The Old Mellowed Knight
You may be wondering why a report on the pulverisation of Mr David Hughes hasn't been published yet.
Have I been disposed of by that sinister young clerk of the Directorate of Brazen Propaganda and Sly Indoctrination*? Has my on-line notebook been seized (I realise some may have entertained certain hopes to that effect)? Have I been converted and would soon start serving to you a Brussels sprouts/Sauerkraut salad soaked in some stale French dressing?
None of the above. The pulverisation came across a solid obstacle: my manners. A terrible (and spooky) thing seems to have happened since I came to these shores: they (my manners, not the shores) have mellowed.
Seeing a bunch of distressed widows, confused students (the one shooting the event for a uni project was quite cute, I have to say) and a friendly French-sounding concertina-type-of-thing- playing bloke, I... slowed down my angry horse, put my sword away and turned - embarrassingly - from a driven crusader into a clued-up pedestrian member of the public who just asks incisive questions instead of effecting lethal cuts.**
The visit wasn't wasted though: although I failed as a grinder, I did quite a good job as a wet blanket.
More soon.
*Not that there is anything wrong with brazen propaganda and sly indoctrination as such. The thing is they should be used only for the right cause. Otherwise they are outrageous.
**yes, yes, I see it too: the metaphors are all over the place, but I don't worry too much about it. Neither do you, I guess: it's just a blog to you, isn't it?... (no, no, there is no need to explain. It's fine. Really. I said: really!)
Picture: Old Knight by Quintus Cassius (apparently)
