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Chronicles of Nadir 3: The Voyage of the Born Trader Chapter I

The Chronicles of Nadir
As told from the grave by Tom Lewis


Damn if I didn’t have it here somewhere. A large, thank you James. Damn, not under the chair is it, m’dear? Last few Chapters of Prince Crispian. Damn. Oh here it is inside today’s Tele. Oh, that’s not it. Same typeface.
What’s this then? Oh things do change so when you’re dead – The Voyage of the Born Trader.

That’s right, Jack dropped it by t’other day. Oh yes, just there on the toe, Violet – lovely girl – absolute wonder with the wanda.

Where was I? Oh, yes, this looks like a new one he’s floated. Should pass it on to young Duncan.

Now where did the rest of that Crispian thing go? Oh, well, we can always come back to it.


Tale the Third

The Voyage of the Born Trader

Chapter The First:

The Wind beneath my Sales



History has a terrifying capacity for getting pell mell beyond the ability of the chronicler: so many in history; so few chroniclers. So it was that we found ourselves living in interesting times.

Moredread had seized the keys to the throne and would not be put off. Young Brendan had started to sit near Peter towards the back of the room. Alexander had joined Amanda in foreign climbs and it was, as someone who had once observed of Pope tupping a prostitute, like a wren on a hippopotamus,

Little Lucy was in her element. It was very much like looking at those cartoons of Scrooge McDuck diving into a pile of cash.

But things were dire.

The trade bubble had burst.

Perhaps that explained why Moredread had moved when he did. Well, that and the cat.

Moredread denied it at the first public opportunity but he not only hated cats (his mother, apart from being an expert on the American Civil War, was also interested in the cult of Bast), he strangled them. As for drugs, he’d never smoked a joint in his life but that wasn’t going to stop him in the time-honoured tradition of Little Johnny’s lies. After all, he was Leader now and tradition dictated that the Leader must lie. It was a tradition going back at least to Billy McMahon but perhaps that dog ought be left sleeping to lie. Better than drowning it. [That one’s on the ABC this week – Ed]

As he had boarded the gangway from Florence, Moredread had trailed his baggage behind him. And what baggage it was. From living in flats Down and Out in Double and Bay, to his rugby days (one match in the 3rds), to his first attempt to go to London to kill the Queen, to his time on the Rhodes, to his time as a journalist, to his time as a barrister (12 seconds) to his time as a solicitor, to his time as a merchant banker (liquidator now appointed), to his time as an unsuccessful political candidate, to his time cat-strangling, to his time shagging the heir to the Crown, to his time as a backbencher, to his time as a frontbencher, to his time as a shadow, there was one thing you could say about Moredread: he never stuck at anything long (well, except cat-strangling). Oh he could take a position but he’d sell out by the end of trading. That was what made him the Born Trader.

Yet, haunting him, hovering ever near, like a flight of Miss Flites, there was always a Puss-in-boots. This was no panto Deputy Dawg: they bred them tough west of the dingo fence and they weren’t given to blinking.

So the Born Trader was launched. She was a sturdy vessel but she could only ever go which way the wind blew. It was getting ready to blow a hurricane and neither the Born Trader nor her skipper, Moredread, had any idea where they would be blown next: a week was a long time on the high seas.

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Fur balls and Haley - all chewed up

Just got back from the computer guy, he now has $200 of my dollars (which leaves me with minus $172.73). Apparently the problem with my laptop was not so much the fur balls but a chewed up Haley Berry lunch box that had stuffed up my hard drive.

The computer guy said that he quite often fantasised of doing same to Haley himself;  I had no idea what he was talking about.

For some reason the computer guy wanted to keep the chewed up Haley and offered me a $100 discount if I agreed - but I promised to give it back to Geoff, hope he is not angry about the condition she is in, but what can you do?

James Morris

found, when he became Jan, that one of the advantages of being a woman is that you do not have to speak only in rationalities, or follow a logical thread.

Taking advantage of this, Claude, I wished to ask you a question that is unrelated to the Born Trader.

Am I correct in thinking that the more genetically blessed person that you are responsible for, has something to do with a school? And, if this is so, has she seen any recently released results of the national literacy/numeracy testing? And, if she has, can she confirm for me my impression, namely that public school students get three results: their own, the national average, and their school's result, but that private school students only get two: their own and the national average.

Now, oh wise one, if I am correct, why is this so?


Shut up with the puuurrrr, Claude, it's goddam irritating.

I, for one, say death to cats.

You don't agree. OK. I can live with that.

There is a widespread male movement, Clawed - and they have disempowered you from being part of it - that tries to equate the grace, skill, agility and beauty of the cat species with the furry nature of a woman"s nether regions. How absurd.

Your biscuit provider seems to be confused by the apparent overlapping of the normal usage of words and coarse slang argot.

That's your problem.

Could you leave my diabetic pussy alone?

We found that terribly hurtful, F Kendall.

Argonauts as we are.

Claude would eat any pussy that came anywhere near him – I have the scars to prove it. He really likes women though. Ask Margo, Dr Reynolds, Jenny Hume, SWMBO, any of her students, or even my Mother.

Cooked cat

I see that the Peruvians have a cat-eating festival. I regret this.

I had a (stray) prescient cat. Unfortunately, I was not; so failed to care for him when he was in need: in fact, failed to see that he was in need.

Being a harsh judge, I do not forgive myself for this.


Not that I would know having had The Operation, but what exactly, F Kendall, is wrong with eating pussy, especially at a South American festival?

Fur balls - not very nice

I'm never gunna eat another dead cat. In fact it was so bad my laptop shit itself, seriously. Took in to the computer guy and he said: Christ you look sick. I replied, the laptop is sicker.

The computer guy checked it out and stated my problem was a bloody great big fur ball, we always skin our cats first he added. He's Asian and would know.

Anyway at this point in time my laptop is being de-fur balled and hopefully things will be back to normal later today.

Next time Claude eats an albatross I hope he gets a bad case of feather balls.


Wherever this tale is going, at least Moredread is providing some light relief. I think it's only a matter of time, though, before his affable mask slips and he reverts back to his former fearful incarnation - that of a "moneylender".

That was what I and my dear friend, the confirmed National party member and voter and third generation Landed Gentry from the shires, agreed upon only yesterday as we sat at the Fountain Cafe in Kings Cross for our weekly meeting.to discuss - well, socialism versus socialism (capitalism having now completely vanished).

It was that same Nat who I was with when driving in our chariot through Kings Cross some years ago, who pointed to a large man on a ladder affixing a proclamation to a lamp post, who said, "that is Malcolm B.Duncan (who can channel Tom Lewis) of some fame!"

I replied "well he certainly looks like a lout littering the place with posters and such".

Only later did I hear he was in fact, removing the proclamation, having deemed it illegal. Was it about Moredread? Or Lady Moore of the Studded Collar?

Cafe Tango - the last place to be seen

Pussy cats stuffed with butter, I've heard of such a dish, served at the Cafe Tango in Paris. They say the dish is delicious, but I don't know where Paris is.


Just have to stay in the rigging long enough.

One paw on the stay and you're gone, my son.

Fat and Rude reckons Coleridge was a lousy poet. 

From the grassy knoll?

Ah... So it was you who shot the albatross, Claude!

Just remember…

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.


Kathy Farrelly, Fat and Rude tells me I can't remember.

He also tells me the lines go:

He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

Coleridge The Ancient Mariner. 

And all I get is cat biscuits, water and insulin.  And the odd albatross.

Riddle me that.  I'd rather have pidgeon.

A bum steer

Fat and rude is giving you a "bum steer" I reckon.


Richard:  Blondes should be careful, Kathy  ;)

You're kidding

Kathy Farrelly is a blonde?

She must be the one under the fence in the photo then.

Of course I wouldn't know having had The Operation but isn't there a specific meaning to a bum steer? 

I prefer my cats skinned - not throttled

God I'm feeling ill....buuuurrrrrp... xcuse me..... my first time eating Asian; knew I should have stuck with the fishies, maybe it would have been better if the dead cats had been skinned first. I'm sure the skipper knows many ways to skin a cat; but does he know where he is going?

Shit, I can hardly fly and that storm is closing in, buuuurrrrrp.

The best butter

What about choking them with butter, Justin? Or cream? Sounds a more appropriate technique, in certain respects. (OMG, hope Claude isn't reading this .... erm, Claude sweetie, how about some nice frangipane? Made it specially for you...)

Party time

Dum de dum de dum ... mmmm ... what's that down there? A thingy in the water getting blown all over the show... think I'll have a closer look ... shit ... looks like some guy throwing dead cats overboard ... how fortunate ... it will attract the fishies ... yippee ... party time.

I wonder if that thingy in the water knows that it is getting blown into a really big storm .... O well best have quick feed and piss off.

Phew what's that smokey stuff .... mmmmm .... now I'm really hungry.

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