Excuse me, can I interest you in a nice pair of…?

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s carefully selected adjectives are: foetid, windring, quotidian, facinorous, jugate, ratiocinative, and paunchy. My heavy old dictionary says that one of these words comes from W. Shakespeare, can you guess which one it is?
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Generally, I don’t mind travelling on buses.
Buses are much more environmentally sound than having people tearing around in those awful car-things that they seem to love so much.
Buses are an ecological boon!
Well, so long as they are not crammed full to the gunnels with noisy people. (Actually, I don’t think buses have gunnels.) Of course, now that virtually all the people in the world are self-isolating, bus rides are pretty much out of the question anyway, unless you are extremely well protected, and have brought your own air supply with you.
Imagine boarding a bus, and finding it packed with sweaty people, all coughing and snorting, all the seats occupied, and five or six of them standing blocking the aisle, their greasy hands in intimate contact with the yellow upright poles and the hand-holds on the seat-tops. Oh, look, all the windows are closed and are thoroughly steamed up too. And, where’s that peculiar smell coming from?…
Why is he going on about all this?… I hear you murmur, dear reader.
Well, it’s because the short piece I am about to share with you starts two or three weeks ago, before all this stuff kicked off, with me alighting from a  bus…

After I got off the bus back from town yesterday evening, and started walking down the street in the direction of home, I observed a man, a short stocky middle-aged chap, sporting a tweed hat, rapping vigorously on someone’s front door; under one of his little arms he had a bulging clear plastic bag with something white and soft in it.
When someone answered his knocking, I heard the chap say, ‘Do you want to buy a pair of pillows? Brand new, they are very cheap…’
I heard the resident asked if they were stolen – there was a muffled response which I couldn’t make out, and then the occupant declined the offer rather abruptly, employing some colourful language as he did so.
The hatted man turned away and immediately spotted a wide lady in a big red coat, crossing the road carrying a bag of shopping; he waved cheerily, and then approached her with his goods, but she too rejected them.
He rotated and spotted me as I was passing by on the other side of the road. He gave me a strange look for a few seconds, looked me up and down, then opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and closed it again; he then turned and trotted off down the street in search of a more likely looking customer.
I almost shouted after him, ‘Hey you!… You there!… I can afford cheap, stolen, fucking pillows you know!…’ But I didn’t.
Anyway, I have plenty of pillows…

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 adjectives, drama, Dulltown, existentialism, expletives, Grumpiness, Hull.UK., humour, information, observations, overheard, people, puzzle, seeing, serendipity, smiling, style, swearing, sweating, words and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Excuse me, can I interest you in a nice pair of…?

  1. Jheron Bash says:

    What an amusing little tale, Dave. Well worthy of recording for posterity!

    Ann Ecdote.

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