My dearest Pineapples,
Brida, as ever, is a stage where the ordinary becomes whimsical, and the whimsicalâwellâveers dangerously close to scandal. This week brought revived pastimes, philosophical potatoes, suspicious points, shiny badges, and the Mayorâs alleged reign of terror tactics. (Yes, you may clutch your pearls now.)
But let us begin, as all good tales should, with lunch.
đ„Ș Lunch With Janita & Frank (and Rosii Alone)
One expects lunch with Janita and Frank to be livelyâbut on this occasion, Rosii alone joined them. Did this dim the sparkle? Quite the opposite.
Rosii delighted us with her fondness for simple pleasures: arranging clothes and plants, the alchemy of sweet-making, and finding serenity in lifeâs quiet tasks. Frank, ever the romantic, longed for the return of handwritten letters and postcardsâtokens heavy with meaning, care, and time.
But Brida lunches never linger long in solemn reflection. Soon, laughter spilled over. Competitive marshmallow stacking? Speed naps timed to the second? Costumes included, of course. Such absurdities became metaphors for life itselfâthings topple, naps overrun, yet joy abounds in the tumble.
My dear reader, might you too have a lost art youâd revive? Bridaâs lunch table awaits your declaration: Reserve your seat here.
đ„ Peeling Potatoes with Bruce, Lyudmyla, Janita & Frank
Episode 13 (recorded on the 15thâBrida calendars obey their own rules) was nothing short of epic.
Bruce Lloyd, once a university professor, wielded decades of scholarship like a scalpel. He has turned AI upon Shakespeare, probed global conflicts through its lens, and tested its mettle in education.
But it was not speed nor automation that Bruce elevatedâit was the questions. AI, he insisted, is but a mirror. It strips bias, reframes problems, and sparks creativity, but it cannot replace judgment, compassion, or the glorious messiness of human choice.
Lyudmyla pressed him with sharp questions; Janita chimed with thoughtful challenges; Frank, naturally, stirred the broth. The lesson? AI is no oracle. It is a spark. The brillianceâor the blunderâlies in the human hand that wields it.
đ§ Might this spark ignite something in you? Listen here.
đ The Spud List (and The Taxpayerâs Watchdog)

Fruitloop, it seems, has taken on the unofficial role of Bridaâs Auditor General. With one eye on the Mayorâs Spud List and the other on the Townâs coffers, she claims merely to ensure âvalue for taxpayer money.â
Yet whispers suggest otherwise. For instance, one outraged resident reports:
âI commented on two Pineapples and got 5 points for one. But he got 5 points for my comment. Outrageous. And where, pray tell, are my Cheese Tax bonuses?â
Points, dear reader, are no longer a game. They are fast becoming the very currency of civic intrigue. Fruitloop insists it is for the greater good. Others mutter of power plays. (How very Brida.)
đ± Fruitloop & the Mayor: A Week in WhatsApps
Thursday evening: Fruitloop proclaims she will work late. The Mayor gently scolds: âTake a break, Rome was not built in a day.â
Friday morning: Fruitloop finds the CafĂ© in disarrayâlinks missing, tins overflowing. The Mayor, equally unimpressed, adds âCafĂ© Tidy?â to the Spud List. One suspects their WhatsApp threads are Bridaâs true archives.
By Friday afternoon, the banter escalates: she boasts her Spud List is shrinking, he mutters of Haiku graphics, and together they balance exhaustion with caffeine.

Sunday arrives. South Africa has lost the cricket, the rugby, and even a prized fight. Fruitloop laughs, the Mayor frowns, and the world spins on.
And somewhere in between: brochures, badges, bacon kips, milk tarts, and a new Brida Café logo. Reader, it is exhausting merely to write of it.
đ Brida Life: Badges & Boxes
The first official Brida badges have been awarded! Ismar and Sarah, take a bow: 20 haikus each, earning your Tea Badges. A feather in your poetic caps.

The system is delightfully simple:
Post something (a haiku, art, gossip, Dear Abby) â earn 5â10 points.
Comment â earn 5 points.
Get a comment â earn 1 point.
Collect them, unlock badges, and perhapsâjust perhapsâdiscover the secrets of the Mystery Boxes.
đ Your next haiku might just be your passport: Play here.
â Fruitloopâs Question of the Week
If you had to rename yourself after an object in your room, what would it be? And why?
One shudders at the thought of âLamp Petersâ or âChair McFruitloopââbut imagination is Bridaâs lifeblood. Earn your points, and amuse us.
đ§ The Cheese Tax
Once again, dear residents, your âcheesyâ dues are expected. Pay with an idiom, a pun, or a sentence dripping in dairy. The Mayor and Fruitloop promise pointsâand possibly forgiveness.
đ„ Crisis! Nuggets, The Spoon & A Mayor Accused
Oh, the scandal. First came Nuggets, our infamous chickenâno, rooster. Then, a spoon arrested in Kassel. And now? The Mayor accused of terrorizing residents.

The evidence, chilling in its simplicity:
âThis is indeed true. But the resident in question thanked me for it. Kindness in cruelty.â
Fruitloopâs reply? A cool, almost amused: âThis is interesting.â
Is this leadership, or intimidation? Brida is abuzz. Critics call it a âMindset Scandal.â Supporters claim it is tough love, nothing more.
A Town Hall meeting is scheduled:
đ
Friday, 22 August 2025
đ 10:00 sharpÂČ
đ Brida Town Hall, Main Chamber
Doors open early, questions on cards, and a full statement from the Mayor and Fruitloop. Attend if you dare.
đ« Champagne & Chocolates
The Mayor, never one to shy from extravagance, has spent a tidy sum on an image video for Brida. A triumph of civic prideâor a reckless use of funds? Judge for yourself: Watch here.
đ Welcome, Lyudmyla
Amid all this drama, a warm welcome to Lyudmyla, Bridaâs newest resident. May her arrival remind us that even in stormy weeks, new friendships bloom.
And so, my dear reader, Brida remains a town of contradictions: playful and profound, orderly and chaotic, tender and terrifying. Will the Mayor survive the scandal? Will Fruitloopâs audits tame the points system? Will Nuggets ever lay an egg?
Until next week, polish your badges, stack your marshmallows high, and keep your spoons where you can see them.
Yours most deliciously (and a touch mischievously),
The Brida Scribe