An English In Kentucky


















 Tuesday December 4th 2015.Tim Candler9


      It's always a joy when seasonal visitors to my room finally settle themselves. They have a series of remarkably irritating traditions when they first arrive, the worst of which is the night time foray, and they must lay bets on what kind of noise I'll make. I guess with a warm mammal under its blankets the bed presents a very obvious target, and there are some of us who cannot sleep unless the toes are uncovered, must be the Neanderthal running through the veins.


     It's the case too that feet can be sensitive, they might not look sensitive, indeed they might look the very opposite of sensitive, more like something that's just walked across rocky terrain from one tropic to the other, yet the odd bold wintering Lady Bird when the lights are out does find entertainment from seeing just how long he or she can nestle amongst a person's toes before the foot twitches. And I guess there must be some kind of Lady Bird applause, a little snickering followed by drinks all round when traditional vacuum cleaner oathing is heard.

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