For three years, from when I moved into the castle, I’ve been happily chatting to, advising and teasing the lamp-post I can see from my bedroom window. A year and a day ago I wrote a blog post reflecting on how reassuring I found it that I was still doing this.
And I’m still at it. This evening I started with a quiz:
“Lamp-post, have you memorised every storyline in Coronation Street?”
“Lamp-post, how would you feel about becoming a wind farm?”
“Lamp-post, in an average week how many millilitres of dog piss trickle down your foot?”
These questions were quickly followed by some strange jokes:
“What do you get if you cross a lamp-post and a tiger? Lightsaber.”
“Knock, knock. Who’s there? Lamp-post. Lamp-post who? Lamp-post.”
“A lamp-post, a cantaloupe melon and a bra walk into a bar.”
And finally I serenaded my lamp-post:
“This little lamp-post of mine, I’m going to let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”
I wonder if we’ll still be on speaking terms a year from now.