Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Your goats ate my jacket!

I've got to go to the hostel at the city again tomorrow for five days, which works out at four nights. Look on the bright side, at least I may get a decent night's sleep for a change, but I'm not gambling on it. Well, junkies wandering about at all hours - who can tell what may happen?

That's not the end of it by any means! Next month I have to go for a further five days, and I have asked for none of them. It's all about the right ticks in the right boxes, nothing more, in preparation for my appearance before the Parole Board, whenever that may be. Anyway, I shall wander around the city for five days, slowly allowing my mind to degenerate into something bordering on acute insanity, and then return to the world of barmy goats.

I'm glad you mentioned goats - I have a couple of things to say on the subject.

As anyone who reads this puerile drivel on a regular basis will be fully aware, I had three goats - two little white ones and a little black one. I've been a bit under the weather for the last week or so and not been going to see the goats as often as is my wont, but the other day the little black one died. Nobody knows why, and I had always thought that goats were fairly tough characters - only canaries pop their clogs for no good reason. But goats do it too, apparently. So the black one died leaving the two white ones, who have now taken to escaping at every opportunity. The other day they escaped out of my yard and got into the yard next door, which is the realm of the pig boys.

The pig chappies have a little office - very nice and cosy too. The goats got into the office and managed to pull a jacket off a hook and rip it to bits.

The pig boy said to me, "Hoy! Your goats ate my jacket!"

Said I, "What are you telling me for? Tell the goats."

Every morning the pair of miscreants come for their strokes and feed and then, as soon as they think nobody is watching them, off they go, seeking escape routes and things to chew. My trousers are popular apparently, not to mention my hat and anything else they can get their neat little teeth into. The tops of my wellies must be very tasty too.

I haven't mentioned my alpacas. They don't do anything beyond eat and then eat a bit more. They don't eat until they are full, they eat until they are tired.

The pigeons are just that - pigeons - who go their own way but spend most of the time in or around the loft and not bothering anyone, although a couple seem to have decided to·move in with the goats for some strange, unfathomable purpose of their own. A couple have moved in with the alpacas too, so maybe they are conducting their very own diaspora - who can tell how a pigeon's mind works? I'll say this much for them, they build very neat nests.

So, tonight I shall be packing away a few odds and sods into my new suitcase ready to catch the train in the morning. Five days of me refusing the advances of junkies: "Pssst! Pssst! Want to buy some cheap shit?"

It's all character-building, of course. Absolutely useless as an introduction into society, but who am I to carp!

What I don't learn this coming week, I can learn next month and who knows, with a bit of luck, this time maybe my goats won't eat anyone's stuff.

The Voice In The Wilderness

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