An observation from last winter…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s sound is that of two deep-voiced dogs in back gardens far apart having a long and interesting barked conversation.

It was a wintry and gusty morning; there was some sleet, and also random bunches of hailstones, coming down at 45 degrees, which after bounced landings, made white spiralling swirls on the pavements and roads. It was, shall we say, a bracing sort of day.
As I walked down the street, hands thrust deep in soft fluffy pockets, hood up and pulled down at the front to eyebrow level, I passed a rippling medium-sized puddle of dirty water on the concrete front garden of a dilapidated house. Floating on the surface of the water was a scuffed and dented, plastic, brightly coloured child’s football; it had what looked like a cheery face printed on it, it was an almost life-size image, and although the ball was floating freely, at the moment I looked at it, it happened to be upright and… it was looking at me.
Was it Michael Jackson, or, more likely, some tousle-haired, flashing-eyed, famous football star? I know nothing of such things. As I walked past I kept my eye on the ball, as they say; I was not particularly interested in the thing, but holding my head slightly sideways helped keep the icy precipitation out of my face.
The wind was making the quivering ball rotate a little as it floated freely in its shallow pond; it seemed to be deliberately turning to follow me, with its staring Michael Jackson footballer eyes, as I moved. When I was well past the spot I turned and looked back – yes, there he was, still staring and bobbing, almost beckoning to me from his puddle. It’s a good job I’m a normal well-balanced sort of chap, not given to flights of imagination, or that would have freaked me out bigtime…
On my way back home an hour or so later I noticed that the puddle was by then whited over, and also that the ball had gone… Perhaps I would later find him sitting on my bed at home…

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...
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5 Responses to An observation from last winter…

  1. Did you? Was the ball on your bed? See, readers need to know the next chapter, which is why you should be writing a book. 😀 Anyway, I had a bit of a moment wandering through the shopping centre earlier. Its a bank holiday and the place was pretty much deserted apart from half a dozen pensioners sitting dozing, waiting for M&S to open. Suddenly Iggy Pop’s song “Lust for Life” suddenly blared out of the tannoy, jerking all these poor old folk from their slumber!! They stared wild eyed at each other, and I did wonder if they might start some erratic dancing (yes, errATIC, not erotic, which is what I typed by mistake). Anyway, where is the ball?

    • Dave Whatt says:

      Ah.. well… er… no, it wasn’t on my bed – I suppose the story would have been better if it had been, but I do try to stick roughly to the truth in these items.
      I once got home to find a great big raggy looking ginger cat on lolling against the pillow on my bed – I still have no idea how it got in. I looked after the brute for three days until it’s owner (a compete stranger) turned up to retrieve it.
      I do like your ‘Lust for life’ story Scribbler – tee hee!…

  2. Shammy says:

    ” a brightly coloured child’s football….” What colour was the child? and was he (or she) scuffed and dented too?

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