The silence, as they say, or so it is alleged, our not being able to hear it — is deafening. We miss the acerbic wit, the sly humour, the inchoate cries of impotent exasperation. I refer of course to the contributions to these fora of Dr Richard P. Grant, last seen in Sydney.
The Maison Des Girrafes, concerned about Dr Grant’s welfare, sent out a search party.
Heidi, digging furiously towards the Antipodes
By then we’d learned from a sauce source in Glasgow that Dr Grant, who is, in fact, an animagus, had been spotted at a conference.
That’s when we called off the dogs.
The cats, however, were having none of it.
Perhaps Dr Grant has gone round the bend…
Oh, so Grant has new friends now, does he? Who is Gordon Conference anyway? Aren’t we good enough any more?
I have asked Charles Darwin the Dolphin to look out for him from above, but apparently they take potshots at flying dolphins in Glasgow, so he may not be able to get too close.
I think your cat looks ill.
Just where is Maine, anyway?
Here’s an Antipode map for intrepid diggers like Heidi-
Antipodes
I’d end up in the middle of the Indian Ocean, far from even the tiniest island. Not China, as my parents would suggest, when I excavated deep holes in the backyard many years ago. A Chinese friend told me that his parents said he would “fall through to America” as a consequence of similar childhood excavations.
Lucky you, Kristi! I end up in the Southern Ocean, some way south east of New Zealand. It’s so remote I have to zoom out over half way just to get a picture with water on it.
Ah great. Richard joins the Dr Grant search party…
Here’s an Antipode map for intrepid diggers like Heidi
Well, what did you expect from a Golden Retriever?
Ah great. Richard joins the Dr Grant search party…
But how do we know it’s Richard? It could be an imposter with the same name, writing with an actor’s voice.
In a possibly connected event…
Sydney under attack!
It could be an imposter with the same name, writing with an actor’s voice.
Hadn’t thought of that. A Dr Grant imposter lurks amongst us then. Plus the event noted by Matt. I’ve just placed a call to
You placed a call to the phantom silhoutte cutter???
He’s probably just popped round the shops to pick up a carton of milk.
Yeah, that’s what all rock stars say, just before they vanish. “I’m just popping round the shops to buy a carton of milk,” they say – and are never seen again. Either that or they are discovered 27 years later living in a commune on the Isle of Mull, buried under a dead sheep.
It’s all true.
And Paul is dead.
No s**t Sherlock.
Who, this Paul?
Just where is Maine, anyway?
Did you miss out the “x” in that word, Richard?
(And which GC is it?)
Aw, Maxine. You have never been far from my thoughts while I was travelling.
No, I meant Maine, as in ME. It’s the Post-transcriptional regulation one, in Waterville, which is in the middle of bloody nowhere, AKA Maine.
Maine is next to Nova Scotia. Everyone knows that.
Happy Canada Day by the way!
Egoist.
Had I realised it was Canada day I would have worn a Canadian t-shirt. Yes, have a happy Canada Day everyone, eh?
So was Canada day yesterday, or today, or last week?
Timezones. From any angle, they’re a bitch.
It explains the OED’s rather odd ‘Word of the Day’, anyway.
I regret to announce that Nippy the Hamster has just died.
Taps
Henry, family Gee and united Zoology at the Maison Des Girrafes, my condolences.
Thank you, Wouter.
@ Richard: well, there was indeed some doubt as to whether he was really dead. Do hamsters hibernate, Mrs Gee asked? Not at this time of year, quoth I.
But when I get home I shall have to examine the corpse. Let me through, I’m a
necrophiliaczoologist, I shall cry.We’re all wearing
sombrerosblack armbands in the office here to mark our condolences.Graham – how touching. Sombreros would be fine. Send no flowers.
Maine here.
Richard — it isn’t the same GC as the one my friend is at, so I can’t do a sort of remote version of FriendFeed, sorry.
Henry — so sorry about the hamster. When I was young I kept a menagerie of cats, rabbits, guinea pigs, ducks, chickens, mice, gerbils, hamsters, a vole, a frog, a few shrews etc. The hamsters seemed far more prone to dying at the drop of a hat than all the other species. But it is hard to tell with these strange nocturnal hibernatees (even in the summer?). Just don’t do the “bring out your dead” number with the traditional shoebox quite yet, in case it starts yelling “I’m not dead yet”. Then you’ll have to say “be quiet” and hit it over the head with a shovel.
@ Maxine: Nippy is, sadly, quite dead. Stiff. Gone to join the Choir Invisible. Bereft of life, he Rests in Peace … or he would, if Heidi didn’t keep digging him up. Revenge of the Zombie Hamsters of DOOM.
Metal shoebox, welded shut and lined with lead?
(Moment of silence for Nippy)
Canada Day is July 1st. I actually posted my last comment on June 30th Vancouver time, but I knew it would show up as July 1st here. Mind you, it’s probably not Canada Day anywhere until it’s Canada Day in Canada, and the Maritime provinces were still in June at that time. So I jumped the gun a little bit.
I am spending the day in appropriate fashion – finalising and printing my Canadian citizenship application. I became eligible on Saturday but thought they might appreciate a July 1st date stamp!
Metal shoebox, welded shut and lined with lead?
It might come to that. Mrs Gee baulked at my idea of burying Nippy in the rubbish bin, but my idea of a Viking Ship Burial, launching Nippy out to sea and then setting fire to his ship, did have some appeal.
How about putting him in a canoe with his sword on his body and pushing him over a waterfall….and oops, don’t forget to include his horn for his dad to find and get upset about.
I have finally managed to bury him and Heidi hasn’t dug him up again yet! RIP Nippy
I had a Nature Network themed dream last night, in which Richard was simultaneously my neighbour from across the hall AND visiting from Australia (at least that part made some sense). The neighbour-version organized a science conference that was either in the middle of nowhere in the suburbs OR in a downtown tattoo parlour (Google Maps (yes, I use Google Maps in my dreams) gave both locations, and it turned out to not be in the tattoo parlour, but I woke up before we made it to the suburbs.) There were a bunch of other Nature Network bloggers too, but we all mainly just tried to find the conference location and bickered about maps and addresses.
Interpret at your leisure. (I think it means I need to cut down on my blog reading, and that I am upset about missing the Science Blogging conference in London. Also, the pictures of the RI murals that Matt posted may have lead my brain to “tattoo parlour”. Oh, and most of my dreams (at least 75% of the ones I remember) involve finding places and walking a lot with a big group of people and never getting to the intended location. It’s my recurring theme.)
Commonly, is this the Antipode
buswayblog to Amarillo ??(post submitted afore Eva’s dreamy dreams post)
Eva, it could be that you’ve been looking at this blog
That too (no almost-pun intended) but there were no people in the tattoo parlour in my dream (that’s how we knew the conference wasn’t there!). No one actually had (visible?) tattoos.
Henry, my condolences to you and the family. And especially Nippy’s family.
The Beast has suggested that Heidi could just be getting into the recycling business in her own way, and that it was actually rather unkind of you to make it so difficult for her. He has a one track mind.
I have this hypothesis that the minds of dogs are constructed along the same lines as those of people, except that dogs are utterly incapable of thinking more than one thought at a time. Cats, though … well, they’re just inscrutable. I’m sure that the only person at the Maison Des Girrafes who really knows what’s going on is Marmite … but she’s not saying.
! http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3177/2621226202_497b4d0459.jpg?v=0!
Marmite, inscrutably. Er … yesterday. Possibly.
Henry, maybe you meant:
Yes, that’s her. Inscrutable as ever, as you see.