There are small rotund officials poking the ends of their official ballpoints into the very minutia of our lives whilst we sit and gawp at alleged celebrities pointlessly propelling each other around in an overly be-sequined manner and our days drip down the drains like a thawing snowman built in a suntrap.
Still, though, we will always have asparagus… and Luton. Luton and asparagus, how those two words together like that can still make my elbows blush and my knees throb. I don’t think I will ever be able to forget the sight of you dressed as a over-sexed Welsh water-diviner and the way you balanced those eggcups on your nipples.
However, now our days are filled with dread as the over-officious poke themselves into our lives intent on reclassifying all our petunias as miscellaneous deep-sea diving gear as per the most exacting and demanding of the latest EU directives that have been imposed upon us without us even having a clue as to why or how.
But hark, my little shinpad, listen to how the gulls cry as they gyre above the wave-washed beaches of our lives, one day – they seem to say – one day there will be ice-cream aplenty once more as the sun fills our days with summer and you will wear that bikini and the peep-hole bobble hat once again as we go paddling in our seas of possibilities still to come.