My, my, my. What a ghost-town this place has become. A ghost-town like the ones you could find all over Europe after the Bubonic Plague. Empty, empty, empty with an echo all about like an empty well.
Now that I have thoroughly depressed the spirits of everyone present, we may continue in tolerable comfort.
The reason for our long absence could be stated in many ways, but I shall revert to the age-old custom of pointing fingers--a very good custom and one I don't see any sense in erradicating--and vow that it was all The Gentleman's fault. Y'see....he has been ill.
Very ill.
So ill I don't think it likely he'll ever recover.
Of course it hasn't been a terrible illness. The Gentleman has quite enjoyed convalescing and--rather than go to Bath or the Seaside and have done with it--The Gentleman vows to himself to be an intolerable Bunburyist just so that his sweet Nursie shall be near him.
Oh yes. That was the trouble all along. His nurse. You see, she happened to have dark eyes, and he soon discovered that dark eyes are sweeter and more troublesome than eyes of any other shade because they don't tell all right away--one must stare at them for some time before ferreting out all the secrets. And the longer The Gentleman looked at his Nurse's eyes, the sicker he got till his case was quite deplorable.
We--The Nocturnal Why and myself--have successfully avoided The Gentleman's illness. I do not think it a contagious infection--at least not immediately, though I am by no means assured we both shall not fall beneath it's dark finger sometime in the future.
If you must have it spelled out, The Gentleman has a.... disease of the heart. It makes that precarious organ flutter and patter and gallop whenever Nursie is around...which is convenient because said Nurse must stay about longer to take his temperature and coddle him and pat him on the shoulder with a "poor little bunny" or two which The Gentleman likes better than ever so much toast and jam and hot cocoa.
His heart complaint extends past moments when Nursie is around and causes him to be absentminded, to never pay heed to his clock, and to hold his phone--glued to his ear--to ease the pain in that troublesome area of the heart whenever Nursie is absent. I am afraid there is no cure for this illness but eternal attachment to Nursie. Her presence seems to excite the poor patient, but calm him too, and the pain returns immediately upon her departure so that we are all in an uproar and wish to goodness she'd stay so The Gentleman would stop having relapses.
There is no use consulting a physician. He'd only sigh and mention something called "twitterium-pationicum" which--if you care to Google it--is a malady most often caught by young folk in conjunction with the Spring, but felt at all times of the year by those of a warm-blooded, warm-hearted nature.
The Nocturnal Why and I do all we can to comfort The Gentleman....and for now you--and we--must excuse him from posting on this blog. It is all the poor chap can do to refrain from hallucinations of glorious illness to come...you would not be much interested--nor enlightened--by his blatherings. ;)
~The Cock-Eyed Optimist
Rachel, I adore the way you write.
ReplyDeleteThat is all.