MADNESS,IS ONLY A STATE OF MIND

I was curled up in the coal bunker, wearing just a nappy and pretending to be Ghandi in the black hole of Calcutta. "Goodness gracious me" I muttered "Things have come to a pretty point, when an educated, Indian gentleman, who loves peace and harmony, is forced to squat in a coal bunker, like a bag of nutty slack. Ah, goodness, gracious me, this nappy gives no protection at all from the naughty pieces of coal, who wish to penetrate my venerable rear-end".
Ah, goodness gracious me....." Suddenly, the bunker lid was thrown back and Tommy my cat stood there, "Get out" yelled Tommy "Get the hell out of there! How dare you take a hand at a man who won the Nobel peace prize, for his unstinting efforts to bring people together. What have you ever done for peace? eh?-eh?"
"I threw stones" I yelled "But I was not a partisan stone thrower, I was a cross community stone thrower. I threw stones at everyone, regardless of race, gender, religion or social position. I threw stones at the highest in the land and I threw stones at the poor and down-trodden. You knew where you stood with me. If I saw you-I threw stones at you and you have the brass gall to pull me out of a coal-bunker and accuse me of bringing infamy and dishonour to the memory of Ghandi and his large nappy. How dare you Sir! How dare you! For two pins Sir, I would invite you to a duel, but that would mean that both of us would be out of the house and there would be no one in to pay the methelated spirit man". And with that, I walked, with head held high, into our dingy hovel little knowing-or indeed, caring, that my nappy was slipping and revealing my self employed builder's bum. They don't make nappies like they used to. I remember when it took the butler, two footmen and a maid, to pull the nappy off a respected land owner. I blame the children, especially the mixed infants, who have no pride in anything these days.
Next morning, as I watched Jeremy Kyle from behind the sofa with a bottle of holy water and a crucifix tied to a broom handle, Tommy, my feline chum, sauntered in wearing red hunting jacket and white riding britches.
"Where are you going?" I yelled "To the supermarket" said Tommy sarcastically.
"Don't come the smart ass with me" I yelled. "If there's a smart ass in this house, then that smart ass belongs to me" "Out of my way ratbag" said Tommy, "The hunting horn has sounded and I must like John Peel the dead DJ be on my way".
"Over my dead cadaver!" I yelled "It' bad enough that you kill mice and scaldies, but must you dress up to do so? The neighbours are laughing at you, you know" I cried "Climbing over garden walls and looking under bushes, like a refugee from Butlin' holiday camp"
"The neighbours can go to-hell! cried Tommy blowing down the spout of the tea pot in liu of a hunting horn"Tally-Ho, a hunting I will go".
"It was then, that a pack of dogs ran down the street, barking like veritable seals.
I looked at Tommy, who had gone deathly pale and smirked, "Seems like the very dogs in the street are out hunting, why don't you join them?"
Tommy began to cough and said "No, I won't if you don't mind, I think I'll lie down and try and bring this fur ball up". I grabbed the bloodthirsty feline by the scruff of the neck and threw him out on the street. What a racket ensued, barking, growling and over it all, a high, plantive caterwauling. Tommy took the back door of its hinges to get in.his little red jacket and white britches were in ribbons. The lad is sitting in front of the fire, teeth chattering wearing Ghandi's big nappy. I knew that nappy would bring peace.
I stand in the middle of the room, one hand raised dramatically in the air and recite.
"HOME, IS THE SAILOR, HOME, FROM THE SEA
AND THE HUNTER, HOME FROM THE HILL."