Contrary to what the general public believes, you get no easy ride in the Kingdom of Hippie.
One time i crashed Wild Rover, crawling out from underneath with both my body and dignity somewhat bruised. After having established that i’d broken no bones or sustained any internal injuries, Calculus sent me off to fulfil my assigned duty of the day: milking the goats. Their milk, squirted in a wooden pail, reddened with blood, which might well have been mine. Calculus did not think so, and had me inspect the goats’ teats for seeping sores. Not a comfortable task at the best of (accident free) times. The Kommune allowing the goat’s horns to grow. Burning heads at 1000 Degrees Celsius to prevent horn growth is barbaric.
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