pitter-patter hats, 8th November 2016

the pitter-patter of tiny pattering and pittering on my roof…. ’tis the sound of the real world trickling back in after my weekend out of it, between breaths, but now it seems against my will I have to breathe again… although the air is somewhat foul….. it could’ve been the sound of mice, which I had a while back, but it isn’t…. or rats, aahhhhhhhhh, which I had more recently in the attic and had to ‘evict‘ forthwith…… the only vermin I haven’t yet had in the attic in fact if politicians…. unless the pitter-patter is tiny ones on tip-toes……. time to set the traps again… or bait them with ballot papers…….. pitter-patter…… where nastiness is the new norm, suspicion is the touchstone and intolerance will ensure “I’m alright Jack”………. pitter-patter……. seems being extreme is the way to go these days (gawd, listen to me, “these days”, slipper-shod old-timer me….)…… in fact the only direction left that’s not been slashed and burned is to be extremely nice…… which coming from me is decidedly left-field… that’d shock people out of the somnolent bitterness……… when did politicians become celebrities anyway?…. it’s become a veritable monster mash…….  or mosh!…. there’s a thought… throw them all in a mosh pit and see who’s left standing…. there is nothing like a mosh, nothing in the world (earworm alert!)……. pitter-patter, tiny pitter-patters….. maybe they are made by the pitter-patters, the heard and not seen pitter-patters, wearing their pitter-patter shoes and their pitter-patter hats…. for headstands of course…… maybe all’s not lost after all, maybe it’s just busy moshing…….

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