Sexual Thoughts.

It’s 3.30am; I decide a bowl of cereal in the garden is a good idea. In the kitchen Dave is growling. I close the door to the hall in case the mean black cat is in here and I might have a chance of scaring it shitless. No Dave has a mouse. I’m very dismissive of Dave’s mouse catches, I tent to assume one of the others has caught it and Dave’s just fielded it when they got bored and it was still a bit stunned, but as no one else is around it must be his. So well done Dave. Cereal on the swing seat in the company of Mothermouse’s plants in their pots humming their plant energy into the warm darkness in a sort of chorus of “Hello it’s me” way. They’re no good on specifics, no opinions on the AV referendum, just “Hello it’s me”, which is quite enough. I go back in. Dave is quiet; he’s lost his mouse. I think he must overdo the growling and open his mouth enough for the mouse to do a quick getaway. The others are pawing the door and troop in to see what’s going down. Britney’s up on the fridge pawing out morsels from the Cup of Plenty, Betty’s wandering round like a vague Essex girl lost in Chiswick as Dom sits needily hoping I’ll provide him with a winning Sheba lottery ticket. Buy your own! Dave is silently considering his loss and the mouse is somewhere considering his luck. And Osama Ben Laden is looking down or up on the scene from somewhere far far away. Oh yes, sexual thoughts. Two young Latvian women behind the bar in the Cheshire Cheese, Buxton. What is it with eastern European women, do they bathe in Links or something?! One briskly whisks the lemonade for my shandy, looks, “Now iss pweurfect.” She smiles and adds the beer. It becomes a pint cocktail made by the creatively massaging hands of a red light angel. “Would you like us now to go to bed ant do all za fierlty tings are racing through your mind?” I nod. She wonders why I’m nodding. “Three peounds tventy.” My genitals leap up on the bar and do a little dance. Why are they so sexy?!! It’s like they’re born with some knowing most English women go to their graves wondering about. When I die I’m going to Latvia. Oh and on that score the mouse is, I’m sorry to say, with Ben Laden. His mangled body was later found unarmed on the bathroom floor murdered by our elite core of Navy Seals, well cats. He was buried at bin.