“I could hear the rhythmic, sonorous chant -My Pony, my pony, my pony - and then, in what sounded like a catch in the breath of some antediluvian god, was the punctuated, high-pitched squeal of the high priest. ‘And me!’, he answered. Almost in reflex, with a heavy sigh, the devoted followers breathy chant resumed, desperate to resuscitate their hoary, pastel deity. “