Post 7. TSORTED!
First Clog: "You Cloggers are all alike..."
I hadn't realised it was so long since my last Clogpost! Will try to be more conscientious, because I want to remember all these journeys when I'm too old to remember them without special equipment. I've been told about "Clog ennui" -- that's what happens to about fifty-five per cent of Cloggers -- at first it's all enthusiasm and long, rambling posts, and then after a few months their posts get shorter and they post less often, and then they find themselves going "Ooh, I must make a post about that because it's so interesting" and really mean to but seem to keep forgetting, and then a few more months go by and they realise they haven't posted anything at all and they've forgotten whatever was so interesting that they wanted to post about. So I'll do my best. I've told Gimpy to give me a bingly-bingly-beep reminder every two or three days. He offered to just make a note of everything I do so I can "edit it later", but I'm quite sure that some of the things I've been doing do NOT want to be noted, and imps aren't exactly strong in the "a certain discretion" department...
We had a fantastic time in Djelibeybi, weeks and weeks of it. Great gigs out under the desert moon! I had a number of interesting chats with the Queen, and she introduced me to her friend Chidder of Chidders Merchant Venturers U'ltd who sold me a new non-sapient pearwood fretboard for my lute at less than cost price. He also gave me a Recording Device, which is a sort of box with a sort of wire in it that remembers sounds better than Gimpy doe-, um, better than one would think possible (he tapped his nose and said I have to keep it to myself because they've been banned in Ankh-Morpork and are considered contraband; I'd say they're pro-band, myself). And as I mentioned in my song DJEL STAR'S PYRAMID, Queen Ptraci has moved her country kicking and screaming into the Century of the Anchovy and has turned most of the old pyramids into hotels; room service is still a bit heavy on the honeyed locusts, but the best thing about sleeping in a pyramid is that you wake up a little younger every morning. I know where I'm going to spend my retirement.
But all good things end eventually, and it was time to move on before we wore out our welcome. I booked passage on a camel train, and none of the camels broke down (though camel travel is rather like a series of mobile breakdowns; take it from me, camels do not give a smooth ride).
And now here we are in Tsort, having a less fantastic time.
Tsort has never been the same since the Siege of Ago -- the Ephebian conquerors put their retsina-flavoured stamp on the place so thoroughly that it's pretty much been a sort of Turnwise Ephebe ever since. Everything is quiet and dusty and bucolic, relentlessly picturesque locals dozing in the relentlessly picturesque sunshine, flies buzzing quietly around the street markets...until opening time, that is. Whatever glorious history Tsort had back in the days when History was glorious, what it mostly is these days is a tourist trap. Of course, the place is still full of Ephebians, but they don't come here with pointy spears and siege engines now; they come here for their holidays because the architecture is familiar and the food is familiar and the music is familiar but they can walk down the street without tripping over philosophers.
So instead of not being able to move for all the drunken philosophers, you can't move for all the drunken holidaymakers. It's all pubs and hotels and cafes and restaurants and retsina bars and markets and more pubs and, most of all, nightclubs -- which makes it one of the most popular destinations for all the Clubbe Circlesea thirtysomethings. They say they come for the ambience and the mind-broadening aspects of travel, but what they really come for is the boozeries. There's the Fair Elenor, the Inferno (supposedly built on the supposed spot of the supposed Fire of Tsort), the Wooden Horse, the Lavaeolus, the King Mausoleum's Head and Artichoke, the Uninvolved Civilian, the Siege of Tsort, the Sea God's Revenge, the Legged Box (which lists itself as "Tsort's Oldest Inne", although curiously enough no-one seems to know where its name came from), the Soldier's Break...you get the idea. And then there are the nightclubs. Oh gods, the nightclubs. The ceaseless wailing of bouzoukis, the ceaseless barking of Bourzoukis, the ceaseless single-entendre lyrics, the unavoidable Plate Breaking Dance, the ubiquitous sleazily-named cocktails (not to be confused with the Ephebian philosopher Ubiquitus, although it's said that he invented a few sleazily-named cocktails in his day)...I feel like I need a holiday to recover from my holiday...
The twentysomethings from Clubbe 18-29-and-3/4, on the other hand, stop in Tsort for a few cocktails and then go straight to Heliodeliphilodelphiboschromenos. It's popularly known as Heliodeli, but what it should really be called is Heliodeliphilodelphishaggarama! Why this crowd chose a sleepy, past-it city in the middle of nowhere for their rampant, um, mating rituals is a mystery; maybe it's because Heliodeli is a sleepy, past-it city in the middle of nowhere? At any rate, not much sleeping goes on there. We decided, Cert and I, to pass on that particular tourist attraction. When one's (or two's) already been At It like Oggs over half the Disc, including on a flying carpet, having a designated spot for At It hasn't much appeal. We opted instead for doing touristy things. We saw the River Tsort -- very muddy and big on crocodiles -- and the Silent Marshes -- very silent and big on mosquitoes -- and the Siege Market -- big on leather wine bottles and garlic and souvenirs of the Top(ple)less Towers -- and spent the rest of the time getting drunk with the Ephebian tourists.
Well, most of the rest of the time. Speaking of being At It Like Oggs, things have reached the point where Cert can barely raise a damp spark from his fingers [magic-wise, that is]. I think we may have ruined his entire career future! Which is a shame because, while he's a nice lad and I'm fond of him, I can't quite picture him staying home and doing the washing-up while I goo off on concert tours. Still, I won't be going home for a while yet...
Oh, we also visited the Great Pyramid of Tsort. After seeing what Queen Ptraci did with the pyramids in Djelibeybi and after what Tsort has done with alcoholic tourism, I was expecting something slick and modern with hot and cold running kebabs. But it was not to be. The great Pyramid is what you might call a working pyramid -- very, you know, industrial, with scaffolding everywhere because it's so old and they don't want bits falling on the sightseers. There was some very interesting ancient graffiti, though. Very colourful graffiti. I don't know much Old Tsortean, just enough to translate a few simple phrases, but these were definitely simple. And simply definite. The most repeated graffito translates as THYS JOBBE SUXX, and there were other popular ones that I oughtn't repeat. Looks as if the lot of the working man, or working slave, never changes.
It's opening time! Here endeth this post.
* * *
Second Clog: "Do a little dance, buy a little round, get drunk tonight..."
About things musical, and things...less musical: I haven't written any new songs since I've been here. This is mostly to do with someone else's song that's insanely popular here -- it's got into my head and I can't get it out. Cert says it's a "wyrm of the ear", and that's pretty accurate since it seems to be chewing its way through my brain. I'm reproducing it here so you can share my pain! It goes like this:
- Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
When you take me to the pub
Tell me I'm a round ahead
When you give me all your change
And booze away, until we're nearly dead
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
When we get to dance on the floor
And when we're all close in pairs
When you're dripping sweat in my ear
Widdershins, Turn-, who cares?
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh
Booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze
Booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze, booze
Tsort's the place, uh huh, uh huh
I like it, uh huh, uh huh...
...and repeat ad chunderam. See? Brain-eating. Whatever it was we just barely escaped from in the Lost City of Ee couldn't have been as soul-destroying as that!
On the other hand, they have some interesting musical instruments here. There's the cythara, which is rather like a lyre; the forminx, which is rather like a lyre that's been left out in the rain for 500 years and isn't as saucy as its name suggests; and the barbito, which is a sort of bass-pitched sort-of lute completely lacking in barbs. The latter, I'm told, was the favourite instrument of the poet and philosopher Anachronistes, who was summoned by the then-Tyrant Hipphoppus to compose drinking songs for his household. Anachronistes was noted for his long life as well as his Bardic skills; unfortunately, he choked to death on a grape at the age of 105, and none of his songs survive today, more's the pity as I'm sure they had to be better than the Tsort song. But I bought a barbito in the market, to send home. It sounds good with drums, and I think I might even be able to start a new style of accompaniment that way. Wish me luck.
Time to feed the imp, and then I have a gig tonight. I wonder how my former travelling companions are getting on.
* * *
Third Clog: "Untitled"
I'm sure I heard Cert say the M word in his sleep last night. Not the one you can't say in the UU library, the other M word. Oh dear. I know he's tall and dark and nice and we...um. I hope he doesn't remember his dreams.
* * *
Fourth Clog: "Home is where the harp is"
I got a clacks from home! It was waiting at the Genuan clacks office for weeks, and then someone noticed that I'd clacksed from Djelibeybi and sent it on and it ended up somehow at the Clacks Restante office in Tsort, how excellent is that? It's from Mr Kakhand at The Sore Loser: he says that the harp I ordered from Llamedos by post seven years ago has finally arrived. Huzzah! I've replied asking him to store it in the back room, not too close to the scumble barrels, until I get back. He also says he reads all my Clogs out to the regular customers -- I hope he leaves out the really personal parts -- and that they're very well received, and that I can have a pay rise when I come back if I'm still willing to sing in a sleepy little local tavern. Oh, and Semolina is working full-time now at the Lost Wages branch of the Seamstresses' Guild and doing very well, and no-one interesting has died in the town recently. It's good to get news from home.
Cert and I have decided that we're all Tsorted out now and ready to move on to somewhere else. There's a Chidders ship leaving for the Ell Kinte coast and points Rimwards tomorrow night, so we'll take passage and see what turns up next. But we can't leave Tsort without seeing the Labyrinth yet, even if it's completely touristy now and all the death-traps have been replaced with papier mache models, so we're joining the early tour first thing tomorrow morning.
The night is young. Time to get drunk and look for earplugs.
* * *
This should be an interesting morning. Everyone has a hangover, even
the six tour guides. At least we'll be underground...
***
Note to Gimpy in shortmouth: Split off from main tour party. Found mysterious door in unmarked tunnel. Very old door. Curious. Trying to open -- open now, going to see where it goes --
* * *
It seems we've ended up in Ankh-Morpork. In Empirical Crescent. Number 17, according to the front door. Amazing! Going out to explore now...
* * *
It seems the front door leads to Howondaland.
* * *
Got back through the front door just ahead of a tiger. Trying the back door now.
* * *
It seems the back door leads to Cori Celesti. Leaving RIGHT NOW before the Gods notice they have unauthorised visitors!
* * *
Dark now. Getting hungry and thirsty. Decided to try the front door again, just in case it's changed. Fingers crossed...
* * *
We're in Bes Pelargic!
And you'll never guess who else is here...
-- Alice.
Note for Roundworlders: the original lyrics for That's the Way (I Like It), by KC & the Sunshine Band, can be found at the band's official website: http://www.kcsbonline.com/
Be warned, it's no less brain-melting in Roundworldese. Fun song, though!
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