Beaver Hateman has confiscated my traction engine. He informed me that the people's commissariat had decided that it is 'environmentally unsound'.
He told me that I would now have to travel everywhere by bike.
"But don't worry you won't have to nick one, mate, cos out of the generosity of our hearts we are gonna lend you one!" laughed Beaver. A caustic reference to the incident in my youth when I had borrowed a bicycle without informing it's owner.
He then wheeled out a penny farthing!
It is a most uncomfortable ride. The only saving grace is that it has an awning. It is now very hot. The village is floating towards the coast of North Africa, and the villagers have taken to having a siesta in the afternoon or basking in the sunshine.
The creepers that used to struggle a few inches a year up the old brick walls have begun to spread over the eaves and clamber up the chimneys. The little cacti plants of the village allotment holders, that barely survived in their greenhouses, are now flowering and flourishing.
Given the parlous state the world is in at the moment I know that I should be giving more thought to rebuilding the structure of international finance, but no one seems to want to hear my views anymore - they are too busy being taken in by Beaver's rhetoric.
Quite frankly, although I feel somewhat guilty about it, I am rather enjoying these days in the sun without any responsibilities.
The only annoying factor, today, has been that Hitmouse has insisted on following me around everywhere inside a big balloon. Everywhere I went he would roll into view. He said that he was making sure that I was not trying to ferment unrest amongst the villagers.
I dealt with him. I accused him of being a champagne socialist, knowing how much the taunt would enrage him.
He did, indeed, become furious and immediately pulled out his skewers and threw them at me.
This, of course, resulted in the balloon becoming punctured. It flew off into the air taking Hitmouse with it. Hopefully, his ego will be as deflated as the balloon.