Normally resident at 37 Bloxham Road; flat 6 for the lovers of detail, Wayne ‘Sagey’ Trollope, no relative of the author, but sharing a similar fondness for his own muse, could be found once more, at his consulting ‘ rooms’ somewhere near the public bar in the “Baffled Ferret” recognised locally for its hosting of real ales.
One of his cohorts, a current ‘four pinter’ , which is that moment when alcohol can free your sense of humour and give it voice, just before five pints makes that humour indecipherable, and six pints a mere mumble followed by wild laughter and a trip to the toilets, said to the attentive throng, “My watch is stopped, but at least that means its split second accurate at least twice a day”. This observation was considered acute enough to merit a nod of his head and a decent gulp from his glass, necessitating a wave at the bar, and fearless progress towards the ungoverned terrain of the six pinters: there are no maps for seven pinters.
” Time” said Sagey, a current 4.75 pinter, “Is something we should chase constantly”. “Hows that” said one of his chums whose admiration for the Sage was stunted by a lack of respect. The Sage reflected on his statement, which he felt had a pleasing aura of profundity about it. Sadly the meaning of his own sentence had not yet been revealed to him, so he replied, somewhat cannily you might think, “If you don’t understand Docker” (4.1 ), his mate and inquisitor, “I can’t explain it too you: some things are a bit too deep for normal folk”
By chance ‘Noddy’ ( 4.1 ) arrived with a fresh round of drinks, and a pile of pork scratching’s, whose taste and texture were sufficiently diverting to arrest serious debate for the moment. His mouth nearly empty, the Sage had another go at establishing himself as a font of bon mode, or whatever that phrase is. “Chance” he said , Is a thing you may stumble on”. “You mean you might stumble on Chance by Chance Sagey, said Noddy, his hands now free, and eager to join in the conversation. “”Is “stumbling the same as tripping” asked some pedant, ( 3.85 and a cautious drinker ), drawing baffled glances from those around him. “Profundity and accuracy”, thought the Sage, “do not necessarily belong in the same sentence”, and with that thought, he came up with the title of a book which was to make him celebrated in at least 1.6 continents, “The Flippant Guide to Profundity” which offered wisdom in the time taken to complete a boring train journey or, more precisely, 1.3 visits to the mother in law.
It was an unusual item in which the reviews had as much currency as the book. In themselves, they were so confusing, that people bought the book to see what all the fuss was about, in such numbers, that ‘Sagey’ was free to reflect on his brilliance in some isolation on a sun kissed beach, but cheered by the supply of Pina Coladas. Reviews such as “He gets to the point in a split infinitive” or, “He plums a depth of misunderstanding far beyond his own comprehension”, and even ” These pithy statements reveal an imagination untroubled by common sense”
A less appreciated article entitled, “Rubbish at only £1.98″, which appeared in the Dorking Park Clarion ( readership 56o ), failed to cause the stir its jaundiced author dreamed would propel him to Newspaper Stardom, and he was left to mull on the injustices which left him in cramped attic lodgings while the object of his scorn soaked up the benefits of unmerited success. As Sagey might say, ” Life is a fruit of many colours”