The sticky bun of time
Professor Hardy Polphetamine attempts to explain recent events in Leyman's terms.
Imagine the universe as a one hectare sheet of black rubber with a single twist in it and an egg timer placed on each end. An Owl flies from one end of the sheet to the other constantly while a small, perfectly round lump of putty the weight of Jupiter rolls around a point at the centre of the sheet. Set both egg timers to go off at the same time and tie the universe to a tree that makes no sound. You must then set fire to the tree and watch the universe disintegrate.
In this analogy, the thick smell of burnt rubber is God. His wisdom is represented by a circling, flaming Owl. Despite years of complex and exotic mathematical formulae, we still have no idea what the tree represents, though we do know that the model simply does not work without it. We call this the Tree Effect.
A mysterious activation of the Tree Effect is what caused the events that has led us to 12 days and 21 minutes of continuously looped time. It is as if the Owl is laughing at science. Many scientists are quite depressed by the Tree Effect and have begun to systematically fell trees in an effort to dislodge Owls as well as destroy the universe. We will not tolerate this ignorance about the things we don't know. If a tree falls in the forest and it does not make a sound, science will look worse for it.
posted by Professor Hardy Polphetamine at 97:12 T-Time
Againday, April 23, 2003
Town Time stops still until Drilly Day
Announcement: Please adjust your clocks
It has come to the Town Council's attention that the recent recalibration of time before Drilly Day has unsettled the mind of Trepanniers and interlopers alike.
One of the difficulties is that the hexadecimal week, introduced by the Council in an attempt to account for a total of 12 days and 21 minutes, is just too confusing to be useful. We have also heard concerns expressed by representatives of Trepanning's Glorious Postal Department that some of their services are being adversely affected. This applies especially to their Bent Time Delivery option which ensures the successful delivery of mail the day before it was posted. Currently, mail sent via this service may arrive up to a week before it is due, thereby losing all its context of urgency.
The Council will phase out these hexadecimal weeks during the next #07.F212 days. Days preceding Drilly Eve, April #FD±3A$ will now revert, via Widdershin's Transposition Principles. Dates after Drilly Day will move the other way. Please try to avoid using a mirror during this time as the results may be too dizzying for words.
These changes are temporary, but the Council
will permanently correct the extra dates by dumping unused time in Fickle Fields, subject to planning permission being granted later in the year. In the meantime, a complex of garden sheds has been erected around the Off-Centre Centre and we warmly encourage you to take up some kind of futile occupation in one of them. A number of schemes have been started for your convenience: Choose from reconditioning radiograms; learning the harmonica; voting in an election or installing Linux on a toaster. Remember: Just two men, each attempting to repair a bakelite appliance in a garden shed, can fritter away 18 hours of time between them.
posted by Trepanning Information Ministry at 75:12 T-Time
Notagainday, April 23, 2003
Town mourns first ever cancelled Drilly Day
Clare Terrace sends us this report from a Drilly Day that was not to be...
An atmosphere of sadness tangible yet, somehow, intangible hangs over the spoon-shaped vale of Trepanning's woes this morning, writes
Clare Terrace.
A lone bell chimes its mournful clang-clang-clang from The Shambles, as if, somehow, it was the metallic heart that beats at the very middle of the Town's tangible loss.
For today was to be Drilly Day which, in a very real sense, is the biggest day in the calendar. Though not literally, of course, as it is set in 18 point Grotesk Fancynancy and is therefore the same as the other dates.
And among the goodtownsfolken, a wistful sadness of dejavu still prevails, for, less than 72 hours ago, today would have been the day after the day that was the day after tomorrow and now it is a fortnight the day before yesterday. Their loss is almost unexplainable. The bell clangs again and, in a very real and literal sense, it will rust in a pool of tears.
This is
Clare Terrace for Drilly Day Live, determined and dispassionate while all around me are weeping.