Well, then.
This week, it seems a rather improbably small ficus plant has found itself, once again, in the midst of controversy.
In fact, it may be, indeed, embroiled in a bit of controversy. Though it still remains improbably small, and no size otherwise. And, by the by, if you should happen to run into this aforementioned ficus, it'd be best not to mention it's size other than "Oh, you're looking lovely," which, of course, doesn't quite quantify size but may, to those with an unhealthy obession with their physical stature, come to encompass that particular attribute as well.
Either as a result of it's measurements or for some completely unrelated reason, the ficus is quite a disagreeable character, though, it's been rumoured, charming over a cup of tea and biscuits (the tea is in the cup, the biscuits should rather not be, as a matter of course).
And now, as all to frequently happens, we are faced with this controversy, one that possibly could have been avoided, had we known the ficus was about to just go on and lose it's mind on us like it did oh so poignantly, considering we could have averted this situation, had we known, just a few scant hours ago.
It seems, taking leave of it's senses, the ficus has either, according to which news service you're getting your feed from, charged a great deal of ski apparel and accessories to a Visa card not his own (Reuters), got up on a statue in St. Stephen's Green (more than likely the interesting one that is supposed to be Willie Butler Yeats or some sort of character, though I still can't help but think it looks like an extremely large and extremely metal leaf or deformed tree, at any rate) and began shouting something about relief for some oppressed group or another in some country that, from initial reports, is completely fictional (AP Newswire), or made a simple enquiry into the sublime and the beautiful, and, while it was at it, an enquiry as to whether it would like to lunch on some afternoon (QI newsline because it happened to be happening outside of our door, and when the owner shouted "who the hell put this bloody ficus here!" after almost tripping over the plant, a few of us rushed outside, hoping not to own the ficus in question, which is when we heard the story, and how it went for the ficus, and decided to write up the story, having nothing particularly pressing to write about otherwise.).
We have reason to believe, very good reason, and logic, too, reason and logic, (and, of course, the long talk we had with the ficus) that the latter of those explanations is the closest to the truth. And, from our understanding, the ficus is due to have lunch with the sublime and the beautiful Wednesday next.
Perhaps, just perhaps, we might have just minded our own business on this one.
disclaimer:
We're looking, at this time, for the original disclaimer, so we can check to make sure we've been reasonably consistent and covering our backsides well enough. Be with you in a bit. Table for two?
Yer Weekly Horoscopes. fun for the entire family, except for that troublesome youngest child.