My mate James.

James is at the vets getting his yearly GCSE. (Mercedes; garage, MOT) I sit here unable to do anything but trust my faith in the Norse God, Benz. It’s been a difficult year for James. November he got a cold, which rapidly turned into water on the lung. (flooded passenger side floor) Major transplant surgery was rejected on cost and for a short while euthanasia loomed. But we go back a long way, we don’t give up that easy, me and James. The green mould secondary infections to his other internal organs (seats) was cleaned and lungs (carpets) removed, squeegeed and dried. An internet search of MB Owners Club Norse God parables revealed that a small nipple behind his left armpit (front wheel) could have become blocked. A swift poke with finger released nipple and inner congestion. A contusion of the kidneys (water pump) was replaced along with several major arteries (brake lines) by local garage, who also cleared his larynx. (throttle body) But I don’t like this ‘sitting here and watching time go by unable to do anything’ state. I’m also wondering if I’m taking this anthropomorphising a little too far. Maybe I’m getting inebriated by boredom. It’s an old habit. In Sainsburys it’s trolley riding, softly singing carols in June or making checkout beeps; a mobile is a wonderful opportunity for live street theatre as one answers some fictitious conversation; at work, as I remember, there were elastic bands and practicing different forms of handwriting. It’s unfortunate that these forms of relieving boredom are often seen as insanity because they can brighten many a drab day. The Morrison’s incident for example did not warrant all that rough handling from the security man who’s brain stem reached no higher than his lower back. I walk back to garage. James is now free to pursue further education! Yessee to his MOT! I’m going to enrol him on a pottery course.