Anarchy on a seal's patch of ice
Drinking tea has become a rather wettening experience in the UK, when conducted in the open air. With the wet come tales of seals desperately sad on waking in the morning and realising their patch of ice is floating away from the north pole.
Felix has just returned from his metaphysical journey to the north in one piece. I asked if that is unusual and he took offence. It seems that Felix's journeys are designed to be so hazardous that any other mortal should expect to come back in several bits. Bessy would prefer there to be a loose femur among them if she were to have her way.
A gentleman looking much like an aristocrat of some sort stopped to ask why the wind was so cold. Felix replied that it had something to do with Thomas Paine who didn't much care for the high-born sort. I'm not sure that was what the elderly gentleman was after and mentioned an easterly from Siberia instead.
George was very cold too this morning, on account of his not receiving an email from our new leader. I suggested he would be less concerned if he weren't so keen to follow. He pouted his lips, turned his face sightly to the side, planted his hands on his hips, and said I was an anarchist and that no good would come of me.
He answered the telephone and handed me the receiver with Margaret on the other end asking about the Russian Steppe. Cookie said she didn't realise I was a ballroom dancer. George said I couldn't be because I couldn't follow rules.
Mrs Finkleworthy popped in for chat about her son's crooked teeth. I asked her if he'd had anything to do with seals on lonely blocks of ice. She replied that her son was a good and decent boy who was always early. Cookie asked if that meant he was aspiring to the aristocracy. I have no idea what she was talking about.
Which is why the seals are so interesting. It must be that they broke some rule or other when their bit of ice said farewell to the mother-ice. And if the seals broke a rule then, according to George, they and I share something. What a great sense of bonding I have with the world as a consequence.
2 comments:
I think Mrs Finkleworthy suffers from a well-known disease called "Saythingstoconvinceyourselfitis". This is when you say things to convince yourself you are right, rather than that you necessarily believe them. Her son is clearly a break-away rogue, who has broken away from the ice, being her. This cut a cold, sharp wound in her heart many years ago, and by saying he is well behaved, she is trying to convince herself that he is well behaved. I should think very carefully before looking at her son's teeth - it may have a bad influence on George. Gertrude
Dear Gertrude,
You are very kind to have commented here. I share your concern for George's well-being and will consider your comments in that light.
I wish you well.
Stan
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