Mind, if you think this a bit weird, wait until you see March's edition. There will be one, although probably a bit later in the month than usual.
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OUT ON
A LIMB
Younger
Readers may like to give up now. Go and do whatever it is Younger
Readers do. You know, tweet something to somebody, post a selfie or
two on Instagram (me looking puzzled while wondering what to post on
Instagram), stuff like that. Or alternatively, seek out an Older
Reader to explain who fotherington-tomas is. Should there not be one
who is both within reach and reasonably sentient, let me explain that
along with his schoolmates – nigel molesworth, grabber, peason and
the rest - fotherington-tomas was a tiny pupil at st custard's prep
school, and a significant part of my boyhood.
fotherington-tomas
was 'uterly wet and a sissy.' He is the one who is 'a goody goody,
who sa Hullo Clouds Hullo Sky and skip about like a girly.' You
couldn't get away with that these days – as any fule kno - not
without being counselled to within an inch or two of your life
anyway, but we're talking 1954 here, and the Molesworth books were
the last word in sophistication in children's literature in those
days. Looking back now, I can see why it was at least as popular
amongst adults as children in those straitened and austere times.
But
hurrah! And thrice hurrah! There is now unalloyed good news for
fotherington-tomas and all those of his ilk who love to commune with
nature. Take a look at this from the Melbourne Herald Sun -
SOME
might think they are barking mad, but sappy Melburnians have started
emailing trees.
And
sometimes they reply.
In
what is believed to be a world first, Melbourne City Council says all
of its 70,000 trees can be contacted.
Melbourne Herald Sun
The wonders of
technology! OK, Melbourne's starting small with Trees, but Clouds
and Sky can't be far behind, and now, when fotherington-tomas
casually gets in touch with a tree on the other side of the planet –
'Hello Tree' – he will get a personal reply – 'Hello
fotherington-tomas.' He can then strike up a conversation. This
seemed so remarkable I couldn't help but give it a try. It turned
out to be not as easy as I thought.
Locating
a suitable tree from the website and clicking on its email address
was the work of a moment. But it was then that the trouble started.
Me
: Hello, erm......
Sorry,
I seem to have fallen at the first hurdle. I do not know how to
address a horse chestnut. Hang on, I'll try Debrett's Etiquette and
Modern Manners. (A snip, incidentally, at £379.80 from Amazon. No
expense spared when it comes to relationship-building with a horse
chestnut!) No, sorry, no joy there, lots of stuff about what to say
to a butler when handing over my hat and coat but not how to address
a tree. Perhaps it'll be in the next edition, although heaven knows
how much they'll bang the price up if they have to research stuff
like that...
Horse
chestnut : Dear Horse
will be fine.
Me
: OK. Dear Horse........
And
then I sort of dried up. What do you say to a horse chestnut you've
never met 10,500 miles away? For one thing, it'll be the middle of
the night there. Will something pinging into Horse's inbox at 4am
disturb his slumbers, disrupt his dreams (now now, no need to adopt
that tone – of course they can. If they can send emails I'll bet
good money they can dream.) Worse, what if 'him' ought to be 'her'?
How do you tell with a horse chestnut? I wouldn’t want to irritate
him or her on First Contact, stirring up antipathy amongst Horse and
all his or her mates......
'Mornin'
Horse, ya sleep good?'
'Jeez,
no, some bloody Pom in me shell-like half the bleedin' night.'
'What'd
he want?'
'No
bloody idea, wouldn't say.'
So
I stayed up specially late to make sure I emailed Horse at a decent
time.
Me
: Dear Horse
Hi!
This is a great moment for me, my first real contact with a tree!
I've had a great day working out what we might talk about, and
building up to this moment. I feel marvellous. How about you?
Horse
: Hi, mate. Not so good.
Me
: Oh dear. Why's that?
Horse
: It's not as easy as you
might think being a bloody horse chestnut .
So far this morning I've had to put up with being used as a wicket,
kids throwing things into me branches – any guesses why? - and dogs
weein' on me trunk. Not to mention 47 spam emails in me bleedin'
inbox. What's Payment Protection Insurance? What do I want with a
new bloody boiler?
I was deflated. This wasn't going to plan. I tried to compose a
sympathetic email, something encouraging but not hectoring;
supportive without being patronising. It was when I was hovering
uncertainly over the send button that I started to question the
wisdom of trying to console a malcontent horse chestnut half a world
away. What did I know of Horse's hopes and dreams? How could I hope
to understand arboreal psychology? Australian arboreal psychology at
that. Was my well meaning intervention only going to make matters
worse?
How quickly things that look fathomable can turn out to be anything
but! I was in an agony of indecision when my inbox pinged. Could it
be? Horse! Was it Horse?! I looked. It wasn't Horse.
'G'day,' it began 'you dunno me, but I'm a silver birch. You can
call me Sylve. Look, Horse and me had a bit of a thing going, but I
kinda dumped him. He's a bit spiky just now – you know? - but he's
fine. Really he is. He's already got his eye on a cute little
flowering cherry, pretty little thing, I really hope they get it
together. He'll be right as rain, no worries.' There was a smiley
face.
This was getting surreal. Trees were now confiding in me about their
love lives. I was pruriently privy to their private peccadilloes.
This was nature as I'd never known it before – if not exactly red in tooth
and claw, then at least a bit pink in passion and desire.
'Hi Sylve,' I began, hoping to sound nonchalant ' thanks for that.
Good to know that Horse'll be OK. What about you? How are you
doing?'
If a ping can sound like a flirtatious giggle, I swear this one did.
'Follow me on Leafr', she replied, and I was soon clicking through to
pictures of a very attractive silver birch. The best I could manage
in return was a rather prim and proper family grouping which I sent
as an email attachment. Not without embarrassment since it now
appeared I was being out-teched by a silver birch, which takes a bit
of living down when you've got a son who works for IBM.
We exchanged emails and pictures for a while, Sylve and I, but after
a bit we started to drift apart. Did you ever meet a family on
holiday and promise to stay in touch? Then you probably know what
it's like. I suppose we never really had much in common in the
first place. Probably I underestimated the commitment involved in
forming meaningful relationships with copse and spinney. I sent a
card at Christmas though (an e-card, since you ask, I'm not that
daft) and got what looked like a rather hurried New Year card in
return. She told me that Horse and Cherry were now an item, which
cheered me immensely.
And
that was that, until a few months later when, out of the blue, I got
an email from Horse. He was puzzled and wanted to know what – if
anything – I knew about someone called Fotherington-Thomas who had
tried to connect with him. Horse clearly thought him a bit effete.
This chap apparently 'loved the scents and sounds of
nature.' 'Typical bloody Pom - sounds like a bit of a Sheila to me'
he opined.
I couldn't email back
fast enough.
Me : Did he start
off with 'Hullo Tree'?
Horse : He sure did.
Me
: Did he sound the sort who would keep dollies at home?
Horse : Yup. Said
there were fairies at the bottom of his garden.
Me : It's definitely
the same bloke. He was utterly wet and a sissy when I knew him.
Horse
: Great!
Me
: Great? Why?
Horse
: I said I knew someone in England who corresponded with
trees. Gave him your address. Told him you spoke to the clouds and
the sky as well. Guess I might have made that bit up. Strewth, but
he sounded real interested!
Me
: What!! But.... that's just not on... I mean....look... I
tried to help you....
Horse
: Laughed me bloody conkers off!
Me
: But......
Horse
: Aw, c'mon mate, just a bit of a giggle! No hard
feelings, eh?
I
couldn't reply without sounding like I was the sort of chap who would
get shirty with an upstart conker tree, so I said nothing. But if
you're thinking of emailing Horse yourself, just go to
http://melbourneurbanforestvisual.com.au/
Please tell him I'm an OK kinda bloke really. I'd hate him to think
of me as a whingeing Pom.
Some of the pictures of Jose Mourinho that appeared following Chelsea's surprise FA Cup defeat at the hands of Bradford City were priceless. This one isn't bad....
JOSE MOURINHO
O, HE RUINS MOJO!
