It’s my predictive nose…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s unusual pencil sharpener is the one shaped like the smell of a freshly mown meadow.

‘Do you believe in clairvoyance?’
‘Why? Do you?’
‘Seeing into the future?’
‘Well why did you ask then?’
‘You see, I might believe in one part of it, but not the other…’
‘In either the ‘clair’ part or maybe the ‘voyance’ part…’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Which one means seeing – the ‘clair’ part or the ‘voyance’ part?’
‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’
‘Well, I don’t believe that one can ‘see’ into the future…’
‘Good! That’s a load of rubbish!’
‘… but I believe one can ‘perceive’ the future.’
‘Oh?… How?’
‘By smell… I suppose you could call it clair-sniffing or clair-olfaction.’
‘Well, it’s been nice chatting, but I really must be off, I have a taxi waiting with the engine running.’
‘Well no, but I really should be going now…’
‘It all started when I was a child in the early 1960s.’
‘Yes, there were still steam trains then. When travelling on them, I always knew several seconds in advance when we were about to go into a tunnel.’
‘Look, that taxi of mine will be…’
‘I used to detect the smell of the steam and smoke coming in through the carriage window well before we actually…’
‘I find that very difficult to believe!’
‘That’s what they all said, but I was always proved to be correct, you could set your timepiece by me.’
‘Yes! I would amaze people.’
‘What people?… Oh look, there’s my taxi driver waving through the cafe window at me.’
‘My elder brother Bob would take me into pubs with tins of beans, corned beef, tomato soup, pilchards and the like…’
‘What?… Look, I’m sorry but I really should be off…’
‘He would have peeled all the labels off the tins and the customers would lay big bets with him on whether I could predict what was in each tin before it was opened. My predictive nose never let me down, it was easy to get a whiff a good half-minute before the opening of the tin – stinky fish were of course the easiest…’
‘Damn! There goes my cab…. So, what other feats of nasal precognition have you found useful in life since then?’
‘Well, my gift is handy for impending gas leaks and…’
‘Hang on, hang on, listen – suppose you were about to open your window…’
‘…and you predicted the smell from the people next door boiling up offal for their dogs…’
‘Could you decide to not open the window? In which case, how could you have smelled the?…’
‘Ah, you are trying to trick me!’
‘No I’m not, I’m just applying a bit of logic.’
‘Hm, not sure about that, you can’t apply logic to time and space.’
‘Of course you can!’
‘Hang on!… Aftershave and stale beer… and a whiff of fried food!’
‘A nasal premonition…’
‘Rubbish! I’m definitely going, I’ll have to get the bus now you’ve made me miss my taxi!…’
‘My brother Bob who lives in Rochdale will give you a lift.’
‘Your brother, in Rochdale? Are you going to phone him and get him to drive over from Lancashire and…?’
‘Ah, here he is! How very unexpected, I haven’t seen him in months. I wonder what he’s doing in town – I couldn’t mistake those familiar odours. Hello Bob!…’
‘Oh, you’ve been setting me up! This is all just a silly nose-ruse! It’s an elaborate con that you have engineered to…’
‘No, no, not at all. Look, do you want a lift with Bob or not? I’m sure he won’t mind.’
‘Well, alright… Er, so long as we can have the car windows open…’

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 cafe, conversation, drama, Dulltown, humour, seeing, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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