The Spanish donkey spanners are once again massing on the borders of our once so-proud car parks. The indifferent traffic wardens of our dreams dance tangos across the fields of rampant mango chutney that were once the homes of all our most cherished daffodils. Yet, you dare to ask what has become of the petunia you kept in the cupboard under the stairs, for just such emergencies as this? Frankly, Gloria I have to wonder at your priorities. After all, do we now – at this time of straightened economic circumstances - have to keep paying the blackmail payments to the Latvian air hostess, after all it was not our tin of peach slices, was it?
At least, not at the time.
Anyway, where shall we go now, my little paperclip dispenser, now that the shopping malls of our nightmares, haunt our waking hours too with their promises of so many consumer goods at prices we could almost afford, but do not want to clutter up our lives with?
Even when the days grow long and warm, you still wore the cardigan of one who has loved and lost and the slippers of one who would wish for so much more than this thin world can offer, beyond the splendid luxury of beans on toast five days a week.
I know your dreams lie lost and broken amongst the discarded Weekend supplements, but what can I do... having only these bagpipes and that tin of anchovies to offer?
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