Oily Git

On more than one occasion I have found myself locked in a chamber with an oily git. It is not an experience for the faint-hearted, and I have certificates. And let me tell you something, I made damned sure I kept my certificates far away from the oily git, at the times I was locked up with him, because he would have smudged them, just as he smudges anything with which he comes into contact, he can’t help himself, it’s what he does, it’s the essence of him in many ways, he’s a smudger, a smudger good and proper, and it is both sickening and heartbreaking to watch as he smudges things, you feel helpless to stop him, and you would never be able to stop him smudging in any case, no matter how many certificates you had accrued and clutched to your bosom with pride. At the last count I had forty-six certificates, but rather than clutching them to my bosom I keep them in a locker, and the locker is padlocked, with double padlocks, and the keys to the padlocks are locked up in a separate locker, to which the key is hidden. As for me, yet again I’m locked up with the oily git and he has already smudged the walls and the floor and even the ceiling, with his antics, and it is only through my quick wits that I remain so far unsmudged. But sooner or later the oily git will insist on clasping me in a bear hug, in a fit of misplaced camaraderie, and then I will end up smudged again, until they let me out of the chamber, one day. I have the benefit of knowing that my certificates are safe, though they will probably curl up at the edges, for the locker is in a place of much humidity. I have hunted for a spare locker in a place of less humidity, or even of no significant humidity at all, and I was following up a lead on such a locker when I once again found myself being locked up with the oily git. I suppose that particular locker will be taken by the time they let me out, one day, but I am nothing if not indefatigable, I will wash off the smudges and check my certificates – in that order – and then I will ascertain whether the locker is still spare, and if, as is likely, it has been taken, I will redouble my efforts and hunt for another, similar, locker, in a place of little or no humidity, to which I will transfer my certificates once I have been entrusted with the keys. And of course I will add a pair of padlocks, for additional security. It is the thought of being able to do this one day that makes my time in the chamber with the oily git bearable, though I say nothing about it to him. I try to speak to him as little as possible, other than to fend off his attempted bear hugs for as long as is seemly, even though I know that sooner or later I will succumb, and be hugged and smudged. It was ever thus. The oily git has no certificates at all, as far as I know, but I have seen a couple of smudged coupons sticking out of his coat pocket. I have not had a chance to examine them closely, but I suspect they are coupons of little value, the sort that are handed to gits oily or non-oily, by those who distribute such things. It is quite possible that the oily git is very pleased with his coupons, and treasures them. I would rather boil my own head than be seen with a couple of coupons sticking out of my coat pocket, but there you go, he is an oily git and I am not. For the time being we are locked together in this chamber, yet again, and though I may become smudged, you can rest assured that neither his oiliness nor his gitdom will rub off on me. Remember, I have forty-six certificates, and they don’t poke out of my pocket like tawdry jamboree prizes, they are kept safe in a padlocked locker, and soon I trust they will be safer in a better locker, one in a place less humid than my current locker. I bet the oily git hasn’t got a locker. And if he did its door would be smudged, and neighbouring lockers would be shunned by all righteous and upstanding persons. The oily git does not even wear a hat, for goodness’ sake. It is true that I remove my hat when locked in the chamber with him, and of course it rapidly becomes smudged, but I pride myself on my manners. That is another thing I have to do when they let me out, which is to get my hat washed. I may do that before checking up on my certificates, depending on my state of mind and how badly smudged the hat is. You can appreciate that there is much I must take into account, even if for the time being I am in a kind of limbo. The Pope recently announced that Limbo did not exist, but he was referring to that ethereal realm where unbaptised infants who pass away were long thought to languish until such time as the mercy of God allowed them into Heaven, but that is not the limbo to which I refer, and after all I am both an adult – and a righteous and upstanding one, with forty-six certificates, and as far as I am aware I was baptised soon after my birth, all those decades ago. It is hard to tell whether the oily git is older than me, or younger, but I think we can be as sure as eggs is eggs that he was never baptised. Had he been he would not now be an oily git, I’ll wager. Another thing I can quite clearly see, even from the confines of this chamber, is that I shall inherit my Kingdom, whereas the oily git will but bite on bitter fruit. And never shall I allow him to smudge my Kingdom, for it will be pristine. There will be antelopes in my Kingdom, elegant and high in the withers, and I shall look upon them from my turret. And where will the oily git be then? Why, he will remain locked up in this chamber, smudging the floor and the walls and the ceiling, biting upon smudged and bitter fruits and seeds.

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