moves Alice into the 1960s
‘I know!’ said Alice, who had made a point of always studying the daily newspaper. ‘Let’s form a popular music group!’
‘Right on, little lady,’ said the White Rabbit. ‘But what are we going to call ourselves?’
‘The Carpenters?’ said the Walrus.
‘You, Caterpillar, dear,’ said Alice, ‘you shall play the harmonium.’
‘No, baby, me I’m strictly rhythm,’ said the Caterpillar. ‘But you want the Mad Hatter on drums. He makes Keith Moon look like the Dormouse.’
‘I know,’ said the Gryphon. ‘Let’s call ourselves the Turtles.’
‘Or one could call us after oneself,’ said the Queen.
‘Hey,’ said the Cheshire Cat, ‘you want to try a line of Jabberwock?’
‘“’Twas brillig …”’ began Alice, who always remembered her lessons from the schoolroom.
‘No, you don’t say a line, you sniff it. Like this.’
‘My word,’ said Alice, ‘this is the oddest powder that ever I saw. Something marked “Poison” is almost certain to disagree with you sooner or later.’
Alice took a great snort and felt her toves go slithy. Her garden was full of flowering grass; there was whiffling in her tulge; they said that heaven was ten zillion light years away.
‘Golly,’ said Alice, ‘what would my dear cat Dinah say? From here, the poor creature seems invisibly distant, almost unimaginably remote.’
‘Yeah,’ said the Caterpillar, ‘like far out.’
