Dulltown, Europe: Today’s fruit is the rosy round apple sitting on its own in the centre of a large polished oak table in a sunlit room.
Excuses for being late. No. 281.
I’m sorry I’m late, but I found that I’d failed to keep my powder dry.
A single overheard, and possibly misheard, remark:
‘I had a job working in a pun factory…’
Oh, hello, what’s this? Ah, it’s another item of spam in my comments box. It seems to be from someone called nike-lite-run:
‘The exact legendary spring this reputedly restores the earlier days of any individual who products of lakes and rivers.’
Well, thank you nike-lite-run, I shall certainly bear in mind what you have said, and I hope to hear from you again soon.
A teenage girl at the bus stop – light coloured spiky hair, white tight clothes, and big heavy white boots. I expect she’s a negative Goth – she does look very good…
‘So, what was that arachnid? A scorpion?’
‘No, just the opposite, it was a scorpioff…’
A pale and rather plump middle-aged lady was sitting on the bus seat in front of me – I could see fresh pink fingernail scratches across her shoulders – my curiosity was immediately aroused as to how they could have been caused… No, no, it wasn’t! No, just stop thinking about it!…
‘You were a long time in the bathroom… Everything alright?’
‘Oh yes, fine thanks. I noticed that you had a pair of very nice nail clippers on the shelf, I decided to trim my toenails while I was in there…’
Back in my schooldays, I clearly remember when, one warm summer’s afternoon in Mr Parkinson’s metalwork class, a very shocking thing occurred…
Now, being young lads, we were always trying to spice up our conversation with the odd adult naughty swear-word or two – this was in our own private world of course, and nothing to do with school, or teachers; and these were definitely not the sort of words that you’d hear on the BBC radio, or see written in newspapers, or words which would be uttered by your parents at home…
We were all standing (and not slouching) there, in our aprons, at our benches, and Mr Parkinson (a strange tired old grey chap, and not a very good teacher) was telling us about shaping metal by hand, and in passing casually mentioned ‘the half-round bastard’. We all gasped, looked at each other, and quickly stifled our guffaws. Mr Parkinson didn’t notice the reaction of his audience, and he carried on to describe other types of metalwork file too… (Bastard)
A single overheard remark:
‘And what am I going to do with 136 sausages?…’