This one came from a sweet wrapper that used to have a gob stopper in it...
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"Walking on air was lighter than water albeit in a strange melody of purpose and faster than dreams and suspicious fingers of doom ran the notion that twisted paper was coming back into power and run der a rum dum rang the bells of the sizable inclination this was so.
Because twisted paper was longer than a broad horse was short and slightly rapacious to boot at the best of times with a furlong of gravel in between that made up the grey stuff and sure to be sure there were some who would pay good money for it but he wasn’t selling any and that was that, there was a tendency to slurp his food and for sure, slurping moany juice had taught him how best not to strangle this in the all clear no one’s looking now; but they were, with under the table mutters out of the side’s of their breath and it was not to be surprised about but to be expected, give or take an old boot or two in the happy ever after and don’t take no change smaller than a penny; and hold up your hands for me to see.
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Walking on air came into this picture a tad nicely thank you very much and began to tread backwards, spread some perfume smoke it’s not feng shui and get me out of here, what have I come into and who’s dream is this?
Two skeletons on a motorbike, the back one made of light raced around the corner of all this and joined in the fun but everyone was beginning to wake up or go to sleep by now in all the changes and not a moment too soon the wailing dust came out of hiding to add its two cents worth in the fairy godmother bite a dog or two and where’s the runway so we can land; and don’t wait for me I’m already there said: “take your time, there are things going on you don’t know about;” but groggish like an old sailor on rum who was trying to push the boat out with only one arm left and still a whole lot of porridge to eat left over from breakfast was on a go slow and wasn’t really with it just then and was eyeing up an untouched drink someone had abandoned.
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Sex in the bathroom had thrown in the towel and was waiting for a taxi to take her home and three sheets to the wind was winding his watch and was wondering how he could get her to take him with her, his fire iron still singing but not making any moves. It was that time of night where you had either made it or were just hanging on.
And never let it be said we didn’t tell you so made a big splash in the duck pond to say: it’s not too late and maybe we all should have gone to sleep by now.
Dib-dibs and Ammonia Pickles were still watching elephants on the moon and were in their own world far from everyone else and suffice to say the wind was blowing bold colours around them.
Gregarious in the pantry was wrapped around the one he had found for the night and they were both at the bottom of the garden in a tent; the dying embers of a small fire still smoking wistfully outside it.
A long way from home was snoring in the front parlour curled up on cushions, the rest of the here we go crowd were snoring too and scattered about where they had fallen.
Five dreams to the night was exceptional and was a favourite of the Japanese who had gate crashed when no one was looking and so didn’t see them get in, except ole Tom the gardener who didn’t say anything and had long gone to bed to dream his dreams of a prize rose.
Five dreams played the guitar in one corner of the kitchen and kept an audience going that was hard to pass through to get to the spare beer and wine and so had to ask for it to be passed over the heads as was the way of it of all good parties.
To smooth up the moments before morning everyone who was anyone had gone somewhere else to be a part of a song they would sing until Miss Pretty arrived, if she did, but everyone secretly knew she would and then she would lead the dance to welcome the sunrise for she was the queen and they awaited her coming.
Not to be outdone with a shout in the dark was mesmerised as the long drink of moonlight hove into view by the fountain and all heads raised at her beauty for who would not be outdone by her even at such an ungodly hour?
She put her empty glass on a stone table and disappeared into the secret garden where only a few knew the way.
The birthday party was in her honour and many were the hangers-on to catch a glimpse of her to say: I was there and I saw her and Miss Pretty was her name and she was more beautiful than they say.
The wings of dawn rose up and brightened everything and chickens began to cluck and a cock crowed.
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It’s around here that the coffee arrived in a big urn that sloshed about the place heave hoed by some big lads wearing capes as was their disguise of the day.
“Alley, alley oh,” they went and the cast of this story replied: “Oollee, oollee, oow,” and queued up in a moving line as long as it was short to receive what had long been desired to break the fast of the long night.
The coffee fixed everything of course and before too long came along to spoil things the day began to run smoothly with the only hicc-up being the horse that wandered into this story from another one and had a strange neigh, but we won’t get into that now because as has been said, it’s another story and the eyes are going all funny with strange visions that have to be written down so they won’t get lost," said this story about itself. And maybe it's time for a cup of tea...
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