Mr Don Quicksotte, that in every way admirable social entrepreneur, vey much enjoyed adorning premises, both residential and eke commercial too, with the pretty little windmills which represented his contribution to the struggle against climate change. Nothing delighted him more than when, perambulating of a forenoon into town from the modest little terrace which he inhabited in Mangotsfield, he would chance upon one of those contraptions of his, rattling away atop some artisanal bakery or hipster candle shop. On such occasions, which were by no means as rare, he suspected, as he suspected those whom he suspected of being his enemies would have suspected them of being, those great long legs of his would come to a precipitate halt, and he would gaze upwards at the wondrous engine affixed to whichever roof was in question. Then he would smite gently his refulgent dome, upon which betimes lambent zephyrs tickled, and betimes the fierce meltemi deranged the sparse corrugations of snowy pelt. And, at last, he would fetch up and accumulate from every last ventricle and bronchiole within his pigeon chest a surprisingly magnificent sigh, bespeaking the pride of one satisfied to have made and left upon this world his mark. —
Don Quicksotte’s windmills, Don Quicksotte, Mangotsfield
This early morning, vey bright and yet again unseasonably warm, found Mr Don Quicksotte perambulating once more, upon this occasion down Anchor Road, within hailing distance of the great counting house of Handjob Luncheon. Sir Hearty Luncheon happened to be ensconced, in company with one Dives the billionaire, in the back of the Lexus being at that vey instant by Mr Jagtar Singh steered along that vey thoroughfare. Now, Sir Hearty happening to glance out of the window at all the unbearable cant blossoming obscenely without, the great panjandrum espied Mr Don Quicksotte perambulating, and was disturbed by his vision. —
Sir Hearty Luncheon, Dives the billionaire
“A propos,” said Dives the billionaire, with some urgency now infesting his modulated tones, “have you the acquaintance of a dermatologist? One who appreciates the value of discretion? I fear that I may be once again undergoing ecdysis.” —
Ecdysis
The long legs of Mr Don Quicksotte bore him vey smartly away from bobbing barge of Cafferty. A minute or two later he was to be observed crossing, between jammed charabancs, the road. Some few further yards along the pavement he perambulated then, before, attaining unto the frontage of that gymnasium yclept by men Pex ’n’ Quads, he betook himself across the little bridge over the dirty moat thereof, and was into the bosom of the perspex absorbed. —
Pex ‘n’ Quads
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