Ah, this must be the visitors’ centre…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s existential angst is centred around the sound of the word parsimony.

Dear reader you may, or may not have noticed that I didn’t post yesterday’s piece until very late in the day – and it was a bit of a struggle, let me tell you. I have been struck down by one of these gastric bugs that are apparently ‘going around’. ‘Gastric’ – what a nasty word that is! I’m still a bit under the weather (as they say) as I write this, but I will struggle heroically on… I don’t have anything else to do, and I still, so far, seem to be able to form sentences…
Last night I had what you might call a ‘disturbed night’. I woke up at 4.15, so I decided to toss and turn for a while – at about 5.30 I remember thinking – that – er – as the rehearsal was over I should walk home, what I had been rehearsing I couldn’t recall. Yes, it was a lovely bright day and as I stood waiting to cross Spring Bank I noticed that a new alleyway had appeared between the shops on the other side; it had some greenery lit by the sun at it’s far end; I headed for that. There was just a garden, with a grumpy gardener guarding his fence, but I did find another way through – the area beyond was much more hilly than it should have been, it was covered in lush green grass – a stream or a gully containing crystal clear water flowed below – gosh, how Derringham Street has changed! Where are all the industrial units? A long row of posh looking shops, all their shop-front woodwork was painted shiny black, they all had thick clean plate-glass windows – some of them were very neatly laid out as old-style junk shops. A black car moved past up the street – a long-faced middle-aged man looked out of one of the windows – he said to me, as if I were an old friend, ‘What about Elvis?’ – he grinned and winked at me. I was never a great fan of Elvis. On the grass on the left of the road was some sort of wheeled vehicle being pushed along by a couple of young lads, one at the front and one at the back – reclining on the vehicle was an old fat man in a dinner suit – when the vehicle abruptly stopped occasionally he shouted and swore at them – I walked on up the street, it seemed much longer than usual, I think I might have a temperature, perhaps they have lengthened the street as part of last year’s City Of Culture? This is where we go over the railway lines – look there’s the Infirmary tower on the left – do we go down this tunnel now? Alright then – concrete steps – I certainly don’t remember these! Ah, all this is brand new – it must be for the tourists – look at them all. Plenty of light in here, big windows, and aluminium handrails – is this a visitors’ centre? All the staff seem to be bright efficient young folk in smart uniforms – it’s getting quite crowded, children running about the floor – I really don’t want to be here at all – I see that we are too high up – look, some stairs going down – I think I’ll – oh dear, they are very steep – now they turn to the right and stop at a blank wall, and there’s a five-foot drop to one side! Look below, buzzing tourists and shoppers, I’m not jumping down there! I see a glass door with a white plastic sign on it saying ‘No Exit’ badly written in red marker pen. A couple of the staff go past pushing a wheeled thing like a very large pram – in the pram, under the hood, was a fat naked man in a bath full of bubbling soapy water – ah, here’s another staircase! But it has a yellow striped metal bar blocking it – a female worker appeared behind me and said in a rather stern voice, ‘What’s the matter, haven’t you got your key?’ On the way out I noticed that the way to the old derelict underground fun fair seems to have been opened up – perhaps they’ll spruce that up too? I’ve been here far longer than I had anticipated – never mind I live just over there, across the road, behind that great big red signboard…

This was almost worth being ill for…

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, drama, dreaming, Dulltown, humour, information, mind, observations, puzzle, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Ah, this must be the visitors’ centre…

  1. I did notice, yes…but just assumed that you were busy with sunshiny things. Now though, I admire your stalwart bravery in maintaining a consistent daily narrative 🙂 (apart from that time you took the painkillers of course) So anyway…..wow, Dulltown takes on a whole new persona! Wonder what it all means….

  2. Jheron Bash says:

    Well, that was weird. Are you feeling a bit better?

  3. Sharon Mann says:

    Get well wishes and getting sick just brightens your already witty imagination.

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