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This is a little exercise in creative writing.  The brief was to reimagine the Three Pigs from a different perspective.   The original is a parable about the virtues of forward thinking, providence and hard work, so that only the most abstemious pig survives the metaphorical wolf.  I thought it was a bit tough on the middle pig who is just trying to find a balance between work and play.   So here is my version:

 


 

I know it’s a bit alternative but I like my little wooden house.  It took next to no time to build and after all I just need a place to lay my head.  And our forest has lots of nuts to eat. Yes, I got plenty of nut'in; and the nut'ins plenty for me.
So what’s the point of a lock on the door when the things that I prize, like the stars in the skies, are all are free.

 

They call me Porky. My best sow and I have formed a duo: ‘Porky and Best’.  She and I perform/squeal Gersh-swine songs down at the Wallow, our local hangout frequented by the more laid-back porcine-Porsche crowd.

 

I got the sun; I got the moon; I got the shade of a tree.

I’m not like nerd-pig, my pseudo-intellectual brother, who’s got no time to dance and play and sing the night away. 

 “You call that a house,” he said. “It’s more like a pile of sticks.  You don’t need windows.  I can see right through the walls.”

Then he went on to speculate what would happen to it, and me, in a bushfire. “Smoked pork! Tinder ‘n Crackling!” he concluded. 

What a boar, always expecting the worst!  What happened to 'live for today'? 

But we both agreed, it's a palace compared to hippy-pig, our other brother’s place. 

As an alternative lifestyle in-activist he decided on straw-bales.  Some of his friends from the commune even contributed a load but after he smoked a bit, and chilled, it was all too hard. 

So, he just piled the bails in a sort of U and stretched the tarp, that came with the load, as a make-shift roof.  When he gets the munchies, he eats his house.

 

 

“Did you choose this spot deliberately?” asked nerd-pig meaningfully when we both went to see.  “Naw,” hippy-pig grunted: “That’s just where they fell off the truck.”

“As I thought,” said nerd-pig sarcastically, “Right in the watercourse down the hill.  You’ll drown in the first good storm.”

Nerd-pig really gets up my snout sometimes. He can be a real swine. His favourite saying is: “Two legs good, four legs better.”  As if we need to be better than birds.

He’s building a huge brick sty on top of the hill, complete with a fireplace in the kitchen.  He has no time for enjoyment.  But he has invited me around to dinner tonight, so he’s not all work and no play.

Speaking of birds, what did that little bird just say?  “Hippy-pig is gone - in a huff and a puff!”  Well, the puff is not unexpected. What’s that: “Big Bad Wolf blew in, no door, no roof!”     

Wait 'til I tell nerd-pig tonight. I’m longing to see his beady little eyes, when he finds out he was wrong about the drowning.

“Hey bro,” I squeal at his big oak door. “Can I come in?” 

“Yes of course,” he replies.  “You’re just in time for wolf, leek and potato stew.”

Well, that’s a surprise. Wasn’t I supposed to get eaten first? 

Obviously, the electric fence I put around my house worked as planned.  I'm not completely stupid, incompetent or helpless.  

 

 

Consequently, the shocked and disoriented Big Bad staggered up the hill; onto nerd-pig’s roof; and straight down the chimney into his cooking pot.

“What delicious swill bro,” I grunt piggishly, as I get my snout into his trough.  “This puts hairs on my chinny chin chin!”

 

 


 

 

 

 

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Travel

Malaysia

 

 

In February 2011 we travelled to Malaysia.  I was surprised to see modern housing estates in substantial numbers during our first cab ride from the Airport to Kuala Lumpur.  It seemed more reminiscent of the United Arab Emirates than of the poorer Middle East or of other developing countries in SE Asia.  Our hotel was similarly well appointed.

 

Read more: Malaysia

Fiction, Recollections & News

The Meaning of Death

 

 

 

 

 

 

'I was recently restored to life after being dead for several hours' 

The truth of this statement depends on the changing and surprisingly imprecise meaning of the word: 'dead'. 

Until the middle of last century a medical person may well have declared me dead.  I was definitely dead by the rules of the day.  I lacked most of the essential 'vital signs' of a living person and the technology that sustained me in their absence was not yet perfected. 

I was no longer breathing; I had no heartbeat; I was limp and unconscious; and I failed to respond to stimuli, like being cut open (as in a post mortem examination) and having my heart sliced into.  Until the middle of the 20th century the next course would have been to call an undertaker; say some comforting words then dispose of my corpse: perhaps at sea if I was travelling (that might be nice); or it in a box in the ground; or by feeding my low-ash coffin into a furnace then collect the dust to deposit or scatter somewhere.

But today we set little store by a pulse or breathing as arbiters of life.  No more listening for a heartbeat or holding a feather to the nose. Now we need to know about the state of the brain and central nervous system.  According to the BMA: '{death} is generally taken to mean the irreversible loss of capacity for consciousness combined with the irreversible loss of capacity to breathe'.  In other words, returning from death depends on the potential of our brain and central nervous system to recover from whatever trauma or disease assails us.

Read more: The Meaning of Death

Opinions and Philosophy

Copyright - Greg Ham

 

 

I've just been reading the news (click here or on the picture below) that Greg Ham of Men at Work has died; possibly by suicide.

Read more: Copyright - Greg Ham

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