A Place to Lay My Charming Minature Top Hat.

It's been an eventul few days. I am now settling into a flat that Auntie arranged for me to rent. It's smaller ...very small actually...and less....poetic than I would have liked, but it will do for the moment.

I'm just glad to be out of that godforsaken boarding house. I swear I had not a minute to myself there...difficult when one is....creating...poems...to be constantly interrupted to come downstairs for meals or for tea...or to escort one's Aunt on her daily constitutional...or all sorts of dreary things.

Granted, it is not the plush setting that I imagined that Phineas Matova, man about town and poet at large, would be dwelling and entertaining in, but I have a table and chairs, a fireplace, and a goodly supply of *peers at a faded label on a large barrel in the corner* whiskey? Whiskey I believe it is. Bought it from a chap in an alley. And that is all I need.


Perhaps I shall take a stroll and make aquaintance of my new neighbors...or perhaps I shall stay in and write poems...Oh I believe I shall do that this evening, with no Aunt to ask me to rub her bunions or ask me to fetch her yarn from behind the sofa or bathe her ancient, dyspeptic cat.

Mr Boots apparently had some sort of ...skin condition.

I was feeling...in need of a new outfit, so I purchased this ensemble. I think the hat lends quite a dashing touch, no? My cousin seemed quite taken indeed by it, as she began to clutch her hankie to her face and laugh in an hysterical fashion. Poor thing, she seems to get these terrible fits when I am about...

As a reward for good behavior (not frightening her other boarders for a week, not setting the boarding house alight, not mentioning the unicorn, not 'getting a snoot full' as she calls it...difficult when there are no pubs within walking distance..) Auntie accompanied me on a visit to Caledon, where we first visited cousin Violet for tea.

I believe she has mostly put that unfortunate incident of her home burning to the ground (the unicorn is still at large...do not look at me like that) and seems to be settling well into her life in Stormhold. I did notice she removed all sharp/pointy objects from the vicinity...(difficult when one is trying to butter one's scone...a spoon simply does not do...besides I don't believe you can injure anyone with a butter knife...harrumph ) After our scones and tea, we bid adieu to my cousin and went off to continue our visit.

We walked through the new Oxbridge University, admiring the buildings and grounds. I managed a few tintypes of the visit:

Oh.... I have control of my camera. Indeed I do. What a handsome devil.

Ah, very Byron-esque here. Moody, sullen and poetic. I was going to write a poem on the spot, since I felt so poetic, but I neglected to bring either paper or pen and then Auntie told me to stop arseing about. Pfft.

Auntie and I strolling the grounds while she tells me yet again the sad, sad story of her first husband, Eustace Winterbottom and his demise at the hands of (or is it paws?) grizzly bears.

Auntie and I prepare to take our leave of Caledon, taken just before she rapped me with her cane for smoking. *grumbles*

More Poetry by Phineas Matova

As I have been bedridden recently with the grippe, my subject matter has become limited to the contents of my bedchamber.

"Spoon"

Spoon, laying against the empty bowl
which was full of soup.
But has now been consumed.
Gazing at my reflection
In the round part
Even all distorted
I am a handsome devil.



"Socks"

You lay intertwined on the floor
lifeless and eyeless
Well of course lifeless,
because you are socks.
And it would be very frightening
If you were alive.
And as everyone knows,
Socks can't see.


*sneezes*

I believe this one to be my finest work yet, spare and economical...yet it conveys so very much about the human condition in just four lines... I call it:


"Toast"


Gently browning over the fire,
Crispy and golden, just the way I like it
Crumbling delicately in my mouth
Especially good with butter or jam.


*sneezes and coughs*


Actually I'd like some toast very much right now, but as the cook for the boarding house is off shirking her duties at home, I shall have to figure out the stove myself. Pah.

A poem by Phineas Matova

Since there is little to do here at my aunt's boarding house..(all attempts at escape a failure, no pubs nearby, no vistors *coughs and glares* ) I have taken up writing poetry to pass away the long, long hours. My first subject being the young lady who frequently hovers about, Miss Saffron... something or other. something with letters and such....it escapes me at the moment...

I'm taking a contemporary approach here...all that ryhming business may be suitable for maiden aunts sitting at lace-doily covered tables with ostrich quills, but not Phineas Matova, man about town and poet at large!!

"Saffie, old girl"

Little beigey lady
With your hair so beige
And your dress so beige
You are like a stalk of wheat
Waving in the sun

Your eyes are like two shiny buttons
Sitting neatly in your head
I am most glad they are there
Because it would be a tragedy
If they were not.

For hours you sit,
Squinting at your embroidery
and your knitting
And your books.
Thank you for the scarf, by the way.


No applause necessary. I shall not forget all of you when I am Poet Laureate.. *beams*

Yawns.

Mother of god, I am bored and ...*sob* sober...this state of affairs cannot continue..... the days crawl by and the nights...*yawns*



I finally managed to make a tintype of Miss Antwerp...or Aardark...for the life of me I cannot remember the woman's name. Perhaps it is Antelope? Here she is, skulking by a wall.



Surprisingly, she is wearing a colour other than beige, which she seems to favor.

Status...

I know that you all have been terribly concerned about the whereabouts of Phineas Matova, man about town. Please let me put your fears to rest, dear folk of Caledon.

I have been accused of arson. I was camped out in the Tanglewood forest, living on nuts and berries. I was attacked and nearly consumed by Vorpal bunnies. (who on earth is keeping Vorpal bunnies?? *shudders*) A tiny poked me with a sharp stick. Then another tiny poked me with a sharp stick. I fell out of trees. Several times. I was very itchy.

But now,, dear people of Caledon, I am safe in the custody of my Aunt Juniper, living in a room at her boarding house not too far away...really, just a short train ride outside of Caledon. Not even an hour, from what I recall...admittedly I wasn't in the best frame of mind when I took it, being a bit dazed. But thirty to forty minutes at the outside. And the scenery is very pleasant. I assume anyway.

My Aunt has not allowed me to leave the premises yet. Believe me, I have tried, but then a rather surly gentleman that she has as a border ...talks me into returning to my little room. I would never have figured that such a large and imposing figure would be interested in summoning spirits and table rapping, rather than the more violent pursuits that he seems to be ideally suited for, but that seems to be the case.

Oh yes, my Aunt primarly rents out rooms to others who are spiritualists or those who wish to be. It does grow rather tiresome at times, with the household full of knocking noises, or peculiar disembodied voices.

Occasionally I have been frightened out of my wits by one apparation in particular that suddenly appears in my room and hovers there until my Aunt comes in and sends it..her...*shudders* away. Apparently this is her spirit guide Flossie, who has taken a dislike to me and enjoys tormenting me.

Another form tends to hover around me, but I realized quickly that this was not a ghost, but another one of the boarders. A Miss Antwerp? I am uncertain, but she seems to favor the color beige. She is the only boarder who seems to want to visit me.


Did I mention the boarding house is only a thirty minute train ride outside of Caledon?