The washing
machine drum started to tumble, and the Wabbit gripped his phone to communicate with his unconscious. "Hello, anyone there?" asked the Wabbit. He heard muffled sounds and a
crackling, then suddenly a familiar voice boomed from the earphone. "Hello, who’s
calling please?" "It’s the Wabbit and I know
your voice - it’s Snail," said the Wabbit. "You’re very clear! You could be
standing next to me," said Snail, "where are you calling from?" "I’m in my
deep unconscious," said the Wabbit, "but what are you doing here?" "Nothing
leaves the psyche," said Snail sagely. "If I’m in your unconscious, I must
represent something important to you, Wabbit. Can you think what it is?" The Wabbit
thought as the drum tumbled slowly. "Well, you’re stalwart and principled
and I can always rely on you," he said. "That’s all very well," said
Snail. "But can you think of anything negative?" The Wabbit thought hard for a small criticism that wouldn’t offend, but Snail seemed to know
what he was thinking. "I won't take offence, Wabbit. I am merely a relational object amongst others in your
psyche," he said soothingly. "OK," said the Wabbit. "you can be a bit pompous
sometimes." "Pompous!" said Snail. "How
dare you! I think that rightly belongs to you." "I suppose," agreed the Wabbit
and he thought again. "Snail, do you have a complaint about me?" "Yes," said
Snail. "It’s your misplaced humour." "Ah!" smiled the Wabbit, "if I misplaced my
humour, then it’s not lost and I’ll find it again soon." There was a long
silence. "Do you see what I mean?" sighed Snail.
