Rocket Lollies and The Marmite Geese

He sips his drink.
The fire is well lit - an indication of his organised character.
He takes his reading glasses off and stares into the dimmest part of the
fire.
Like a flaming bouquet it spills and flutters like an ill pigeon.
Did I do enough? Did I do too much? What could I have done if I was
given the chance?
He puts his glasses back on and resumes the "in paper favourite" Ruffle
in order to whittle down the evening.
It's not out of choice that he entertains what is at very best, a very dull number
puzzle.
The reason is because the TV is beginning to ooze marmite shaped geese
from the screen again.
Did I do enough? He asks again.
A stray fly still kicks about from the Indian summer past.
It's pathetic.
It's random movements in mid air serves as a stark reminder that when
the going gets tough, flies are poor navigators. There's no excuse for
it.
He grabs a VERY old rocket lolly from the freezer. Must be 2 Summers
old.
He just about manages to un-peel the tacky, frozen wrapper before
dangling it in front of the fire.
He times how long it takes to completely melt...
32 secs.
He lobs the stick into the fire and licks the overly sweet remains off
his 4 fingered hand.
He reverses back and mis judges where his chair is placed.
There he lay. On the flaw, mildly embarrassed.
As he lays there, with sticky rocket fingers, the fly lands on his nose.
Could this get any worse?
Something strange is creeping up his knee.
An itch? No, it's lasting too long for an itch, besides, it feels heavy.
Its the gaggle of marmite geese. S**T.
Disabled on the floor, covered in marmite and rocket juice the fly
nestles into his nostril.
Fin.