Wednesday, May 19, 2004


I just put it down and when I went to pick it up again later, it wasn’t there. It must have rolled down the back or something. Maybe squirrels ran off with it. I love the way Americans pronounce squirrels so that it rhymes with whirls - sqwhirls.
He said “Try to visualise where you last saw it. That’s what I always do.”
I said “I know exactly where I last saw it. It’s not where I last saw it, that’s the problem.”
“Was it a good one?”
“I liked it. If I could only reach round here,” I grunted, “I might be able to feel it and push it to the front.”
“You can borrow mine if you’re desperate,” he said, “but if you lose it, I want another one.”
“Thanks. I’ll bare that in mind. Grunt.”

But here’s an odd thing. The same thing happened to her. She was on her lunch. It’s the sqwhirls in Winckley Square, I reckon. I’ve seen them in their Breton jumpers, little sqwhirl swag bags casually slung over their shoulders. They seem to be saying “We did for the red sqwhirls. Now we’re coming for you. What you going to do about it?” Dead arrogant like.
I said “Try to visualise where you last saw it. That’s what…”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Do I?”
“Oh. Sorry. Never really helps, does it? Was it the one that… Bummer. It was, wasn’t it?”
“The one we found the night Old Thingy died?”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Yeah. Mine was too.”

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