Sunday, 28 August 2016
In which One works for One's chum...
That's where I'm going to jump in, Dear Reader...
After all, what's the fecking point? I don't know. One more week at the Shit-Face and then, without time to turn around and smell the contents of a yellow bucket, off to tend to the Demented and the Dying.
'Oh, go on, it won't be that bad, will it?' I hear you chorus. Maybe not, but One should be cosied up in a little home for the bewildered and have done with it, shouldn't One? After all, One has varicose veins, wrinkles and thinning hair (only on me 'ead, not on me face)
Yesterday, by way of a change, One biffed off to the Previously Owned Stuff Emporium to help out a chum.
'But it was your day off, Lovely One!' you shriek. Yes, I know it was work of a fashion, but it was a splendid departure from One's usual 'earning a crust' day. Nobody bit/kicked/spat at/grabbed/scratched or hollered at One. - Result!
AND - One was suitably adored by One's public in the manner of a proper artist, with all and sundry oooohing and aaahing at One's offerings. One was even visited by a collector of One's work and it did One's black heart good! Didn't sell anything of One's though. Oh well, can't have everything can One?
One's chum has a plethora of charming chicken garden ornaments on sale...
'got any butterflies?' came an enquiry from a prospective purchaser.
'No. Only chickens. Sorry,' replied One.
Then in waltzed a trio of sorts who hovered about a particularly desirable, rustic table and four chairs being practically given away. (One had One's in-progress new masterpiece on the table)
It never ceases to amaze One, the blatant flamin' cheek of the public, they proceeded to caress aforementioned table, actually placing their chip-fat covered digits on ONE'S DRAWING.
And then, one of them picked up One's watch, gave it the once-over, mumbled something to a companion and slapped it back down on the table!
Fer feck's sake! One and One's doings are not actually public bleeding property, I'll have you know!
Nana and Lovely Gordon came in at various points throughout the day to chat to One and lift One's spirits.
Lovely Gordon had been bottoming his gaff and appeared to be taking object d'art to the charity shop, one by one, in a Co-op carrier. One appropriated a posh looking corkscrew and is currently saving up for a bottle of wine to deploy the item.
One lay in wait throughout One's shop work in case he ambled up the square with one of his saucepan collection which One could divert to One's own kitchen in the Underground Lair, but it was no good, the handsome hoarder obv couldn't bear to part with such items.
'Got any real antiques?' enquired a cove.
'This isn't an antique shop,' countered One.
'I know, but have you got any real antiques?' continued he.
'No. This isn't an antique shop,' repeated One.
'Well, when it was a different shop I bought real antiques in here,' he went on, 'are you sure you haven't got any real antiques? Like maybe a carriage clock or something under the counter.'
'THIS ISN'T A FECKING ANTIQUE SHOP.'
One gave up and biffed off down the road to the Underground Lair to espy Lovely Gordon sauntering down the hill with a saucepan in his hand.
Following a surreptitious observation of the hill, and obv not noticing One bringing up the rear, he took off the saucepan lid and proceeded to empty the contents down someone else's drain.
'Oi! I saw that,' shouted One, 'Whatever are you doing?'
'I've just boiled up some beets that someone left on my doorstep,' says he, 'but they don't look awfully good, do they,' he went on, shoving the gnarled items under One's nose.
'You are positively odd!' said One and shut Oneself behind the gate that keeps out oddities from the Malthouse.