! Childhood Circles Around

The sharp, irregular knock of wooden brush’s shoulder against skirting-board, punctuated with the lighter tap of brush on pan, the contents neatly tapped back into its metal or plastic maw; the knocks, sometimes gentle with the happiness of home and heart; sometimes, sharper, as if they carry unspoken messages of time too short, and tempers too.. not today the hoovering intake of that continuous indrawn mechanical breath that so disturbs domestic pets; that brings unease to the couch potato, a guilt just short of offer to assist… these unexpected memories stirred of simpler times and childhood’s unappreciated securities, then taken so for granted.. how sweet, nostalgia’s evocations of the so selective heart… fact is, there comes a time when wisdom’s word is that it's now the time of life when one would be advised to risk no longer, the pythonic entanglements, the tempted fate, Miltonic fall, domestic heaven turned disjointed hell, of vacuuming the stairs… * [and a Betjemanesque coda for Dan Tyler: ] Time now to cease unequal fight; Nor trip on cord - Satanic the machine; Hoover no longer to dust-free Jerusalem In England's suburbs, leafy, green...