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Badbury Clump, near Faringdon, Oxfordshire.

HINGEFINKLE'S LOGBOOK (Thirteenth Instalment)

Notes on the Building of a Meistersinger’s Library

Reason and experimentation suggest that darkness is, under normal conditions, merely the absence of light. Were this not so, it ought to be possible to invent a beam of darkness which would extinguish light, just as the glow from a lantern banishes the shadows - but Gladys Sparkbright informs me that such a thing cannot be done. And if Gladys says that a thing is impossible - why - who am I to quibble?

You will imagine our alarm, therefore, on discovering that the darkness in the Wild Lands defied all previous definitions: it was, indeed, a tangible thing. It seemed to have a life - nay, perhaps even a mind - of its own, its probing fingers disrupting the light from our lanterns, and sometimes brushing against our eyes and bringing momentary blindness. I have never seen anything like it before or since; it was not natural, my dear little Alias - not natural at all. Trees can, I admit, cast shadows which may play havoc with a fevered imagination, but no other wood, in my experience, is so bereft of light as that of the Wild Lands. Take a walk in the Bluebell Wood, and you will see what I mean. The bluebells are there, of course, because they taste horrible, and deer and unicorns do not like to eat them - but they are also there because dappled light filters through the canopy even when the trees are in full leaf. Besides, there are elves in the Bluebell Wood, as one would expect; there are no elves in the Wild Lands, and, since the wodehouse is so elusive, I can hardly say that I blame them for avoiding the place.

Why then do I insist that when you are older, you must overcome your fear and, equipped with my map of the Environs of the Harp River, wander deep into the Wild Lands, braving the sinister blackness? Because, my dear boy, there comes a point on that arduous journey when the curling tendrils of gloom suddenly disappear, and one finds oneself walking, or even skipping, down sunny, flower-laden pathways - as Gladys and I did one late summer afternoon. Just as there is something unnatural in the darkness, so there is something magical in those sun-filled glades, and in the distant rushing of the pure and undefiled Harp River. It is there that you will find the Meistersinger’s Hall, and your heart will be sore to leave it. And in that place, deep underground, you will find a structure which ought to be named one of the Wonders of the World - and all because of Gladys Sparkbright.

Do not let me mislead you. I have said already that there are no elves in the Wild Lands. But in that little enchanted pocket of land on the southern bank of the Harp River, there are elves - oh, yes indeed, and other people of every imaginable size, shape and form. But I am getting ahead of myself, and I suppose I should begin my tale at the beginning, since that is the logical place to start.

“In the name of Miranda, Queen of the Elves, who goes there?” said a voice as we stepped into the clearing. There was something of the ringing of bells to it, and I looked up in surprise, losing track of the butterfly I had been chasing with Gladys Sparkbright’s short-range telescope.
“Eeee,” said Gladys with satisfaction. “Ah think we’ve found t’place! This ‘ere be ‘Ingefinkle - a dab ‘and at ahdentifyin’ monsters, ‘e is - an’ ah’d be Gladys Sparkbright, inventor, offerin’ mah service!”
A little black-haired girl stepped from behind a rose-bush, and surveyed us keenly with her deep-brown eyes wide open. “Why - visitors! And brave ones you must be, too, to have come through the Wild Lands. Well met!” she smiled, offering a delicate little hand.
“Hum,” I said, “and who might you be, I wonder?”
“I am the Meistersinger’s Librarian,” said the little girl. Had another child said such a thing, I should have called her precocious, but coming from her young elvish lips, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
“Eee, by gum!” cried Gladys excitedly. “So tha‘ast got a library!”
“Well -” said the girl hesitantly, “not exactly, no. We have the books, right enough - but nowhere to put them. At the moment, they are kept in wooden boxes in all the houses in our village. Even the Meistersinger has boxes of books in his house, but sometimes he sits on them and breaks them. It’s not good for the books - not good at all - to be sat on by the Meistersinger.”
“I see,” I said, casting an intrigued glance at Gladys, who was quivering with excitement and fiddling with the buttons of her cardigan, “perhaps you could take us to see this Meistersinger fellow?”
“Well, I would,” said the girl with a cheeky smile, “but I’m afraid he’s asleep just now. He held one of his parties last night, and -”
“Hum, yes. But perhaps we could wait for him. Is there a public house in the village?”
“Well, of course there is,” frowned the girl. “It wouldn’t be a village without one, would it? What a si

Do cats have belly buttons???
As I have seen many of them born I know that they do have umbilical cord and therefore they could have a belly button... but till this week I?ve never seen one :O
What do you think?
Anyway I'm calling the vet tomorrow... you never know...