Corner

Goes with splat, muck does. I observed splatness yesterday morning; the night before--three writers visting, scotch and Stellas and Miss Vickie's (thank you for the apostrophe--see that, Tim Hortons?) under consumption--I heard kind of pronounced click. Heard it coming from over my shoulder, over by the printer, but didn't investigate until next morning. Wasn't investigating then either, just turning on my printer which had been hit with muck 'n splat, soggy drywall from above.
I put a call in to Banff Centre staff who replied so promptly I might have been Prince Philip, calling for a spot of tea. Turns out they were more worried about the baby grand piano in my studio (just now I offered a slow reading of "Body and Soul" from my Reader's Digest Family Song Book) than me or my printer. When the weather stabilizes they'll do the fixing. Meanwhile, a four-gallon splat-catcher sits where my printer used to, and the printer itself, de-mucked, takes a corner of my table.