"Of course you can't turn cannibal, Tuppy," scolded Geoffrey. "It would be absolutely appalling."
He was reading my mind again. Where was the Mind-Reading-Prevention-Device when I needed it? (as mentioned back in 2011 or 12 or thereabouts, and possibly in an e-book only don't ask me which one)
Back at the Outcrop, somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs, probably. Or down the back of the settee, possibly. Or propping up the end of the sideboard where the woodworm had eaten through. At any rate, it was somewhere well out of reach. I made a mental note to always carry it with me, in future. It's an unattractive but impressively functional device, with an effect similar to throwing a blanket over a garrulous budgie's cage. Only in reverse, as it's me that has to wear it.
"What do you mean, cannibal?" snapped the sheep with the greenest, most piercing and most disturbingly gyroscopic eyes. He was definitely the leader. Far too full of the big 'I am' for my liking.
"You're feeling threatened by him, aren't you Tuppy? I'm sure there's no need." Geoffrey again. How tiresome, not to mention intrusive, this mind-reading is! Mind you - when he manages to read minds other than mine, it can prove quite interesting AND useful. Depending on whose, of course.
"I'm quite sure there will be a need, if he turns cannibal," said the sheep leader, folding his front legs in a truculent manner. All the other sheep huddled behind him, bleating their support in a rather half-hearted fashion.
"Is it cannibalism when you chew your own toenails?" asked Geoffrey. "I've always wondered. Same with nose dirt consumption."
"Nose dirt consumption is definitely not cannibalism, because nose dirt is an exudate - a bodily excretion. It isn't part of the fleshy corporeum, or whatever," said the sheep leader. "Toenails are a moot point. Especially if they're someone else's."
"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said. "What's your name, anyway?"
"It's Wool I Am," sniggered Geoffrey.
"Don't be stupid Geoffrey," I snapped. It annoys me when he pretends to be "current".
And he knows it.
"No really it is," he protested. "Ouch! Don't pinch me. It is, isn't it, Wool?"
"Yes," muttered Wool, blushing. "But how did you know?"
"Geoffrey can read minds," I said proudly. "And he's my best friend in all the world."
Geoffrey beamed with pleasure.
more later
He was reading my mind again. Where was the Mind-Reading-Prevention-Device when I needed it? (as mentioned back in 2011 or 12 or thereabouts, and possibly in an e-book only don't ask me which one)
Back at the Outcrop, somewhere in the cupboard under the stairs, probably. Or down the back of the settee, possibly. Or propping up the end of the sideboard where the woodworm had eaten through. At any rate, it was somewhere well out of reach. I made a mental note to always carry it with me, in future. It's an unattractive but impressively functional device, with an effect similar to throwing a blanket over a garrulous budgie's cage. Only in reverse, as it's me that has to wear it.
"What do you mean, cannibal?" snapped the sheep with the greenest, most piercing and most disturbingly gyroscopic eyes. He was definitely the leader. Far too full of the big 'I am' for my liking.
"You're feeling threatened by him, aren't you Tuppy? I'm sure there's no need." Geoffrey again. How tiresome, not to mention intrusive, this mind-reading is! Mind you - when he manages to read minds other than mine, it can prove quite interesting AND useful. Depending on whose, of course.
"I'm quite sure there will be a need, if he turns cannibal," said the sheep leader, folding his front legs in a truculent manner. All the other sheep huddled behind him, bleating their support in a rather half-hearted fashion.
"Is it cannibalism when you chew your own toenails?" asked Geoffrey. "I've always wondered. Same with nose dirt consumption."
"Nose dirt consumption is definitely not cannibalism, because nose dirt is an exudate - a bodily excretion. It isn't part of the fleshy corporeum, or whatever," said the sheep leader. "Toenails are a moot point. Especially if they're someone else's."
"You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" I said. "What's your name, anyway?"
"It's Wool I Am," sniggered Geoffrey.
"Don't be stupid Geoffrey," I snapped. It annoys me when he pretends to be "current".
And he knows it.
"No really it is," he protested. "Ouch! Don't pinch me. It is, isn't it, Wool?"
"Yes," muttered Wool, blushing. "But how did you know?"
"Geoffrey can read minds," I said proudly. "And he's my best friend in all the world."
Geoffrey beamed with pleasure.
more later
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