There is only one Simon

It is rare to see all of Simon because usually most of him is in the water. Thus when various bits of him surface, the uninitiated will tend to assume that they are seeing many different sea monsters. But no, it’s just the one Simon, with all his many appendages.

Every now and then some other sea entity gets it wrong, sees a bit of Simon and mistakenly assumes this bit of Simon is lunch, or a viable breeding partner. Lunch certainly occurs in these scenarios, and it happens often enough that Simon seldom has to make the effort to actually hunt for something.

After a few false starts, and several hearty lunches for Simon, the Hopeless Maine Scientific Society established to their satisfaction that he really was just the one sea monster. This led to obvious questions about the reproductive habits of Simon and to an ongoing study of his behaviour. Remarkably, this study lasted for more than a year without incurring further lunch opportunities.

Some seven months into the study, scientific observers identified numerous extra appendages in Simon’s bay and postulated either that he had grown dramatically, or that a second Simon had come along. Debate raged over the likely gender of the new Simon as in many species it is the female who stays in one location while the males have a larger range. Except where this is the other way round. Could the original and resident Simon be a female of the species? While no definite conclusions could be drawn, it was agreed that Simon would always be Simon, regardless of gender.

Simons tend to be active around midday, it had been observed. The Simon is an unusually lunch motivated creature. Thus when the Simons began a midday flurry of activity, it seemed likely that each wanted the other on the menu. So often, science calls for the close scrutiny of other people’s reproductive habits. The attending members of the Scientific Society concluded that the Simons were indeed breeding. It may be worth mentioning that in one of their more anthropological episodes they had also identified belching as a key mating ritual for members of the Chevin family.

When it was all over, and the sea foamed with what might have been blood, or Simon ink, or some other fluid, there was indeed, still just the one Simon. There were those who said that eggs had been released into the waves, and those who said that you probably grew new Simons by breaking bits off the old Simon, but that’s scientists for you.

The Perilous Life of a Reviewer

A warning here (lavishly illustrated with photos) from the frighteningly brilliant Nils Visser. It may be wise to prepare to defend yourself (and your book) before sitting down to read Hopeless, Maine. Nils is the author of Amster Damned, (which I loved!) among other things, also,  he is apparently handy with a cutlass.

 

“Upon my first attempt to mind me own business and settle down for a good read of Hopeless, Maine SINNERS, I was blissfully unaware of the dangers posed…ere I knew it a slithering serpent with many rows of razor-sharp teeth materialised and attempted to snatch the graphic novel away from me. Fortunately, I’m skilled with a cutlass, and sliced the dastardly creature into sushi. I was given no chance to recover, however, as a first tentacle wrapped itself around the book, announcing the appearance of a far more dangerous creature. All I can say, never try to wrestle with an angry octopus. I have retreated, but have vowed: I’ll be back!”

Life without the lens

and still, there are tentacles

Since last week, Reverend Davies has exorcised my camera. Annamarie Nightshade has charmed it. Doc Willoughby took the lens off and cleaned it with alcohol, and Arthur Gibbous, glasses maker and inventor, took the whole thing apart and put it back together again.

 Currently, photographs, once developed, all look like the image I have published alongside this article. Consequently I cannot tell you if this is the picture I took of Parables Chevins’ remarkable meese (they’re emerging early this year!) or my attempt to capture an image of the sea creature that appeared off our shores on Tuesday. It might, equally, have been the outrageous street scene that followed a fire in a house of ill repute on Wednesday, or the frankly improbable wedding dress worn by Chastity Jones for her marriage to Exodus Chevins on Friday last. I didn’t know we had that many rodents on the island, and the patience required to skin and stitch them must have been tremendous.