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“One gets a sense of perspective up here, I find” said Aristophanes Brown, as he surveyed the London he loved so much from a relaxed slouch.

“That phrase, Ari, is a cliche now, was a cliche before and will be a cliche long into the future of this pitiful planet.”

“Well often cliches are cliches because they are true. I love looking at the West End from up here, puts me in my rightful place above the sycophants and cretins of Theatreland!”

“Anything you say” sighed Lady Alexia Laplace as she went back to minding the compressor controls. “I’d hate for anything to take you off your lofty perch,” she muttered, before giving a swift twist to a valve, causing Aristophanes’ chair to lurch drunkenly back and forth.

“Ow! Stop that!” he said from his eyrie about the roof of their warehouse.

He was sat, in smoking jacket and rather raffish striped trousers cut for him by Sieberg of Chelsea, in his favourite garden lounger, some 15 feet above the parapet of their building. A flexible india rubber tube of some length reached up to the chair before splitting into four just before the legs, whereupon they were directed downwards to provide upward thrust. A device with little practical purpose other than to act as an ego trip for the dandy theatre critic, it was far too earthbound top ever provide an easy form of transportation.

And as Aristophanes found when he looked back down to find Alexia gone inside, it’s lack of onboard controls were a nuisance.

Copyright Mulberry Lightning 07.07.15