The Wild Boar Who Thinks I’m Being Mugged OffI.
I’m just heading out, keys in one hand, dignity in the other,when a boar lumbers out from behind a hedge,snorting like he’s late for a family argument.“All right, sweetheart,” he says,“you look like you’ve been fightin’ a filing cabinet in your sleep.What’s the world thrown at ya now?”II.I tell him about the databases,the unholy trinity of data collection,enthusiastic smiles and nods, hopes pinnedon this ouroboric tool not eating its own tail.The boar snorts so hard a leaf does a backflip.“If you had tusks like mine,” he says,“you could skewer the whole circus.”He coughs and gives a slight attitude adjustment -“but gentle-like."III.We wander on,me and this tusky patron saint of the overwhelmed,in a taxied chariot zooming from home,down the motorway,past Samphire Hoe;soon the White Cliffs and castle come into view.“Reasonable adjustments, my hoof,” he mutters.“They tell ya they’ll sort things,but it’s always you doing the heavy lifting.No wonder you’re buyin’ your own safety devices -stop goin’ cap in hand,to people who measure your worth against a budget sheet.”IV.As I exit, he stamps a hoof,tusks gleaming like two very sharp opinions.“Listen, darlin’,” he says,“you deserve better than endless loopsand instructions written by desk goblins.You’re allowed to protect yourself.You’re allowed to rest.You’re allowed to fantasise about gently, metaphoricallyhoisting the whole stack of nonsense onto my tusksand launchin’ it into the nearest passing cloud.”V.He tells me to give his respects to the chough.He gives me a look that’s half feral, half fond.“Go on then,” he says. “Be brave.And if life throws more nonsense at ya today,just imagine me behind you,snortin’ like a steam train,toofy tusks polished, ready to defend youin the most dream-only, paperwork-free way possible.”I thank him and, under my breath, acknowledgehe really is worth the hassle.
