Nest of Assassins

"He who has never hoped has never despaired," said Caesar.

Christopher plummer was playing a rather fine Caeser in some sort of televised Shakespearean stage production of Caesar and Cleopatra on the ABC. His aquiline nose was emphasised and the audience laughed aloud quite often at some of the lines.

It had been a rather fine day over all, full of hope and joy. Everyone needed to know how to keep focused on being joyful rather than despondent, and these were the tools. Not all of Julian's freinds believed that bible reading could do it, but it was all dependent on the certainty of the bible's author. Was it simply Paul we were listening to? Or had he really been inspired by the creator of the universe? He gave great hope.

William had been duly shampooed, and Julian hoped that it wasn't the conditioner and that it was the shampoo. She had bought 2 bottles on the internet from a girl who subsequently lost her little boy in death and went out of business due to despair. Julian emailed some hopeful scriptures about the time when people would be brought back from death to life, Jesus had spoken about it in the book of John, and the Greek work, anastasis, had the meanining of standing up again. So, the 2 bottles had not been labelled, and she wasn't sure which was shampoo and which was conditioner and why she had even bothered buying the conditioner she wasn't sure. She wasn't great on slathering creams on horses, but this boy was in trouble. The Queensland Itch was all over his face, heading down his neck and causing great nasty's on his legs. He had sores. He would cross one leg over the other and rub up and down. Poor darling. So Julian had been asking experts what to do and now had advice to follow.

He also had a condition known as anhidrosis. He couldn't sweat, which meant that in this extraordinarily hot weather, he would puff and blow in discomfort. Vets were on the cards and Jim had scoured the internet and come up with a product. Patches on the skin, which were said to reverse the condition. He had been sold as a very quiet thoroughbred and now Julian knew why. Little darling didn't have the energy.

Mudbilly was living in the backyard for a short time. She was heading over to Perth to be with Hermione.

Hermione's last conversation regarding the blog had been vehement. They were staying with the Colonel's wife, and amidst much merriment, Hermione had declared that she no longer wanted to be Hermione, but insisted on being Elsie. She had also told Julian that she had better go to the toilet everytime the car stopped, because she wouldn't be stopping for Julian. Julian stayed silent. She was waiting to understand, but had only been told that she mocked people.

"You are mocking me, Julian," Hermione had said in the car on the Nullabor.

Julian didn't say anything, but later at the Colonel's house in Canberra, she had told her that nothing could have been further from the truth. Julian had nothing but admiration for Hermione.

Why else would she figure so prominently in the story?

Meanwhile, Hermione left a message on Mary's post calling herself Hermione, and acknowledging Mary as Mary and Edgar as Edgar and it was all a bit much really. Julian felt cross.

Hermione had written:

"A mutual friend foned frantically requesting interpretation of this blog, and I was only able to provide partial translation, so I am intrigued as well. Methinks I must phone, however I have used all my credit up until the 16th. Will phone u then Mary. But I do have heaps of Internet credit so can happily play with ur blogspot. I am quite hurt there was no mention of missing Hermione, only Julian who was returning within 30 days, sigh. It's alright I know I am too normal, just like every other associate, but I do miss your family so would love to send a big kiss and hug to Tuesday, Theadora, Edgar and Mary. Glad to see you are still familius intactus. Despite the eternal wrestling with evil spirits and witches covens and I wish I knew who osama bin laden is!!"

How Dare She. Mary and Hermione wanted it both ways.

"It isn't fiction, Julian," said Mary, and refused to discuss it further. Julian wanted to politely point out that at the beginning of her blog she had a statedment. It went like this.

Author's Note: This blog is a work of fiction and any resemblance to person or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

"Ha," thought Julian, who insisted that it Was fiction that she wrote, apart from the smatterings of truth, which was always stranger than fiction anyway. She thought of the 16 year old that she had read about recently, from Iran. She had been seen talking to boys by her family, and the father and grandfather had taken it upon themselves, after a family council meeting, to bury her alive. There had been a picture of the hole outside the laundry that they had dug. When her body had been exhumed and autopsied, they had found soil in her lungs and stomach, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had been alive when buried. That was true.

Edgar had also said to Julian on the phone,

"I was lying then, but I'm telling the truth now."

Julian believed him when he said that he was telling the truth and that he had been lying. She had no doubt that he was telling the truth. He said so. She had believed him when he had been lying.

Julian had meekly followed Mary to Kmart. She tried to wriggle out of it, because she had a collage door project on the go, and knew how therapeutic it was to cut out words. They traipsed around the badly smelling aisles and Julian collected some elastic underwear and pants and top, as well as some water glasses and a book. Mary could not find the gym pants that she had gone on the mission for. They finished in the supermarket with a sundry amount of prawns, crackers, avocado's, cucumbers, green apples and champagne. They were ready for the spa and the magazines.

"This is love." stated Julian, on her sojourn to Kmart.

"THIS is love." stated Mary, as she took her unread copy of Oprah into the house and attacked it with scissors. She happily found all many of good words and statements. From 'Happiness" to "It's not my problem, YET".

Mudbilly's quote from Oscar Wilde was also rather good.

"But what is the good of freindship if one cannot say exactly what one means. Anybody can say charming things and try to please and to flatter, but a true freind always says unpleasant things, and does not mind giving pain. Indeed, if he is a really true friend he prefers it, for he knows then he is doing good."

Julian explained to Mudbilly that she didn't want to cause pain to Hermione, and that is why she didn't talk. Hermione didn't want it, and Julian knew. So Julian respected that, but was saddened at the loss of a dear old friend. Mary, for some obscure reason, seemed to handle truth from Julian. She listened and didn't always like it, and always had a truth of her own to hit Julian with.

"You just don't get it, Julian," stated Mary. She was lying back under the stars in the outside spa. They were wearing sarongs for modesty, which wasn't really working as the sarongs billowed up and out constantly.
"Oops," said Julian.
"You just ..... don't ...... get it," she sighed as she let the jets do their work on her aching back and mind.