Bromford Below - Part 06

»Roswitha Mauer was the lady with the many cats in 666 Whitaker Lane, wasn't she?« the llama asks. »It wasn't Anne-Marie Whitaker as I thought.«

I don't know what to say. My head is empty. It has been a long and winding year with a lot of bad news and one crisis after the other - even here in this little blockblog-world of ours. And now we have got the usual end of year madness. What have I done to deserve this?

You should have attended the owners' meetings of 666 Whitaker Lane more regularly; I hear a stern voice in my head. Missing them is a strong form of disregard. Maybe this train ride is some kind of punishment for this. Can you tell me who the current owner and resident of Apartment 1 of the apartment-building on 666 Whitaker Lane in Bromford, the friendly town by the bay and seaside is, Bromford Bibble? Where is your interest in your neighbours? Where is your sense for sociality?

My what?

»Where is my bathroom? Where is my bathtub?«

This old fellow with his long white beard and hair is wearing a bathrobe, red with white hems and cuffs.

»Santa Claus?« Nigel asks.

»I don't think so, pup«, the llama says. »We met Santa last year and he looks completely different.«

»I am most certainly not Santa«, the old man says. »My name is Sir Nicolas de Noelle.«

Who else could it be? Met that fellow back in 2010 in Apartment 6 and now here in Waggon 19.

»You used to be Bromford Bibble, the man who is called like the town«, Sir Nicolas addresses me. »Haven't seen you for quite a period of time now. Haven't seen much of the world lately, to be honest. Was about to take a bath just to find me here under these uncomfortable circumstances.«

My head is still empty. I know I am supposed to find some dots and to connect them. But why and how? It is that time of year you just want to cuddle up in your warm and cosy cave to weather the cold and dark seasons. When did humanity give up hibernations?

»Can somebody stop this nonsense, please?« Sir Nicolas de Noelle is now shouting at the ceiling of the underground waggon as if somebody was listening or watching from above. »I will be late for my annual Christmas trip. And a lot of beings will be disappointed.«

»What is your annual Christmas trip?« Kylie asks and it is hard to tell if she is really interested or just being polite.

»Young lady«, Sir Nicolas says, »for decades and decades I have spent this time of year at a very special place to observe and to guide and to plan and to be responsible of a very special event towards the end of this month.«

»The North Pole and the event is Christmas?« Nigel asks.

»No, no, no«, Sir Nicolas denies. »The North Pole is way too cold and Christmas is just another invention of retailers, may they be online or stationary, to get rid of all their things and making a lot of money. The place I want to go to is Christmasland and the event is my birthday.«

»And where is Christmasland, dude?« the llama asks.

»Maybe this underground train is going to Christmasland«, Professor Sideburns suggests.

»I still think Christmasland is the North Pole and Santa Claus' workshop with all his little elves and reindeers«, Nigel insists and to the llama, »And when did you start calling me pup, KussKuss?«

»Would be nice meeting Santa Claus and his reindeers Ant and Prot again«, the llama says. »And I call you whatever I want, pup.«

»You know that Santa Claus is just an invention of the Coca-Cola-Company and that sleighs are trucks and reindeers only Horsepower?« Sir Nicolas de Noelle proclaims. »OK, he may be based on my ancestor, Saint Nicholas of Myra, the early Christian bishop of Greek descent from the maritime city of Myra in Asia Minor during the time of the Roman Empire. But the red-dressed fellow with the fat belly and red cheeks is merely just a comic advertising character from the early twentieth century.«

Pompous, this is all so pompous, I think, without knowing what this word really means. And I really hope that Sir Nicolas will return to his bathroom to have his bath and to go on his trip to Christmasland afterwards to plan and to guide and to do whatever he wants for his birthday as soon as he disappears when we leave this waggon.

🎄🎄🎄🕯🎄🎅

"Bromford"

Three, five, zero, one, two, five go!

I was there in the back stage

When the light came around

I grew up like a changeling

To win the first time around

I can see all the weakness

I can pick all the faults

Well, I concede all the faith tests

Just to stick in your throats

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

Hung around in your soundtrack

To mirror all that you've done

To find the right side of reason

To kill the three lies for one

I can see all the cold facts

I can see through your eyes

All this talk made no contact

No matter how hard we tried

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

I can still hear the footsteps

I can see only walls

I slid into your man-traps

With no hearing at all

I just see contradiction

Had to give up the fight

Just to live in the past tense

To make believe you were right

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

Three-one-G

Three, five, oh, one, two, five