We Have a Mole

No not that sort of mole, silly.

If anybody had told me that one day I would be chasing a mole, on a large plot of land, in rural Brittany whilst in my mid-fifties, I would have told them they were bonkers; this especially the case when I was a younger city dude living in Brixton and doing groovy stuff with lasers.

But some narratives change and sure enough this afternoon I was out there with my spade and some trigger-happy sprung mole traps. The little blighter appeared a week or so ago and he has started to take the piss. His latest molehill is just six metres away from this computer. Twice this year we had a professional mole hunter do his stuff and we have been mole free for four months. I watched him at work. He is quite a character, a Breton who used to play front row rugby, just like me at number 2. Despite the language problems we had an instant rapport. The front row club is quite exclusive, it has a special mentality, or lack of.

So, I have laid some traps in a roughly similar fashion and now we wait, to see if any more micro-Vesuvius appear.

All of which got me thinking.

Are narratives quantised?

By this I am asking are narratives only allowed to take discrete values, permissible by the perceptions, expectations, and assumptions of the narrative observer?

Are some narratives simply forbidden, they cannot be allowed because they do not fit the model?

They simply cannot be…verboten

Yeah… this cancer survivor, with a Ph.D. in chemical physics, with a broken femoral neck and a shiny metallic implant therein, was on his knees this afternoon, digging holes, trying to trap a mole who will quite probably outsmart him…

You can’t make this shit up…