WHO IS BROCKLEHURST? AND DOES HIS SISTER LIKE NOODLES?

An internet meme seen on Facebook brusquely demands "pick up the closest book to you and turn to page 206. The first sentence explains your love life." This blogger is a curious man, and very easily suggestible.
So, having both hands free, I did as I was commanded.

I don't always do so.

Shouldn't ever.


"The intervening hours Gordon spent dining with Brocklehurst and visiting his friend, Reginald Brett, walking up and down the nursery with the Brett baby in his arms."

From 'The Road To Khartoum -- a life of General Charles Gordon', by Charles Chenevix Trench.


This clarifies precisely nothing.

I defy anyone to cobble that into some remote semblance of relevance to my "love life"! There is no mention of what was served for dinner (it might have been fried rice-stick noodles with two kinds of vegetable, bits of fatty pork, shrimp paste, ginger, hot sauce, and a squeeze of lime juice, but we'll never know!), a Chinese girl of any type let alone one who was fondly remembering her three pet hamsters from years ago, big busted black chicks arguing (on television, thank heavens, and nowhere near my noodles), or the woman yesterday afternoon who was clearly taken by my conversation, and kept calling me dear (as several others do, ALL of them not my type and too old for me in any case).


Of course, I don't actually have a love life. That has been missing for a long time now, it seems ages since anything like it even existed.

Which is why I am outraged that the noodles weren't even mentioned; they were delicious, and cooked exactly to my taste. By me.

Rice stick noodles aren't really a substitute for a love life, but they are orgasmic if done well. Which means cooked with lust.

I treat noodles gently, and with the utmost respect, giving them all the attention they need, gifting them gracefully.



Frankly, I'm beginning to think that General Charles G. Gordon has no impact. But he never promised me a love life in any case, so I cannot claim the right to be disappointed that he came up dry.

I don't even know who the Brett baby is.

Not my problem, in any case.

Stupid infant.


I cannot remember much about Brocklehurst. Somehow, I think that is key. Upon rereading that book I may discover how he ties in to all of this.
There might be an answer there somewhere.




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