Halfwise's feet

So Miss Figgy is all cross-eyed or befuddled or something....looks at my perfectly realized avatar, a true specimen of naturalistic drawing.....and pronounces my feet to be dimples.

I'd just like to open this up to any other anatomical analyses of me you geniuses out there may have.

I always assumed youd just drawn a face on the arse of a mammoth and taken a pic. No?

You came closer than Figgy, who seemed to think I was a pumpkin. Any other interpretations?

Don't fancy a tatse of her pumpkin pie then!

Cousin IT ??

I'm glad you are showing some signs of cultural refinement....

...but no. Beyond getting my anatomy (HAIR) approximately right I'm unclassifiable.

I still think hairy arse comes close.

{{{ Don't tell anyone the truth. We'll just keep the secret between the two of us. }}}

halfwise in another thread wrote:If you must link me to a pre-existing character that at least is in the right direction. but I have a free-standing existence.

Ooh, I know! You're the embodiment of free spiritdom. {{{ That fits with the hairy arse idea too. }}}

Hey, I know what I am!

This has been something of a voyage of self discovery for me. I have to thank Mrs. Figg for finally voicing what I know you were all politely keeping to yourselves....I seem to be uncomfortably unidentifiable.

But then Petty noted that I reminded him of the arse end of a mastodon, and anyone who's been fooling around in the appendices long enough knows the hobbit origin of my name. Maybe I do fall into the old lists, and there's no need to create a new entry. Let's see:

Ass.....hobbit....

.... ..... .....I'M A BURRA-HOBBIT!

Now that's profound!

Shouldn't that be 'burglar-cross-hobbit'?

Mrs Figg wrote:Cousin IT ??

I was certain he was cousin It's grandson. Halfwise, son of HalfwIT. Guess I was wrong.

I have to say "Halfwise son of Halfwit" has something of a ring to it.

And if my dad Halfwit got it on with Mrs Figg, their son would be Figwit. Thought he looked familiar.

Wait a minute...I remember watching FoTR with Dad, and when Figwit appeared dad started shuffling his feet and studied the ceiling while whistling through his teeth. He seemed to be hiding something.

Once upon a time, there lived a friendly family of fluffy broom heads. There golden locks were the envy of everyone who knew them. Gaily they liked to roam,free & wild,the wind delicately teasing their tussled manes. But a bad witch grew jealous of all the notoriety they acrude, (plus her own shampoo was letting her down & the conditioner wasnt much better!). So, in a fit of pique the bad witch crept into the broom heads sleeping quarters & viciously SNAPPED off their handles ! making the broom heads unable to venture out in daylight,unable to now do good deeds for the community, like sweeping the pavement, tidying flower borders & promoting the new range of hair products. distraught, the Broom heads retired into a broom cupboard,far far away, waiting for a magic spell that would release them out into the open once more, (handles attached)

I love an origins story- more!

Once upon a time, far away in the green hills of Scotshobbitshire-in-the-mould, there lived a little half pint bottle,who wished more than anything in the world that he could grow to be a real life Bottle!. So,one day, when out trapping haggis on the moor, a strange blue box spiraled down from out of a clear blue sky & landed right in front of the poor frightened half pint. Staring out from under a clump of heather, the half bottle watched as a tall thin, yet oddly rakish, man strode out of the big,blue box. "I am your fairy Godfather" said the man "And Im here to grant you 3 wishes,what would you like ? (& make em small !)" Fear subsided immediatly for the wee half pint,as he skipped out to take the weird(o's) hand. "Oh fairy godfather" he squealed,"I wanna be a REAL pint" PA-BOOM ! 1st wish was granted, what was once a stubby little grubby half bottle was now a tall,sleek,gleaming full Pint! "Oh,Im SO petty!" he cried, (he had a speech impediment due to sitting in to much wet peat whilst playing suspiciously with a hand-me-down sporran!) "wouldyou like a ride in my box?" grinned the man,"That can be your 2nd wish"he said & as he had nothing else more interesting to do on that afternoon. And before Petty could finish rubbing his new shiny sides,the man threw him in the bright blue box & flung him round the universe, confusing the Pint bottle so much that he now prefered pretty patterned skirts due to the sudden unexpected release of stored up Buckie, (that came "free of charge") Petty now works courageously roaming the deep,dark moors at night, warning of the dangers of sitting in wet peat & collecting unusual thistles ! (he's gone off the idea of a 3rd wish!)

Wet peat is horrible!

cranberries love wet peat. I tolerate it.

But you cant set fire to it!

Wonder why we dont grow cranberries here- weve got absolutely loads of peat- whole moors of the bloody stuff.

They grow just fine is Scotland. I got a lift in the Highlands from an agricultural scientist who said they'd done some experimental work with cranberry bogs at the UHI research labs outside of Perth. So of course that became my next quest.

At that time the only reason not to grow them was that there was nobody to invest in planting them and nobody interested in buying them in any volume if you did grow them.

Also at that time there seemed to be major corporations who were wanting to mine all the peat in Scotland for export as fuel as a coal substitute.

I seem to remember I was told these corporations had been buying up all the best peat bogs and weren't interested in farming it because it would drive the cost of peat bogs up so they couldn't control the global peat market, or some such equally cartoon-villain-like evil scheme.

Did that ever happen???