KEY POINTS:
With the precision for which he was renowned, Grobble carefully picked his nose. "I'll have that one," he said, pointing to a warty witch's hooter on the novelty shelf. "It'll look fantastic at the Christmas party."
And there you have it, folks. A little ruse to stand as testament to a larger truth. Things aren't always what they seem. Appearances can be deceptive. In fact, they invariably are. Circumstances do alter CASES.
We all view the world through the prism of our own convictions and that's one prism we can never escape. It is the beholder's eye that decides where beauty lies and the believer's faith which gives the pointed bone its power. We may walk a mile in another man's shoes but we still won't know how they feel on his feet.
Because, if perception is reality, then reality is subjective. And though we think we've swapped the chimera for the camera, the pictures we get are still a trick of the eye.
The just-concluded Australian election is a case in point. Our felonious neighbours' exercise of their preference has yielded all manner of contrary conclusions with learned pundits on this side of the ditch solemnly declaring that the result will be a boost for Mr Key and a fillip for Ms Clark.
Quite what she would do with a fillip when she's already got a Peter is a moot point but, that aside, the vote in Australia surely cannot provide succour for both party leaders.
Putting aside the irreverent suggestion that they've got plenty of succours already, it beggars belief that each is equally buoyed by the outcome.
You can imagine Helen breaking out the bubbly because a Labour leader's won; albeit a Labor leader whose unbridled affection for America would be roundly condemned if he expressed it here. Not that he has, of course, but, for the past year, Mr Rudd's been telling his domestic audience that their country's close ties with America have been the bi-partisan cornerstone of Australian politics for half a century and he has no intention of changing that.
Heavens to murgletroyd! If anyone in the National Party expressed such seditious sentiments, they'd be drummed out of the Greenies forthwith! But no matter. Kevin's Labor and that's what really counts.
So you can imagine Helen being happy. Or, conversely, you can imagine John saying, "Ruddy good show!! This proves the people want change, new leadership, fresh ideas, and a fresh face."
Whether we would want a fresh face that looks (as Mr Rudd's does) alarmingly like Brains from Thunderbirds once he'd grown up is a moot point. The chemistry of love and the chemistry of politics have this in common. Both can be impossible for the outsider to comprehend.
Just as we sometimes look at a couple and wonder what on earth she sees in him (or him in her) so we can look at some other nation's leader and wonder, equally bewildered, what they see in them.
Its the beholder's eye, you see. One man's mate is another man's parson. And whether the rather parsonical Mr Rudd will actually offer any fresh ideas is also debatable. During his victory speech on Sunday, he sounded like nothing so much as the next leader of the Liberal Party. Perhaps the Aussies have rather cleverly voted to keep their old Government and just change the front man. Still and all, with young Kev being new to power and politics it is possible to imagine Mr Key deriving comfort from his victory. But what you can't imagine is the pleasure being mutual.
You can't, for example, imagine John ringing Helen to share a few encouraging words: "Yo, baby! John here. Great result for you, petal!"
"And you, big boy!"
"If you say so."
"I do."
"Me too."
"I say, Mr K. We should try it ourselves! Next year, perhaps? Strict rules, of course. What do you think?"
"Why not? If you can't Beckham, join 'em, as the soccer folk say."
"Oh, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, we belong in coalition."
At which point, several flying pigs inadvertently terminated the call by alighting on the phone line.
Best then to conclude that we can't conclude anything - or that anything we do conclude is probably wrong and leave the last word to the Extinguished Poet Laureate, Mr Jam Hipkins, who may well be speaking for all of us in his latest work, a haunting little piece entitled Springtime in Outer Roa, which he advises should be read aloud in a Sam Hunt voice:-
Flowers in the garden
Coming in budd
Cows in the paddocks
Chewing their cudd
We would take off our clothes
And run round in the nudd -
if only our leaders
Weren't totally dudd
And the bad news was not
A continual fludd
But it is which is why
We are all spitting bludd
And rushing to Oz
To embrace Kevin Rudd!!!
I thank you, m'ludd!