Uncle Vladimir had very long black hair, and a black velvet shirt. When he got out of his car, we all saw that he was wearing black leather pants and pointy boots. He stood at the end of the driveway with his hands on his hips and smiled at us. There was a moment of indecision before my Mum went up and hugged him. ‘Vladimir,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’ ‘Sister Grace,’ said Vladimir, ‘what a delight.’ He went around and hugged each of us in turn.
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Total Cardboard 7
One hundred pages of exquisitely convoluted concept therapy. And yet... perhaps there is a single true sentence buried somewhere among the nine short stories, five poems and seventeen illustrations that make up Total Cardboard issue 7.
Surrealist political assassination, the tortuous inner-workings of a commercial network reality-TV programmer, and the sexual possibilities of the charity street-spruiker. All these themes and more have been subjected to the rigorous analysis of our specialist researchers in TC7.
Contents listing
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£3.00
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‘Tr– Vladimir,’ said Uncle Ben. ‘Son,’ said my Grandad. ‘Vladimir,’ said Aunty Laura. ‘Uncky Twoy!’ said my cousin Ruthie, who was too little to know any better. ‘Vladimir,’ said my Dad. ‘Uncle Vladimir,’ I said. ‘Mate,’ said Uncle Larry, and shook his hand. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘let the feasting begin!’ Because Uncle Vladimir was no longer a Hare Krishna, our Christmas lunch was a turkey roast. We ate in the backyard. Uncle Vladimir asked for a drumstick, and tore at it with his teeth. ‘Would you like a glass of wine, Vladimir?’ asked my Mum. ‘No thank you Grace,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘I have my own libations.’ From under the table he took a furry bag made out of skin. ‘What’s that?’ asked my Mum. ‘Mead,’ said Uncle Vladimir. ‘I fermented it myself. Would you like to try some?’ ‘Is it alcoholic?’ asked Uncle Larry. ‘Extremely,’ said Uncle Vladimir. Uncle Larry held out his glass, and Uncle Vladimir filled it. Then he gave all the other adults some, even me. ‘Are there any goblets?’ he asked. ‘Uhm, I’m not sure,’ said Aunty Laura. ‘Dad, do you have any goblets?’ ‘There might be a Toby jug in the china cabinet,’ said my Grandad. Aunty Laura went inside and got it. It was shaped like a Scottish person’s head. ‘Will this do?’ she asked. ‘I suppose it will have to,’ said Uncle Vladimir. Everybody liked the mead except for me. Uncle Larry and Uncle Vladimir had a long conversation about making alcoholic drinks, and Uncle Vladimir wrote down the recipe for mead on a napkin. ‘Remember to purify the honey thrice,’ he kept saying. ‘Thrice!’ ‘Are you still at the bank, Vladimir?’ asked Uncle Ben. ‘No,’ said Uncle Vladimir. ‘I grew weary of usury, and became an artisan.’ ‘Really,’ said my Mum. ‘What kind of artisan?’ ‘Wait here,’ said Uncle Vladimir. He ran off around the side of the house. When he came back he was carrying a sword in a scabbard. He took it out and waved it over his head. My Mum ducked a bit every time he swung it. ‘What the hell is that?’ said Uncle Larry. ‘It’s a broadsword,’ I said. I knew it was a broadsword because we were doing medieval times at school. ‘Did you make it?’ asked Aunty Laura. ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Vladimir. He stopped swinging it and showed us. Everybody agreed that it was a very nice broadsword. Uncle Ben went to touch the blade, and Uncle Vladimir pulled it away from him really fast. ‘Careful!’ he said. ‘This isn’t a plaything. I’ll show you. Does anybody have a silk scarf?’ nobody said anything, even though I knew my Mum had one in her purse. ‘There’s a tea-towel in the kitchen!’ I said, and ran and got it. The tea-towel had Uluru on it. ‘Okay,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘everybody gather round. Will, you stand here.’ I stood where he pointed, and Uncle Vladimir held the broadsword straight out with the blade facing up. ‘Okay’, he said. ‘Now I want you to toss the scarf up in the air so it falls horizontally onto the blade, okay?’ ‘Okay,’ I said. I tossed the tea-towel, and it floated down and draped over the blade of the sword. Uncle Vladimir had very long black hair, and a black velvet shirt. When he got out of his car, we all saw that he was wearing black leather pants and pointy boots. He stood at the end of the driveway with his hands on his hips and smiled at us. There was a moment of indecision before my Mum went up and hugged him. ‘Vladimir,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’ ‘Sister Grace,’ said Vladimir, ‘what a delight.’ He went around and hugged each of us in turn. ‘Tr– Vladimir,’ said Uncle Ben. ‘Son,’ said my Grandad. ‘Vladimir,’ said Aunty Laura. ‘Uncky Twoy!’ said my cousin Ruthie, who was too little to know any better. ‘Vladimir,’ said my Dad. ‘Uncle Vladimir,’ I said. ‘Mate,’ said Uncle Larry, and shook his hand. Everybody breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘let the feasting begin!’ Because Uncle Vladimir was no longer a Hare Krishna, our Christmas lunch was a turkey roast. We ate in the backyard. Uncle Vladimir asked for a drumstick, and tore at it with his teeth. ‘Would you like a glass of wine, Vladimir?’ asked my Mum. ‘No thank you Grace,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘I have my own libations.’ From under the table he took a furry bag made out of skin. ‘What’s that?’ asked my Mum. ‘Mead,’ said Uncle Vladimir. ‘I fermented it myself. Would you like to try some?’ ‘Is it alcoholic?’ asked Uncle Larry. ‘Extremely,’ said Uncle Vladimir. Uncle Larry held out his glass, and Uncle Vladimir filled it. Then he gave all the other adults some, even me. ‘Are there any goblets?’ he asked. ‘Uhm, I’m not sure,’ said Aunty Laura. ‘Dad, do you have any goblets?’ ‘There might be a Toby jug in the china cabinet,’ said my Grandad. Aunty Laura went inside and got it. It was shaped like a Scottish person’s head. ‘Will this do?’ she asked. ‘I suppose it will have to,’ said Uncle Vladimir. Everybody liked the mead except for me. Uncle Larry and Uncle Vladimir had a long conversation about making alcoholic drinks, and Uncle Vladimir wrote down the recipe for mead on a napkin. ‘Remember to purify the honey thrice,’ he kept saying. ‘Thrice!’ ‘Are you still at the bank, Vladimir?’ asked Uncle Ben. ‘No,’ said Uncle Vladimir. ‘I grew weary of usury, and became an artisan.’ ‘Really,’ said my Mum. ‘What kind of artisan?’ ‘Wait here,’ said Uncle Vladimir. He ran off around the side of the house. When he came back he was carrying a sword in a scabbard. He took it out and waved it over his head. My Mum ducked a bit every time he swung it. ‘What the hell is that?’ said Uncle Larry. ‘It’s a broadsword,’ I said. I knew it was a broadsword because we were doing medieval times at school. ‘Did you make it?’ asked Aunty Laura. ‘Yes,’ said Uncle Vladimir. He stopped swinging it and showed us. Everybody agreed that it was a very nice broadsword. Uncle Ben went to touch the blade, and Uncle Vladimir pulled it away from him really fast. ‘Careful!’ he said. ‘This isn’t a plaything. I’ll show you. Does anybody have a silk scarf?’ nobody said anything, even though I knew my Mum had one in her purse. ‘There’s a tea-towel in the kitchen!’ I said, and ran and got it. The tea-towel had Uluru on it. ‘Okay,’ said Uncle Vladimir, ‘everybody gather round. Will, you stand here.’ I stood where he pointed, and Uncle Vladimir held the broadsword straight out with the blade facing up. ‘Okay’, he said. ‘Now I want you to toss the scarf up in the air so it falls horizontally onto the blade, okay?’ ‘Okay,’ I said. I tossed the tea-towel, and it floated down and draped over the blade of the sword. Uncle Vladimir had very long black hair, and a black velvet shirt. When he got out of his car, we all saw that he was wearing black leather pants and pointy boots. He stood at the end of the driveway with his hands on his hips and smiled at us. There was a moment of indecision before my Mum went up and hugged him. ‘Vladimir,’ she said. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’ ‘Sister Grace,’ said Vladimir, ‘what a delight.’ He went around and hugged each of us in turn.