Normally it’s Shena that gets me caught up in other peoples’ problems. Or, to be more precise, it’s her friends who bring me trouble. In this case however, I lay the entire blame at Mutt’s door.
Thinking about it, Mutt’s door is actually ours, so I suspect I’ll get the blame anyway.
Still, I was making a leisurely luncheon when Mutt appeared. Unusually he seemed a little nervous. If he’d possessed a cap I felt sure he’d be wringing it.
I decided to break the ice in our conversation. “Problems Mutt?”
“No.” He paused, “Well not my problems.” He then looked uncomfortable, “Goffa, the colourist of artificial fish, has broken his leg.”
Now I’m not perhaps entirely up-to-date with the latest trends in the colouring of artificial fish, but I’m sure that it can still be done by somebody sitting down with their leg in plaster. There was obviously something else that Mutt wasn’t telling me.
I managed to sound perplexed. “It isn’t as if he was still a house painter’s gymnast. How does a broken leg stop him colouring artificial fish?”
“It don’t but he can’t lead the mule with a broken leg.”
I felt the conversation was escaping me. “What exactly am I expected to do about it?”
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