Monks examining nests with integrity

In applying for a post as an examiner of archetypal dog pack leaders, Bessy happened to question the integrity of the process. Margaret said there were no leaders, only followers, just like there were no processes, just followers of them. Bessy was a little put out and left the application for another day.

Felix is a man of integrity, so I have no reason to doubt him when he tells me there is a monastery on an island in the North Sea inhabited by monks dressed in yellow and with continuously itchy feet. I asked what happened if their feet stopped itching. Felix said the monk is thrown out and condemned to a life examining the outside world. I thought that was rather a good outcome, but Felix was nonplussed. He looked at his feet longingly and we drank our tea in a most contemplative state.

George says he had a good monk as a friend once, and they excelled in competitions on forward planning. In one competition the competitors were asked to forward plan for the arrival of the unforeseen consequence of the unknowable. That seemed rather complex to me. George said that was why I couldn't compete. I asked if he'd planned to spend his last working days as a receptionist in a dental surgery. He said yes, but not in this one, in a manner that left little doubt that he intended me to be offended. I was.

Cookie's mind was competing with that of Mr Barnes for a place in the ancient nest that once sat in the yew tree, but which was burned to ashes ninety-three years ago. I couldn't interrupt in case it did them some harm. Cookie got there first, as usual, and Mr Barnes said he wouldn't play again, as usual, and I replaced the composite (white) filling on the edge of his right central incisor that his mind had fractured whilst scrambling up the tree, as usual.

And there lies the complex interweaving of examining and competing, and winning and losing, and of doing nothing but watching it all happen, which is my preference when all is said and done.