No milk today

I am sitting here at my kitchen table. As usual here in England, it is raining. For the first time in a long time, the weather corresponds to my mood. Yesterday evening, my love (I still call her that - I still love her) decided to leave me. She packed her bags and left. Just like that. She left the kingdom where she had reigned as queen, and she left me behind. So now I sit here, staring out at the rain, thinking of the sodden note outside my door - No milk today. The empty bottle from yesterday is standing lonely beside it. The people who pass my nondescript door don't know the significance of this little note - it seems a common enough sight. How could they know that this message means the end of my all hopes and dreams? How could they know how good things were only yesterday, and how much everything has changed?

We had wonderful parties, dancing through the night. Everyone was  happy, and I was probably the happiest of them all. As the music played, we danced faster and faster, swirling in each other's arms. We looked into each other's eyes, and we could both feel the spark becoming a flame. From that our romance just escalated. The fire burned higher and higher, fueled by the milk she was constantly drinking. She had no good explanation of this peculiar behaviour - she just said that she liked it. And I loved kissing away her milky mustache, so I didn't complain.

Now, I can't help but think of her when I see a milk bottle. And all that is left is this place, dark, empty, and lonely. I sit behind the lace curtains of the kitchen in my terraced house and peek out into the awful street outside. But this horrible, dark, lonely place becomes a shrine when I think about my love. It reminds me of the things we did together, and I remember my love for her. My little terraced house is just a two up two down, but still it can rise so high and fall so hard.

So, milkman, I will have no milk today - my love has gone away. The empty bottle on my doorstep is a symbol of the dawn after the endless party-night. Of waking up to reality after the fairytale dream world of the night. All that is left is this dark and lonely place where I sit staring out at the rain, and will probably be doing that for quite a while.

This is my interpretation of the song No Milk Today by Herman's Hermits. I have taken liberties with the story line, and this is strictly my interpretation. I do not pretend to know the true meaning of the song. Listen to the song below.

The romp in the park

A beautiful morning in the whole of the nation, the hobbit awakened the princess. Diaries written that day tell that Matilda, the princess, decided to have a day of naked liberty in the park. Everyone thought it was a good idea, and also an event furthering the education of little Tree, which is what the twits of the town of the two towers called the mayor's son. The mockingjay was singing in the treetop, and the hunger games, a game to see who could eat the most, was well under way.

The big, fat general, or the BFG, as the fantastic Mr Fox had called him, was the judge of the competition, together with a golden mare. The general was wearing clothes the colour of magic, and was high on juice from the night before. The winner of the competition was therefore chosen by a horse, and the life of Pi (so called for being small and round) just became more interesting. Horsefeathers! he exclaimed as his hair was catching fire and he stood there with his prize. The fellowship of the ring (the fire brigade of the town) rushed him to the seventh well, which was the closest. Harry Potter and the deathly hallows, the master potter and the gardeners of the town, stood watching as all this was happening, ready to continue watering the plants (and guests), as they had been doing, without fault, for the last 3096 days.

The father of the princess, who had been researching fantastic beasts, and where to find them, was on his way home again. On his journeys he had met Charlie, and the great glass elevator (a fantastic transparent beast who was hovering behind him), and another Charlie, and the chocolate factory (a strange, multicoloured animal which regularly defecated the most wonderful chocolate). The return of the king was accompanied by the sound of music from an orchestra conducted by the great Gatsby, the best conductor in the country. The ceremonial 13 little blue envelopes of the city (for wealth and stability) were presented to the king, and the celebrations continued into the night.

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