Dulltown, Europe: Today’s random dictionary words are: moggan, epideictic, bugloss, samshu, kistvaen, and kippage.
Please have these words looked up and placed in suitable sentences ready for Professor Mouldie first thing after breakfast tomorrow morning. Mrs Mouldie may be present and dressed as a slutty barmaid – you must pretend she is not there.
Ordinary supermarket cheese before bedtime doesn’t seem to make me have dreams, but I find that Marks & Spencer’s rather expensive ‘Vintage Cheddar Cornish Cruncher’ certainly does the trick.
‘See, I’m glad we’ve come here… It’s a funny little town isn’t it?… Alright then, you wait here and I’ll go inside and pay for the tickets for the flight.’
The sandy-haired brown-suited head teacher (was it Mr Stubbs or Mr History?) was sitting on a child’s chair at a very low shabby office desk; a clutter of files, blotters, jars of pens, a stapler, a hand-cranked pencil sharpener, and two cream telephones were on it. He looked up and stared at me, light bushy eyebrows over the top of his bright glasses. I placed our two cheques for the tickets in a space on the desk in front of him and immediately noticed that although the ‘amounts in figures’ were filled in, the ‘amounts in words’ were still blank.
‘Look, you can’t fill them in with that pen,’ he snapped, ‘the ink colour won’t match!’
He continued to look at me over the top of his spectacles – his complection and hair had suddenly turned rather grey…
Walking back towards the town centre in the sunshine we passed a side street, and in a quick glance down it I thought that I saw a fleeting image of a double fronted shop with curved windows displaying a wall of neatly stacked ancient TV sets, their small round-cornered, slightly bulging, glassy screens glowing a pale flesh in the sunlight. We stopped.
I said, ‘Hang on, I’ve just got to look down there…’
I peered around the corner into the street, but it wasn’t a shop front at all; there was a tall man, he looked a bit like Kevin Costner, holding a rosy-cheeked small child. They were waiting at a bus stop. The little boy was holding a brightly coloured triangular cardboard box which had the TV sets represented on it; the grinning child was painted on the box too.
Further down the street was a brightly lit small shop selling electric guitars – the inside of the shop was narrow, more like a long corridor than a normal room. There were guitars in glass cases down each side. All the instruments were in reds greens and blues, except for one white bright white Fender Jaguar. I was very surprised to see it there…
The corner of the bus shelter was crammed with people trying to get out of the howling wind, some of which was buffeting through a dirty triangular hole in one of the plastic windows. The information board said that all the buses stopping there would be yellow, but half of them would be old ones, and half would be new. Having recently seen the TV documentary on them I knew that we should try to get on one of the new ones.
‘But wait though, there’s no point in going home yet, we haven’t visited the great second-hand shop down the winding descending cobbled alley!’
‘Do you need anything from there?’
‘No… not really…’
‘Those blackbirds are very loud this morning…’
‘Are they waking you up?’
‘Yes, I think they might be…’