A red velvet pouch concealed the silver pointer.

There was a point to be made, the tools of attention were unnecessary.

Sending a fleeting glance towards the sky, long-lost and still hopeful of rescue, the party edged closer.

Closer to what, no-one was sure.

There was a feeling the searching was over, the light seemed clearer, bluer and warmer.

Today, at lunchtime we will drink a toast to the unknown party.

It looked like smoke but it was the dust from rugs being “thwacked” to clean them.

The morning had started in an original fashion, the residents were all qualified “creators” and they managed to find something fresh to greet every day.

Being original was the ultimate sign of nobility. To repeat was to be a bottom rung tag-sailer (a local phrase for someone who clung to the efforts of others so as to be swept along without their own exertion).

A strange place, a weird state.

The travel agent must have been crazy or had an odd sense of humor to book us in here to stay at the Shifting Minds Hotel.

Sombre happiness abounded. Screened by shrieking laughter and dry wrinkled, soft, and astounded multi-fiber cloths.

Twist and turn, pour slowly and type quietly. The burn rate is high in Solikamsk. Recruitment never stuck it out in Peron’s inflationary times.

Still they sing songs of habit rather than comfort. But some habits have been so very comfortable.

Leave the forest traffic for later, starlit and breeze-born.

We planted several ideas. Big ideas.

We added the purest mineral water and some vitamins.

Now the world is saved.

Relax.

Rest easy.

It will be fine. Better, in fact.

Drowning in cheerful wisdom and hopeful biscuits.

Food again!? Biscuits, except the southern type, are not really food, so we’re ok.

And don’t worry, there are plenty of lifeguards, and these days they teach you to swim spontaneously before you swallow too much water.

And now, we are floating on a cloud of suede-covered foam, getting plenty of exercise.