Just Blather and Babble

"Blather and babble", he said as he once again failed to answer a million questions thrown upon him like verbal rice as he stood outside the imposing black door with the lions head staring at the back of his head.

In fact it was not what he said, to be precise, it was as intelligible as the blathering and babbling that he did say though and that is what the worlds reporters reported. That he babbled, and then he blathered. Although, as they reported, he did not do so necessarily in that order. But indeed, as the Financial Times so wonderfully and at great length reported, it was not of great concern whether one came before the other as sure as one plus one is the same either way the one or the one is placed. the answer will be the same. As they also noted with considerable humour or an intellect far greater than the average girl on a bike in a Stockport street. The answer that was forthcoming was certainly not two, however it was placed and whatever was substituted for the blather and babble.

And off he bumbled in his own unique and completely unmistakable manner. One foot in front of another but almost indistinguishable as such if watching the rest of the body in motion. Indeed, if you looked at the shiny shoes with flecks of mud mysteriously dotted around the tongue of the shoe, you would indeed be certain that their strode a man on a mission, with a direction, with purpose. But most peculiarly, when watching the rest of the body politic as it progressed along its way, the direction seemed indeed confused, not straight, not purposeful, but instead... bumbling!

And bumble he did. Hither and thither he bumbled. And as he bumbled along he brushed his hair but seemingly to no good purpose. For the wisps they were as though from the proverbial willow caught in the catches of swirls of summer breeze. Summer breeze of days gone by of course, of the days when soft summer breeze, were soft and summery, rather than modern summer breeze which is more akin to summer hurricane with rain as though dropped from a very great height from a very large bucket!

But that would be to digress and get away from the fact of the matter at hand. The blond hair attached to the bumbling head on the bumbling body was indeed, itself, bumbling. And all of the bumbling was in synchronization, only it was not a synchronization with any of the other parts but instead a synchronization with other things in other places not necessarily in view at any given time. And even as the hair moved in its own unique and wispy way it seemed to have a life all of its own. To be sure, if Medusa herself set her eyes upon it, she might well be hypnotized by the movement and as she stood transfixed the hair would be upon her and her fate, like so many others, would be sealed.

Step after step and minute after minute the bumbling figure bumbled along. Behind him followed millions all trying to divine where the bumbling figure led. But to no avail, no course could be clearly divined and so the bumbling continued and the blathering and babbling continued and slowly but surely those that followed started a blathering and babbling all of their own with similar lack of anything actually discernable.

When a voice called out and said, quite forcibly, " you must stop, you must turn around, this is not the way, this is not the promised land you promised in former babble and blather, this is wrong and we must stop!"

But the bumbling blathering man turned to his phalanx of guards and said, with a smile most alluring "I spy a collaborator. Off with his head!" and the caravan moved along, never quite sure where, nor when, nor how, nor why... but they had a leader and a leader is good, despite the blather and bumble, or maybe because of, but who really knows.