Brownlow and the professor on the phone…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s honoured guests are the Max Schreck Nosferatu lookalike twins Molly and Percy Piglow – come on up you two and join us on the sofa! My word! Your teeth look really convincing! Ouch!… (M.S.)
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

‘No! No! No!…’
‘Good morning Professor… Oh!…’
‘No, no, no, you imbecile!’
‘Professor, I…’
‘It takes time, it’s a bloody palimpsest you nitwit! No no, you cretin – not Greek or Roman, Graeco-Roman!’
‘Sir, I er…’
‘Look, if I needed a sodding mobile telephone I’d buy one! Goodbye, and do not call again!’
‘Sir I…’
‘Ah, hello Brownlow, I didn’t see you come in.’
‘Who was that on the phone sir?’
‘Sir Charles Scump at the British Museum.’
‘Really?’
‘Do I see that you have mugs of tea there Brownlow?’
‘Yes, sir… Was that all about the ancient document the BM sent us? It’s in very poor condition isn’t it?’
‘Hm, yes, it was rather tricky – and speaking of things tricky, I bumped into your Aunt Cissy in Waitrose the other evening…’
‘Oh? She er, did mention it sir…’
‘Did she Brownlow? Did she?… What did she say?’
‘Oh, er, nothing much sir, Oh, here’s a nice mug of tea for you… So, this palimpsest…?’
‘Oh, yes, it turned out to relate the tale, the myth, of a lost boy, a human child brought up as a mythical beast from the pantheon of gods, who tried to maintain his imposed identity into adulthood.’
‘Oh, that’s interesting.’
‘Yes, he even wore fake ginger leg hair, and hooves.’
‘Hooves? ‘Was he trying to be a satyr?’
‘No Brownlow, not a bloody satyr, you have your pantheons mixed up! I’ve mentioned that to you before!’
‘Sorry sir.’
‘Quite! This tea is very nice Brownlow, but it turned out that he was never very convincing in his guise, his general colour was all wrong.’
‘His colour?’
‘Yes, he was a healthy pale brown, people laughed at him – too nice, not very scary, and not really of the dark forest at all…’
‘I see…’
‘He fled the country, discarded his hooves and hair, and reverted to living as a mortal again.’
‘I suppose that made him happy then?’
‘No, Brownlow, I’m afraid not, he missed the celebrity life and became thoroughly dejected and miserable.’
‘Oh hang on sir, that’s the phone again… I’ll get it.’
‘If it’s the BM again just slam the thing down on ’em! Annoying blighters!’
‘Oh, I’m afraid it is Sir Charles again, he says he just wants to know who the character in the text turned out to be, and then he promises he’ll not pester you again.’
‘Hm, alright, just tell him the subject was just a – forlorn former flown fawn faux faun…’
‘A what? Oh, I think you should tell him that yourself sir.’
‘Damn it man! Just put the phone down on the bugger!…’
‘But sir, I…’
‘So, tell me, did your Aunt Cissy mention me at all?’
‘Well sir, I… Oh dear, it’s ringing again… Perhaps it’s another faun call?’
‘Another what! Just shut up Brownlow, and put the kettle on again!…

 

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 academia, archeology, conversation, drama, Film, Grumpiness, history, humour, surrealism, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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