Thursday, 31 August 2017

Heaps

Nice weather this afternoon, and I was certain the Canning St lotus eaters would all come out of their dens and lie down on the grass pouring cask wine into their mouths.  As you can see however
 
they didn't.  Disappointed again. I wonder where they all were? Dancing on moonbeams and sliding on rainbows? Taking the pony for a walk? It is Thursday after all. 
When I was almost home I saw this pile of dirt, not for the first time it must be said.


It's been there for ages but the trail of little footprints in it appeared no more than a week ago. Some kid has walked in it. If a volcano goes off in Brunswick East this will get covered in volcanic ash and soon after that ('soon' in terms of cosmic time) the footprints will become fossils. I think the likelier scenario is that whoever caused the dirt to be put here and built that poetically stark enclosure around it will come and get the dirt and move it about thus obliterating the footprints. When they've been rubbed out, nobody will ever know they were here or remember their brief existence - that is, nobody except for you, dear reader. "''"'"Lest we forget"'"''"

Well I have three choices before me for the remainder of the evening: See if there are more episodes of Get Krack'n on iview, sew a cloth badge that says 'Employee of the Month' onto my parka, or start reading this horrendous book about WWII that I brought home from work called All Hell Let Loose - I can see it's been written by some sort of British equivalent of Peter Fitzsimons but it's properly global and properly focused on the perspectives and experiences of ordinary people. Yeah, a real laff riot.  Or there is a fourth option, straight to bed without any supper.




2 comments:

Ampersand Duck said...

I like being your 'dear reader', even if I binge read you sort of monthly. I'm not a robot.

lucy tartan said...

Thanks duck. I never seriously suspected you of being a robot but I'm happy to receive your assurances.