New stamps are in from that place where they make stamps. Not the post office, no. They don’t make stamps at the post office anyway, they deliver letters and parcels and stuff, but that’s not the point. These aren’t even stamps from the proper place where they make official stamps that you put on official letters and passport applications.

No, these stamps are different. They’re for the secret love letters you send to the girl that works at the bakery. They’re for the confession of all the bad things that you’ve done that you slip under someone’s door. They’re for the forgotten manuscript of the novel that you never wrote that you’ll send to the publisher that doesn’t exist. They’re for the letter you’ll send to santa asking for what you really want, not all that nonsense about toys and games. They’re for the reminder you’ll send yourself to be a nice person and relax a bit.

They’re for letters that you’ll never send.

A page from “False Tales”, a handmade book. Available direct from me or via Etsy.com.

On sale at Etsy.com : http://www.etsy.com/listing/108989454/illustrated-character-bookmarks

On sale at Etsy.com : http://www.etsy.com/listing/110146704/stange-lands-postcard-set

Chip and Paul look a lot like a piece of wood and a baked potato and they laugh about it long and hard when they’re toting totes and jamming jazz at three in the morning. “Man, Potato, You look so baked!” says Chip and bebops his piece of pipe over to Paul. “Hey man,” says Potato, “Well that’s because I feel so baked that I’m going to explode my insides out all over the insides of your overcooked oven, man!”.

So, yeah, they laugh and play jazz and it’s not like no-one over mentioned this to them before. They know how to play and they know how to chop and bake so the rhythm flows and Chip can lay down the beat and everything’s groovy at four in the morning.

But, hey, because Chip’s gotta be back on duty at the Fry Up and Paul’s doing time down at the bake house and scraping by on minimum wage in the big, bad world where there’s no imagination and people can’t even suppose to themselves that a wood chip called Chip and a baked Paul Potato can’t play jazz and hang out some time somewhere, not even just even here and between jazz lovers.

Ain’t that so?

Down deep, deep down in the depths the official fish swims down to escape his official responsibilities that plague him and follow him everywhere. Every time he tries to gulp or breathe a bubble there’s someone there to remind him of  his duties, showing him back to his tasks and keeping him out of trouble.

Who voted for him anyway? Not me. Not you.

And what kind of official business does an official fish have anyway? What’s the difference between a normal fish and an official fish? It’s not much, I’ll say, if it’s anything at all. In most cases it’s simply a snooty attitude or a condescending turn of phrase that sets them apart from the ordinary fish that you see on the streets. Whether it’s from their upbringing or something genetic, they behave in a way that sets them apart from the rest. They exude attitude and sweat arrogance.

That’s not the case with our little official fish. He doesn’t want any of it. He just wants to swim down and away until the idiots that pester him get bored or confused and swim away. And good riddance to them!

You don’t often see things like this. Sometimes you’re scouting around for weeks, tying knots and making fires in the woods and you’re never see a nice sight like this. And, even if you did, she wouldn’t be standing here next to you on the pavement so that you could almost reach out and touch her or even a say a word to see if she can speak and that’s she’s real.

You can’t speak, though. You can’t touch. You’re a scout and you better remember that. You can’t just talk to her or touch her just like that. She might not like it no matter how perfect she is, no matter how perfect her skin looks, no matter how golden and majestic her soft hair looks. No, you’ve got to hold it all back and keep your dignity.

I know what else, though. You can salute. You can salute with all your might. That’s a suitable and honourable tribute to a lady which is civilised and respectful and legal. You don’t need to do any of that other stuff and the police don’t need to be involved this time. All that’s over and done with, and now justice and order can prevail.