Oh Dear

WELL here’s a surprise. A fellow takes a little nap and wakes up to find that very many things have changed, none for the better.

Mrs Bunyip’s shoe collection has vanished, its owner with it. Young Master Bunyip has ordained his male member the guiding needle of life’s compass and followed its insistent urgings to pursue love in a foreign clime. The Black Dog is grey, the corkscrew gone missing, the cellar empty, and on the little table beside the Professor’s lonely pillow there rests an ominous envelope embossed with the ancient crest of Sydney Orr University, where the institution’s pre-Whitlam origins as the Trade School of Prosthetics and Panel Beating remain for the moment immune to revision.

Even through sleep-rimed eyes it is immediately apparent that the content of that envelope is not good.  Nod off for a few years and what happens? Treachery and betrayal! It seems the Peter The Possum Man Chair of Etruscan Semiotics has passed to a former protégé, a sly smarty who has melded Marxist theory and Queer Studies into such a potent combination of symbols and shtupping that the vice-chancellor found the concept irresistible.

The news should have come as no surprise. These things happen all the time in our institutes of higher learning. So the Professor, moreso even than the Etruscan gardener above, is thoroughly buggered. At least that ancient gentleman still has a job, which he deserves for continuing with the weeding under such trying circumstances.

But for the Professor there is now nothing better to do than blog.