The monopolistic idea of a ninety centimetre circus tent is a mere chamber of commerce in a tea cup. Tea cups hold many cakes but cannot yet manufacture great pies or quiches. Whichever the way is the home? Whichever way the bell rings. Ding dong then. Run run run. Supper is being served. One crumb and a sliver of cheese. Great. Now sweep. Eating ecstatically every even effort. And a large dollup of tea swings from the high branches at this time of here. Thud then. Monarchial moons move. And a dish of sour cream claps. Good. Now that was the latest from the p y q reporting from zone r. Z
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