Time on their hands

Time on their hands

Time on their hands

Codswallop as we know it was first invented by simple people
with time on their hands to pass it around in: they could see it
there, criss-crossing the land of give and take. They wanted
plenty, and got it too. For years it proved a subtle itch, but just
as one thing leads to the next, irrevocably speaking, so it
eventually came to pass that an ache developed and a cry went
up: “Which way now, boss?” And so it has gone ever since:
your guess is good, like mine, yet both bear the imprint of
imaginary outcomes – promises, if not signed undertakings, that
the rash passed between us will, in hindsight, signal an
agreement. It’s the fine lines between things that count. Palms!
Eternal repayment’s upon us, deduced but never deducted from
sums that cause the far-flung stars to twinkle and villagers to
wink okay. But this leads on to a future more sophisticated and
gay than any I’m likely to gad about in. Hence the twin horns of
the dilemma.