Hïlad and welcome to issue twelve of the oddly
stimulating and stimulatingly odd Zolid
Matters, known to its friends as ZM12 and to the Inland Revenue as
"non-deductible expenses incurred during peripheral
activities." This is another double-sided offering, with a
fragrant extract from A.A. Milne's
Winnie-the-Pooh in Jameld on the reverse which the Translation Committee hopes
members will find uplifting, heartwarming and so on.
This green gazette is also a double-edged offering:
enmingled with the delight and baroque levity it brings is the
poignant tiding that ZM12 will in fact be the last
Zolid Matters. It has been observed that this journal is the ultimate
repository for all things whimsical and eccentric; never
has this been truer, for this is indeed the ultimate
ZM. We convey ingratitude to our loyal readers . . . I'm sorry,
I'll start again. We convey, in gratitude to our loyal
readers, another cartload of Jameldic blithery.
We stopped worrying about the inaccuracy of the title of this feature ages ago, and it seems a bit late to change it now. This final instalment features a domestic scene of surprise, puzzlement and totally unwarranted stereotyping.
I don't know, but I think I bought a pregnant mouse.
Me na wït, hnyo me thakje tes me büyiave an sweni müs.
What makes you think it's pregnant?
Umwi thakje ye tes et'st swena?
It's eating banana-and-coleslaw sandwiches, and all
the coal's gone.
Et mest banan-und-kaulslat ledzibret, und ig^é te
kol bitwantave.
(FX: Klaxons, bells, etc.) [That would appear to have
triggered the cliché alarm. Our apologies--Ed.]
If you've been paying attention (Hey, you there at
the back . . . sit up straight boy!) you'll have noticed that
this September the 13th past was International Jameld
Day; the more bewildered among our readers may even
have honoured its passing by the application of a little
facial adornment. Certainly, here at Jameld Towers the
celebrations were as lavish as they were memorable. While
delegates ingested such extraterrestrial delicacies as
Deep-Fried Anhlaxan Yeast Worms and Hadra Biscuit, the
acclaimed Doktor Strel lectured at considerable length
on the corporeal and perceptual benefits of consuming
his Patent Therapeutic Fruitcake, until at last he was
interrupted by the curious atonality of the BJZ
Jam-Makers' Institute Comb-and-Paper Orchestra, with their
unusual rendition of the theme from Star
Trek (the de facto anthem of
IJD3). Outside, the streets were lined with
cheering crowds, which had been hired for the occasion
(£23 a yard from Jorthel Enterprises). Around the
village, bunting had been strung between telegraph poles
and trees--a pleasant but unremarkable sight until a
spark from the notoriously ill-insulated Dorset
phone wires ignited one of the flaglets. For reasons that
may never now become apparent, the (as it transpires)
phosphorus-impregnated bunting had been strung
on magnesium ribbon; the resultant chain reaction and
lightshow will be indelibly imprinted on the memories, and
indeed retinas, of all those who witnessed the occasion (i.e.
your Humble Ed and family, three Association Members
and a stuffed vicuña). Next year's
IJD4 promises to be a rather different event; it is devoutly to be wished that we
won't have to pay to have the street rewired again, anyway.
So, why is this the last one, then? Simply, because after five years of writing ZM, I increasingly found myself worrying that I was running out of ideas. (Prodnose: Fret not, O lowly Ed; you ran out of those long ago.) Sorry, slipped into 'Beachcomber' there for a moment. Anyway, I felt it was best to stop while I was still enjoying it. Zolid Matters will live on in the web site that bears its name, and the BJZ lives on in the collected imaginations of all those who've been long-suffering enough to humour me--you're all members, remember. Jameld, of course, is not just Zolid Matters; it's old enough now (15) and ugly enough to take care of itself, although its cause will be greatly helped if you continue (please, beg, grovel) to use the words Hïlad, Hauf and Ledzibret in place of Hello, Goodbye and Sandwich. No doubt sooner or later I'll be bothering you again with further incoherent scribblings of some sort, whether Jameld-related or not. Until then, or, in the traditional ZM signoff style,
Inek 'drist--Hauf . . . and thanks. James
Erratum: Paragraph 1: for delight read blight.
© BJZ 1997. Ladies and gentlemen, Zolid Matters has left the building.
T'Eldi Grei Aasel, Ëyäur, starmä nech eyi int an thistili korn ew te Wadin, eü fränti pödüs vït-parski, eü chadof ïand te t~sïdé, und thakjemä böya teses. Anst~südas e thakjemä traug^a ï eyi, 'Umwi?' und anst~südas e thakjemä, 'Auvor?' und anst~südas e thakjemä, 'És fer és wist?' - und anst~südas e na wït ansi was e 'mä thakjin böya. Zo wen Wini-te-Puh kümnemä stompin endlink, Ëyäur 'mä mol ver äblen holten thakjin vor an minik, säiren 'Wau jist ye?' int an tintthräyi manir ï ie.
'Und wau jist ye?' säirmä Wini-te-Puh.
Ëyäur skadmä eü chadof t~sïdé-ï-t~sïdé.
'Na mol wau,' e säirmä. 'Et t~sën tes me na fohlave ax ig^é wau vor an linki t~süda.'
'Dorog^!' säirmä Puh, 'Et bitrau ime. Jolvisvën ax iye, jüji.'
Zo Ëyäur starmä lerid, stärin traug^a ax te sümel, und Wini-te-Puh anvülmä jütelg^a böyäd ie aunts.
'Oh, was possave ï yeü keö?' e säirmä, jolressi.
'Was possave vävit ï iet?' säirmä Ëyäur.
'Et na jist lerid!'
'Wït ye?'
'Wel, an keö jist lerid ëg^ et na jist lerid. Ye n'äble erroen böya iet, und yeüs na jist lerid!'
'Zo was jist?'
'Nates.'
'Jolvisvën,' säirmä Ëyäur, und e böyädmä dit~skg^a ï te plaz au eü keö jistavemä an wïlja vorvor, und necht, fïndiin tes e na müldon fenjen ï iet, e böyädmä t'uthi wäi, inek e h'ïkümnemä dyëvö au e 'mä auntt~sg^a, und necht e nankmä eü chadof und jolvismä üt~smitaat~s eü fränti pödüs, und endig^a e säirmä, kum't an linki, traui sich, 'Me yilob tes ye jist drüchi.'
'Natürg^a, me jist drüchi,' säirmä Puh.
'Üquü Yib Rekniin vor Weth,' säirmä Ëyäur tintthräyig^a. 'Et Otklére Tes Pag^é. Na Wuntar.'
'Ye sürg^a lavave iet ansau,' säirmä Wini-te-Puh.
'Ansyod sürg^a véperave iet,' säirmä Ëyäur. 'Wau Lauk Item,' e punairemä, past~s an linki t~stila.
Puh fohlmä tes e t~saldon säiren anstes helnesem böya iet, hnyo na kännemä jütelg^a was. Zo e jolkläzmä airen anstes helnesem intplaz.
'Ëyäur,' e säirmä ernsg^a, 'me, Wini-te-Puh, fïndifäo yeü keö vor iye.'
'Kothix iye, Puh,' respontmä Ëyäur. 'Ye jist an rëeli framki,' säirmä e. 'Na Lauk Ans,' e säirmä.
Zo Wini-te-Puh galmä för, fïndien Ëyäur'ü keö.