There is no doubting the certitude of some things. It took only a couple of drinks at a party and Warwick would corner any and every one and talk about Unidentified Flying Objects. Tonight he had buttonholed Brandon.
One of the more concerning things about UFOs – said Warwick – is that they are always seen hovering near military establishments. Military bases of various kinds. Or if not, at least an air force plane or an aircraft carrier. It implies that these UFO aliens are snooping on our military. One would think that aliens would be interested in Nature – our mountains and lakes, our trees and animals. Even our weather. But no! They snoop around the military bases, and this implies that their intentions are not friendly. Don’t you think?
Brandon felt trapped. He clearly had to respond, because there was no one else in on the conversation. Just him and Warwick. So he said that Warwick’s point was very perceptive. Yes, it did look like these cosmic aliens were preparing for an Earth take-over. One would think that if the aliens were going to surprise the Earthlings they would cover their intent by making appearances at less war-prone environments. Why not be furtively seen in the sky at the Chelsea Flower Show, for example?
Quite true! Quite true! said Warwick excitedly. The signs certainly point to an imminent attack.
Brandon made a mental note to pass this observation on to his headquarters, somewhere in the vicinity of Proxima Centauri.
Emile Etienne Metard won second prize for his pansies in the annual Palmerston North Horticultural Society’s Flower Show. He won a garden hoe.
This was in 1881. In all likelihood, Emile loved his pansies. Getting second place for his pansies in the annual Palmerston North Horticultural Society’s show of 1881 was a moment of glory. He thought of the occasion with pleasure throughout his life, especially when he used the garden hoe he had been awarded.
It is fast heading towards two centuries since Emile won second prize for his pansies in the annual Palmerston North Horticultural Society’s flower show. The hoe has done its dash. The pansies are dead. Sorry Emile Etienne Metard, but no one gives a damn.