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 at his favourite location: the public bar in the “Baffled Ferret,” recognised locally for its quality real ales.
One of his cohorts, Geoff, a current ‘four pinter,’ which is that moment when alcohol can free your wilder thoughts and give them voice, before five pints makes those ideas indecipherable, and six pints a mere mumble followed by gurgling and a trip to the toilets, said to the attentive throng, “My watch is stopped, but at least that means its split second accurate twice a day”. He considered this observation 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 seven pinters: there are no maps for eight pinters.
” Time” said Alf, a current 4.75 pinter, “Is something we should chase constantly”. “How’s that” said one of his chums, whose admiration for Alf was clouded by a lack of respect. Alf reflected on his statement, which he felt had a pleasing aura of profundity about it though sadly the meaning of his own sentence had not yet been revealed to him, so he replied cannily, “If you don’t understand Docker” (4.1 ), his mate and inquisitor, “I can’t explain it to you: some things are a bit too deep for normal folk”
‘Noddy’ ( 4.6 ) arrived with a fresh round of drinks, and a pile of pork scratching’s, whose taste and texture were diverting enough to halt serious debate. His mouth nearly empty, the Sage had another go at establishing himself as a font of “bon mode,” or whatever the phrase is. “Chance” he said, is something you 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 idea, 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” offered wisdom in the time it takes to complete the average commute 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. 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 while sitting on a sun-kissed beach, admittedly alone but cheered by a supply of Pina Coladas. Reviews such as “He gets to the point in a split infinitive” or, “He plums the depths 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 £6.98″, which appeared in the Dorking Park Clarion (readership 560), failed to cause the stir its jaundiced author dreamed would propel him to Newspaper Stardom, and he was left to mull over the injustice which left him in cramped attic lodgings in an unfashionable part of the town while the object of his scorn soaked up the benefits of unmerited success. As Sagey might say,” Life is a fruit of many colours”