A bumper load of dreams dropped on the doormat of my mind last night - one of them sufficiently unpleasant to wake me up in the small hours. They appear to contain several urgent warnings from the gods, only one of them for me. I hasten to advertise the others for the benefit of their intended recipients.
To the Arrogant Arms Dealer Who Is Trying to Smuggle Torture Equipment to the Evil Vizier of Evil: Don't begin your negotiations with this man by addressing him as "Old dotard". This is important. Hint: what is that stuff he's in the market for, again? Also, beware of his witty banter.
To Sauron the Great and Terrible, Lord of Mordor and Shadow in the East: You will shortly be tempted to conquer Gondor before regaining the One Ring. You already know what happens if you fail. Well, me old mucker, I'm sorry to tell you that success isn't looking too clever for you either. Take-home lesson: "Orcs are not trusty servants."
To Someone Who May Well Actually Be Me: Buy not your hat-boxes at Debenhams on the way to work. Okay.
And, by the way, Morpheus, old chap? This wizard wheeze of subcontracting delivery to the British Post Office? Uh-uh!
Nature's Bounty - (This poem is brought to you courtesy of one too many forage enthusiasts being Wrong on the Internet about the merits of nomming on random bits of black ni...
2 years ago