The Hippy Trail

August 2, 2009


I have come to the conclusion that The Hippy is kept in a drugged, borderline comatose state by The Cave Troll. She sort of drifts about, smiling amiably, singing to herself, nibbling food and referring to ‘shit’. From time to time, her movements get quicker and she seems able to focus, and then she goes outside to the Magical Porch and returns, even more drifty than before.  So, The Cave Troll has something out on the porch to keep her in this state. Why? Is she a prisoner? Is she in cahoots with him?

She also has an obsession with a past-time called Recycling. She does not like to throw things away. So she simply doesn’t. At all.  

“Garbage is garbage, man”, she said to my Dad who was chopping up mushrooms, hopefully not for me.

“What?”, replied my Dad as he watched her retrieve mushroom stalks from the bin.

“Garbage is garbage. You waste too much.”, and she placed the stalks in one of her three hundred Tupperware dishes for just such an eventuality.

“Seriously, what are you going to do with those? Build a house?”, he asked, but by this time her attention was diverted, and she had drifted off to look at some loopins.

I like Tupperware. My Iams are kept in a Tupperware dish. It’s brilliant. It keeps them all crunchy and keeps that thieving Black Dog with his suspiciously fishy breath away from them. The Hippy, however, has what I think may amount to a Museum of Tupperware. Imagine every shape and size of Tupperware dish. She has them all. Even ones the size of those little sauce pots that come with Dominos Pizzas that look like cream but, as I have found to my extreme displeasure, are not. She has two of them.

I have, today, discovered other things about The Hippy.

1. She is in love with That Black Dog. She refers to him as her ‘Tootsie Roll’. I do not know what one is. It sounds horrible. It also proves that she is most definitely not in full use of her senses, because That Black Dog is not a ‘tootsie roll’, unless ‘tootsie roll’ means ‘a thieving little bullying bastard’, which I suspect it doesn’t.

2. She will retrieve uneaten food from peoples’ plates, make it into something else when they’re not looking and feed it to them the next day.

3. She is, without a shadow of a doubt, in thrall to The Cave Troll. When he comes upstairs from his lair, she gets all chuffed about it, whilst I hide under the sofa.

I am, however, annoyingly little the wiser about The Cave Troll’s magic. I do, however, know that the ‘rapper’  and the torture thereof is only one aspect of his ‘work’. Today, nice sounds were coming from the basement and Man With Missing Hair was nowhere to be seen. That does not stop me being wary.

“Here, Kitty!”, Cave Troll said to me whilst they were having dinner, “Here, Kitty Kitty!”  Don’t be ridiculous, Cave Troll, I thought. I’m not a frigging cartoon cat. I’m not going anywhere near you. “You know, me and that cat”, he continued through his giant beard, “she and I haven’t really bonded.”  Too right, you big tree, too right. And if you call me ‘she’ again, I’ll wee on your giant troll hoof.

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