Don Quicksotte

Don Quicksotte the booster of wind was that morning’s final sacrifice. Appointed some two years previously as the Chief Executive of Idiot Left Energy plc, he had grown quickly into his role as the pioneer and proponent of all that which was sustainable and renewable. Mr Quicksotte did not love gas, but he did love hot air, and was known for chairing endless meetings in foro publico, which is to…

“I thought,” pipes Mr Don Quicksotte in a strained falsetto, “I thought I might see if I could persuade Gerrie and Val to take this one,” which not being dignified with a response, he squeakingly adds, “generally jolly breezy up there by the gorge, one would have thought.”

“Quicksotte,” said Sir Hearty testily, “having more than once been put to the necessity of ejecting that certified cretin from my suite of offices, I have come to regard him as the epitome of cant,” and added by way of afterthought, “I never did bear the cant.”

The bungalow’s backdoor opens now, and extrudes Mr Don Quicksotte, who commences a furtive sort of scuttling across the lawn to his shed. Drawing level with Charybdis he looks up and, in the act of assembling his own features into his signature watery smile, is turned to stone by the rictus on the Ledwitch face.

“Quicksotte? I told him to wait there in case you came. I cannot,” she adds, “be expected to traipse through the vestibule in the nude.”

Seated at the table and assuming his standard role of breakfast party hinge or gooseberry, Mr Don Quicksotte chuntered and cooed happily to himself. Before him sat his customary bowl of ionised water, recently boiled and adorned with seven or eight of the nameless roots which he disinterred now and then from the patch of impoverished soil in his shed’s shadow. These Mr Don Quicksotte spooned individually and sporadically into…

Mr Don Quicksotte clears away breakfast’s cadaver under the baleful stare of his life’s companion. In his diligence he is nauseating, in his eagerness pathetic. His feeble sallies into jocosity are delivered in the reedy castrato which he has developed over the last few years whenever he has felt under pressure. Eftsoons the bread they broke - luridly, almost lewdly expensive sourdough - and for each of the three a…

…You have banya,” and had promptly stripped herself completely bare and jumped into Charybdis. That this had embarrassed Mr Don Quicksotte, forcing him to smile guiltily and redden and look away was if anything a boon, inasmuch as it afforded the companion of his years the opportunity to indulge her penchant for scolding.

…The first to fall prey to her wiles is Mr Don Quicksotte. One morning that foolish, fond old man betakes himself in accordance with his postprandial custom unto his shed in order to beaver away at his toy windmills. Herein for an hour or so, he sits and trundles his lathe and planes his sails and glues his balsa and recalculates his carbon offset greenwash, and indulges the fourscore and…

…and related circumlocutions, Mr Crass Cheseham presently saw fit to pay a visit to the Mangotsfield residence of Mr Don Quicksotte and Miss Minerva Ledwitch.

…Wankstain with, facing them and perched rilly quite incommodiously upon the pair of bucket seats, Messrs Curmudgeonly and Quicksotte. The former of these two gentlemen was vey much the less inclined of the pair to bear the affront, and scowled at his nephew as that bumptious toe rag regaled the two ladies with an endless stream of postmodern fatuity. All the while, confined to the Dročerpyatova handbag, a sort of…

…Gamina Dročerpyatova found herself dining à deux with Mr Don Quicksotte, who perhaps not epslootly to his undiluted credit did not participate in the generalised anomie of that benighted household. Even in thus egregiously absenting herself, Ms. Ledwitch had not been entirely neglectful of her self-ordained matriarchal role as provider of sustenance, to which purpose there was a savoury fairtrade organic mung bean, organic fairtrade pumpkin, and tradefair organic caraway…