There’s something really something innately pathetic about fluttering isn’t there? People fret and fickly flicker between one choice or another as if they don’t really quite know their own minds. It speaks to possibly not a weakness but to a lacking quality within their own character. Or perhaps it doesn’t, they might simply be trying to make sure that everyone’s satisfied with a particular outcome or that they have all the information needed for a certain decision. Or simple sillingtons who don’t know how to behave in polite company.
Nevertheless, sometimes fluttering can serve a useful purpose. One might desire the talent of being able to bat one’s eyelashes prettily and bend others to their will. And once you’ve found yourself in a bit of a fix you can start fluttering around for all your worth if you think it’ll make the slightest little iota of difference. Like the dead pigeon I encountered on my way to and from work today probably attempted before it pegged it.
But perhaps the flutter you had in mind has nothing especially to do with waggling any part of your anatomy in a suggestive or panicked way. You could well have wanted to partake in a wager or two. Now that the season of sport has well and truly descended whether or not I want it to be the only thing anyone ever frigging well talks about.
The whole point of having a flutter on the tennis or the football or cricket or your competition in a dank and sweaty room of your choice is that it won’t break the bank. Don’t start making huge bets to the point of having to remortgage your abode or sell a kidney or anything in that league. The amount of money at stake should be inversely proportional to your smugness at emerging victorious. Bet a fiver and you’ll crow for months. Twenty pence and you’ll practically insist that they declare you as the all knowing seer of winning.
Flutter – Bonobo