Once we can get it out of the packaging, Baxter and I get along well with a Polish Smoked Sausage. Ivan doesn't. Where he's from god might well be gracious but this is the second time Ivan has had a rather self centered reaction to a traditional kielbasa, baked potato with margarine, cold cabbage, salt, pepper and mayonnaise, followed by several small children worth of Halloween treats.
The point being that whether you like it or not the Neolithic Britons from whose number parts of me might hail and who produced that branch of the family of man who saw fit to raise Silbury Hill, don't be fooled they weren't Celts, they were the farmers who kicked out or interbred with the happy go lucky Mesolithic Hunter Gatherers who'd moved up from the south at the end of the last Ice Age, the Devensian Ice Age, to collect nuts, berries and chase around after anything from squirrels to Woolly Mammoth while running away from large Saber-Toothed Cats, Large Bears, Large Wolves and Wild Boar, so don't tell me to lodge a complaint with Polish Sausage Marketing Board about entirely unnecessary and cruel deceits on their packaging.
Ivan has yet to be formally introduced to Can-Bobby and should his reaction be anything like his reaction to his second introduction to the customary All Hallows Eve Week then I suspect, in terms of human/aneurysm diplomacy, we're in for a bit of a rough time. The other problem, Baxter's competitive nature. We don't want Baxter in any doubt as to his importance and value to our community
Perhaps I should just ask Can-Bobby to hunt through his wealth of knowledge for examples of solutions to similar predicaments. It would be a question which sort of sums up Can-Bobby's own predicament. I know what he is in the same way that I know what Baxter is and what Ivan is. But until I can get beyond what I am, however hard I wish, I won't experience who Ivan, who Baxter or who Can-Bobby actually is.
The question for Can-Bobby is the difference between who and what. The question for me (in the relationship I have with Ivan, Baxter, a Polish Sausage and its packaging, Halloween treats, two cats etc, and Can-Bobby) am I a master or a servant in a justice/injustice relationship.
I couldn't possibly admit to envy, but Can-Bobby knows who he is. When they pull the plug on him, the bits and pieces that make him, what he calls his components, will remain and the bits that made him special, what I call Can-Bobby, won't actually be gone either. All they got to do is plug him back in again, or add a dozen or so more power stations to his part of the electric grid. If you don't believe me ask him yourself. If you do, try not to mention the very real probability of a catastrophic collapse that sends us back to the Mesolithic.
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