In the heart of the mist filled field, stood a small patch of fog and a young cloud. They had been in the field for the last hour, discussing the strange smoke that was passing overhead and the effect it would have on the dissipation of steam from the Kellykettle, which gently rested on the glowing embers of their campfire. “Where are you standing now Johnathan?” said the patch of fog, “I’ve fallen over and I think I’m loosing my identity” replied the cloud.
Lupin was elsewhere.
Arthur and Peralopolies had been, were and would continue to be and also had been and were, increasingly unhappy with the way that their story had been told and wrote the following message on the back wall of Mrs Slefton’s bedroom, just above the portcullis-shaped, chest of drawers, “Please develop a narrative structure for our characters, and also it appears that you are now clutching at straws with this story you self-absorbed twat.”
I have decided to ignore this message, although it is somewhat upsetting that I have written it down, as it feels and is, more than a little contrived.
Cartoons and things by Simon French