There are no knees left in the goat factory, Helen. Shall we go now, just you and I, and warm our rudest parts against the shins of an East European goalkeeper?
I have seen the String Vest of Doom, and laughed at the Chickens of Destiny. But tomorrow it will be Friday again, so we cannot use the tin opener, not even if she begs us.
Down here, the thing that happens has been happening with a regularity that makes all our knees tremble with unfulfilled desire.
Do you ever wonder about the stains on the furniture? Do you ever go to the shops wearing the knickers of a social worker on your head whilst walking on your hands?
Once, we mocked the trousers of all those we thought inferior. But, these days, even we must sometimes place the Holy Spanners carefully on the ledge, next to the Cloth of Dirty Hand Wiping, before turning to watch the Match Official slowly masticating the Clipboard of Consecration.
I have touched it!
It was rather warm and pleasant.
May I please touch it again?