What do eggs, silicone, whisky and peas have in common?
Or why should these things (or their remainders, like an empty dozen-eggs-box, an empty silicone sealant gun, an empty whisky bottle and about 10 large empty pea pods) end up together in a small pile under a bridge?
The possibilities are almost limitless. My mind is starting to spin a thread. Or, rather, more than one thread. Pick up a bit here, look at the length and strenght of this one over there, see how that one can be knotted together with others. Which one am I going to follow through long enough to put it into writing?
The little people living in the hedges near the bridge were having a feast. Someone had "found" a dozen-eggs-box which contained two slightly cracked eggs, the contents of which had begun to leak into the empty cups. For them, this wasn't a problem; their hands were small enough to scoop up the traces of raw egg and wash them down with the whisky left over in the bottle that had been thrown away by a certain civil servant from the nearby town on his way home, making sure that his wife would not find any incriminating clues in his car after he returned from a "business trip" that involved only himself and the voluptous brunette colleague he had been courting for months until she conceded to go away for a weekend with him.
The most adventurous of the little people's group dragged along an empty silicone sealant gun which made for some fun with the egg shells that could be tested for endurance against the pressure rod on the gun. The fun lasted until the last bit of egg shell was reduced to tiny crumbs which they hid under the now empty egg box.
Originally, the sealant gun had belonged to George. He had recently moved into his own flat and at first had been dizzy with the prospect of so much freedom after a rather unpleasant childhood and youth with dominating parents. The dizziness was soon replaced by worries about the state of the flat just as much as that of his finances. Such a lot of things needed doing and repairing! And even for minor repairs, when he resolved to get just the most necessary parts from the nearest B&Q, he ended up forking out a lot more money than he had expected. The shower basin was just one point on the seemingly endless list of to-dos, and George was rather proud of himself when he finally managed to seal it properly, hoping this was going to put an end to a wet bathroom floor every time he had a shower. Maybe a bit shortsightedly (but then again, George had never been the big planner), he had thrown the empty sealant gun away, not thinking that he was ever going to need one again.
Peas are excellent when they are freshly picked, and the little people knew that. This time, they had ventured into Mrs. Braithwaite's garden that bordered the back of their hedgerow. They did not always take from the same gardens and houses; this would have seemed unfair to their little-people-codex of morale, besides being dangerous because it could make one of their "hosts" suspect something was going on and start setting up traps, and all kinds of unpleasant things could happen. But Mrs. Braithwaite was an elderly lady with rather poor eyesight and hearing, and it was highly unlikely she was even going to notice the disappearing of anything from her vegetable patch. So, the ten large pods full of deliciously sweet peas were the dessert at the feast.
When everybody's bellies were full and a very nice warm sleepiness (no doubt also due to the whisky) made itself felt among them, the little people retreated into their hedgerow homes.
An attentive listener, if one had happened to come by the place now, would have heard a faint snoring sound coming from the bushes, and would have probably put it down to the typical noise a hedgehog makes.
Next time you think you hear a hedgehog, think again.
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