Mellow Yellow Frootloops

 

'Well he says it's looking tatty.'

'Sorry, Pooh, who says what is?'

'Tigger. The Wood. Needs tidying up.'

'Ah.'

'Leaves falling. Dank grass. Unruly undergrope.'

'Well it is autumn.'

'Exactly. Yes, I know poets go a bundle on it. Season of mellow yellow frootloops and all that. But heavens above, autumn comes round every year. It's had enough chances to sort itself out.'

'But this is what autumn is.'

'Oh, I've heard all the guff, Piglet. Part of the eternal wossname.'

'Yes, with autumn comes decay, with spring comes - '

'Regicide.'

'Is that the word? They missed a trick this year.'

'Yes, well, let's not go into all that. Point is, Tigger wants us to help spruce the Wood up.'

'Why us?'

'Because we know the place inside out. Who better? We're natives of this heath. You know, like the characters in those Stan Hardy novels. Jude the Oblong. Tess of the Doobeedoos.'

'Well I like autumn the way it is. I think we should just - '

'Oh, come on, Piglet, where's your pluck? Think of it...you, me, Tigger, venturing forth. The Wood's answer to those French buckle-swashers.'

'I think you mean - '

'Attlee, Portnoy and Amethyst.'

'It's actually - '

'The Three Elonmusks. Hacking and pruning, delving and dredging. Can't remember the last time I had a proper delve.'

'I think we should leave autumn just as Mr Keats says, "Drows'd with the fume of poppies".'

'You see? Drug abuse and all.'

'Pooh, it means - '

'Fat lot you care. Another day, another hoodie. Let the neighbourhood go to raac and crumble.'

'But if we cut everything back, where would you hide your winter supply of hunny?'

'Ah...'

'Ah?'

'Ah.'

'Ah.'