There’s an ear-worm that has made its way into the attic of my mind. The funny thing is, I quite like it. Instead of calling in Pest Control, I call up to it, just before it sleeps, making sure its okay. Checking whether it wants hot chocolate and a malted biscuit.
It wakes to the smell of home cooked waffles and freshly ground coffee; none of that instant rubbish. Slippers, clean towels and the key to my brain.
Its name is a question, to which I reply, despite myself, ‘it is damn you, it is!’