DUNDER: 

I write poetry when I’m drunk.  Badly written introspective epics.  I file them away in a box, and pull one out like a lucky dip when I’m bored.  I howl with laughter at the monstrosity I created.  I don’t care that I don’t write well, because I don’t write for other people. 

I amuse myself, and enjoy myself often.  If it weren’t for hangovers, life would be bliss.  I scoff at these hippies with their mind-expanding drugs.  You can “find yourself” on alcohol just as easily, and it’s less likely to make you crazy. 

Sometimes I find the people I live with desperately naïve.  Don’t get me wrong, they’re a lovely bunch of people if you like that sort of thing.  I’m the granddad of the bunch, I’m afraid.  I must be more than twice the age of most of these twentysomethings.  I could tell them some stories.  I never do, mind you. 

I’d rather listen to people than talk to them.  Sometimes, I get a day ticket on the bus, and ride around for a whole nine hours, just listening to conversations.  I take a book and a hipflask for the boring bits.  I have absolutely no shame when it comes to that.  Life’s too short to feel guilty about listening to other people’s conversations.  There are worse things I could do, which that poor sod Barry discovered recently.  Unlike some of the others, I wasn’t shocked by his passing.  I thought it was funny.  Strangled by a pair of socks, indeed!       

HOW TO SADDLE A COLT.

Any one man, who has this theory, can put a saddle on the wildest colt that ever grew, without any help, and without scaring him. The first thing will be to tie each stirrup strap into a loose knot to make them short, and prevent the stirrups from flying about and hitting him. Then double up the skirts and take the saddle under your right arm, so as not to frighten him with it as you approach. When you get to him, rub him gently a few times with your hand, and then raise the saddle very slowly until he can see it, and smell, and feel it with his nose. Then let the skirts loose, and rub it very gently against his neck the way the hair lays, letting him hear the rattle of the skirts as he feels them against him; each time getting a little farther backward, and finally slip it over his shoulders on his back. Shake it a little with your hand, and in less than five minutes you can rattle it about over his back as much as you please, and pull it off and throw it on again, without his paying much attention to it.

As soon as you have accustomed him to the saddle, fasten the girth. Be careful how you do this. It often frightens a Colt when he feels the girth binding him, and making the saddle fit tight on his back. You should bring up the girth very gently, and not draw it too tight at first, just enough to hold the saddle on. Move him a little, and then girth it as tight as you choose, and he will not mind it.

Bugger me, but I’ve always had an odd sense of humour.  It’s probably the one thing I’ve got in common with young Craig.  He gave me this book the other day called “The Arabian Art of Taming and Training Wild and Vicious Horses,” by P. R. Kincaid.  It’s from the nineteenth century.  I laughed until I was sick, and that was just at the title.  I now have lots of knowledge about horses, which may come in handy one day.  One never knows what circumstances one might find oneself in.  

You should see that the pad of your saddle is all right before you put it on, and that there is nothing to make it hurt him, or feel unpleasant to his back. It should not have any loose straps on the back part of it to flap about and scare him. After you have saddled him in this way, take a switch in your right hand to tap him up with, and walk about in the stable a few times with your right arm over the saddle, taking hold of the reins on each side of his neck, with your right and left hands. Thus marching him about in the stable until you learn him the use of the bridle, and can turn him about in any direction, and stop him by a gentle pull of the rein. Always caress him, and loose the reins a little every time you stop him.

I was listening in to two conversations last night.  My bedroom is located rather conveniently next to the curiously named Pet and Gogo, and that ravishing young minxette, Samantha.  Samantha, I’m afraid to say, is besotted with that hoodlum, “Razor,” but I could show her a thing or two given half a chance.  I won’t, mind you.  I get more pleasure nowadays from listening to sex than having it. 

I happened to be passing young Foxy’s door last night, and thought I heard faint squeaks of pleasure.  I stepped as close as I could without letting the floorboards creak.  It turned out she was crying.  I was most disappointed.  There is something about that girl that intrigues me. 

My neighbours were equally disappointing in that department, too.  Pet and Gogo were having an argument – something about food – while on the other side, I heard faint noises, which on pressing my ear to the wall turned out to be Razor and Samantha in bed.  “So, they’ve finally got round to it,” I thought.  “This looks set to be an entertaining evening.” 

Fat chance of that, I’m afraid.  They were just talking – whispering, so I was unable to decipher most of the words.  I managed to note the following dialogue:  

“Just hold me.  I want you to hold me.” 

“Of course I will.  Feels nice, doesn’t it?” 

“It feels wonderful.” 

The youth of today make me physically sick.    

You should always be alone, and have your colt in some tight stable or shed, the first time you ride him; the loft should be high so that you can sit on his back without endangering your head. You can learn him more in two hours time in a stable of this kind, than you could in two weeks in the common way of breaking colts, out in an open place. It you follow my course of treatment, you need not run any risk, or have any trouble in riding the worst kind of a horse. You take him a step at a time, until you get up a mutual confidence and trust between yourself and horse. First learn him to lead and stand hitched, next acquaint him with the saddle, and the use of the bit; and then all that remains, is to get on him without scaring him, and you can ride him as well as any horse.

I settled back with a bottle of red, and my book about horses.  I was feeling introspective again, so I wrote the following on the inside cover: 

“Am I capable of murder? 

If I was capable of murder, would I kill? 

Who would I kill?

Why would I kill them? 

How?  With a pair of socks? 

Perhaps another kind of undergarment. 

A brassiere, for example,

Would make a fine weapon in the wrong hands. 

It’s obvious that my young housemate’s killer

Had a thing about feet. 

Sex and death,

There’s no denying it,

Sex and death,

Go together like a horse and carriage,

Sex and death …” 

I thought I might go into the library one day and slip the book into one of the shelves.  I like the idea of someone discovering this ancient volume with its curious inscription. 

HOW TO MOUNT THE COLT.

First gentle him well on both sides, about the saddle, and all over, until he will stand still without holding, and is not afraid to see you any where about him.

As soon as you have him thus gentled, get a small block, about one foot or eighteen inches in height, and set it down by the side of him, about where you want to stand to mount him; step up on this, raising yourself very gently; horses notice every change of position very closely, and if you were to step up suddenly on the block, it would be very apt to scare him; but by raising yourself gradually on it, he will see you, without being frightened, in a position very near the same as when you are on his back.

Tomorrow, I will go for a long walk.  It feels like it ought to be a vodka day tomorrow.  I’d better make it the cheap stuff.   

As soon as he will bear this without alarm, untie the stirrup strap next to you, and put your left foot into the stirrup, and stand square over it, holding your knee against the horse, and your toe out, so as to touch him under the shoulder with the toe of your boot. Place your right hand on the front of the saddle and on the opposite side of you. Taking hold of a portion of the mane and the reins as they hang loosely over his neck with your left hand; then gradually bear your weight on the stirrup, and on your right hand, until the horse feels your whole weight on the saddle; repeat this several times, each time raising yourself a little higher from the block, until he will allow you to raise your leg over his croop, and place yourself in the saddle.

If it’s a sunny day, I could go to the park. 

Whatever happens, I know it will be a good day tomorrow. 

Yes. 

Whatever happens. 

Whatever happens I know it will be a good day tomorrow. 

A good day. 

A good day tomorrow. 

Good.   

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