Sticky

My Dear Fellows and Princess Normal,

"What's brown and sticky?"
"A stick!"

That was Duncan MacNaughton's favourite joke when we were 11. It says something about me that I still find it funny.

Today's picture is of a little fellow who got blown into the house and onto one of the many cat-beds around the place. He wobbled drunkenly along it before Er Indoors rescued him and put him out of the window. I was fascinated. I've never seen a stick-insect running around wild before, just doing its thing. 

The wind was WILD today. I got woken up at 4am by its howling. Then a gate next door started banging and so I was sent outside to secure it. I couldn't get to sleep after that so hung out with the boys. Punky was delighted. He got extra-early breakfast, followed by regular breakfast, followed by oh hey I'm still hungry breakfast. Little chancer.

In other news, I found the nude tortoise poem alongside loads of others in my notes. Here it is:

Cecil the tortoise, I knew him quite well 
Told me one day, “I’m removing my shell,
I find my shell to be very constrictive
And heavy and awkward and rather restrictive.

“And though some old folk may find it quite rude
I’m determined to spend my remaining days nude
I’m shedding my shell, for I need to be free
I’m a naturist tortoise and I gotta be me!"

So he unzipped his shell and came clambering out
And within twenty minutes was streaking about 
His nudeness exposed to the bright summer sun
He laughed and he sang and had nude tortoise fun.

A horse was affronted and cried, “Look at that!"
Cecil startled a squirrel, he embarrassed a cat!
With nudity folks are not often acquainted
An old lady goggled! A nun promptly fainted!

And though this display of nude impropriety 
Scandalised sections of tortoise society 
He declared very loudly he just didn’t care
And fully intended to stay fully bare

But the sun it must fade and summers don’t last
And soon the dark nights were drawing in fast
The excitement wore thin and Cecil said simply 
"I'm tired and I’m cold and a little goose-pimply!"

On searching the spot where his tortoise shell lay 
He discovered the shell had been taken away!
A wandering hermit crab made it his own
Had laid carpet, hung pictures and called it his home 

The hermit crab said, “It ain’t yours it’s mine!
You gave that shell up, so to me it’s no crime!"
Cecil found that possession is nine-tenths of the law
(Something he wished he’d considered before) 

To keep the poor chap from beginning to freeze
I found something warm, as he’d started to sneeze
It’s not stylish or cool, you must understand
It was merely the first thing to come to my hand
 
So Cecil's now wearing a fetching tea-cosy 
And his immediate future is looking more rosy  
That’s the end of my tale and I’d think you’d do well 
To keep on your clothes and hang on to your shell

It has been kind of an odd feeling looking back on my old notes, often I have no idea what on earth I could have been thinking at the time. Lots of weird half-finished thoughts. And titles with no poems like, "If Dogs Could Woof In English" and "Princess Spirulina". 

So today's extra is a bit of a collage. This is what it is like in my head ALL THE TIME.

S.