In 1923, Kilimanjaro was the object.

December 16, 2006

In 1923, Kilimanjaro was the object. I had seven pairs of pants and my colleague, Major Sir Denton Cook, had three. Egad! Boots laced, tin cups fastened, we stood at base camp preparing to ascend the craggy beast.

“Right, it’s all scree and bushes for the first thousand yards,” Cook declared. “So you’d better not worry about those spoons.”

I enjoy spoons. Had a coat made of spoons and intended to wear it all the way up to the summit, but Cooky was having none of it. I reasoned that he’d thank me if he needed a spoon for his pudding, and he shot back that he already had a spoon of his own. Needless to say, the expedition fell apart.

As luck would have it, the local native chief had an old farm tractor and some petrol, and I offered him my sleeve as fare to the Ivory Coast, from where I rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun. And the colors of the sea, find your eyes with trembling mermaids, and you touch the distant beaches, with tales of brave Ulysses, how his naked ears were tortured, by the sirens sweetly singing, and the sparkling waves are calling you, to kiss the white laced beach.

That was dodgy, you see? I was directly quoting from Disraeli Gears, Cream’s forth album.

Ginger Baker is a re-organized Mormon. I’m not kidding. He plays the drums for Cream, who are a popular rock and roll act from the 1960’s.

It’s true. Have you ever enjoyed a pile of spoons? I’ve three satchels full of them in my study and at night I rattle them around. They make an enchanting jangle when held properly, but don’t try and use them as a spade… You’ll be out there until Bastille Day trying to dig your way to safety. And when the Germans are closing in, a spoon is the last thing you’ll want to use.

Say it: Spooooon. It rolls off the tongue. Spooons. Pantaloooons. Nooooon.

Try it, really. I’ve been trapped in jails in places like Toronto and if it wasn’t for my spoons, I would have never made a friend.

Moving on. I want to talk about soups. They work well when hiking, Neville Newberg had soup, and he swears by the Queen he’s seen ghosts. Told me so in Tunisia. I’ve got a rash. Do you wish to be considered for my next expedition? If you do, post a letter telling me so. My next expedition will involve Jeeps. And belts. And a cannon. And buisqits. Is that how you spell buisqits? That’s how I spell buisqits. And if you’re going to be on my next expedition, you’d better get used to it, hadn’t you? We’ll also bring along some ribbon. And a cap or two. While on expedition, you’ll need caps. I also think anyone who has some paper should consider joining my next expedition.

I can’t stress this enough.

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2 Responses to “In 1923, Kilimanjaro was the object.”

  1. daily funny Says:

    I was searching for this kind of a blog for months now. Actually lost the hope of finding one, but here i am 🙂 Thanks for the great articles! Looking forward for a little read after dinner 🙂


  2. […] postingannya sudah saya pindah ke otak kiri. lebih cocok disana. […] Click https://twitter.com/moooker1


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