I have never believed it is possible for anyone to keep all the plates spinning in the air for very long.
Today, the sad news is that we accidentally smashed the commemorative Withindale Easter Egg Hunt plate right in two. Last Friday I smashed a champagne flute and tomorrow… who knows.
Whilst we wait to find out what’s next I’d like the Egg Meister, or a suitable representative to kindly advise if they would like their original plate returned next year, plus some superglue, or shall I get on the case for another suitably Easterish plate and transfer the plaque (also with superglue).
As I said, plates in the air, having it all, doesn’t work: always ends in some kind of smithereens or the other. As it’s Friday night (was dance night), here’s a tune. I couldn’t dance to this in a month of Sundays, but I used to like playing it in Stamford Hill when I was pootling about in my white Peugeot 205 (diesel: as my Grandpa would have said). It’s a shockingly dated video, and Lionel prancing around with a bare chest under an unbuttoned shirt is a big No from me, but still, sometimes it’s good to go back to a time in your mind when you only had the one plate to balance on a stick and keep spinning, into infinity and beyond.
‘It’s alright, do it again…’
He is a black dog. He is also a kneecapper if you are standing in his way in a doorway. He is also a prodigious licker of plates and icing off cakes. If you show him a sack of dog food he will jump into it up to his hairy elbows. If you leave him with a sack of food he will eat himself to the very point of death. If you don’t leave him with a sack of food I strongly suspect he will plot how to get hold of one anyway.
Anyway, as I said, this is Tramp: look into his eyes.
(Tomorrow, meet Jerry. Jerry is a black dog…)