A graph visualizing the relationship of tea and the process.

As you can see, productivity was reached swiftly once optimum tea threshold had been achieved.

If you could measure progress in the exciting new currency of golden bins, yesterday would have been a 5 out of 5. Not that the currency matters, I’m just trying to tie in a theme, and if you had seen the bin, I am confident you would understand why. The important factor, however, is the progress. Yesterday, you see, we strode one step closer to giving the Beast, and all the associated orbital peripherals (not least this blog) an identity.

It began, as so many things do these days, with an early start and a drive to Reading. The motorways were kind, and blessed us with consistent traffic. The sat nav was perplexing, and blessed us with directions that appeared mystical and inconclusive. The Pipe, our chief Master of Artistry, was awaiting us when we eventually nosed our way into a car park. Having established a Reading-based beachhead we struck out to secure tea, and possibly breakfast.

The Earley Café, an excellent choice if you are in the area by the way, has a table right in the window which facilitates people watching and the excessive consumption of warm beverages. We hunkered down and got to work on breakfast. The objective, once fed, was to finally decide what the Jabberwocky would eventually mean, and to impart to it the visual feelings we have about food. We want it to convey everything we love about restaurants with the sense that nothing should be taken more seriously than, say, a 7 out of 10. We want the people who look once to look back, and linger, and then buy delicious snacks at very reasonable prices. We want enchantment and magic and the moon on a stick.

The Pipe nodded sagely, squiggled something I can only assume was hand writing, and drew the Jabberwocky.

It would appear then, that soon we should be able to unveil the crux of our plan. There is more to do, greatness does not happen over night, but I could not tell you more. I would be the evil megalomanic genius telling the suave hero his plans and then leaving him to die in a painfully ingenious but easily escapable manner with one guard. So I shall be patient, all will be revealed in time, and I will not succumb to the temptation of making Bond-puns about the Beast with the Golden Bin.