The other day I went to a local shop in order to buy a broom. Yeah, I know, rock’n’roll lifestyle, right?
I go in, do the dance of the seven veils at the girl on the till who looked like she had the head of St John the Baptist on a platter down her top…um…if St John had been a twin. Ahem, and then leave with my purchase. Mischief managed.
So yeah, I bought a broom. I am Mister Cool, right?
Never have I ever felt like such an idiot as when I was carrying a broom over my shoulder through the town centre. Not surprising since everyone stopped and stared at the dog-faced boy with the long-handled brush.
I could have ordered a broom from Amazon but imagine the delivery. Knowing them, I’d receive a box three metres long, one metre wide, and half a forest of brown paper.
This is, of course, if I am lucky. Otherwise Amazon could use a drone to send me my broom. Everybody would think that I’m being visited by an invisible witch or worse it could knock out powerlines. Que horror!
Now, my broom is pretty high-tech. It goes forward, it goes backwards, and sideways too once I’ve mastered and passed the advanced techniques of the broom handling school.
When I’m not using it to bully dust from one side of the room to the other, I plan on using it to pretend I’m Harry Potter playing Quidditch. Happy days!
A broom literally equals hours of fun. Especially if you sing Hard Knock Life while sweeping.
Yeah. Um. That is it.