Well I said my blog had finished forever and that I was headed into blogtirement, but it turns out I lied.  That’s right, through absolutely no popular demand, the blog is back with a new name!  I thought the Return of the Great Saundini was far cooler than my previous title, though I suppose it is lacking the childish toilet humour appeal of the last (I always thought Blog sounded curiously like Bog).  You might be wondering why I decided to come back, what has happened to me for the past year (it’s my two year anniversary of the start of my blog don’t you know) and why I’m out for revenge and against whom!  Well read on friend (I appreciate no one reads this regularly, but I still like to feel popular)!

First off, why did I come back?  The truth is, I missed it, particularly the sense of satisfaction of writing down my musings about things and marvelling arrogantly at my own achievement.  Most crucially of all though is the fact that I have written El Zilcho (or is that El Zilco? Help!) since leaving University for the first time.  I’m hoping that writing this blog will help me feel more productive in writing down my ideas.  Plus, as I am terribly bored with Facebook and consequently never check it, I am hoping this might be a better format to keep people up-to-date with the exciting (in a Mr Bean-kind of way) happenings of my life.

Second, what has been happening to me this past year?  Well, it’s all been a bit of a blur and if I wrote down everything now I would be blessed with patience exceeding that of Saint Paul, so I’ll give a few highlights.  Got  married and enjoyed experience in the end, went on honeymoon, moved into new house, got admin jobs, didn’t do any writing, failed PGCE interview spectacularly, did some tutoring, decided teaching wasn’t for me, decided admin wasn’t for me, decided statistics was for me, applied to do post-grad at wedding, went to Peru, Bolivia and Miami, started University and became first man on Mars (well that bit hasn’t happened yet, but I can dream!).  If you want more information than that then tough!  Though I am occasionally having strange flashbacks that I may be compelled to write down on a fortnightly basis!

And finally, why and against whom do I want revenge?  The answer is… I don’t, but I thought that writing that would give the illusion of a greater purpose, depth and aura to my blog, though I realise that I may have just dispelled that by stating the bare facts.

Anyways, I will be updating this blog on a weekly basis from now on (every Wednesday).  Enjoy!

The Last (and best?) part of my story? Oooh! The tension!

Once more, I came around now outside the dining hall facing a small T-Junction. Poirot was catching his breath next to me and Shakespeare stood melancholy looking behind me. The chime of the elevator beat between Poirot’s puffing. I smelt of too much chicken, but I was alivea again and now safe. I sat up and shook my head before turning around. There was Jesus behind me, lying on the floor, covered in Founders Food. Shakespeare shook his head:
“He gave his own life to save us wretches!
Death’s portrait on his sweet face etches,
He hath taken on himself all world’s food
For our own dear sake, he’s gone for good!
Alas, Lo, he who showed mercy to me
Has now himself blended into history!”“What happened Poirot?” I asked. He looked surprisingly calm considering someone who had just eaten with him had died.“Well monsieur. As you carried Shakespeare out you fell. It looked like you were done for, I mean again. But then Jesus came back in and pulled you to safety before you got hurt. However, Jesus saw zat Rambo hiding behind an overturned table was about to resort to using his exploding Sheep bomb. Jesus ran to him to stop him, but sacre bleu! the sheep was released and was about to bound straight towards zee Founders Kitchen! A fire zat could have burned zee building to zee ground. However, Jesus in an act of bravado went after it and snatched the sheep off his feet. Unfortunately, eet exploded hilst ‘e was still carrying eet. At least ‘e proved himself a Good Shepherd, non!”Suddenly Rambo emerged from the T-junction.

“I threatened to tear out their throats and torture their families, but the health centre don’t give a damn!” he boomed. “They just told me to take these” he added showing paracetemol in his palm.

Then Shakespeare exclaimed: “Alas all is lost!

“Christian cliche, he’s paid mine owne cost!”
“I shouldn’t speak so soon monsieur” Poirot turned from the window and paced over to Shakespeare’s figure. “Fortunately, though he is as good as dead now, he shall soon return to life. He shall return again”.
“But how dost thou know”, Shakespeare inquired,
“That he shall return from whence he’s retired?”
Poirot looked at him kindly. “Let us just say zat I have read this story before monsieur. Just give him a couple of days and he should be fine!”
“Not even that” said a voice behind me. I turned to see the figure of Jesus as well as he had ever been, or at least how he would have looked at 100% health if his visage wasn’t still smothered by Fabulous Founders Food.
“Mon dieu! You are supposed to revive in three days not three seconds!” exclaimed Poirot.
“Well, I’m crucial to the climax of the story, so I thought I’d wake up a little bit early this time around!” reasoned Jesus.
“Very good monsieur!”
Meanwhile, Shakespeare approached me.
“I desire to ask for thine forgiveness
Although if thoust refuse I have been witness
To thine reasons why, I cannot expect
I want to state mine apologies yet”
“Hey Will, that’s okay. I forgive you” I said happily.
“But how can you forgive without such strife
As I have twice o’er tried to take your life?”
“That’s an easy one to answer” said I. “It’s all okay, because I know that even if you do try to kill me then Jesus will save me, of course!”
“But you do realise zat you will have to die at some point” responded Poirot.
“Nope. Jesus will save me! I’m not listening! La La La!” Jesus meanwhile, scratched the back of his head in a slightly bashful way.
“Thank you Jesus” Shakespeare said once again
“You’ve shown me mine errors in thoughts and when
I come to write next I will remember
Mercy’s wonder and make surrender
All harshness and fierce legalism’s ways
A judgemental deputy I shall portray
And with him a nun who good and chaste
Her merciful character shall not waste
For she must save the life of the deputy
Despite his evils and hypocrisy
And this shall display true mercy’s treasure
This play that I call Measure for Measure.” And so we all lived in great happiness
Shakespeare’s play though not a great success
Was his most mature and thought provoking
And controversial, of this I’m not joking.
He died alas upon his birthday
But is remembered for great writing ways.
Jesus in forty days went up to heav’n
And so he still stays there until the end
Where he will return to earth one more time
In fireworks yet to be fully described.
Poirot went on solving great mysteries
His fantastic insights helped him to see
Things others couldn’t though in the great end
Bad heart disease to heaven did him send.Rambo though he’s mad in this story’s viewHas had four films, so how can I argue?He went battling on, but suddenly died

When he forgot his belt on a tame park ride

Poor Shelleylina who drowned in the food

Of Sylvan put her dad in a mood

And so Percy Bysshe decided to sue

Founders Security to justice renew

Unfortunately this really got their goat

And in turn Simon sabotaged his boat

And so drowned one of the greatest poets

Cut down in his prime as he rowed it.

However the guards did not get away

The raged muses swarmed and they’d had their day

But they spared the innocent Ron who’d earned

His value by in making Simon’s sin learned

Sylvan and Confess and also Emski

All have great blogs that you can go and see

Check out the blog roll on the page’s right side

And all the others that are awesome besides

And as for me, I am still sitting here
Writing this fictional story you hear
Yes, I know the rhyming is really poor
But don’t criticise no need to deplore
My skills for I only can be my best
What about mercy, after all my zest
And effort you should be more forgiving
And don’t forget some love in your living
I hope you enjoyed this Fantasy tale
I wait now for someone else to regail
Me with a new story upon their blog

As I don’t want all attention to hog
But if I don’t see you, I’ll say goodbye
And wish you good days until death is nigh.

Here we go, Part III of the fabulous Founders Fantasy Dinner Saga: (this is the part where you really wish I hadn’t bothered. The first two may have been classics, but the third one always sucks!) containing a new guest star!Once again I came around and saw Jesus standing over me. Nothing had changed this time around however, everyone who was watching before was still watching. The smell of Founders Food was still the main smell of the room.
“O cruel misfortune!” came Shakespeare’s exclamation.
“Non, monsieur.” Poirot shook his small bald head. “It is you zat is fortunate zat your insanity has done no harm on zis occasion. For it is with genius zat insanity springs forth most strongly, n’est pas?”
“So, what sayest this about thine own self?”
Shakespeare questioned Poirot’s own wisdom’s wealth.
“Excuse me, monsieur”, said Poirot twissling his moustache, “I am ze Inspector here. You wanted…”
“Spare mine own explanation for mine own
For t’was mine own foul deed and mine alone
For anger that I committed the deed
And succeeded had not Jesus intervened,
I hate English students that always jerk
And analyse and criticise mine work!
It had to stop and thus I tried to end
Luke’s life and to heaven him tried to send.
Alas, misfortune has run my soul in
And I am forced judgement for mine own sin!
And as the cruel guards will take me away
I only hath left with one just plead to say.
Stop reading mine work and just it enjoy
For I did not write it for art, to annoy
But to be performed, I have just one plea
In joy and never strife remember me
I am sorry for all the pain I have caused
And await my true cell in due just course.”
At that, two officers of Founders security, those white knights with blubber body-armour marched in towards Shakespeare, to take him away. One was bigger and rounder than the other, who was still pot-bellied, but (as always is the case) a lot less jolly (Santa-claus syndrome). The rest of the hall began to throw their food at him also, before Jesus stood up.
“Stop! He who is without sin cast the first chicken bone! It is truth indeed that William here, did try to murder Luke, but behold. No harm has been done here. Imprisonment is not necessary. Where is the love, and where is the forgiveness here? William is of a repentant heart and I condemn him not.”
“And who do you think you are?” said the security officer standing in front of him, wearing glasses and a blue cap.
Jesus looked at him peacefully and said, “Simon, who would you say I am?”
The security officer looked at him a moment.
“How did you know my name?”“Heyyup”, said the other old officer called. “Jesus Christ!”“Can you not blaspheme Ron, I’m religious you know”.“No, I mean it’s Jesus Christ.”“Yeah, right. And I’m Joseph of Anna-Maria!” scoffed Simon turning now to Jesus. “Are you the King of the Jews?”“Those are your words”, responded Jesus. Simon gave Jesus an icy stare:

“Alright, that’s enough of this crap! Let’s get ‘em!”
At this the well-rounded security officers ran at Shakespeare only to run into the doubly well-rounded Poirot who was walking by pondering academia, and were blocked off. Bouncing back, they stumbled into a tray stack and unfinished bolognaise was thrown right onto the visage of Sylvan Historian who looked decidedly unimpressed. Promptly she to quill a formal complaint about Founders Security on one of her world-famous bananas, for a) for splashing, b) letting four strangers including a self-declared Christ figure, two psychopaths and a fat Belgian into halls without an autograph session and c) for making her latest fictional creation, Shelleybelina, the child of Percy Bysshe Shelley and Thumbelina, drown. She was sailing in Sylvan’s soup before a globlet of pasta splashed it. Confessandbehanged, equally outraged at this crime of human decency threw something back at the clumsy officers and this commenced a huge food fight. In the ensuring confusion, the four of us tried to make our escape. Jesus and I were running, wheras Poirot was plodding in an attempt to try to run. Rambo covered us, by turning over tables and throwing the food back at the people throwing it. Shakespeare in the mean time cowering and despondant was stuck under a table.
I decided I couldn’t let my friend, albeit one who attempted to murder me twice, stay there and I ran back for him, avoiding the food stuffs as I went. He was reluctant to get up however in his guiltiness, so in the end I resolved to carry him. Luckily, he was much shorter than I, as men of my era are distinctly taller than those of his were, so I didn’t have too much trouble.
I was running out the dining hall as fast as I could, getting covered with sauces and sweetcorn in the meantime. Unfortunately, Simon was in my way. Fortunately, I wrong-footed him by using my pivot that I learned in Ultimate Frisbee. Rather embarrassingly he fell to the floor doing the splits and consequently ripped his trousers. Having evaded the guard I sprant for the door. Poirot and Jesus had already made it there safely and were calling for me to go. Suddenly, I saw a brocolli piece coming at my head and upon ducking successfully recieved a fierce blow from a rice grain to my right temple.
I fell to the hard floor and at that I breathed my last gasp…

Last part next week! Tune in for the conclusion! And much love this Valentines week!

Well I bet you didn’t think there would be a second part after the ending to the first one, but interest was sufficient for me to have an obligation to rush out a hurried sequel Aphra Behn-style! So without much further ado…

“I wonder what being dead will be like”, pondered to myself as I started to realise my reality. Slowly I opened my eyes, winced, then opened them again.
“Mon dieu!” was the first voice I heard.
“Your welcome”, a different one.
“Alas! The dead is risen!”
“Which of youse St. Peter?” slurred another voice. That was me, I guess.I started to feel the cool floor hold up my back which lay upon it and the smell of roast potatoes made its way to my nose. Slowly, I made out the figure of Jesus standing over me with his hand on my chest. If this was heaven it was a bit disappointing. A dull yellowish light filled the hall and, though it was fairly grand, there were tables and chairs surrounding me that clearly felt plastic as I grasped for one. There was also this undeniable feeling of being judged as felt as though I was in the centre of an arena of eyes. I sat up and finally my brain caught up with everyone else’s. I was in the middle of Founders Dining Hall and everyone around the room was watching me.“How…?”
“Through me all things are possible. Even life” said Jesus.
However, Poirot’s brain had already moved on from this miracle. He analysed the food.
“I am afraid monsieur, that it is by food poisoning that you should have been killed”. Poirot continued, “Ze logical conclusion is zat Founders’ food is responsible! Observe.” He brought the food to his head and picked up the lamb. “Eet is slightly pink, here!” he said jabbing at the defenceless chop. At that he moved dramatically towards the cashier. “You! What do you have to say about this madam?”

“No! Everyone loves Founders Food!” She gestured emphatically. “Mmm Mmm! Founders food, how scrummy! And only £2 with the Student discount!”
“It’s just as well zat it is cheap. It is also a safety hazard!”
“Yeah” said a tall man at the back. “I got a chicken bone stuck in my throat!”
“And don’t forget that curry you sold!” said somewhere else. The Hall erupted with complaints until Poirot hushed them with a single hand gesture. “Silence madams et monsieurs, s’il vous plait”. At this he clicked, and conveniently enough, despite being right at the centre of a murder enquiry, Emskilicious magically heeded his summons. Poirot proceeded to give her the withering Dr. McCoy style stare: “And what have you got to say for yourself Madamoiselle? I believe you were the one who served zis meat.”

“Why would I do it?” protested Emski. “He’s in my Creative Industries group, if he died then we’d have to do more work for it.”

“A very plausible argument madam, but you fail to consider that the death of such an individual would be considered in your final year, thus giving you zee potential, no zee promise of getting a higher mark!” Emski seemed at a loss to defy Poirot’s wrong logic. “And yet, you didn’t do it, I know. I just like to put people unnecessarily on edge, so people can see how egziting and intelligent a person I am. I know it couldn’t have been you because you like Ribbons madam. Any plot to murder monsieur Saundini would have surely eenvolved such a weapon.”

Emski’s face was as angry as the feminine equivalent of a bull, but more angry than a cow. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life. First you insult Founders Food and now you accuse me of trying to murder my friend, just to make yourself look good! I’m going to write a very angry and bitter blog about you and then you’ll be sorry!”

“Unfortunately, Founders food is not ze cause.”
“Why not?” called the solitary voice once more that echoed around the hall. By now, everyone was staring at confessandbehanged. He promptly took his seat down and looked bashful.
“Because it is not a complex enough explanation to satisy my hugely logical and expansive reasoning bien sur!” Poirot replied. “But what about you, monsieur Lee? You are particularly insistant zat zee food is responsible. Pourquoi?”

“Because I want to get on with the story! This is pointless blaming people who are obviously innocent! Founders Food is clearly the most logical explanation. Plus, The Great Saundini is my friend and I have a natural tendancy to project my potential grief onto something that I can blame. If you’re going to blame someone, what about Rambo over there?” Confessandbehanged wasn’t even being sarcastic as on the table opposite was Rambo himself. Poirot turned and faced the man wearing lots of Khaki and carrying lots of heavy weaponary. “Yes monsieur. Why are you carrying such an Arsenal, if not to kill?”

“Because I am Rambo and I like to Mambo” he mumbled sternly. “Gun’s don’t kill people, I do!” Then he started humming some theme music complete with a spitting drumbeat and taking his gun out started to pretend shooting at people making a noise like a chattering machine gun.

“I should also point out”, surmised Poirot, “zat even if monsieur Rambo’s gun was loaded, a bullet wound is not present in zee body of zee victim”. He continued round twirling his moustache. “Zis is far too simple, for a murder case. And yet zee most unusual part is zat you are alive.” He turned his flaming eyes towards me. “I am half-tempted to assume zat you set up zee whole incident. You grew tired of being anonymous Luke Saunders, didn’t you? You wanted, just for once, to be zee centre of attention!”
“No, Poirot! That’s not me at all” I replied in a passion heightened by my shock having been resurrected only a few moments ago.
“And also, you hate Founders food, and you have been trying to frame them in zis business! C’est vrai?”
“No! I love Founders food! Really! I do!” I cried
“But, no, but it wasn’t you monsieur”, said Poirot, typically changing his mind, as if he didn’t care too much whether I protested or not. “Though you have a Romantic heart, your honest logical nature controls you. You would not have the confidence, nor the capability for such an ingenius act.”
“Thanks Poirot. You really flatter me, don’t you?” Sarcasm may be the lowest form of wit, but it is still *a form* of wit.
“And what about you, monsieur” said Poirot turning his intellect upon Jesus. “You have inside a love for the world, so desperate that you would do anything for them to recognise you as their Lord, even murder for the sake of a miracle. Is that not correct monsieur?”
But Jesus rebuked him: “You call me a murderer and a liar, and yet in the past have I ever done anything worthy of such accusations? The devil is the father of lies, so I would thus have to be the son of the devil in order to lie. Yet, a Kingdom divided against itself would inevitably be destroyed, so why would I be undoing the devil’s work, by restoring this man to life? No, the Father is love and all his promises are true and absolute truth.”
Poirot was slightly taken aback: “Quite right monsieur. I was, of course, just about to say that you were innocent of zis dastardly crime. But I have to consider every possibility. Thus I will get to ze real murderer…”

“It was you…” he said pointing to “William Shakespeare (not to be confused with William Shatner who is his equal in many ways)!”
“By heaven! I have been found out!” he cried and at that picked up his quill and threw it with pinpoint accuracy at my neck. I blacked out instantly.

Inspired by Confessandbehanged’s fabulous saga, I have felt inspired to create my own. However, I am not writing my blogs in advance enough to write anything of real quality for your amusement, so what else to do apart from dig up something from my story archive. I was surfing through my facebook groups and remembered I had already written a four part serial about a Fantasy Dinner Party with a) an imaginary person, b) a historical figure and c) a live person in a ’Christian buzz-word’ed way! Anyway, let’s take a look at what happened…

Part One:
I arrived at Fantasy Founders Dining Hall Kitchen as the clock tower struck for six. The way the doors opened to reveal the whitewashed room reminded me of a cardboard box. The room was sliced into two by a waist high metal strip, separating the smily student helpers from the rest of us. The Student population waited for nourishment tempted by the smell of meat. Suddenly, as so often happens at the village like University that is Royal Holloway, I saw a figure I recognised. Indeed, it was my good friend Inspector Poirot. His short fat body lifted a stick-like arm that ineffectually dabbed his forehead with a white napkin.
”Poirot!” I said, “What are you doing around Founders at this time of year?”

Poirot turned carrying a nonplussed expression.”I am” he responded twiddling his pincer moustache, “Simply sampling ze delights of Founders cuisine monsieur.” ”Well, may I invite you to sit with me” I asked in earnest.

”Why certainment monsieur” came the reply to my delight.

”Hello”, came an Irish accent that belonged to Emskilicious. She was working today on the other side of the iron barrier. Poirot realised he was at the front of the queue.“Good Evening Mademoiselle, I should like zee exquisite Lamb chop and aussi les potatoes”.

“Okay”, said Emski who was already serving his order out, “Anything else?”

“Can I have more of zees potatoes s’il vous plait?”

“You can only have three potatoes in a portion”.

“Oh, outrageous fortune!” cried a male voice further behind in the queue.

“Correct me if I am wrong madamoiselle, but last year, was it not the case that zee portion was much larger?”

“I’m sorry but we’re not allowed”. At this Poirot went red in the face.“Fine! Mademoiselle, give me two portions!”

Emski cheerfully obliged. “Anything else?”

“Yes, for my main course I’ll have…”

Eventually, I got to order and sooner after that we took our trays of exquisite Lamb, Potato’s and Green Beans (Poirot had three trays) into the main Dining Hall. It was like entering a Tardis, expansive and beautiful as the spine of a prize cow (with the chandelier obviously being an udder!). The ceiling was high and imposing and surrounded by figures of the past staring through paintings. They were staring at the people of the present, the people of the future. The uncertain future however, how many would end up being dustbin men and how many teachers? Hercule and I paid with our college cards and looked for a table amongst the masses of others containing a friendly face. And eventually we found a peaceful looking figure with a brown beard. It was none other than Jesus Christ.
”Do you mind us having the pleasure of your company?” I asked. ”Please” said Jesus, “I would be absolutely delighted”.”The merrier the more?” asked another man behind us. It was William Shakespeare.“Yes, of course” I replied. “Please join us Bill.”

He twirled sat then took out a skull, staring at it mournfully.

“The potatoes roasted displeased me so,

They art our own England’s best you may know.

And when and where I’m from we sorely lacked

This flavour that now arrives in thine sacks.”

“Bravo monsieur Shakespeare”, Poirot’s fat hands clapped together. “Zat is ze great thing about poetry. It always expresses egzactly how you feel”.

“Bygor! Thou art French and so let me see,

If there is a mind in an Auld Enemy”.

As we eat Poirot and Shakespeare continued to discuss their disgust of Founders Food Potato policy, Jesus sat and smiled. I tried to contribute by pointing out how much worse the decision by Woolworths’ to stop their Pick-and-Mix cups, instead opting to charge by weight, but they weren’t familiar with it, though they feigned interest.

“You know it’s nice to be able to sit quietly with friends” said Jesus, “if only I could spend more time with people, like this. It’s always busy and it feels like sometimes people only really call me when they need something”. He continued, “I would love to have more casual occasions to catch up with people”.

”It is quite charming,” replied Poirot, “but it is a credit to be of use when so many people need you”. ”I had a good idea for a play”
Shakespeare said, it came just the other day
’Tis about…”

Suddenly, a cramp came about my stomach and I wretched before falling to the floor below. Everything went hazy. Then night descended on my eyes. As I lost sight my ears still heard the words of my friends.”My, is the fellow alright?” questioned Shakespeare”I am afraid to say, monsieur,” said Poirot, “it looks as though he has been poisoned!”

To be continued… Next Week! With another special guest star!