For me, Thursday was a particularly noisy day…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s adjectives are: rhapsodic, muffled, filemot, sophomoric, opisthocoelous, and colossal.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was one of those days when having just come out of the house you realise that you would have been better off staying in, sitting on the settee, scowling at the afternoon television…
On the bus there were three teenage lads who had chosen to not sit together, but to have a shouted conversation across the aisle from three different seats; their language was not English, but possibly Polish. I don’t know whether it would have been more bearable if I understood it, probably not. After a couple of stops they got off and were replaced by two  young male low level ‘office’ types who came up and sat behind me to conduct their aggressive, but very dull, business meeting. I don’t think that they knew each other very well, and each seemed to be trying the impress the other, and both spoke in the way that people who are not really used to conducting conversations speak; they were trying to imitate the way important people they have heard in the office (who have things business-like to say) speak and form their sentences. They sounded like a couple of actors reading through a script for the first time; occasionally putting emphasis on the wrong words. The conversation included weak attempts at humour too, obviously to show how ‘relaxed’ and ‘in control’ they both were. It was painful listening…
Later on I slipped into the art gallery. Art galleries are usually pretty calm places to slip in to if you are feeling a bit over-sensitive and fragile. In the large room of paintings and drawings there were, including myself, four people, the other three were a pair of well turned out middle-class small children, and their mother – so far so good. Suddenly the children spontaneously decided to be horses, and started galloping and stamping around the polished hardwood floor. Whilst they did this, their mother, developed a curiosity about the contents a the large plan chest by the window, and started opening and slamming shut its drawers to glance at the selection of unframed prints and drawings inside. When she had finished her exploration, she decided that her raging toddlers needed amusing and started to sing. Yes, really… in an art gallery! There’s confidence for you! She turned out to have a shrill trembling ‘folk singing’ sort of voice, she was possibly a fan of Joni Mitchell or perhaps even Joan Baez…
Later on in the cafe, it was reasonably quite…
But then, a grey haired old chap came in and sat at a nearby table with his Americano and crisp tabloid newspaper. Good god! I have never heard anyone get that much noise from turning the pages of a newspaper! It was as if he was very angry and couldn’t find anything in it that he agreed with. I wouldn’t have minded too much, but he went through it cover to cover three or four times… Open! Shut! Slap! Fold flat on table! Open again, rustle pages in rage… After he noisily drained his coffee cup, finally threw the paper in disgust onto an empty table, and stumped off, a new horror entered the cafe. A loud posh couple wearing expensive tweeds with a trio of very confident high-pitched children of different sizes took over control of an adjacent table. I seemed to be really attracting them that day! Their voices, even the children’s, sounded not unlike a selection of farmyard animals; there was also a good deal of crockery clattering, and teaspoon on cup tapping too.
Still, I did end up with something to write about…

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, cafe, conversation, Dulltown, Grumpiness, observations, overheard, people, serendipity, surrealism and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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