Thursday, 10 December 2009

Dark Is The New Light

It was a dark and stormy night. Roth and I were walking down Slobbering's eclectic high-street. As I have previously mentioned, I live in Slobbering-under-the-Bed. Roth lives in the neighbouring town of Paralytic-in-the-Wardrobe and visits regularly. Actually the night wasn't at all stormy, but it certainly was dark and for a reason I shall come to mention.

We were heading towards our latest "discovery", The Euthanasia Curry House. We had been there but once before, and despite having to eat a pot of yoghurt each to restart a stomach culture, we had survived.

Something odd was happening. Every time Roth and I went under a lamppost the light flickered and went out.

"It's very odd that. It keeps happening to me and I'm getting quite a thing about it", muttered Roth.


"The streetlights going out"

"Oh that". I pulled a small box out of my pocket, placed it near the failed street-furniture and pressed a button. The light struck and proceeded towards full brightness.

"Why do you think it happens?", asked Roth quizzically.

I thought for a moment. "It could be your height?", I speculated. It is worth mentioning for those who haven't met Roth, he goes up a depth. I thought some more. "Alternatively, it could be I'm pressing the other button just as we walk underneath the light." I gave the idea some more thought, "Yes, that seems more likely", I concede.

Just to test my theory, I pull the box out of my pocket and press the buttons alternatively in quick succession. "I made it in my other shed" I explained. The light extinguished and re-struck in time with my button pushing. Then it fizzed, popped, released a shower of sparks and went out. So did all the other streetlights. "Bugger!", I said.

"Would you like a curry?", asked Roth

"Hell, yes", said I.

"Can I take your order sir?", said a waiter, with a flourish of his notepad.

"That's odd", I said out loud.

"We haven't even got to the restaurant yet", Roth noticed. "How do you even know we're going there?"

"A good waiter anticipates things, sir. And, if you will excuse me for saying, I am a very good waiter", and as if to prove his point, he removed a torch from his pocket and illuminated our way.


  1. I think that waiter fancies you..

  2. Difficult, old boy! I forgot the thing about the lamp-posts, that was twenty years ago! The curry after was good, though; after all this time, I'm almost over it. And for the record, it took a bucket of yoghurt to kick-start my digestive engine. Thanks for this memory, it's really cheered me up! Indigo

  3. Can I get me one of them there pocket gizmos? (With a pint of yoghurt for the curry after-burn.)


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