An Elephant of One's Own

> need to change gear. "But," you object, "I am not wearing anything. It > is far too hot to," what with the flies, the perpetual bellydancing of > rival teleologies, the ginger offerings of votive mayonnaise to a > dottily wallpapered wife... > > I mean change gear, as in stop making that awful racket. YOU think > it's quiet "inside, intime to the muzak" and no-one can hear. Well, > let me tell you this: the godawful din of your frustrations hangs over > town centre like 160,000 flaming fuming turkeys (baneful, sootiful). > And all because somewhere, once upon a time, maybe from a standup > priest from Warsaw or Walsall one rainy Sun am, you heard that it was > "unseemly, not niceth" to go around doing whatever it is you have > since spent your whole life carefully going around not doing, to the > applause of no doubt earwigs at all. And all because he swayed > backwards and forwards...

Chapter 1 In which Edmund meets the Wench in a wardrobe while trying on a sequin-studded bikini, and learns not to judge people.

 8.10 I've never woken up this late before. It took two goes to get fully awake, the first time round I slipped and was sucked back into the kind of sinister, fitful, paranoic half-sleep I seem to exist on lately. The second time I managed to drag myself upright, remembering that I had taken one of those tranquillisers at around 3 o'clock last night, and that it had done anything but tranquillise me. I wasn't late for work, just didn't have much time for the usual leisurely early-morning session of reading the newsgroups and mailing lists that normally precedes the hurried shower/scramble to find clean clothes. I had time for a quick scan of my mailbox and a shower, then realised I had no clean shirts left except "winter" ones. Being British, even after all these years in Spain I still find the concept of having "summer clothes" and "winter clothes" bizarre and mildly funny. Nevertheless, I have it on good authority that going to work in lo...