Saturday, 17 May 2008

1. Funch is a fiddler

Sitting in the basement everything was a bit dull.
Funch sat there twiddling her thumbs.

Left thumb. Right thumb. Left thumb. Right thumb.
They were both still working.

It was only last week she'd sat in the bath - carefully drawn by Mummikins, not too hot, not too deep - with a pumice in her hand. Rubbing her thumbs raw wasn't the cleverest thing she'd ever done, but it did solve the immediate problem.

Body hair on a lady is not so often appreciated, and Funch knew this. At the age of 2, when she started to grow her first whiskers, she'd immediately tried to get rid of them. So it was a great joy for her that all that rubbing had paid off.

Her thumbs wiggled beneath their plasticated wrappers. Pink butterflies obscuring the clotted, hairy mess of her thumbs. And for the short few weeks it'd take to heal she could forget about hair and hair related problems. She was free from that ever-present reminder of her rather strange medical condition.