The Tribulations of Naked Goat Dancing By the Waterspout

Post CXXII

Here’s the story of munching, banning and eye goo.

Whilst I sat there munching on my 100-year-old dictionary, I started to imagine myself dancing naked around the local waterspout whilst pixies bathed me in golden sprinkle dust before the water turned into iridescent fractals of a thousand varieties and swathed me in a warm cocoon. It may have very well been the case that I was hallucinating on the old paper. I was banned, you see. I had an argument with someone. He told me to go and eat my words. And I dreamt just that. I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t actually eat a dictionary. Although I did fancy the naked waterspout dancing.

That’s actually a real thing. Not the dancing. The waterspout. My local park, a beautiful park, has tetchy water pipes. They regularly explode and create magnificent explosions. A good 30-yard tall spout. Keeps going for hours. Floods much of the park. Happened this week. Although I didn’t go dancing around it. There’s a zoo next to it, and it would feel very wrong dancing naked in front of a goat. I haven’t thought about it before, but it would be.

I was banned because of a misunderstanding. From a forum I hold dear to my heart. It made me realize that the internet has exposed me to many things I wouldn’t have thought possible. Banned. Banned! Little old me. I jolly well told the moderator where he could shove his ban. But I don’t know how one would shove a ban there. I’ve never really thought about it. Mind you, in a week of naked goat dancing and dictionary eating, anything is possible. I may very well end up waking up one morn with a hobo in my bed. But that’s a dream story for another day.

What about the old days? What would I have been banned for then? Banned from a bar? Hardly likely. It’s not as if I would start a barroom brawl, although it is on my bucket list. Along with being thrown across the counter. Although knowing my luck, that’ll be me. I never thought I’d be banned for anything. I’m hardly a rebel. Gee, the only time I was ‘banned’ from anything was after a particularly nasty game of Scrabble.

Thankfully, the situation ended on amicable terms. Banned and restored in five minutes. I’d be great in a hostage situation. “You won’t take me alive, coppers!” “Give us the girl and I’ll give you a chocolate bar”. “Ooh, okay”. Always sweetens the deal. Pardon the pun. Maybe I’ve found a calling in life or maybe I’m that guy who rescued a cat, and expects a lifetime of fame. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m making a mountain out of a hill of moles.

I often do this. I woke up with another ailment this week. I often wake up with ailments. Often without any ale, which is a tad of a shame. You know that weird eye goo that accumulates over night? I found out this week that it’s called eye mucus. And if you’re looking for the name of a band, there it is, fellows. It’s clears off your eyes when you blink, but you don’t blink when you’re asleep so it builds up and results in eye mucus. It’s often said that you must wash your eyes with warm water if they are stuck together. I remembered this when it happened to me this week. I stayed calm. Unfortunately, both my eyes were welded shut. So how was I supposed to find my way to the bathroom? Doctors never think of people like me, do they? I’m pretty sure I know why, too.

I’m a Northern Englander. Famously the toughest people on Earth. Made of steel. I put my fingers in the ‘pre-spread’ position and then engaged the ‘eye-spread’. My reaction can be best described as subdued. “ARRRRRRGH! HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! I’M BLIND! I’M BLIND! I’M BLIIIIIIND!” Turns out, I’d put my hands over my eyes. When I removed them, after a considerable period of time, I felt fine. I mean, I felt a little funny, but in general, fine. That was, of course, until I looked down at my hands.

I was tired so it didn’t hit me straight away what had happened. “Ooh look, the palms of my hands have grown eyelashes, how odd – hang on, ARRRRRRGH!” I look weird. Er. What was most concerning was the fact that several of them appeared missing. I couldn’t feel them on my lids. I looked in the mirror. Oh, joy. They remaining lashes were in my eyes. I then spent much of my morning picking off eyelashes from my eyeballs.

It was a tricky morning, readers.

Was I making a hill of moles? Probably. The ban wasn’t so bad. My eyelashes are growing back rather quickly. The waterspout has long gone and that goat is long since disappointed he didn’t get to see my joy department. It’s been a reflective week. Ups and downs and plenty of weird dreams in-between.

Maybe that imagination is our brains way of telling us that there’s always a waterspout. Or maybe I’ve fallen victim to the fairies.

I’ll leave that up to you to decide, readers.

I knew you’d pick that one…

English author, Sir Terence Pratchett (b. 1948), once said: “Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one”.

Peace Out :|:


I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the little bubble on the top right if you are on the Archives Page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.


Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post

Hark Around The Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here To Read The Latest Post


Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s