Right, see you again next week then…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s special sounds are: murmur, thud, murmur, thud, crackle, thud, and murmur.

An observation, in the cafe, late Monday afternoon:
Two middle-aged adults entered, one m, one f.
They looked like they were very much married. Both had silver hair and foreign holiday tans. They went to the bar and ordered regular cappuccini and carried them to a table and made themselves comfortable. Within five minutes they were joined by a quietly dressed girl of about 17 or 18, whom I guessed was their daughter. She was straightway supplied with a regular cappuccino too. She looked as if she might be a student at some local college, and that this meeting was a regular weekly or perhaps fortnightly ‘family get together’.
The three of them sat and sipped…
The father sat not really facing his wife or daughter, but sideways on, and stared into distant space and tapped his new-looking training shoe shod foot on the floor, nearly in time with the music playing over the cafe speakers. He kept his mouth closed most of time, but his jaw moved slowly behind his lips as if he was chewing something small and annoying.
The mother, separated from her spouse by the low round table, crouched bird-like with her nose well into a tabloid newspaper and occasionally read out items from it in a small monotone, and then glanced over her spectacles at the other two to observe any reactions to the information. The girl held her cup with both hands and sipped her coffee; she looked glum, and stared into space, but it was a different space from that that her father was staring into…
A few words and nods were exchanged in the twenty minutes that they stayed, but most of it was spent in silence. They eventually took it in turns to visit the toilet and then got up and slowly floated out, leaving their copy of the Daily Express on the table…

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 brain, conversation, drama, existentialism, Hull.UK., humour, information, observations, serendipity, surrealism and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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