A ticket to Bath…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s gooseberry is the macho outgoing one.

‘Yes sir?’
‘Yes, hello… can I have a return ticket to Bath please?’
‘Bath… Why would you be wanting to go there?’
‘What?… Could we get a move on please, my train leaves in ten minutes!’
‘You’ll be meaning Bath in Somerset I suppose?’
‘Of course! Is there another one?
‘Well sir, it’s not for me to say… you tell me…’
‘Look here my man, there’s a queue of people building up behind me and… Are you going to give me a ticket or not?’
‘Yes! That’s what I said!…’
‘Hm, I can understand why you’d not be staying there that long – you are not that sort of cove…’
‘Yes, you ugly great fat simpering ne’er-do-well – cove, it’s a term somewhat fallen out of fashion these days – P. G. Wodehouse would often…’
‘Look here! Are you going to give me a… What do you mean fat?…’
‘Porky, rotund, chubby…’
‘Listen, you officious little worm, I’m going to complain to your…’
‘Just try it! You banjo-pick down-draught!’
‘I can’t believe this! All I want is a ticket to…’
‘What you want sir, does not concern me, you upstart pantaloon duck!…’
‘You… you…’
‘Well… What am I?…’
‘You are a dainty-boy brick shard!’
‘Oh that’s nice! Coming from a bubble sandwich on a thin bike like you. You are but a raindrop rolling off a greasy plate!’
‘You bobbin!’
‘Jackdaw in a dirty apron!’
‘Pouncing kitten!’
‘Do you require a smoking carriage sir?’
‘What! They don’t do smoking carriages anymore – you crack-nut pansy-pot!’
‘What about a nice quiet ‘no phones’ carriage? By the way, the people behind you are getting rather agitated sir… I should hurry up if I were you… you bad crew-cut on a gladioli!’
‘Listen here, you ripped blouse in a box of castors, I…’
“A box of castors’ – that’s nice! I like that!’
‘Do you?’
‘Oh yes…’
‘What about the pouncing kitten from earlier?’
‘It was alright, but it doesn’t have the class of the castors… Facing the direction of travel sir?’
‘Oh, yes please… you, charred rissole in a pouch!’
“In a pouch’ – I can see that you’ve done this sort of thing before… Oh look, you slow spinning bowl of da-da, the queue behind you has given up and gone… That will be forty-four pounds and forty-four pence please…’
‘Da-da?… There you are… Hey! These tickets are for Ramsgate – I wanted…’
‘Listen, you bruised pink docket, you’ll like Ramsgate – it’s just the place for a cove like you!’
‘Oh, alright then, you are probably right… you dark brooding imbecile…’
‘Bun sucker!’
‘Arse bouncer!’
‘Thanks… bye…’

About Dave Whatt

Grumpy old surrealist artist, musician, postcard maker, bluesman, theatre set designer, and debonair man-about-town. My favourite tools are the plectrum and the pencil...
This entry was posted in art, brain, conversation, drama, Dulltown, existentialism, expletives, Grumpiness, humour, information, mind, story, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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