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3.4.12

Povarovo









































We have a wonderful time in Povarovo, Povarovon hospitality is boundless, Povarovon vodka is stunning and, as Juan always says, Povarovon women are the most beautiful women in the world. Unfortunately, because of these factors, we stay too long and I have to remind everyone of the the urgency of our mission and point out that we are bumblingly behind schedule and have to leave immediately. However, because of a great quantity of hospitality, I am laying on the the bar floor and can only slur and drool. Giving authoritative instructions in such a condition is difficult at the best of times but when the people you are instructing are either fighting, crying, vomiting or unconscious it is particularly hard and nobody pays me any attention, so I take the next best course of action and fall into a stupor.

I am woken up by Albert kicking me in the ribs and telling me to open my eyes because George wants us to see us his latest painting. It is sad, I reflect, to think that Albert is internationally recognized as a man of peace. George shows us his painting, a turtle-dove. Juan says it doesn't look anything like a turtle, it's just another stupid bird. I tell George to ignore Juan, because he is ignorant, it's a very nice dove, and probably very intelligent, also, as doves are indicative of peace, it is fitting that George's dove looks peaceful. George, unhelpfully, says that, in fact, Juan is right, it was a stupid bird, and it wasn't nice, it was vicious and mean-tempered, he painted it after it was shot and stuffed, he explains, and it only looks peaceful because it's dead. I tell George that I'll draw a nice dove, to make up for it. Juan shouts that it doesn't matter if it's a nice dove or horrible dove, nobody cares. Rather than admit that this is probably true, I tell Juan to shut up and do something useful.

While Juan opens bottles of Vintage Glenesk, Balvenie, Glenturret, and Benrinnes Special Reserve. I quickly draw Pearl, who, I explain, is intelligent, sweet-natured, peaceful and alive. Then, after offering toast after toast to our Povarovon friends and good birds everywhere, we sing 'The Gentle Dove' and 'Now is a Dove a Doo?' at the top of our voices and crawl around in helpless confusion, as fast as we possibly can.

Professor Humperdink's Diary