Monday, June 13

Faint heart never won fair glove puppet: Mike's rooftop protest runs aground.

The story so far: In a last-ditch bid to save Zoe's so-called "stowaway" housemate, the irrepressibly lovely Quickos, from eviction (and possible incineration), Mike has been staging a rooftop protest all morning, calling upon his fellow housemates to support him in his struggle. Now read on.

Immediately upon hearing Big Blogger's stern warning, Mike stops performing his energetically improvised "Save Quickos" freedom dance. Gathering his robe carefully around his rapidly chilling loins, he crouches cautiously at the roof's edge, and addresses his fellow housemates.

"Er... guys? Are you... um... with me, or what?"

The housemates (except for Clair, who is still being treated for post-traumatic shock in the Diary Room) shuffle nervously, staring at their feet (for reasons which have already been made abundantly clear).

After a long pause, Alan is the first to speak.
"Obviously Mike you have our full support. Er... moral support that is. Yes, yes, definitely lots of moral support.

Oh, and you can have my athletic support as well, cos the wind keeps doing a Marilyn on your dressing gown and it's making Miss Mish a bit overly frisky."
"What about the rest of you?", Mike demands. "I'll ask you one more time: ARE YOU WITH ME?"

After receiving an curt nod of assent from Vicus Scurra and Grocer Jack, Dr. Rob pipes up.
I would be with you of course, being once almost a member of the Socialist Workers Party, and practically a card carrying revolutionary, but first I need to call a meeting, get down the pub, have a few beers, discuss the dialectics of the whole action, put it to the vote, declare the vote illegal, discuss it some more, then have it ratified by Castro and then, only then dear comrade will we join you in your glorious struggle.
"I see. Does anyone have anything else to add?"

Gordon can hold himself back no longer.
Oi mike, while you're up there... gonna throw down that frisbee... cheers!!
"Very well. On your own consciences be it, but I cannot fight your battles alone. Instead my protest shall continue, um, indoors. After I've showered, dressed and eaten, of course. Now, can someone give me a hand down? If I can just get my leg across this... hang on, where's everyone gone?"

Finding himself suddenly alone in the garden, all Mike can hear is muffled sobbing from the Diary Room, and muffled giggling from the living area. And was it just the rustling of leaves in the trees beyond the perimeter fence, or did he hear someone inside the house mutter the dreaded words "attention seeker"?

The very thought.


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