I am going to make wands and sell them to witches.
No, honestly! This time, it is sure to be a success!
Okay, my idea about selling tactile steering-wheel covers to blind people. Admittedly, I did not think that one through. But witches! We have zillions of witches in England looking for circles and covens - I have even seen adverts for them in our local community hall - and I bet they all want new wands supplied with a special spell-collecting Knicker Drawer Witchery Note Book!
Shark is not impressed. As usual, she takes after her father. She pooh-poohs my idea and says I am just trying to fob off witches with old sticks.
Nonsense. I am helping the witches. I am helping them channel their natural spiritual energies into an essential tool of their craft. I know about these things. It is not black cats and Satan these days, you know. It is all healing energies, chakras and crystals. They have gone very New Age with their Druids. And I will be very respectful in my handling of that willow, elder, and oak. I will not simply stick on chunks of plastic to a bit of old wood before slapping on a price tag of a tenner.
Not that I had these thoughts in mind when I purchased my very own wand today. It cooed to me, I am your wand! I am your wand! I simply couldn't resist the calling, emanating from the Wytchy Market in a disused bus terminus opposite Milton Keynes railway station.
You may look at my wand, dear reader, since Shark has so far displayed nothing but scorn (possibly envy in disguise).
See? Half dark; half light; all bitter wood and twisted, with a gleam of false light at the end. It is mine.
I am filling my wand with energy right now, and will wave it about, probably over the washing up, the vacuuming of the stairs, and the clearing out of Squirrel's bed, when it will surely give me the strength to carry on.
And I am dealing with Shark. Becos any fule no that if you try to fob off witches, they turn you into toad.
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