The new potatoes were boiled and eaten, then dressed in my Sunday Best, I set forth unto the town from whence no one escaped except Jackdaws. I passed the pretty little blue eyed Karen, she was slowly walking down Abbey Row away from its chapel.
Now on a detour towards the clock tower and its round the bend mirror. I remenbered I hadn’t looked in one for several months and I wondered if people would still be able to recognise me. This giant one on the corner hadn’t cracked so I assumed they would.
Then came the roaring twenties, no no, its the top end of the High Street with its 20 mph speed zone. On Saturdays it can sometimes take as much as an hour for a break in the traffic to be able to cross from one side of the road to the other and make it to the Summer Café.
Now I was gaining speed down Oxford Street, ready to side step anyone tumbling out of the Boroughs or the Guild. I was lucky today, no Willie John McBride. So I kicked for touch and entered the museum.
Ted Palmer was already in the blood bin and Robert Maclachlan was just taking to the field as tight head lock, so I blew the whistle for a penalty. Up pops Gordon Williams, well what did you expect.
Having now been expelled from Athelstan’s Junk Room and sent to the sin bin with head bowed down in shame, I kicked the Tolsey gates in anger and slunk into the South Porch and took my place on the sin bin pews. A voice from above bawled out, What Now Forward, it was Neill Archer, he threw the book at me, he was cross, the book had one on it too.
My Ten Minutes were up, so out of the Apostles’ Tunnel I ran, past the Old Timers in the Bell, tick tock, tick tock, they chattered like sheep shearers sharp silver shiny shears. I was now in Mission Walk Mode, arms at full swing, left right, left right, left right, attention.
Into the Co-operative where the self service till would refuse to co-operate, instead it ordered me to wait in the packaging area. Luckily for me I was soon recognised by Andrew Woodcock and he immediately ejected me from the store.
Dejected and worn out I began to crawl on all fours along Park Road, taking advantage of my desperate situation, I began searching for any appetizing ants for my supper.
Then out of the Blue Sky Field backing onto a White Lion Cloud, there came trundling along a most mysterious looking vehicle. First of all I thought it was one of those Google camera cars, but no, nothing like one. Maybe an old television detector van with its dummy aerial, unable to fool even the gullible.
Got it, of course, it was Silly Sunday Simon in the Residents Association brand new Supermarket Defector Mini Bus, and that strange box like object on its roof, obviously contained a prone Kim Power peeping out of a tiny little hole in the front.
Well blow me down, it’s not often you get lucky enough to see one of those pass straight on by. Then I realized I was now a marked man for the rest of my life, the whole world would now be downloading images off the inter-webs of poor Lorenzo down on his knees in the gutter, clinging to his Co-op shopping bag full of edible ants.
I began to lick the double yellow lines, they needed a touch up. Then a miracle, Karen Ashcroft happened to pass by, and on seeing my plight she took pity on my ragged soul, spoke some very nice kind words and proceeded to take me home to her place for prayers.
I had seen the vision of Kim’s Power Switch in her Big Black Box, I had now seen Karen’s Luminary Lights, I had even seen Silly Simon’s Kill Switch down the lane, and now all I wanted was to wake up from this torturous dream, and take a plunge into the infamous Ingleburn Brook.
