Freefall down the rabbit hole, well Underground on an escalator..much the same, a warren of tunnels... wonder if rabbits' tunnels have sign posts? So I emerge from the frozen, familiar Northern homeland into the uncanny March warmth of suburban city streets...people mad as March hares wandering around in next to nothing....shirtsleeves! N'er cast a clout till May be out and all that..no wonder the Southerners are thought of as softies oop North where the masses are still shivering beneath layers of clothing.
A Madhatter's party?
So my invitation to an ultra chic madhatter's party; waiters whisk chairs and jackets like magicians and fold napkins into a blur of sculptural, origami shapes before my eyes...the food guards stand to attention holding gigantic silver trays laden with miniature, culinery temptations. The Queen of Suburbia pauses from throwing stones at the palace of glass; her jam tarts are speared awaiting inspection..croquet balls filled with squid ink and spicy prawn mallets. In a land where you're too big for the porcelain throne one minute and too small the next..the roses are still red and white but there are no flamingoes, just swans in a sea of green...the suited knights carry colours of the City under their arms. And it's not off with your head, it's have you got your visa? Oh sushi-maker hiding from the blues-and-twos.
There he sits grinning, the Cheshire fat cat , comfortable knowing his broad beans are safely invested while Tweedle Dee pours Rice Krispies for his brother Tweedle Dumb...you've got to admire that hair though. Smiling through a carriage window I'll smile, you wave and an ocean of understanding passes between us in a flash.
Enormous red lips kept way up high on a shelf in a world where even what you breathe is measured and monitored and changed to match the season.
Eat Me...Drink Me...Do Not Breathe Me for fear of hallucinatory effects. Sit down, way down on an orange leather banquette..move along, all change to black leather throne...dine on edible gilt..feel the guilt? Exploding shards melt in the mouth cos nothing is real. My white charger is just that...plugged directly into the mainline. He couldn't remember how it tasted only that there were hundreds and thousands and the percentage of each racked up on a spreadsheet....a feast for the eyes.
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