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Sundays

There was a time when I waited for Sunday. After a week of work, and I worked hard, a day of rest  was very welcome. I loved to sleep.  I am not an atheist, and I go to church maybe once a year for  midnight mass on Christmas eve. So I'm not a churchgoer basically. Therefore Sundays did not mean  that I was seated in the pews in church listening to the pastor's sermon.  The pastor, in fact,  would not recognise me until my sister, who goes more often to church, introduced me as her brother  after Christmas Eve mass. I also had a problem sleeping and would lie awake at nights trying desperately trying to fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and it never worked. I also tried those sleeping videos on YouTube. I listened  \ and felt bored. They were not music I was familiar with and they kept my eyelids firmly apart. Even a safe  tranquillizer that my doctor prescribed did not have any effect. The on...

A Hike

I did not get a hike for a long time so I decided to ask the boss.

"When do I get a hike?" I asked.

"Don't disturb me," he said doing a mental calculation of the money he would save if he sacked me.

"Do I get a hike or not?" I asked playing dumb.

"Certainly," he replied, "where do you want to go?"

"Go? But I want a hike!" I exclaimed.

"Sure you do, just wait a minute," he said scrimmaging in his drawer.

"You hide money in your drawer?" I asked surprised.

"No, I don't," he said sitting up, "Here's the map I was looking for. You asked for a hike didn't you, take this!"

"Where do I go?" I asked baffled.

"On a hike," he replied, "You can always bum a lift from passing bums."

"Oh!" I managed to gasp.

"Out you go," he said dragging me by the collar to the door and delivering an accurate kick up my tailbone.

"Forward march and salute the lamp post as you go!" the boss instructed.

"But there are so many lamp posts!" I wailed.

"Salute them all or one of them may feel left out," he said.

I saluted the first lamp post and he grinned back.

"Can't salute you, I've got my hands in my pockets you see," he said.

"What do you do when they play the national anthem?" I asked curiously.

"I sing lustily," he said cheerfully.

"You know how to sing?" I asked amazed.

"Learnt from Youtube," he replied smugly.

'A singing lamp post, what they will invent next', I wondered as I began shuffling forward following my nose.

"Why are you following me?" asked the nose querulously.

"I can't help it," I said, "Can you give me directions?"

"My foot," said the nose.

"Oh!"

"Ask the left foot, the right is a bit soft in the head," said the nose.

"Hello," I told the left foot.

"Leave me alone, can't you see that I'm sleeping?" the left foot said crossly.

"I'm sorry," I told the left foot and it went back to sleep immediately.

"May I help?" asked the right foot.

"But aren't you soft in the head?" I asked warily.

"Don't believe in rumours, it's not squashed," the right foot said.

"I don't like jam, I like squash," I replied truthfully.

"Legs turning to jelly aren't good for health," the right foot said snootily.

"Have a health checkup before you leave and take anti-AIDS and anti-rabies shots," the boss said emerging unexpectedly from the office.

I nodded weakly.

"Why haven't you left as yet?" he asked turning purple.

"I was just asking the lamp post," I replied.

"Don't sing the national anthem to him, he can't get his hands out of his pocket," the boss said slamming the door shut after him.

"Don't sing the national anthem to me either," the right foot said, "or I won't be able to walk."

"Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon...." I began.

"No cats! Can't you think of anything other than cats!" the right foot exclaimed.

"No cats," I pledged earnestly, "so let's put the best foot forward."

"Ask him," the right foot said indicating his partner.

"Why must you wake me up when I was dreaming about a lamp post?"

"What's so fascinating about a lamp post?" I asked.

"They are so tall and handsome," the left foot gushed.

"They have lights in the belfry," I remarked.

"That's what makes them have exceptional IQs," the left foot replied.

"Isn't it time that we left?" I asked.

"What time is it?" asked the right foot.

"3:15 p.m., I replied, "right in time for the local train!"

"I'm not budging," the left foot said firmly.

"Why not?" I asked dismayed.

"We are on a walking tour," the right foot chimed in.

"Auf Wiedersehen," chorused the lamp posts, "give our regards to the cat, fiddle and cow."

"No cats," I reminded them.

"Then just the fiddle and cow," the lamp posts said in unison.

"What are you saying behind my back?" asked the cow wandering onto the scene.

"Just hike it," I said, "or better still cheese it."

"I give milk, not cheese," the cow corrected me.

"I'm feeling cowed by your knowledge," I said tartly.

"You will if I call the bull," she said.

"But I am not waving a red rag," I protested.

"He is not a rag to riches story," the cow pointed out.

"Then he must be a ragamuffin!" I cried.

"Will you move?" reminded the left foot.

"Heave ho," I replied.

"Off we go," said the right and left foot together and soon covered a mile and a half with me trotting along.

The cow wagged its tail in disgust and jumped over the moon.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" exclaimed the moon.

"Ask that hiker down there," the cow said disappearing over the dark side of the moon.

"Must be Pink Floyd," the moon tittered happily.

Unaware of the shenanigans of the cow, I tramped along when I heard the sound of a lorry engine.

"Hark!" said I.

"Hark The Herald," the left foot said cackling.

"The Angels are listening to their radios most probably," sniggered the right foot.

I ignored them and wiggled my thumb at the lorry driver.

"Hello mate!" he said cheerily and stepped on the accelerator.

My hair instantly stood on end. "That was hair-raising," I shouted after the lorry driver.

"That was a misstep," the left foot chuckled.

"A miss is good as a mile," the right foot chortled.

"I don't see a miss. It would be a sight for sore eyes if she came by," I complained.

It was then that I saw a car driving down the road.

The slender young woman driver looked me up and down.

"Are you going to the moon?" she asked.

"Tell her you're on a long drive to Mars," hissed my left foot.

"Just hitchhiking," I confessed.

"Would you like a ride?" she asked with a smile.

"The ride of my life?" I asked hopefully.

"Nothing like that, I'm a very careful driver, I don't have nine lives like the cat," she smirked.

"Not cats again!" I said stomping my left foot.

"Ow!" yelled my left foot.

"Don't you like cats?" she asked sweetly.

"No cats for me."

"But don't you have one at home?" she persisted.

"No, I'm on a hike because the boss wouldn't give me a hike!" I snapped.

The cow came crashing down at this point.

"Where did you come from? You could have dented my bonnet!" the woman admonished.

"It would have been a fender bender," I said happily.

"Raining cats and dogs, I've heard off, but they don't have raining cows in the Oxford Dictionary," 
she argued.

"It's bovine rain," I said helpfully, "It happens when the cow jumps over the moon."

"I should enter her in the races then," the young woman said.

"The one-legged race would be fine," I replied.

"Or the blind man's buff," she countered.

"I didn't know that blind man went around in the buff," I said cautiously.

"If they are buffoons as well," she said airily.

"I hate junkets," the cow said getting to its feet, "especially with Pink Floyd."

"You have been to the moon?" asked the young thing excitedly.

"Only once," the cow said.

"You mooned over it more likely," she said.

"It's better than being marooned there," the cow said.

"The moon's not maroon, it's silver," I pointed out, "but then would a cow know the difference!"

"Don't try to cow me or I will call my husband," the cow said sorely.

"That's bull!" I shouted.

The cow gave a loud moo.

"I'm coming my dear, just let finish me the Whatsapp chat," a bellow came from the distance.

"Will you get in?" asked the young woman impatiently.

"But you don't look like a passing bum!" I said thoughtfully.

"What!" screamed the young thing, "You called me a bum!"

"I didn't," I replied hastily, "My boss said that!"

"He said I could bum lifts from passing bums," I replied truthfully.

"Your boss thinks I look like a bum!" the young woman exclaimed furiously.

"That's what he said," I replied simply.

"Wait till I get my claws on him," she said furiously.

"No cats please," I interjected.

"I can be Toxic!" the young thing breathed fire.

"You mean like Brittney Spears?" I asked eagerly, "I've always liked that music video!"

"Especially when she goes to the plane's loo with the pilot I bet!" the young woman remarked.

"They censored that," I sighed.

"They always scissor out the best parts," the young woman nodded.

"Just like a C-section," I added happily.

"Don't be vulgar," she said.

"Where was I?" asked the left foot waking up.

"Sleepwalking," I said.

"What was that?" asked the young woman surprised.

"Backchat with my feet," I informed.

"She smiled, tooted the horn and gracefully drove over my little toe before disappearing into the distance.



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