One or two smallish items…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s honoured guests are the George Osborne lookalike twins Nancy and Stan Runty. Come on in you two, sit down on the sofa and let us admire your expensive suits and your creepy false smiles. (G.O.)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Excuses for being late. No. 277.
I’m sorry I’m late, but I discovered a fragment of The True Cross in my pile of logs.

A single overheard remark:
‘Did you have to mention that fucking scumbag!…’

Here’s another nice ‘artist’s statement’ I came across recently. A lot of these things seem to be written in the third person, but I suspect that they are actually written by the artists themselves pretending to be some keen and knowledgeable admirer:
Bridget Askew: The main emphasis of her work is her interest in poetic ideas of evocation and slow time. She uses the optical unconscious and punctrum to help her explore these themes…

Oh, that was strange… it occurred as I was walking back from town late yesterday afternoon. As I passed the Sunny Palace Chinese take-away, which has been closed and boarded up for months, I was suddenly aware that I could detect the strong and appetising aroma of chicken chow mein coming from that direction. I expect it was just all in my head, but I suppose it could have been a ‘ghost smell’ lingering on from the more prosperous days of that establishment… Are there such things as ‘ghost smells’?…

‘Dad…’
‘What?’
‘Would you say that squids are ‘squidgy’?…’
‘No…’
‘What are they then?’
‘Squiddy.’
‘Ah yes, of course…’

An observation:
An old man on the bus, as he received his ticket he thanked the driver with the word ‘ta-utch’. I thought for a moment that he might be a foreigner, but then I realised that ‘ta-utch’ was a clever contraction of, ‘Thank you very much’ or possibly ‘Ta very much’.
I might start using that myself… ta-utch… ta-utch…

God must know that I don’t think much of his annual Christmas thing – he’s even made the paper hats that you get in his Christmas crackers too small for my great big clever head…

Hang on, I just want to pop into this art gallery and stand in front of that really bad painting and stroke my beard for a few minutes…

A single overheard remark:
‘Now I’m really on tender hooks…’

 

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, Dulltown, existentialism, expletives, food, Hull.UK., humour, information, mind, observations, overheard, painting, poetry, puzzle, religion, seeing, serendipity, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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