Sentence The Twohundredandtwentysixth
The philosophical WPC Isa Urquhart sat in the passenger seat of the Panda driven by Trainee WPC Gertie Mountcastle as they sped out of the City Centre towards Fairmilehead, thinking of the onomastical pressures which must have surely affected Mr John Farmer in his decision to become Farmer Farmer of Hillend Farm, below the heights of the towering Pentland Hills; the report from WPC Clare Clutterbuck, a cousin of Isa's who had made the initial contact, had described him, in characteristic fashion, as “a whisky-sodden slugabed, previously a Hedge Fund Manager before turning to his present occupation which he describes as that of a 'Gentleman Farmer' so no horny handed Son of Toil,” but then Clare is a Daughter of The Manse, so her opinions can be peppered with hot and fiery Wee-Freeisms, reflected the magnanimous WPC, musing on the ways in which Faith finds it's niche in so many of us, and recalling her old Tutor, Professor Gloriana Tumblety,
informing her class of eager, shining faces that “there is no Universe other than that which we perceive for ourselves, as you will learn when you read Bishop Berkeley and jolly old Jeremy Bentham, although the caveat which we may apply to the ultimate solipsism that we are each the Centre of our own Universe, is that it does not in itself deny the existence of the Creator God, for it can be argued that she first created the Mind and within it's illimitable space, she then created the Universe and all that we perceive of it, so enjoy your Powers my Bright, Young Things, and write me an essay each on the Discrepancy between First-Hand Knowledge and Third-Person Hearsay in the Understanding of Materialism within the context of Deism (you can choose your own Gods if you must) by Friday next, Toot Sweet and off you scurry”; and Isa, arm in arm with her cousins all, Roxy and Trixie, Goldy and Ginger, Leigh, Elvira, Clare, Teri and the rest clattered down the spiral stone staircase of what had once been a Kerr of Ferniehirst Town House and so the spiral was the wrong-way-round for those who were right-handed in those days before Political Correctness did away with such distinctions on the theory that the opposite of 'Right' is ever 'Wrong' and who dare call one who is 'Left Handed, Wrong Handed'?and so the search for an alternative still goes on apace, and Isa sensed, rather than saw, their passage over the City Bypass and drew herself together, letting her reveries tear and scatter like the clouds in a Westerly Breeze, girding her loins – as it were – for the soon to be encountered Mr Farmer Farmer!
The philosophical WPC Isa Urquhart sat in the passenger seat of the Panda driven by Trainee WPC Gertie Mountcastle as they sped out of the City Centre towards Fairmilehead, thinking of the onomastical pressures which must have surely affected Mr John Farmer in his decision to become Farmer Farmer of Hillend Farm, below the heights of the towering Pentland Hills; the report from WPC Clare Clutterbuck, a cousin of Isa's who had made the initial contact, had described him, in characteristic fashion, as “a whisky-sodden slugabed, previously a Hedge Fund Manager before turning to his present occupation which he describes as that of a 'Gentleman Farmer' so no horny handed Son of Toil,” but then Clare is a Daughter of The Manse, so her opinions can be peppered with hot and fiery Wee-Freeisms, reflected the magnanimous WPC, musing on the ways in which Faith finds it's niche in so many of us, and recalling her old Tutor, Professor Gloriana Tumblety,
informing her class of eager, shining faces that “there is no Universe other than that which we perceive for ourselves, as you will learn when you read Bishop Berkeley and jolly old Jeremy Bentham, although the caveat which we may apply to the ultimate solipsism that we are each the Centre of our own Universe, is that it does not in itself deny the existence of the Creator God, for it can be argued that she first created the Mind and within it's illimitable space, she then created the Universe and all that we perceive of it, so enjoy your Powers my Bright, Young Things, and write me an essay each on the Discrepancy between First-Hand Knowledge and Third-Person Hearsay in the Understanding of Materialism within the context of Deism (you can choose your own Gods if you must) by Friday next, Toot Sweet and off you scurry”; and Isa, arm in arm with her cousins all, Roxy and Trixie, Goldy and Ginger, Leigh, Elvira, Clare, Teri and the rest clattered down the spiral stone staircase of what had once been a Kerr of Ferniehirst Town House and so the spiral was the wrong-way-round for those who were right-handed in those days before Political Correctness did away with such distinctions on the theory that the opposite of 'Right' is ever 'Wrong' and who dare call one who is 'Left Handed, Wrong Handed'?and so the search for an alternative still goes on apace, and Isa sensed, rather than saw, their passage over the City Bypass and drew herself together, letting her reveries tear and scatter like the clouds in a Westerly Breeze, girding her loins – as it were – for the soon to be encountered Mr Farmer Farmer!
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