yammering

oh, well, whatever . . .

while margaret cooks the onions

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When I went into the kitchen Margaret was cooking some onions. ‘I had a dream last night,’ she said. ‘I dreamt that the economy was God’s little clock.’ I decided to go out for a walk.

Margaret has got a new job. It’s something I need to tell you about.  The truth is I liked it better when she worked at the florist. It wasn’t as close to the cashpoint, and without it I’d never have known about the scented pelargonium. On the other hand we would never have had our infamous tiff about the relative merits of the blue versus the white gladioli. She’s never let me forget that I said she had the aesthetic intelligence of an insect. The positive connotations of such observations rarely tolerate much repetition, do they?  

When I got back Margaret was in the garden looking for the cat. ‘De Kooning, De Kooning,’ she cried.  ‘Dinner, De Kooning, dinner.’ I put the kettle on and emptied a sachet of instant cappuccino into a mug. I sat in the conservatory in the afternoon sun. De Kooning ran in and squeaked at me. I said hello to him and he went off in search of his dinner.  Margaret came in in and asked me if I’d seen anyone during my walk. I told her I hadn’t. I never do. You could be forgiven for thinking I was a stranger in this town. The onions smelled good.

Tonight I was sitting at the window looking at the messy mottlings on the full moon when my mobile rang. It was The Greek. He said it had come to his notice that I was in need of some new scissors and he could supply me with the orginal and the best – or at least the best this side of the Pyramids, he was certain – at an unbeatable price.

‘Why would I need new scissors?’ I asked. ‘The ones I’ve got aren’t broken. It seems you may have been misled.’

‘Well, haven’t you lost or mislaid them?’

‘No, I don’t believe I have.’

We talked for a while about the government and then I went back to studying the patterns on the moon. De Kooning came in and joined me. Margaret flicked on the light and asked me if it was The Greek who had rung me. I confirmed that it was.

‘What kind of clock was it?’ I asked. ‘A longcase?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It was a grandfather.’

 

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Written by yammering

April 19, 2008 at 9:09 am

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