Light infantry leads me to meditate on Dr T Suzukis assertion that enlightenment is like everyday consciousness, walking down the street, except that you’re two inches above the ground; and I see our squaddies gliding to glory on Hover Boots!
Whose development proves no bovver in the lab: just a wicked in vitro wedding of shoe leather and bird DNA, with just a pinch of the Abdab’s own flying carpet technology. Until the world’s greatest soft shoe shuffle is ready for the kick-off.
And at first, my incredible anti-gravity footwear dazzles the foot-weary world. They delicately float our ladies two inches above the pavement, the puddles and the doggy poo like good fairies; and they take the weight off the feet of our plodding police and postmen.
A few niggling complaints do creep in, of shoes legging it from under beds and nesting in trees; but I kick these into touch as mere teething troubles. Until GCHQ monitor this Air Traffic Control Navaid: Be aware - large flock of St Jude nuns at umpteen thousand feet, hovering to heaven in winged high heels.
But the big flockup comes in Autumn, when the leaves fall but all my magic shoes rise and fly off their feet to fill the azure skies. Birds laugh themselves silly as flocks of boots and ballet shoes join them in the great migration, flying south for the Winter.
I bet you could have kicked yourself, you’re thinking; but I didn’t have to: a flighty pair of aptly named bomber boots crept up behind, then dam-busted me out of my study window to land face down in the muck-heap below.
Why don't I invent something sensible, I muse, until Dr Suzuki whispers to me again: Man with both feet firmly on ground no get trousers off.
© Mike Atkinson
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