Like fruit flies drawn to the miasma of John Barleycorn, these minnows of the garden pond, titans of their own mirrors, legends in their own lunchtimes, have lined up behind a rather unlikely lead candidate.
The man at the front of the queue is not yesterday's man, more yesteryear's man.
But, he's a sucker for thinking he's popular, and the people lined up behind him know that very well.
Don't be fooled...this formation will not last: cloaks are being worn, and the daggers beneath those cloaks are equipped with razor-sharp blades.
Still, before the bloodletting begins in earnest, it might be fun to watch a bit of a peacock dance!