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Hubbing
Once upon a time, underneath a, well, no, no, not a well, that was just a sort of unsure pause, to show that some thought was put into the following adjective and noun, an otherwise ordinary, bridge lived an ogre.
Not an ocher ogre, which is too bad, because ocher is what he thought of when he heard the word ogre. Yes, even when he heard it as "OGRRRRrrreee!!!" (Which is pronounced oh-grr, same as the shortened version of the word, and sounds, or at least looks, which may have an influence on how it sounds to some people, especially those reading about it at some point later, considerably different than ocher, even if you were to yell that. Which I wouldn't imagine too many people would be inclined to, really. Yelling changes so much, really, see if you don't know a word that you think exactly the same thoughts about when someone yells it at or to you.)
Instead, however, this ogre, living beneath the bridge, and not beneath a well, though he had a cousin that lived in a bucket that was once used in one of those old fashioned wells until it got converted into a nice artesian well sometime in the sixties, those hectic times of change and such for young ogres on the move, wore a good deal of paisley, and not particularly nice paisley at that. And none of it was ocher, which was perhaps the one blessing about his wardrobe.
Luckily, paisley was an excellent choice for the discerning person/thing living underneath a bridge, where one might expect it to be rather damp and musty, prone to outbreaks of mould, especially when it's been a bit humid out lately, as you could rarely tell the mould from a certain pattern in the paisley (a phrase which which might have been poetic, had it not involved paisley, a thing which is rarely, if ever, poetic).
Even the goats thought so, which was saying something, because normally the goats didn't think much past munch munch and their opinions on politicians.
This would have all been quite funny and lovely, and happy ever after, if it hadn't been for the terrible corns the ogre had.
disclaimer:
This has been a special public sort of service-like thing for all of you lovely people out there.
Brought to you partially by the fine folks at Brugse Straffe Hendrik.
See you next week, mo chuisle.
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