Thursday, 29 November 2018 (514.12)

The last reading stopped at: “Vulcuum?” (514.12)


Some favourites were:

1

Dawncing the kniejinksky choreopiscopally like an easter sun round the colander, the vice! Taranta boontoday! (513.11–12)

2

Crashedafar Corumbas! A Czardanser indeed! Dervilish glad too. (513.16–17)

3

— And whit what was Lillabil Issabil maideve, maid at?

— Trists and thranes and trinies and traines.
— A take back to the virgin page, darm it! (513.25–27)

4

— Suddenly some wellfi red clay was cast out through the

schappsteckers of hoy’s house?

— Schottenly there was a hellfi re club kicked out through the

wasistas of Thereswhere.

— Like Heavystost’s envil catacalamitumbling. Th ree days

three times into the Vulcuum? (514.7–12)

With thanks to A.

Thursday, 22 November 2018 (513.10)

The last reading stopped at: “Tophat?” (513.10)


Some favourites were:

That musked bell of this masked ball! Annabella, Lovabella, Pullabella, yep? (512.9–10) 

The quicker the deef the safter the sapstaff, but the main the mightier the stricker the strait. To the vast go the game! (512.14–15)

Suilful eyes and sallowfoul hairweed and the sickly sigh from her gingering mouth like a Dublin bar in the moarning. (512.25–26)

The house was Toot and Come-Inn by the bridge called Tiltass, but are you solarly salemly sure, beyond the shatter of the canicular year? (512.34–36)

Siriusly and selenely sure behind the shutter. Securius indicat umbris tellurem. (513.1–2) 


With thanks to A.

Thursday, 15 November 2018 (512.9)

The last reading stopped at: “beam in her eye?” (512.9)

Thursday, 8 November 2018 (510.2)

The last reading stopped at: “lach” (511.13)


Some favourites were:

The tail, so mastrodantic, as you tell it nearly takes your own mummouth’s breath away. (510.3–4)

With a hoh frohim and heh fraher. But, as regards to Tammy Thornycraft, Idefyne the lawn mare and the laney moweress and all the prentisses of wildes to massage him. (510.9–12)

Every old skin in the leather world, infect the whole stock company of the old house of the Leaking Barrel, was thomistically drunk, two by two (510.16–18)

while I and Flood and the other men, jazzlike brollies and sesuos, was gickling his missus to gackles in the hall, the divileen, (she’s a lamp in her throth) with her cygncygn leckle and her twelve pound lach. (511.10-13)

With thanks to A.

Thursday, 1 November 2018 (510.2)

The last reading stopped at: “This aim to you!” (510.2)