More Ennui.

There’s to be a barbecue at the village pub tomorrow. I might go to see who’s there. I might dig deep into my pocket and spend £3 on a pint of Marston’s Pedigree Ale. I might ask Christine whether she remembered to bring the vege burgers. I might find somebody who knows what that ridge of earth at the top of the lane is all about, the one just off the road that looks like a miniature version of Offa’s Dyke.

I gather the strangers with the strange vehicles are going to be there, so I expect Wolf will be as well. Maybe he’ll eat one of the village teenagers – give us all a laugh, and me something to write about on my blog.

But I expect it will be boring. What I really need is for that girl from Timbuktu (the one with richest raven hair tied up with velvet band, remember?) to come tap, tap, tapping on my window at dead of night. I would call out ‘What’s that tap, tap, tapping on my window at dead of night? Go away, pesky owl.’ And she would call back ‘No, no, Jeffrey. ‘Tis I, the girl with richest raven hair. I’m so co-o-o-old, let me in-a your window, please.’ And then I wouldn’t need to go to the pub, would I?