Ra Ra Rasputin, flailing limbs in tangerine…

It has begun, dear reader. I have been indulging in some regression therapy to try and reconcile myself to the submerged memories from my deep and top secret past. Some memories I suspect have been purposefully hidden from me by conspiratorial men clutching padlocked briefcases and lurking in doorways with soya lattes. I have also been performing daily vocal affirmations whilst breakfasting (something that the loons misinterpreted as a rebellious throat crumb) and I have been surreptitiously polishing the Mistresses’ mystical crab in my loving paws. Yes, I do feel that I have invoked a certain calmness and it does seem to be working to some extent as some snippets are coming back to me, but I have found the experience somewhat draining and it has left me with a certain sense of glumness…which as you know, I am not a fan of. To counteract this murksome fog I have been idly tapping away on the internet highway and have found a splendid diversion. It began whilst I was perusing something called youtube, which presents short television clips of many strange things. It was whilst tittering at these then that I stumbled across a really rather compelling clip which had a throng of athletic people whizzing around on shoes that had small wheels attached to them. They appear to be shut into a room with flashing lights and raucous, throbbing music. They all displayed expressions of the utmost joy. This could be interesting. There was also lycra. Did I mention the glitter ball?

Sitting back in my reclining leisure chair I began to see myself in a whole new light. I sketched out some preliminary ideas and presented it to the tall loping man of Spindle Towers, Hector. He begrudgingly cast aside his special magnifying goggles – the very same goggles he once wore to fix my mistresses mystical glass crab (the most shocking case of crustacean overhanding I have ever seen). He appraised my drawing with his usual engineers expression of stern concentration and seemed to understand the concept quite quickly. He began to furiously make notes with the stubby, nibbled HB pencil that lives behind his right ear. Sometimes, if he has an undignified hissy fit, which is rare – but hilarious, the pencil goes flying across the room to surpassed  snorts from the Mistress. I can tell I have fired up an idea in his mind – always quite dangerous, his middle name should be ‘over-engineered because I can’.
It doesn’t take much to encourage him to wheel out one of his numerous singer sewing machines, especially if, in this case there is the whiff of leather in the offing. That however is a different story and one that should be told after 9pm.

I know what you are thinking, yes, another diversion from my memoirs, but one must go where ones imagination leads. Although wanting to maintain a strong sense of adventure and derring do in this new wheel based pursuit, I still wanted very much to convey a sense of the countryside gentle hound…so, my initial design thoughts centered around modifying spatts…which would them be used with any mode of footwear I fancied…then I thought reverting to type and modifying my comfortable walking brogues…either way I do insist on being elegantly turned out. Hector, armed with full instructions, tweed swatches and a glint in his eye, scuttled off to his workshop, his HB bristling with excitement.

Several days later he presented me with a small box. Well! He has truly outdone himself this time. Laying inside freshly ironed tissue paper (yes, he does this too) were four, beautifully hand crafted leather roller brogue boots, complete with a stopper on each toe! I am not ashamed to admit that my eyes filled up with tears of happiness and I permitted Hector a heartfelt head butt to the thigh. I began to liberally oil up my wheels and add a modicum of snooker chalk to the stoppers on the end of my booties. The booties really are a triumph of engineering. Hector is, as it happens rather a clever chump and can annoyingly turn his hand to anything. On this occasion it has benefited me greatly.

The roller dome beckons!