pig tales

It occurred to me (after reading a comment on Intellectuelle) that being the Pig wot flies might need a little explanation. I'll try!

It began as a small child, when I was quite taken by the idea of having a flying pig service, like a taxi service. You'd whistle one up and they'd take you wherever you wanted to go for a few potatoes, or other root vegetables. I've no idea where the idea came from.

Then, as a teenager, a flying pig became my symbol, a sort of mark of identity, a trademark. I still put it on the backs of letters or a marker on things I might lose. My parents were kind enough to let me paint a mural of flying pigs on the dining room wall, which is still there, more than 10 years later. The Empress of Blandings probably feeds into the idea of pig too, being a highly superior sow, unwinged, but often known to disappear mysteriously.

I became Pig wot flies as an online identity elsewhere because there were other people calling themselves flying pig already. So when I started a blog, what else could I call it?

I like being a flying pig. The idea of something so ungainly and heavy getting off the ground with a huge pair of elegant wings is amusing and whimsical. There are many possible metaphors - flying with books in the land of escapism and fantasy, flying with the wings God gives us in ways that are impossible without Him, landing with all four feet by the feeding trough and getting stuck in. Possibly it's a little twee and perhaps something more serious might be more appropriate, but right now, it feels just right.