Apparently it's round-the-world week in my piano book. I have "Gallop on the Moor" (which has some minor shades of Leroy Anderson to it; there is literally what sounds like galloping - or really, more trotting - in it). And then there's "Mysterious Casbah" (which is more fun than it sounds).

The book - which of course is aimed at the under-15 set - very helpfully tells us that a casbah is "A North African palace."

Which raises the question for me - when did a "casbah" become the sort of thing that Pepe Le Pew* (or other various ham-handed would-be romantics) offered to invite the lady of the hour to? Is it some left-over Valentino thing?

I always think it's funny how there's stuff I know, that's from perhaps 2 generations before me, because of Warner Brothers cartoons. (Seriously - what is the last time someone invited a person to come to their "casbah" unironically?)

Another odd little love-making** tidbit from Warner Brothers - the concept of "come up so I can show you my etchings." Even as a child, I presumed they were "naughty" (though as a child, the only "naughtiness" I could imagine being involved would be ladies with no clothes on). But where did THAT line come from?

It's funny how many things are out there floating around in the collective consciousness that most of us have no idea of the origins of

(*I always felt kind of sorry for poor old Pepe. So enthusiastic but so misguided. One would hope he'd have found a nice French lady-skunk and, if not been happy, at least worked out his inter-species confusion. Also, nowadays, I'm sure there's a cosmetic surgery that would take care of his "problem.")

(**In the perhaps-Victorian sense. Not in the later sense. Still, Warner Brothers cartoons were light years beyond most stuff on tv in suggestiveness, having been originally aimed at adults. It's just that so much of that stuff was so subtle it zoomed over the kids' heads.)

****

And a "Thursday Th'Heck?"

I came home yesterday afternoon and found a small package from Powell's in my mailbox. I had ordered from Powell's a couple weeks back; one of the items was a Margery Allingham mystery, and I ordered the UK edition because it was the only one available. Well, my book came. And I couldn't remember anything that I had ordered that had been on back-order.

So I kind of shrugged and decided to open it (thinking, who knows, maybe my brother got his schedule together for once and sent a birthday gift on time). The exterior of the envelope had my name and address, plus Powell's return address

In it was a copy of the Rough Guide to Madeira and Porto Santo.

Which I most definitely did not order. While I don't really have a negative opinion on those two places (and in fact had to look at a map to remind myself of precisely where they were), I have no interest in going to either.

There was also an invoice in there. Addressed to a Mr Andrew Williams (no period after the Mr because he's in the British Isles). Of Dublin, Ireland.

Honestly, what is it with me and unexpected books I did not order. It's like my mailbox is on the other end of a wormhole that misdirected books fall into. I suppose that's a bit more appealing than being the other end of the Dryer Sock Wormhole, but still.

I've e-mailed the UK Penguin Group (helpfully, there was a customer service e-mail address on the invoice) letting them know. I hope they don't want me to send the book back to the UK on my own dime - because frankly, that might cost more than the book's worth (it's marked 6 pounds 99). I've not heard back yet.

My assumption is that Penguin and Vintage (the company that produced my book) use the same UK distribution/mailing center (centre?) and the address machine hiccuped (hiccoughed?) and printed a second mailing label for me which then went on Mr Williams' book. (I do hope that that wasn't an error perpetrated down the line, where Mr Williams got the book that was to go to the person who ordered after him, and on down the line.)