Thursday, October the 7th, 2004
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It was Saint Hector's Day in the old town of Plovdiv. Ugo's hood got snagged on a tack and he turned blue, or, as Carl Sagan used to say, blooow. “Oooo” said Ugo's pal Ulf, “Ugo, you look all blue.” “Ack” said Ugo. “I'll go and fetch your blind ma, Ugo, to see what she can do,” said Ulf, though he could have pulled Ugo's hood off the tack on which it was snagged. But Ulf had been sniffing glue. Ulf found Ugo's ma sitting on a stool. “Ugo's ma,” said Ulf, “Ugo has turned blue. His hood is snagged on a tack.” Ugo's ma was chewing a chew, but she jumped off her stool and ran to Ugo, who was indeed very blue. Ugo's ma spat out her chew, and it landed in a pot of glue. It was the glue Ugo's pal Ulf had been sniffing. Ugo's ma unsnagged Ugo's hood from the tack. “Ack” said Ugo. “Ooo, Ugo's ma, I knew you would know what to do,” said Ulf. Ugo's ma clouted Ulf on the head with a spoon, and confiscated his glue. Ugo went off to find his shoes. It was time for mass. At Saint Hector's Cathedral. On the Left Bank. In Plovdiv.