Monday, July 24, 2006

Everything's Not Lost 

Where is everybody? Either on holiday, or jumped ship to become, I dunno, strawberry pickers or something.

I’ve hardly seen a soul all day save for Charlotte, Bill Surname’s loyal PA, frantically skooting up and down the corridors with a clipboard and a head full of steam, a one woman perpetual motion machine, a land speed record in the making.
Poor Charlotte, it’s a difficult time for her: flies in the ointment, wasps in the bread, bugs in the software, bees in the bike shed, and now this. A spanner in the works at every crank of the cog.
Bill Surname says that if she doesn’t then somebody else will have to instead, and that would never do, never in a million years.

Mind you: this lunchtime, down by the Sunken Heart Rose Gardens, I caught her auditing butterflies on the buddleia, documenting make and model numbers, general observations - Red Admiral, Duke Of Burgundy, Northern Brown Argus, so very, very pretty! - and peacefully humming a popular tune of the day. Perhaps all is not as it sometimes seems.

I was hiding in the rhubarb and watched in silence as she closed her eyes, lifted her face to the hard white sunlight and flew away, saved. Everything’s not lost.

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