Another look at a current news-worthy item, inspired by a moribund fish.
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I don't know about you, but from time to time, I sincerely believe the world is going mad. Or at least that's what the herrings in my pond would have me think.
As some of you may know after suffering my previous 'pondherrings', the pond to which I refer is not populated by pretty ducks, or prancing frogs and such. Its surroundings are not idyllic, its waters not sparkling and clear. That, dear friend, is because it exists in my own head, and is sadly the closest approximation to what society might term a brain that I can offer.
As you regular 'sufferers' know, most of my pondering is done whilst secured inside a small, locked room; an area I have come to regard as my thinking place.
In the centre of its gleaming, tiled sterility is a small, porcelain pool with a white box on its back, from which gurgling, watery sounds emanate constantly. Attached to the 'gurgle box' is a kinked chain with a ball at its end, bestowing upon it the appearance of a question mark. An ideal room in which to ponder, don't you think?
Comparable in size to the polluted pond that serves as my brain, it is my solemn oath to dump as much waste into that pool as exists within its counterpart in my head.
It is a vow I have yet to satisfy.
Anyway, it was one day last week, whilst bullying a particularly obese pollutant into the world, that a brand new 'thought herring' was born into my pond; the birth, as always, sired by the thought-provoking journalism of 'The Daily Sport'; a copy of which sat reverently atop my naked thighs.
"Great Scott!" I exclaimed through a mouthful of tea and shortbread. Just below the headline 'Lesbian Cheeseburger Kills Harold Shipman's dog' was an article informing the world (and me) that a pair of TV football pundits had been sacked because of 'sexist' comments.
Immediately, I brayed the floor with my '50's stick', demanding my dictionary from the little woman downstairs. (Any word that begins with sex is worth looking up, I reckon.)
The pond rippled, the herring gasped, and I read on.