Friday, 31 August 2007

Dressing abstract depictions of incessant enemies in burnt pantyhose

With a self-incriminating sniff, Bessy directed my attention to the notorious smell wafting through the hall. She'd left the bread under the grill long enough to help re-enact the ambiance of a scorched-earth policy orchestrated by a generation-gap guerrilla outfit that had withdrawn to watch a dire black and white silent movie. I looked around for the other props and noticed a group of men in green fatigues sitting around the TV having a smoke and laughing raucously at a silent film which turned out to be a reflection of themselves, with Bessy in the background. I left them some muesli and milk and put a bucket of water ready should the burnt toast turn into anything more.

Margaret never wakes when there's a smell of burning because she has horrors of being burnt whilst conscious. So I left her in bed.

Felix tells me he knew a man who used to communicate with the enemy using pieces of burnt toast arranged in various formations and posited above his head on the end of his sword. I asked if this had been discovered by his seniors. Yes, Felix said, but nobody, not least the soldier, understood what he was trying to communicate, so they let him carry on and the enemy ended up waving their own burnt toast around until everyone thought the war was over and ran out to burn toast together. Remarkable.

George was dressing a new patient in pantyhose when I arrived at the surgery. I asked, hopefully, if we were going to give up the serious business of dentistry for a day and act out something splendidly escapist. George told me I couldn't escape from anything, so I'd better get in the surgery and forget trying to get out of work. He has a way of turning glee to glumness, does George.

Cookie had managed to secure an appointment with an abstract depictor of incessant oddities who resides in the submerged spotlight above the dental chair. The appointment was ending as I entered the surgery. I waved up at the light, out of politeness to the depictor (though I've never seen or heard him), and asked what oddities were incessant these days. Cookie said that was a crazy question to ask given that everything is odd and everything is incessant, depending on what point of view one takes. She popped out of the light, and we got on with treating our first patient.

Which brings me on to the meaning of burnt offerings and the odd nature of all things dressed up ready for drama. Curious how it all seems to have something to do with retreating ignominiously, or making peace and falling into fits of laughter about oneself.


Davo said...

I like your blog. You might like mine.

moring_02 said...

keep up the good work

Stan Johns said...

Dear Davo,

Thanks for your kind comment. I tried to click through to your site / profile but I couldn't get to it from this comment. Perhaps you could leave your blog address?

Dear Moring,

Thanks too for the encouragement. Look forward to hearing from you again!

All the best,