A Good Nose For a Tale
He wouldnt be given to over-gesture. And I'm still galloping around the world. There's the traditional Victorian Christmas near the tail of my stocking. We chomp tart clementines in our grown-up pajamas on the living room floor. Spit pips and remind ourselves to be thankful.
A lump in the toe like a fat bangle small and heavy. He grins, pleased with himself. It doesn't need paper it's wrapped in a game. Passed about crude and brassy the bloody thing swings open on a rudimentary hinge can you guess? Can you tell? Can you imagine what it's for? A sibling weighs the measure of it tossed in his palm, the other offers a mechanical saw. 'See now there's a nick in that soft lead shot holding the jaws clamped closed. Surely it's to be snapped off, plugged permanently some time?"
It's as close as we get to the riddle. A bull's nose-ring you see. Spotted it in some horse n tackle "To remind me of home" And when I've finished galloping around the world and decide where 'home' is, I can set my hat down clamp the brassy bangle tight and snap the plug for good. I'm alarmed by the clever gesture. Poor bulls. It looks jolly painful.
I take it everywhere and pose the riddle too. Often gathered on Christmas morning. Noone ever guesses it, some don't even care for games. But you dont always choose who you spend Christmas with. I pack it very carefully to ensure the lead doesnt break somewhere grim I dont fancy stopping long.
It's hanging on a cupboard here, uncommitted to a ceramic handle. After the game I might pour another glass. And remark with a grin, I'm afraid that thing will only be snapped tight when they swing it off my big toe and stick me six under.
This was the view from my adolescent loft window. And what would you change about that?
With the Panasonic LX3 on a crisp November morning. Pin sharp and lovely colour saturation.