The chocolate clock sits in the middle of the living room floor…looking very smug.
It arrived a few days before The Fatdog left and I suspect The Fatdog knew very well why it had come. She gave no apparent sign of concern when it suddenly popped out of nowhere and set itself down next to her old square of carpet. After a quick lick she decided it was the wrong flavour of chocolate and thereafter ignored it completely.
At the time we hadn’t a bloody clue why it had appeared, and still don’t, The Fatdog having taken her secret away with her. Two months on this 6′ chocolatier’s dream of a grandfather clock (of doubtful artistic merit I would add) still clutters our living room and refuses point blank to budge. It’s not all bad news though – it shuffles to the corner of the room when we sit down to watch telly, and then shuffles back to the centre of the floor when we leave the room. The situation is…workable.
Earlier efforts to move it ended in abject failure. Pushing, pulling, lifting, attempted breaking (and eating) – nope…didn’t budge a millimetre. Demanding, asking, suggesting and (most pathetically) begging, met with similar negative responses from this seemingly indestructible lump of horological confection. The emergency services coped very well with the aftermath of the final, desperate, “I know…let’s melt it with a flamethrower!” attempt to remove it. Just as well our insurance cover was up to date.
So we’re stuck with it, this great-granddaddy of all great-granddaddy clocks. Thing is, it’s worse than useless if you want to know the time. Skipping over the fact that it isn’t actually working (and that it’s constructed entirely of unbreakable chocolate) there is the minor problem that its face numbers from 1 to13.
More accurately, I should have said “wasn’t working”. Roughly a week ago, and completely out of the blue, it suddenly began to…”tick”.
Now, I’m not sure if something beginning to…”tick”, having been totally silent since its arrival, is necessarily a good thing. In film plots nothing good ever comes from something starting to… “tick”. Yes, I realise clocks are supposed to…”tick”, but that’s making the gross assumption that it is actually a clock.
Whatever its function there is the distinct feeling that someone, somewhere, has pressed a button and the…”ticking” chocolate clock is now…”WAITING”…for its next instruction.