still beyond the furthest hill, completely out of sight of the view his father had from the roof.

‘Completely my fault. I’m a wicked man and a bad father and a rubbish farmer. The only ones who eat well around here are the calves. I am not cut out for farm management, which has to include the maintenance and welfare of hired hands as well as animal husbandry.

‘I am totally to blame for my son’s bad ways. I deserve nothing. I deserve to be the dead one. At least then his inheritance (which he’s already had) will have been the right thing to do… I don’t deserve to live. My son is probably dead in the foreign land, due to the famine. I have nothing to live for. He’s totally lost, and it’s one hundred and ten percent down to me.’

Such was his loss of mental faculty, he wandered down the steps from the roof (nearly falling, twice), took a jar of oil from the shelf in the kitchen, and slopped it onto his hair and beard and clothes.

Such was his anguish at his own error (as he saw it) in raising such a tormented son, he stepped, purposefully, dangerously close to the fire, where the last of the hired men was roasting one of the fatted calves.

Such was his self-loathing and twisted judgement of himself, he deliberately allowed the flames to fed hungrily at his oil-soaked coat. Immediately his hair and beard and coat and tunic were ablaze. Despite the efforts of the hired man, Richard’s father’s misery and ravings were over surprisingly quickly (perhaps his heart failed?). His lifeless corpse lay smouldering in the dusty farmyard.

Three minutes later, Richard appeared over the horizon, walked slowly towards the farm, and readied himself to be humble before his father. The hired hand – frightened, scorched from his efforts to extinguish the suicide pyre of his Lord and Master, and confused at the disastrous timing – walked out to greet him. Their conversation was full of sadness, regret and of course, blame.

The villagers attended the funeral, and there was no rejoicing. Richard said at the wake ‘I was lost but now I have found that my father, who was alive, now is dead; and it’s all my fault.‘

[1] referring to famous Shakespearean tragedies: Ophelia (from Hamlet); Cordelia (from King Lear); Cleopatra (from Antony & Cleopatra)

Fault (part one of two)

plot: tragedy 

And so their fights continued; Richard and his father raged into the night, never seeing eye-to-eye with each other and always having different expectations of how the farm could sustain them through the impending famine.

‘Don’t you see, old man? Are you just being obtuse?’ The boy threw the dregs of his wine into the fire. ‘We have to get rid of all the animals and everything that is a drain on our resources; only then can we turn every acre over to food production for ourselves and for the village. There’s no point in giving grain to the horses to get work out of them if we perish in the meantime. Healthy goats and fattened calves won’t last long once we are dead, you fool!’

His father was sad, but anger overwhelmed him. He slammed his hand on the table, upsetting the wine bottle and sending the mangy dog scurrying from the room. ‘That’s just about enough! I don’t like your tone, and I resent your constant disagreement. And I won’t tolerate your rudeness! Learn a few lessons in taking responsibility, will you?… and I know exactly what will be the making of you.’ He turned, walked away, pushing past the hired hand, leaving his son staring, frowning, seething.

The next morning, Richard discovered his dad meant business. He’d collected together a great deal of money, and gathered it into a bag on the table. On top of the bag was an hastily scribbled note.

Take your inheritance and go away. Try to survive the famine that is predicted elsewhere. Leave today, and don’t come back until you are ready to give respect to me. Now the feeling’s gone, I can’t go on – when you lose control and you’ve got no soul, it's hard to bear. Perhaps I really should be holding you, loving you…[1]

But I don’t think I can at the moment.

Dad

Richard screwed up the note, and snatched the bag, which was heavier than he’d imagined. He grabbed a small loaf and one of the jars of oil from the shelf, and left the house. He stepped onto the highway, thumbing a lift on an ox cart to the big city.

A couple of months later, he’d made a number of friends among the gambling fraternity, and met a few girls who seemed to be attracted to him. It was probably the money, he knew, but it was fun; that was a whole lot better than life had been when he was working on the farm. He gave his father little thought, and hadn’t noticed the headlines which seemed to suggest that the feared famine was no longer impending; it was arriving.

Richard’s father was deteriorating fast. He bitterly regretted throwing his son out – more, even, than the financial hardship that had caused. Each day he kept watch on the roof, despite the blazing heat, talking to himself.

‘But he had become intolerable. He had to go. Had to. Am I not to blame for the way my son turned out? Surely I am to be held to account, at least in some part. About a third. Perhaps a half? His negative ways and bad attitude and rudeness are my fault. Maybe sixty per cent. I cannot… '


to be continued

[1] lyrics to Tragedy written by Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb; recorded by the Bee Gees on Spirits Having Flown (1979)

Keyboard left hand only

shiftlock a s d f g / shift ` z x c v b / fn ctrl alt cmd space

Facts! Crass brat gets dad`s © £ wedge

Great stewardesses!  Raves ≈ ∞ excess

$ ravages reverberated   FASTED

Grazed @warty veg s™s ± √   Ca~~e 2 #`s se∫`∫ses

~ Be a server!  Yet Far Away DAD ~ aged decades ~ stared  SAW

Gets sweater    Best Dressed!

GÏves £ad Ω watc# S#%es  Fatted ca∫f brazed  Beer crates  Watercresses` aggregate aftereffects desegregated

~ Graved FEARED sad razed!

Abracadabra! Fab! De~deaded!   #@∫∫e∫∫ÙÏa#!

First half of alphabet

only using abcdefghijkl & m

Fickle-headed kid hijacked, flim-flammed; Dad abled.

Mile. Mile. Mile. Blackjack game; dame became bad.

Keeled. Medic! Ham meal… idea! Make deal.

Came face-a-face: ‘Dad? I am…’

‘… Ah, me lad!’

Feed – beef, diced egg, lime, jam, milk, bleached macadamia cake.

‘Dead? Fiddledeedee! All hail!’

Classified columns

1 shekel per column-nanocubit

notices

WEALTHY FARMERS: don’t give away your hard-earned inheritance! Invest in highly dependable Pigs-R-Us Double Underlined Unit Trusts. Chop, Lardon, Rasher & Gammon, Solicitors (Gentile) Ltd, Waster City Road, Jerusalem.

services

PARABLES INTERPRETED while u wait. Pay a visit to J O’Nazareth, on his First & Final Tour of various locations around Judea. All welcome

FREE GIN with our Very Friendly Escorts scheme. All additional drinks at our usual prices. Discreet rooms usually available. Wild, wild living a speciality. Extremely Happy Hour 6.30-8.30pm Thursdays. Apply Madame Florrie for details, prices, hourly rates. Almost all reasonable tastes & personal preferences eagerly embraced by our trained staff.. Prodigals Bar ‘n’ Grill a Go Go, 69 High St, Dissipation City. www.lookersnhookers.co.il

NEW! DAZZLE CASINO; Pontoon, Craps, Slots, Poker, Roulette, Baccarat; plus sport and political spread betting; lots of experienced cashiers, croupiers, plus three bars. Dress code; no trainers. 666 Low Street, Dissipation City.

for sale

FINEST BEEF DRIPPING: just 2 shekels per ephah. At A Certainman’s Farm, Jericho.

personal

BILLY-BOY COME HOME: all is forgiven.

situations vacant

HIRED HAND REQUIRED; apply Certainman’s Farm. Jericho. Board & lodging fully found for the right candidate. No goat parties provided; no more time wasters, please.

HIRED HAND REQUIRED; at Double Underlined Sties, Dissipation City. Full training provided; due to previous unfortunate experiences, no Hebrews, thank you.

corrections & errata

THE PUBLISHER wishes to state that previously-reported rumours of the recent death of Mr Certainman Jnr have been exagerrated. We take complete responsibility and fully apologise for confusion or distress caused. To show our good faith a celebratory party (sponsored by the publisher) is to be held at the Farm. All welcome; PBAB&B.

MISPRINT CORRECTION: late editions of the Night Final yesterday unfortunately carried the name of the farmer as Mr Cretainman. This should have read: Mr Cretinman.