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About Me
- HORTON CAREW
- Dundee, Scotland, United Kingdom
- I was born in a hovel in Dundee, the product of a union between a syphilitic scullion and a prominent biscuit maker. I went to school several times, and know some facts.
PREVIOUS ADVENTURES
- The FIRST ENTRY and consequent adventure involving seagulls and Uncle Ben
- A visit from Drs Flitey and Gland
- A bee theory and new punctuation
- A dalliance with immortality
- I become a published poet
- Ghosts and a grail quest
- A lengthy adventure wherein I am plagued by ants and Patrick Bossert (schoolboy cubemaster)
- I become a writer and theatre critic
- A terrifying adventure wherein my dead mother manifests and I become dreadfully evil
- I am interviewed by a postgraduate (good pictures of monkeys included)
- I become an artist, accidentally impregnate my art tutor, fall in love, then become incarcerated
- I formulate a plan to escape my grim asylum (I eventually succeed)
Blog Archive
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2006
(148)
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February
(23)
- Buzzing
- Bee Curd
- Notes on the Bee
- A Fortuitous Discovery
- Absence of Bees
- Bee Searching
- A Bee Theory
- Yesterday's Visit Described
- Anxious to Impress
- Anticipating Scholars
- Saint Valentine's Day
- Shopping
- Preparing For Guests
- A Day Given Over to Idleness
- Respite
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- Uncle Ben Departs
- again I am fine
- a further up-date to calm my readers
- The Grimmest of Updates
- a further message from HORTON
- A Curious Thermos
- Recuperating with Uncle Ben
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February
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Some other electronic diaries which might reward an idle browse one afternoon.
- Professor Jessica Flitey - she is writing a monograph about me
- Dr. Stu - the musings of a Computing lecturer - as exciting as it sounds!
- Wilf's World - the enthusiastic thoughts of a canny youngster
- Peep This Diary - three 17th Century gentlemen somehow have access to the internet
- The Space Blog of Alfie Haggis - Mr Haggis needs your help
- Groanin' Jock - the groanin's (groanings) of the eponymous Jock (Scot)
- The Germaine Truth - strange goings on in Oregon
4 comments:
Profoundly moving.
I think this may be a code - another game that Horton likes to play! Labiatae! It doesn't appear to be morse code, however.
This is a most interesting development. If I am correct, the code is a Sumarian Shaman's glottal chant adapted for text, and reads "Cloud spore Nixon filch", which no doubt forms a further enigma to be solved.
I'll get a couple of postgrads to work on this at once.
Good morning my friends. I am warmed by the thought that you have each been reading this diary, and have been so deeply concerned with my well-being.
I have no memory of writing the code, but I see at once it is 1830s Railroad Morse, which I taught myself some years ago during the dry season.
It reads: "He has me. Send Help!"
I assume that I wrote this at some moment of desperation, when I hoped someone who knew this archaic code might stumble upon my diary and come to my aid.
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