Off to the seaside…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s featured letter of the alphabet is the rather nicely shaped capital ‘J’.
A very handy letter is the capital J – its hook is excellent for hanging a weighty piece of prose on, or one can detach it from the page and use it to retrieve a dropped object which has rolled across the floor just out of one’s reach.

Here’s a little something from the days when I did my blogging on that ropy old thing called Myspace:

‘For God’s sake Brownlow, stop dithering and get in the car!’
‘Sorry Professor, it was a bit of a rush getting ready on time, I haven’t even cleaned my teeth or…’
‘Get your seat belt fastened, I want to beat the early morning traffic.’
‘But sir, when you phoned you didn’t actually say where we were going, or how long…’
‘Bloody pedestrians!… We are off to see a chap on the south coast…’
‘A friend of yours Professor?’
‘No, he’s a blighter! Can’t stand the man!… Is this a bus lane?… I was at school with him, an absolute bounder… and close that window again!…’
‘Sorry sir… Then why are we going to see him?…’
‘Politician… He owns a chain of fast food outlets down there… He says he’s invented, bloody taxis!… a new type of hot sandwich that will make him a fortune. Is this road the A34 going south?…’
‘I don’t know sir… So, how are we involved in his venture? It can’t have much to do with archaeology…’
‘No, it hasn’t… Sodding traffic lights! But if we, that is I, use my high media profile to help with the publicity for the launch of the new snack, his government department will fund our research for the next two years… Have you seen Didcot yet Brownlow?’
‘Is it a film sir?’
‘No, damn it!… Perhaps this isn’t the A34 after all…’
‘So Professor, this isn’t a weekend off then?… We’ll be sort of… working?’
‘Yes, of course we will.’
‘So, how shall I describe it in the office workbook sir?’
‘Oh, just give it the title, Talky Torquay Toady Tory Tasty Toasty…’
‘Sorry sir, but could you repeat that… Oh, mind that hay cart!…’
‘Damn and blast!…’
‘Oh look over there Professor, Highclere Castle… Ouch!…’



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 advertising, archeology, conversation, drama, expletives, food, humour, information, surrealism and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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