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I’m a poor old peasant woman ‘oo ‘as frittered a giant’s castle full o’ gold on online casinos an’ Class A drugs. And not at all like that idiot lad Jack who swapped his cow for magic beans and killed the giant. He was right here last week, selling m-m-m-mysterious beans. 🙂 There are some nice behind-the-scenes images on the Kapali Studios website which I thought it would be nice to share here: There were some other images here: The total of my cipher mystery books purchases for 2017 was £260, which was actually a little lower than recent years (it’s been fairly quiet).

I’m on a lucky streak, got the Midas touch, I have. Perhaps a bit too generous towards its subject in places for my tastes, but it certainly covers all the ground.

JACK’S MUM: Tell me, my darlin’ Jack, does we ‘ave anyfink in the world left ter sell? The young man unwillingly taking his cow to market, just like Rick Astley and his sheep. I’ve lightly annotated each of these cipher mystery books, to cast a little glancing light on the areas of research I’ve been working on. * The Palaeography of Gothic Manuscript Books: From the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century (Cambridge Studies in Palaeography and Codicology), by Albert Derolez.

JACK: Only the cow you won in a virtual meat raffle, the one you called “Meteor”. JACK’S MUM [aside to the audience]: Face it, you can’t get Meteor than a cow. Magisterial yet accessible, a really great book on Gothic palaeography.

JACK’S MUM: So delayted to see, you, may dear Dame Trot. DAME TROT: What, Katie Price’s fifth autobiography?

WILFRID [rolls eyes]: OK, just one cow for the manuscript, then. [Takes book and hands him cow’s lead] WILFRID [aside to audience]: Why should I care? JACK [muttering under his breath]: So I’ve heard, so I’ve heard. Take one’s arm as one perambulates to one’s neighbour’s esteemed location. [shakes head silently] DAME TROT [opening the door]: How fantabulosa, it’s my bona omi young Jack! [calls upstairs] Princey, off the khazi, visitors at front of ‘ouse. DAME TROT: I’ll have none of that lingua in my flowery, young omi. [She extracts the Voynich Manuscript from her capacious handbag] PRINCE SALERNO [visibly shocked and appalled]: Kiss my quongs and slap my town-hall drape, it is The Cursed Book that she has!

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