DuckFan

Roma Eterna

2006-09-21T19:12:00.000Z

The Duckfan has relocated to Rome, where many of the duckcamp had the great honour to be granted an audience with H.H. (or S.S. and he is know here). They were there to express their support for him and The Brass made sure that he took up a position whereby he would be at hand should a believer in a certain religion-whose-very-essence-is-peace decide to launch an attack on God's vicar.
A Duckfan from the 19th Century, who used to feed the ducks in the park behind his House in the Imperial Capital, once said that when the first brick comes flying though the window, then you know the message is getting through. I'm talking of course of the incomparable Fr Faber, so well done the Pope.
Postings will probably now cease (bet you thought they already had, but here we just love to subvert expecations!) since there's far too much to do in Rome to be sitting in internet Cafés trying to coodinate my camera with what passes for a computer. That said there is a chance that one of the little fellas will have something very important he wants to get off his chest, in which case I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading.

Harvey

2006-08-17T14:25:00.000Z

Ok, so I've not been posting much recently, but I've been very, er, what's that word... ah, yes, busy, with... well, just very busy. I've also been waiting for the Churchlady to post some lovely pictures for Tuesday, but I might have been assuming too much (still waiting for that one).

Today, as you can see, I've decided to show my very good friend Harvey - he's a six foot three and a half inches tall white duck, but when I told him that he was to be posted up today, he graciously agreed to reduce himself to fit into the usual backdrop for these things; "I must decrease" he quacked. He's quite the fine specimen and he's one of the few ducks who come with me wherever I go, thus ensuring that I never really leave the ducksphere. All the other ducks just quack in unison whenever I set foot outside of duckcamp - "You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave" - and then the chortle to themselves, as only ducks can.

Harvey and I have things to do... we sit in the bars... have a drink or two... and play the juke box. Very soon the faces of the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say: 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're all right, all right.' Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments.

Harvey's very modest and never courts attention, so much so that despite his evident qualities, people barely notice him. Sometimes I can't seem to find the little bundle of feathers anywhere, but when at last I do see him again he assures me that his absence has been mainly in my mind.

In Receipt of a Receipt

2006-08-11T15:48:00.000Z

Well, after all the talk of receipts, guess what turned up on the doormat of Duckcamp this afternoon? A curious envelope, verso inscribed with the legend "try a little tenderness" - not something that had occurred to me to do up until now. Inside was a whole leave of gum-backed duckies (quite a rarity) just dying to get out and tell me all about Canada. Such news of the assembled fowl who live under the sweet yoke of the duckkeeper and the Spanish lady who is trying religious life with the Churchlady - it just melts my heart. Less immediately appealing, though perhaps no less important, was a receipt detailing their transatlantic travel expenses. And that was it, no note, no indication as to a purpose for these happy travellers now that they are in the Imperial Capital. As a wise old Byrd once said to another: "O magnum mysterium".

Good Point...

2006-08-10T20:42:00.000Z

...well made, by the duckkeeper. Some adjustments will clearly have to be made here at duckcentral after that pertinent comment made by the eminent Lord (especially about Estazthingy; a real disgrace). Anyway, words are one thing and actions quite another, and who should have sprung into action as soon as he heard the sweet call of his deliverer? Who else but my bouncy bilingual friend. Mindful of the words If I forget you, let my right hand wither (looks like that might have happened in the past, woops) he dropped his money and jigged about the desk picking up as many receipts as possible. A guilt offering.

Imposter!

2006-08-09T13:46:00.000Z

Over to you Roving Reporter:

Well, imagine my disgust when strolling along the banks of the filthy river the other day. There, in broad daylight was a big ball of yellow fluff being interviewed for primetime TV news. I've been a news hound for longer than I care to mention, and over the years have developed a pretty keen sense of smell for a genuine story. But right here, under the noses of many assembled duck fans I smelt a rat! This was no duck, but rather a man in disguise, no doubt an illegal immigrant trying to keep body and soul together by masquerading for the minimum wage. A national disgrace if ever there was one. There is therefore no interview with this reporter in today's spot - I left with my dignity and professional pride intact, took a stiff mug of gin and retired to my downy bed.

Frigat Etona or Caesna Etonensis

2006-08-08T20:00:00.000Z

The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton, at least so said one of the protagonists of that bloody battle. Could I then have come across part of an annual Gallic tribute, sent every year since then to that illustrious spawning ground? It certainly appears so.

If you happen to be a happy recipient of one of these dutiful French birds, I suggest the following:

Ingredients: 2 duck breasts with skin intact salt & pepper Sauce. 10 fl oz game or chicken stock 3 tbsps creme de mure or creme de cassis ½ tbsp sugar 4 oz blackberries ½ oz cold butter, sliced.

1. Preheat the oven to 200 C. Season the skin of the duck with salt and pepper and the cut side with pepper only.
2. Heat a frying pan over a gentle heat and lay the breasts in it skin side down. As their fat begins to run increase the heat to fry briskly. When the skin is nicely browned turn over and cook briefly. Then transfer the breasts, skin side up, to a rack in a roasting tin and put into the oven for 9-12 minutes. Remove from oven and allow to rest for 5-10 minutes before serving.
3. Skim as much fat as possible from the juices in the roasting tin then place over the hob. Add the stock, the creme de mure or cassis and the sugar. Bring up to the boil, stirring and scraping in the residues from the bottom of the pan. Boil until reduced by two thirds.
4. Add the blackberries, salt & pepper and simmer for 30 seconds, then add the diced butter a few peices at a time, shaking the pan so that they melt into and thicken the juices. Slice the duck and fan out on the plates. Pour over the sauce and serve with mash potatoes and a green vegetable.

Mmmmm, yummy

A Genetic Predisposition?

2006-08-07T09:58:00.000Z

After the flurry of interest (?) following from the posting Gilded Youth, it seemed good to me to present a little more in that vein/vain. Hence the photo above, which I think predates the previous post by a couple of years, and shows fairly conclusively that the Duckfan has been keen on ducks and dressing-up ab initio - and that's not about to change. "Good night children".

Feather Bed

2006-08-04T11:29:00.000Z

Man spends a profusion of hours every year in bed (at least I do) and it seems only correct that if we're to spend so much quality time in one place it ought to be suitably attired. It is with this end in mind that my enamelled friend has attached himself to the underside of my counterpane - such modesty of course belies his multifaceted beauty - the better to ennoble such a comely adornment to my bedchamber.

A Cultural Milestone

2006-08-03T17:43:00.000Z

Not a lot of people will have read the wonderful The Mini Rubber Duckie Book, 2004 by Jodie Davis - however, it supplies quantities of useful information on the cultural phenomenon that is the Rubber Duck.
On pages 12-13 this miniture masterpiece highlights the wonderful theme song of Ernie from Sesame Street, Rubber Duckie.

"Rubber Duckie" became a pop phenomenon and was recorded in some seventy languages

I find it only appropriate to give it the platform it deserves. Sing it Ernie.

Familial Bliss

2006-08-02T09:11:00.000Z

Wednesday has come rolling around again, and so time for our weekly Report:

Yes indeedy folks, and this week we're back on Terra Firma in the hushed backwater of the Imperial Capital that is Ducksbridge. After the doom and gloom of last weeks report, a cheery discovery to lift your spirits. Beneath the shade of a fine twill canopy, 4 floors up in an Egytian Emporium, I came upon 5 generations of ducks living in the original harmony that their creators had intended and so too at the top of creaturely hierarchy. Nestled in each other's laps, they sat together in their elegant tent, looking for all the world as if the fall of the Raj had passed them by. A chimpanzee can be spied just to the left of the group, making his obeisance, and they seemed to be expecting an elephant polo match to start up at any moment. Here a troupe in need of no rescuing back to the Duckpen.

The Paterfamilias graciously beckoned for me to approach, which I did, cap in hand.

"You are most welcome, my boy" he said with a rolling chuckle, "pull up a pew" - by this I took him to mean a cushion - which I duly did. He then proceeded to inform me concerning a theory he holds, namely "the spin-off effect", whereby good deeds in turn beget other good deeds. This was only part of a much broader though no less profound philosophical system which allows him and his own to live in such solidity, which space does not permit me to expound fully here; suffice to say that it's all bound up with milk, the Lakes, and "what I like to call, the Linden Tree". I think you're beginning to understand. He quoted liberally, if not pertinently, from the Bard and closed with the following: "my name is Duckymandias King of Kings, look on my works ye mighty and despair".

An impressive encounter all told, about which I leave you to draw your own conclusions.

Gilded Youth

2006-08-01T14:00:00.000Z

For all those of you out there who are dying to know a little more about the elusive Duckfan (probably about 3 of you- thanks to Hilary for getting the numbers up), here's a little something for you to be getting on with.

It comes from somewhere back in the mists of time (or something like 24 years ago), a candid snap in the moments before the Duckfan went to a kiddie fancy-dress party. Nothing could deter him from his stated purpose to live his obsession to the full, even the fact that he looks as if he could have a part in the as yet unthought-of Scream movies.

I know, I know, perhaps it's time for me to be moving beyond all this now...

Literary pursuits

2006-08-01T13:39:00.000Z

24hrs a day, 365days a year, this devoted couple sit cradling various precious books. In so doing they give the lie to accusations that ducks are only interested in the less cerebral (though perhaps no less essential) pursuits of preening, dabbling and sleeping. This happy pair just love to support the Duckfan's library here in the blogsphere, really putting their back into the work, all the while absorbing huge amounts of information, almost as if by osmosis. Today is their first day off in recent memory, and well deserved it is too.

(an apology for yesterday's no-show... Blogger seemed to be less than receptive to new pictorial information)

Collars and... take II

2006-07-29T10:05:00.000Z

Well, I said yesterday that the Gemelli enjoyed attention, but it seems that they've nothing on this pair of attention seeking foundlings. Such a caterwaul went up last night when the Gemelli returned to their box and mentioned that their 15minutes had come, that I rushed over to find out what had transpired. It seems these two felt aggrieved that their time in the sun of the blogsphere had still not come and I realised that there would not be a moment's peace until the spot-light fixed its steely glare on their rounded selves. So here, for your delight and delectation are... another set of cufflinks.

Don't be fooled by their primary colours, because in fact both of them are authentically Pink. This does not, I have good reason to believe, refer to political leanings, nor, I am relieved to say, to anything resembling a "lifestyle choice". I may be tolerant and inclined to overindulge my feathered friends, but there are limits you know.

Collars and...

2006-07-28T16:38:00.000Z

This is certainly not the first set of twins I've introduced to the wider public here on the Duckfan blog, but this is the first set of identical twins. Whereas we Anglophones would tend to call them cufflinks (according to their rôle), the Italians refer to them delightfully as Gemelli, which is to say, twins (according to their relationship). Naturally, therefore, it is to Italy that they are headed in a matter of weeks.

They arrived in the frozen wastes of Canada several months ago after an unsettling period of liminality, uncertain as to their destination, and are pleased to be back in the Imperial Capital for the warmer months. For such small chappies, you'd be surprised quite how much attention they get, and perhaps even more surprised by how much they like it!

Order out of chaos

2006-07-27T13:45:00.000Z

It has been the (short) life's work of this Canadian individual to bring order out of chaos. It's often noted that ducks like to be "all in a row", and here in this corner of the ducksphere things are no different. One of the number of quackers who paddle around here, however, has decided that keeping other things all in a row is something worth devoting himself to, and so he (or more likely some semi-skilled human) came up with the idea to decorate and post guard over some clothes hooks. So it is that in his small way he helps to make duckland the pleasantly ordered place it is.

End of an Era?

2006-07-26T00:56:00.000Z

From the Roving Reporter, this just in:

Much ink has been spilt over the latest in a long line of battles raging in the Middle East. I write from the banks of the river Jordan (it's a tough beat, but someone's got to cover it) where I found two ducks who, whilst willing to talk to me, do so on the condition that their identities and precise location are not revealed.

"Most people seem to think that this only affects Israelis and Arabs, which they equate to Jews and Muslims, but what about us? We're proud to say that we're neither Jewish nor Muslim yet here we are, stuck in the middle. We've been here since before the flood (happy days) and no one takes notice of us, caught in the crossfire of their silly conflict, with 'shells' forever flying overhead. Well, take it from me, both sides are as bestial as each other and we'd be better off without the two of them. We've already seen plenty of the weaker ducks fly the country and we wonder how long we can hold out ourselves. It's the same story across the Middle East, just look at the great Euphrates in Iraq, where there are hardly any ducks left now, and the Nile is becoming pretty dangerous too.

All this talk of hawks makes us most anxious - as the Psalmist so nearly said, 'Do not give Israel, your duck, to the hawk '".

So there you have it, straight from the ducky's mouth, a duck's life's seldom easy. It looks as if, the way things are going, there'll be no ducks left in the Middle East in a few years time, but the one consolation is that they seem to be aware that they will always find a welcome in the Imperial Capital.

State visit

2006-07-26T00:55:00.000Z

This card is something of a classic. It is heartening to know that in the Imperial Capital there are other duckfans, and this policeman is certainly not the only other one; note a whole bank of them snapping the anatine entourage from behind the barriers, a cheeky irony to have them all cooped up behind chicken-wire.

A little known fact is that Her Late Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother was a massive duckfan and it would be interesting to find out if this picture was taken as the feathered family made their way to Clarence House for an audience.

(Apologies for posting this a day late, but Blogger seemed to be having issues yesterday)

La Crise d'Identité

2006-07-24T14:00:00.000Z

Wish I was a Kellogg's Cornflake

Floatin' in my bowl takin' movies

Relaxin' a while, livin' in style

Talkin' to a raisin who 'casionally plays L.A.

Casually glancing at his toupee

This is one of the oddest cases of psycho-somatic suggestion I've ever come across (yes, that does imply that there are others around here too). Ever since he put the stylus down on the grooves of Bookends (1968) by S&G, my polymerised friend has been calling himself Punky and living the dream, wishing - nay, willing - himself a Cornflake. Actually he's done rather better than a cynic such as myself could have predicted at forging his own reality and defying the constraints of the injection mould from whence he came. Of course his assumed shape does confer a certain benefit to me; he holds my soap at the gloaming, beaming all the while about his newly realised utility. I must say that I'm surprised no one ever thought to make a duck soap-dish before!

Floatin' in a bowl he does with aplomb, though the movies and raisins are somewhat scarce in this corner of the blogsphere.

Oh, and any suggestion that the Duckfan has a toupee is strenuously denied.

Holiday

2006-07-18T06:29:00.000Z

Having heard persistent rumours about a flying house, the DuckFan is going on holiday to see for himself. Access to the Blogspphere will not be possible but he will be back for the Monday posting.

Confuseled

2006-07-17T12:44:00.000Z

Two years ago my little spotted French friend arrived at the foot of my bed. He singularly failed to go through the usual channels in order to gain entry to Duckworld, a fault which usually does not go unchallenged by the others, who jealously guard their hard-won status as full members of the Duckzone. But no one was able to take agin this Gallic wonder for the sweet innocence and ignorance with which each of his mistakes is suffused. Of course his permanently crossed eyes serve to add to the (correct) impression that there's precious little going on behind them. He has more than once expressed himself to be "confuseled" by the daily, unchanging, and straightforward routine of feeding-time...

He still labours under the delusion that the ring that is chained to his head is merely decorative, and is also inclined to believe that he can see a bit better when looking through it. The Keeper of the Keys has decided that on balance more confusion would be caused should he ever try to draft the Canard into the service which for which he was clearly originally intended, but luckily here in Duckland anatine dignity does not depend upon perceived utility.

New Arrivals

2006-07-15T00:20:00.000Z

Yet more excitement in duckcamp with the unexpected arrival of these two. The Swedish twins were on watch last night. From the height of the duck's-nest they trained their gimlet eyes on the gyre below. With a furtive flash of rubber in the moonlight the cry went up that there was movement abroad. Friend or foe? It was as yet unclear and a wave of anxious expectation swept the camp... until a longer sighting was then made and confirmation of full anatine status affirmed. Snicker-snack would not be heard that night, so the vorpal blade was put aside and The Brass stood easy. The ensuing revelry for to greet the new arrivals has left me rather exhausted today, since the little things wouldn't pipe down until the wee hours, trying to reconfigure the pecking order and filling the primary coloured duo in on various house rules. After some consultation it was decided to be only appropriate that they both be admitted to being Companions of the Bath, a position for which they are eminently well suited.

It seems agreed by all that they are most welcome! I confess myself a fan.

His Cup Overfloweth

2006-07-14T01:00:00.000Z

Direct from the bedroom sink comes another member of the bug-eyed clan that initiated something of a renaissance of duck admiration in a little corner of Duckville called Parkdale about a year ago. Unlike his sibling - featured a couple of weeks ago - he is a real homebody who hates to travel.

Unlike his reticent sibling from yesterday he likes nothing more than to offer an opinion on any given topic, to whomever will listen, with the greatest verbosity he can muster; never compromising his work, as he skilfully cradles his cup on his back, leaving beak free for the important work of 'holding forth'. The brevity of yesterday's offering prompts him to even more loquacity (or should that be loquackity) than usual:

It seems to me that... Blah blah blah blah blah quack. In my humble opinion... Blah blah blah blah blah quack. I'm not one to gossip, but... Blah blah quack blah blah blah. It's not that I particularly mind his behaviour but... Blah blah blah blah quack blah. Yesterday I came across an article which was very interesting and affirmed what I've been saying all along about... Quack blah blah blah blah blah. I've got nothing against them; some of my best friends are chickens... Quack quack quack quack quack.

Shhhh!

2006-07-13T08:36:00.000Z

A duck of few words....

Bathless in Knightsbridge

2006-07-12T10:35:00.000Z

The Roving Reporter has been pounding the streets once again - he reports as follows:

Life for our feathered-friends outside theDuckfan's direct sphere of influence can be pretty grim. Here is a picture of the shocking conditions that many ducks have to endure, sometimes for weeks on end, before someone takes heart and pays the ransom. I paid a visit to one of the most exclusive corner-shops of the Imperial Capital. What I found there was profoundly shocking. Evoking some of the worst excesses of Abu Ghraib, I found several ducks suspended from an iron bar, kept in plastic bags; imagine also the indignity of being hung so close to the pigs.

"Mmmm, hmmmm, ghrrr" one mumbled though his plastic confinement, by which I took him to mean - "it's a small step between here and the butcher's hook". But the most disturbing aspect of this scene was the taunting mockery of the label placed before each of the duck's faces - Fun in the Bath. Well, it doesn't look like much fun to me! Not a bath in sight.

As I left, disgusted, a ray of hope broke though the gathering gloom - a small child took pity on one of the captives and persuaded her parent to pay the ransom for its freedom. No doubt the yellow fellow is even now enjoying the bath kept from him so long; let us hope the others can be so lucky.

Dispensator dulcium

2006-07-11T11:44:00.000Z

It's a good idea to humour our man here, because to do so is to cause him to throw his head back with glee and so to present one of life's sweeter pleasures. Here is none of the spluttering frustration that one might expect from a Donald; it's no wonder he keeps a smile affixed to his beak when he's so chock-full of nectareous morsels, and his liberality does no end of good for his fellows. Now you might begin to see why it is that life in duckland is generally so harmonious.

Top Brass

2006-07-10T00:41:00.000Z

It is the most shattering experience of a young duck's life, when one morning he awakes and quite reasonably says to himself, "I will never fly." A surprising number of waterfowl are made without wings, but not all ducks have the wherewithal to reach this existential angst; here's one however, who surely has. All of which does not prevent him carrying out his appointed function with alacrity - easing feet into shoes at the most ungodly hours, sparing not only man's heel, but also that of sock and shoe, and nary a word of complaint. Known by the wags in Duckland as "the Brass", and why not?

Who can say what else goes on behind those inscrutable eyes - sometimes I don't know what he's thinking...

Good and Faithful Servant

2006-07-08T09:12:00.000Z

Further to the coverage of the Roman Delegate, the spotlight falls on a veteran of the Key Holding Service who has come back from the Colonies after 2 years of sterling service. As Guardian of the Keys in Exile, he steeled himself to embrace a humbler life than he had known as a child of Richmond-On-Thames.

Duty was constantly at the forefront of his tiny mind, and he was ever alive to the propensity of keys to sink in bodies of water, always going about in buoyant mood and never without suitable subaquatic apparatus, with which habit he even returned to kinder shores and which retirement has failed to extinguish. Having spent such time living in the pocket of his master, his eyes have begun to fail, though he stands ready to reassume duty at a moment's notice, all the while secretly hoping that he'll be called upon no more.

Bohemian Quacker

2006-07-07T14:30:00.000Z

It's the light blue that gives it away; this duck, all the way from China (as ducks these days increasingly are), is a self-styled Bohemian. I suppose that we can blame his parents for their unconventional approach to rearing (they decided to continue sitting on him after he was hatched), but ultimately it was a chance encounter with a Queen song that confirmed him in his approach to life. It's somewhat tragic really, because beforehand he was just a little bit introspected, but now all he does it to gaze upwards, singing the same words over and over again:

"Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in the blogsphere, No escape from reality. Open your eyes, Look up to the skies and seeeeee, I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy."

He has a comely voice, and some of the questions in his constant refrain may in fact be useful to think about, once in a while. But really does he have to be so ... monothematic?

Of course the fact that he's not a poor boy at all seems (quite the opposite) not to worry him. His parents took him out of China to the exclusively salubrious town Richmond-on-Thames for to give him the best they could in terms of education, watersports and life-opportunities, making him on of life's Deluxe Ducks . It doesn't escape comment for example that the colour he has chosen for himself bears more than a passing resemblance to the blue of his Alma Mater. Furthermore, the strength of protestation against a perceived need for sympathy leads me to believe that that's all he's after - it's a pity, since I can't seem him getting any around here, at least not until he stops being so self-absorbed.

And yet - for all that - there remains something captivating about his sirenic song and his bewitching serenity. Maybe it's because, along with so many other ducks, he shares my birthday; whatever it is, I can't help being his biggest fan.

Boing! Time for Bed!

2006-07-06T13:00:00.000Z

There has been great excitement at Duckcentral with the arrival of the fabled Lord Keeper of the Ducks - more simply known as the Duckkeeper. His Lordship has recently come back from one of his mercy missions to Dollarama - the land on the other side of the glassy sea, and before his departure from the Imperial Capital to Eastern parts, he presented Duckfan with the latest in a long line of those poor unfortunate wretches; evacuees from Dollarama.

Seemingly part Zebedee (and part mushroom?), the little peg-billed fellow just loves to please and introduced himself to the Duckfan in terms of his utility -

"Who are you?"

"A fun way to organize notes! To do lists, notes to friends and loved ones... My little clothes pin clip makes it fun!"

Well, aren't I lucky? What's more, he then went on to tell me the same in French -

"Une façon amusante d'organiser les notes! Pour faire des listes, des notes aux amis et personne chères... Mon petite pince épingle à ligne rend tout ça amusant!" (Not exactly Baudelaire, but endearing nevertheless.)

Before I'd had time to realise what he was doing, the little scally had bounced about the blogspace collecting all the dollar-bills he could find, the better to endear himself to me. Dollarama indeed! He simply loves to please and so gives me one more noble reason to be the Duckfan that I am.

Disquiet in Duckland

2006-07-05T11:35:00.000Z

A model of parental responsibility

Our Roving Reporter has stumbled upon a distinctly unsettling state of affairs. Here’s his report:

Whilst perambulating in Duckville yesterday, I happened upon the cygnine contingent of the Imperial Capital, among whom were some younger members. All well and good; a situation worthy of no more than passing comment, you might think; but you would be mistaken.
It appears that a Danish family were singing the praises of one of Odense’s favoured sons - Hans Christian Andersen. Though it’s true that Hans does not appear in many people’s list of top 10 all time Literary Giants, along with Dan Brown and Barbara Cartland, he has his admirers, and it’s hard to see how one can take offence at the fellow. But offence is taken. Nothing had prepared your reporter for the genuine hurt and upset that the swans exhibited at the mere mention of the name Andersen. One of them broke his mute silence to tell me about it.
"It’s time for Andersen to face the music. We’ve maintained our silence too long and it’s time for him to pay. Once and for all we want a public apology- this time he's got to commit; what he wrote about us was totally fantastical, like some sort of fairy-tale gone wrong". All this refers of course to Andersen’s infamous anti-anseriform tract "The Ugly Duckling", published in 1844. The various demands I encountered were:

A disclaimer at the beginning of the tract that it is pure fiction.
A public statement that cygnets are a)neither ugly, b)nor ducklings.
A public apology to swans for 162 years of slander against their parenting skills by the inference that they would abandon an egg.
A retraction from Danny Kaye concerning the allegation that cygnet feathers are a)stubby and b)brown.

The fact that both men are dead did not seem to be a worry to them, and I'm afraid that we’ve not seen the end of this.

Snicker-Snack!

2006-07-04T11:11:00.000Z

Don't let the wooden manner or eyeless visage fool you into thinking that this fuliguline fellow serves little or no purpose, for in place of the seemingly innocuous grouping of feathers that would constitute the tail, there lies a vertiable vorpal blade.

A relative of the pin-tail you might think, and with some reason. Every day he tirelessly employs his ensiform caudal appendage to devastating effect, wreaking havoc on envelopes that seem to fly at him from far and wide. Having dispatched all comers, he retires to his former placitude. Though as yet undefeated, he lives in apprehension of fibreglass-tape, that unnatural substance with which he once had an unexpected encounter. The attempt on his dignity left him scarred and deformed, but he assures me that his resolve has never been stronger.

Le Canard Aux Petits Pois

2006-07-03T14:02:00.000Z

This unlikely Eastern visitor came via Paris; he presents himself on his visiting card along with directions as to how he can best be enjoyed by a cultivated palate. For those not of a Gallic disposition (and for those whose eyes are not as keen as those of waterfowl's ancestral foe) these are the directions:

Clean and truss the duck.
Put into a with 30g of butter. Heat until it becomes golden. Then throw in the the bouquet garni the and a glass of hot water.

Leave to cook, according to size, for 1 and a half or 2 hours.
In addition put the green peas

in aalong with 50gms of butter, the heart of a lettuce and 2 white onions and leave for 20mn over a low heat. Add a glass of hot water. Leave to cook for a further 20minutes. A quarter of an hour before the duck is finished cooking, take out the lettuce, parsley, and onions and add the peas to the duck.

(I realise that this Mandarin is taking a certain amount of culinary expertise for granted - but humour him, after all, he's offering himself for your dinner)

German Nobility

2006-07-01T08:29:00.000Z

The Noble Bearing and Cut Glass Accent of this fine German Fürstin make heads turn and set cosmopolitan bills quacking. Of course some speculate that she's just an Ice Maiden, but in fact the poor dear is just being careful because she has a veritable Heart of Glass. A stunning marriage of form and function; she sports flowing lines and enviably high cheekbones, is given to Weighty Conversation and - it's true to say - makes the Sun to shine more brightly in the life of one who sees her in the Right Light. The lass also tends to be rather Less Obscure and more Perspicacious than her minder and No. 1 Fan.

Rome with a View

2006-06-30T15:01:00.000Z

When he asked for a 'Camera con vista' this was exactly what he had in mind on his latest jaunt to the Eternal City. Asked why he thought it appropriate that he go in the first place, he explained that he always fancied having a Roman bath. The only sadness is that he was not able to go with the rest of his bathroom troupe, but was comforted by the fact that the separation was not to be forever.

A Model of Discretion

2006-06-29T15:41:00.000Z

This little fella comes from one of the finest establishments in London, though goes about unnoticed for his size and modesty - also for the fact that he is usually to be found hidden beneath the folds of several yards of black wool. He does sterling work with little praise or recompense save that of knowing that he helps to keep his master respectfully attired. He displays wisdom and discretion beyond his tender years

Canadian Scholar

2006-06-28T19:48:00.000Z

It has been well over a month since this proud Canuck Graduated with a degree in philosophy (actually a Batchelor of Anatine Thought Summa Cum Laude), but he seems to be very reluctant to move on from that event. Various methods of persuasion have been tried to get him to change out of his gown etc. but he insists that anything else will be a step down, pointing out that keeping his regalia on does not hinder him from a regular wash in the bath... and he's sticking to his guns on this one. Really, give a duck a bit of education and they turn into absolute monsters.

Roman Delegate

2006-06-27T08:23:00.000Z

There is something hard-worn about the face of this little chappie - this may just be a reflection of the rough youth he had, being torn away from the comfort of a jewelers near the Trevi Fountain and trust into the rigours of Midwestern American monasticism.

For all that, his dedication to duty has been without question and has (he feels) been amply rewarded in the present dispensation in London, where he continues to glory in the title Keeper of the Keys.

Despite the apparent lack of coporeality below the gullet, he has managed to clock up more airmiles than most ducks 10 times his age and he shows no signs of flagging now.

A Welcome Intervention

2006-06-26T20:34:00.000Z

I slap myself on the wrist for departing from my embyonic objectives so early on in this new venture - SLAP - and tip my biretta to Hilary

No, not that one... this one

...for thrusting these paltry offerings into the bright firmament of the Blogsphere, wrenching us from provincial obsucrity and making this blog known to an audience substantially beyond its hitherto limited numbers (most likely 2 readers at best). I suppose it can all be put down to the malign influence of the sister of my Spanish Resident, who presently lodges with the Church Lady

Swedish Twins

2006-06-26T07:35:00.000Z

These two simply refuse to grow up (I know, I know, you're probably thinking that it's because they're frozen in a block of lead crystal, but did you ever consider that maybe they put themselves there for a reason?) - I put it down to overindulgent sitting by their mother

A Resident Spaniard

2006-06-24T21:54:00.000Z

One of the Ducks of which I am a fan