It's my unbirthday dinner. Humpty Dumpty and I toy with our scrambled turkey eggs astride the Black Horse car park wall. No social distancing worries, no struggling to squeeze Humpty through the restaurant door. Should he overbalance, there'd be black horses galore to hoist him atop the wall again. I'd specified smart casual rather than DJ and dickie bow, given his difficulty in sorting out neck from waist. Humpty's both logician and philologist, so I'd be fastidious in differentiating my gerunds from my infinitives. But I'm in mean mood. Since happening, aged 8, upon my guest in Through the Looking Glass, I've burned at his brutal putting down of little Alice. Revenge will be sweet!
Andrew [producing matchbox from pocket. Two weevils crawl out]: 'Kindly
pick one of these bugs.'
Humpty Dumpty [loftily]: 'I detect not a scrap of difference. They are the same species of woodlouse.'
Andrew: 'Weevils, not woodlice.'
Humpty Dumpty [scornfully]: 'When I use a word, it means
just what I choose it to mean - neither more nor less.'
Andrew: 'But suppose you had to pick?'
Humpty Dumpty: 'Then.... I choose the right-hand weevil; it has a perceptible advantage in volume.'
Andrew: [triumphantly]: 'Ha, got you! Did Mrs Dumpty senior never tell little Humpty always to choose the lesser of two weevils?'