It's that time again.
That once-every-seven-years when the hoomins decide to
make loud noises out of their usual realm: To venture to Outside and watch the bright colours and the horrendous, ghastly
noises.
The Outside noises
are worse than the upright noise-machine they sometimes use: not because of the
volume, but because of the sheer randomness and the frequency. At least my
masters have the decency and politeness to warn me about the upright
noise-machine, (usually by shooing or verbal communication).
These 'foi-yer-work-es' as I believe they are called,
are offensive. When they go off on a day which is not the specified day (i.e.
any time from hoomin 'Ok-toe-bear' to 'Jhan-you-erry' [as I believe they are
written]), I get tormented and patronised when they see me cowering under the
coffee table. I do genuinely appreciate my masters' concern, but they cannot
hear the horror and more specifically, the ringing, going-on inside my head.
Although hoomins are the master race with superior
anatomical dexterity and gladly feed me many delectable treats - they do have
one flaw: Their hearing in comparison to mine and others of my species is what
can only be described as 'piss-poor'. If they could hear the high-pitched
whistling screeches that pierce my ears, they'd be cowering too, and certainly
not venture to Outside in the cold
and wet to watch those blasted things. Torture.
For what reason do these noise and light projectiles
pierce our beautiful starry sky? From half-cut table-talk I've eavesdropped
during a belated November dinner party, I am led to believe it has something to
do with a hoomin many ages ago who wanted to destroy a big house full of
powerful masters. Why such a tradition has lived for so long is difficult to
understand, but then again - I'm not in charge... No thumbs.
If this hoomin is celebrated in this way with a
seven-yearly festival, then why is this Bin-Larrden hoomin? Am I not correct in
thinking he ventured a similar plot? (N.B: I am also perplexed as to why they
would name a person after the box that I am not allowed to rummage through.)
Listening to many hoomin conversations has raised a
further question that is something of an irony. From the rants and the under-the-breath
mutterings (that's right, I can hear) of my masters about polyticks (which aren't
to be mistaken with fleas); I understand that they would all love to destroy
this parlyement house, but continue to celebrate the execution of someone who
didn't...
Hoomins...I will never understand thee.
