Grit in the Gears

I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes. I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over. I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong. And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions. I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely. It's what we do.

Wednesday, 9 June 2010

Oddities of Tring.

I was in Tring, a small town in Hertfordshire, a few weeks ago. The natives of Tring must be sorely challenged in finding entertainment, because, close to our hotel, we found this. A pound of butter, hurled at a wall, on a saturday in may.

On Sunday, it was mysteriously translocated. Reflung.

Perhaps there's an explanation. And perhaps not.

3 comments:

Kim Hines9 June 2010 at 16:45
this gave me a case of the giggles. just imagining how it got there...
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rita10 June 2010 at 08:57
Mysterious.

I read somewhere about some hikers finding a bunch of shoes filled with butter up on a lonely mountain trail in the Alps.
I'm thinking, maybe butter has a religious significance to some people? Perhaps, sometimes an outsider just chances upon a ritual involving butter.
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soubriquet10 June 2010 at 17:42
Butterflingers.
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