If the tinned peach slices of indifference are once more arranged in a geometrical pattern on the plate of your life, let us go then you and I, towards a place that only you could ever call Wolverhampton. Down here the voices echo back from the very underpasses of the soul, cold dark and hollow, as we trudge through the discarded burger wrappers of your life, looking for that one litter bin that does not overflow with the detritus of too many late nights and not enough early mornings out where the dawn chorus awaits the rising sun.
Having said that, did you remember to bring the radishes?
We may once have performed the rites of all-nude carpentry together in the past, making table lamps of all our desires, but that does not mean I will want to look upon your eggcups once we get to Droitwich. I already have all the adjustable spanners one man (who occasionally feels the need to be a lady) could ever need, especially now that my slide-rule is little more than a curio.
Still, as they say, you can’t play Ludo without a Ludo board, dice and counters, so what else shall we do now that the badger has been prepared and you have oiled both the weasels?
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