Doom in bed…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe (for the time being anyway): Today’s colours are: butcher’s block red, stinking yellow, rotten copper green, muck brown, tan disaster orange, and socket spark blue.

Anyway, my phone rang at 5:36 this morning. A thick and stupid voice said, ‘Dave, how does one get out of paying parking tickets?…’
I let my head flop back onto the pillow, I closed my eyes, cleared my throat, and said down the phone, ‘You haven’t even got a car, you imbecile!’
I recognised the voice as being that of Simon Doom, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League, even though he had made a feeble attempt to disguise it.
He giggled and added, ‘I know… No, but really, if I had, it wouldn’t be a car of course…’
‘No?…’ I responed.
‘No, it would be my Surrealist Van.’
‘You’ve been up all night drinking, haven’t you?’
He said, ‘No, not all night, I’m in bed now – I just can’t seem to get off to sleep – would you like to know what would be in my Surrealist Van, Dave?’
‘Oh, go on, get a pen and write it down… Hello Dave… Hello? Are you still there?’
I eventually found a pen and a scrap of paper.
‘Yes, alright, go on then… if you must…’

Six gallons of the milk of human kindness.
A metal shirt button that once belonged to Johnny Depp.
The sound of a harsh word caught in a porcelain flask.
A square metal waste paper bin full to the brim with soft margarine.
A used battery from Pope John Paul’s 1977 Panasonic cassette player.
A green woollen sweater with a pink rubber hand sewn on to the left shoulder.
Four dozen packets of Walker’s aurochs flavoured crisps.
A one-metre cube of salty sea air retrieved from Morecambe Sands.
A tiny bottle containing a speck of dust from Princess Diana’s wardrobe.
Three stuffed eagles and a pot of Ardennes pate all in a nice presentation case.
Six rivets from a 1941 Mitsubishi Zero.
A compact disc of Saint-Saens Carnival of the Animals performed under water.
A shiny brass number seven firmly screwed to a sagging metaphor.
A thousand £20 banknotes all dyed lilac.
An unexpected drop in air pressure at room temperature.
A cardboard box containing 364 good adjectives and one noun.
The glint of a razor-sharp axe in a poorly lit room.
Two real leather suitcases stuffed with receipts from the Savoy Hotel, Strand, London.
A piece of A3 Bristol board curved and yellowed by too many sunsets.

Simon Doom 2016.

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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8 Responses to Doom in bed…

  1. Aside from the very intriguing early morning conversation (which I would totally be up for), all I got from this is that you have a phone by your bed. Oh such luxury! I bet it has a wire leading to the wall too AND it will sit next to the teasmaid. ( I have been searching for a teasmaid for such a long time now – nobody makes them anymore, it seems) But yes, you have very interesting friends indeed! P.S. The Dust from Diana would sell well, particularly to the Americans 😀

  2. Shammy says:

    Simon must have a pretty large Surrealist Van to be able to stuff all those treasures into, and I bet it’s painted socket spark blue. One of my favourite shades for a Surrealist Van.
    I think it should be spelled dyed, but maybe not. It’s Simon after all….

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