So, pond nails…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s sound in the night was that of the spooky tolling church bell deep under the sea in the submerged village.

‘Good morning…’
‘Good morning – I hope I’m in the right department…’
‘Yes, I hope so too. How can I be of assistance?’
‘Well, I’ve just come up from haberdashery, where my needs were not met.’
‘Not met?’
‘No, not even slightly met.’
‘So how may I…’
‘Pond nails.’
‘Pond nails?’
‘I am not surprised that you found no joy down in haberdashery.’
‘No joy indeed – have you got any?’
‘I don’t think so, in fact I don’t actually know what they are… What are they?’
‘They are special nails to stop your pond from moving about on your lawn; my pond used to be dead central, but it’s edging off to the left, of its own volition.’
‘Yes, towards Mrs Whemmer’s garden – before long it will be through her hedge and gone… So, pond nails, please…’
‘I see…’
‘To nail it down.’
‘Hm, I’m not optimistic… However, I do recall that we did once have some pool spikes in stock, but there was no call for them.’
‘No call?’
‘Right then… Oh, is that the time?’
‘Yes, that’s the time alright…’
‘Okay then, do you have any fridges that play music when you open the door?’
‘Did they have any down in haberdashery?’
‘Well, we haven’t got any here either.’
‘Is that really twenty to eleven?’
‘It certainly is.’
‘What about yellow dusters with reptiles printed on them?’
‘Only one left I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, what is it?’
‘Gila monster.’
‘No, no, I don’t think so…’
‘I thought that you didn’t look like a Gila monster sort of chap.’
‘Oh? What sort of chap do you think I look then?’
‘Well sir, it’s not for me to say.’
‘Come on, force yourself.’
‘Alright then, newt.’
‘A newt isn’t a reptile… is it?’
‘I don’t know… Is there anything else you are after?’
‘A cardboard kettle.’
‘Electric, or put on the gas?’
‘No… sorry.’
‘Hm, let me think… Have you a vase in the shape of a haircut?’
‘Well, now you are talking! We have an extensive range of them.’
‘Pot ones?’
‘Of course – we have: ’50s quiff, mullet, crew, punk spike fluorescent, Afro, neat newsreader, ’80s big hair, and more!’
‘Can I look at a neat newsreader in ginger please?’
‘Right then, it says here on the box lid that there’s one ginger and two distinguished grey temples… There… look, isn’t that nice?’
‘My word, it’s just the thing – and it’s a good size too – a few daffs in that would look… Hey! What are those things in the corner of the box?…’
‘What things?’
‘See, just there… glinting in the… You’re sure that clock is right?’
‘Yes, it’s linked to Greenwich by wires… Oh, these things!’
‘Yes, what are they?’
‘Well, well, well… would you believe it?’
‘Yes, I think I would.’
‘Pool spikes! They must be old stock… I’ll tell you what, no charge, I’ll throw them in with your ginger neat newsreader vase.’
‘Not in the pond I hope!… Ho ho ho!…’
‘No indeed!… ha, ha, ha!…’
‘Well… what a productive morning – and it’s only 11.55…’
‘11.55 GMT sir…’
‘Of course… of course…’

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, dreaming, existentialism, humour, information, mind, style, surrealism and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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