Some opening lines for stories never to be written…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s unusual china teapot is the one shaped like the Starship Enterprise. It is a ridiculously bad pourer.
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Day 38: Still stuck in the ice. Crew restless and muttering. Northern Lights this a.m. Chipping ice off the rigging and hatch covers daily. Frostbite is commonplace and our food supplies are dwindling. Bosun Wiggs says he has a pet mongoose called Gerard. Ship’s timbers creaking constantly. Polar bear eyeing us up from an ice floe last evening. Gerard came to report that Wiggs has jumped ship…

Dexter Sinistre yawned and stretched his legs out on the cold cast iron park bench and blinked his pale blue eyes open. The sky behind cut-out trees that were made from soot was boiling with orange tufts and playful wisps of gold; the crisp sun disc glared and threw out blood-red streamers; a few day-birds clad in black fluttered around in a gang. The pain of the infected nail on Dexter’s right great toe was excruciating…

Alberto Sneth had always loved Michelangelo. ‘Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.’ The colossal pale rectangular block arrived early on Tuesday morning – by Thursday evening Sneth had discovered that it was empty! It was a dud! By Friday lunchtime he had shovelled up all the rubble and sent it back to the quarry in Carrara, complete with a strongly worded note of complaint…

Upon seeing lovely Loretta speed past driving her motorcycle and sidecar, and realising that his great girth could never fit into that shiny red bouncing pod at her side, (he knew it was bad form to have an empty car and two on the bike) Bob decided to diet in order to become a suitable companion. In just under two months he was svelte – but then he spotted her in a bulbous grey silver SUV, with a portly banker at the wheel…

It was a slow and dull journey to Hull, Yorkshire, and Roger Festoon, art critic for The Times, was tired. He’d seen the item mentioned in journals, but had never viewed the painting which included it. He’d bumped into fellow academic Sir Bruce Partington at a cocktail party in the National Gallery basement, who, upon learning that Festoon had never seen The Most Badly Painted Chair in the World* sneered and added smug smirk…

*Click here.

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, art, brain, celebrities, cool, drama, Dulltown, history, Hull.UK., humour, information, learning, painting, people, reading, sculpture, seeing, serendipity, smiling, Star Trek, story, style, surrealism, weather, words, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Some opening lines for stories never to be written…

  1. ktz2 says:

    Mr Sneth ahahaha

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