Songs of the Humpback Whale

I'm wandering around a field. It's too early for a Sunday. I'm searching for hidden treasures. My sunglasses mean I don't have to make eye contact with anyone. I'm eyeing up their belongings. I'm sizing them up. A sweating pallid couple are discarding their No-Meat Cookbook for 50p. An audacious young fellow wants you to see his assortment of Top Gear magazines. He lures you in by taking his top off and yelling at you like a market trader. A small bespectacled man is parting with his old DVDs. The scrawls on his upturned cardboard box encourage you to enquire about his adult collection. The enormous butcher van has come along with the enormous butcher. A pair of sweating pallid ears prick at the mention of lamb burgers and shuffles off for a browse. Innumerable patterned bedpans suggest the inside toilet has arrived in The Fens and is here to stay. If it's a bacon butty and Jodi Picoult's complete bibliography you're after, what a veritable treasure trove.

Three leaf clover

The grass was slightly damp so I turned to my front to dry my back. And vice versa. I continued in this way for much of the afternoon and part of the evening. I watched the users of the nearby water fountain. I watched the ladies and gentlemen collecting bottles and earning more per hour than a waiter. I watched the pages of my book. On the occasions that I was sunning my front, I watched fourteen planes float overhead. I watched the two contrails merge into one like someone zipping a zip. I watched them until they disappeared out of view. Apart from one. When the fourteenth plane was gliding past I watched a head appear above me. The head had a mouth. I watched the mouth open and close. It was in possession of few teeth. The mouth belched out a few languages before matching one with the tepid welcome emitted from mine. This spurred the head on and it rooted itself beside me. It brought the mouth along for a Pilsner wafted ride. I wished the mouth's lips would merge into one like someone zipping a zip. "I've got something for you". The head had also brought dirty fingernails which now plucked at a clover below. I politely accepted my gift and the mouth took a satisfied swig from its empty bottle. The head almost bent backwards in order to locate the last drop. The head ended up amongst the clover and couldn't summon the energy to rise once more. I glanced back to see a hunched lady picking up the bottle.

Drink coffee: Do stupid things faster and with more energy

She's inching towards me. Her eyes alternate rapidly between the saucer in each hand. She's moving very slowly, as if on a tightrope. I pretend she's on a tightrope. In feathered attire. The tip of her tongue is protruding from her lips. I imagine it's the face she pulls when stirring porridge. Leering into the saucepan. Nervous and expectant. She likes porridge. She has a destination, I am it, but she has momentarily forgotten about me. I am way below the saucer, the glass balancing on said saucer, the pavement directly in front of her, the top hat, clownish faces and various tamed beasts. Once she reaches her destination, she smiles with relief. I instantly realise something is amiss. "Where's the morsel at?" I ask anxiously. "What do you mean you have to pay for your morsel?". I look at the neighbouring table. They aren't even the good kind of morsel. They have raisins in. In this city the coffee is great everywhere. You base your choice of coffee shop on the sugary morsel that accompanies your hot beverage. Amaretti biscuits were something of a treat before I ventured here. Now I will walk 20 minutes out of my way to receive a chocolate filled crispy tube rather than one of those tedious has-beens. Today we have no morsel and it pains me. I vow never to darken this big top flap again.