Actually muse is quite a grand word for it. Imagine a very small and largely incontinent primate scattering nuts around.
Anyhow, it's gone. I can't find it anywhere.
It's possible the monkey is in the laundry basket under those complicated garments that just live there because no one can be bothered to iron them. There's a chance it's in the garden - no one would ever notice.
Might it be hibernating?
Wouldn't it be handy if your muse - mojo, apelet, inspiration, whatever - had a paging capacity like the house phone. Push the button and, eventually, you get a weird faraway siren sound from the back of the sofa, my coat pocket, a handbag (fingers crossed not the one I sold on eBay last week).
It may well be under a pile of litter, unaccountably made up of chocolate wrappers (Green and Blacks Maya Gold) and empty bags that once held salt and vinegar square crisps.
I've misplaced it for a while before. Sometimes all it took was a glance at the Daily Mail, a run-in with one of my children or a particularly fetching fetching thing and it was back. Not today. I tried luring it with a really important piece of work on deadline, normally a cert. But nope.
Sometimes I look at the half-written posts and find inspiration skulking. There are 88 posts sitting in draft ranging from the turgid (things I've noticed from watching lots of detective shows) to the incomprehensible (Star Wars v The Archers). Meh.
Maybe the little blighter has gone to the shops? The pub? Supper with friends? A dirty weekend in Ardrossan? I don't suppose I'd blame it, after all; things have been a little quiet round here for a while.
I could write about my inner thoughts (who cares?), my outer attire (I don't even care?), what I'm cooking (does grazing direct from the fridge count as cooking?). Ho flipping hum.
How about some slightly fuzzy photos of my children? (Not that interesting, I'll concede, but they are better seen through a soft-focus filter)
Maybe, I'll just publish this. That'll show that missing monkey that I can do perfectly well without it. Muse my arse.
Oh, What's that? Anyone for a peanut.
by Asim Bijarami via flickr
