From the daily archives:

Thursday, August 30, 2007

The Mercedes outside my window…

by Frank Paynter on August 30, 2007

A man crossed too close to the little automotive artwork parked outside my window — perhaps he actually touched it — and he set off the alarm.  So, for a few minutes the well tuned horn of the Mercedes was blaring, depriving me of my ability to think and the less righteous among us of their morning’s sleep.  When the horn at last ceased blaring, I heard the sound of hoof beats, clop-clopping at a brisk walk up the street in this direction.  I turned to the window hoping to catch a glimpse of a mounted patrolman, but as it turned out I had mistaken the sound of two young women with shoes that sounded like steel shod hoofs on the pavement.   Stylish.

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Writers write… punters punt

by Frank Paynter on August 30, 2007

And, one assumes, ‘zinesters ‘zine.  That ace ‘zinester of our virtual present, Chris Locke,  sent another minor missive today which seemed largely to focus on one Pagan Kennedy, although Joseph Smith, a stone canoe, and a large and hungry shark also appeared.  (Oddly, Leona Helmsley did not appear; oddly, that is, in the context of a rhymed proximity to the “Queen of ‘zine” and her recent death.  One presumes these cheap, if not exactly free associations, might have made a citation quite likely).  One can, of course, subscribe to Mr. Locke’s e-letter containing this and much more mental fuel by clicking here and just figuring things out.  One can always unsubscribe, an action our intrepid ‘zinester from time to time has been known to  encourage (culling the misfits, as it were, or the fits perhaps since the misfits sometimes seem more to fit than those others).

As one can tell from one’s use of the indefinite pronoun if nothing else, one has not yet been thrown out of England where one is experiencing an enormous internal pressure to conform and to use proper, well… English.  But enough of that. One is off, actually two are off, to what the TimeOut guide to London calls an “exuberant monument to consumerism.“   It is a pilgrimage of sorts, here in the decenary of the death of Di, a pilgrimage to the once royally warranted but recently, indeed over the last decade since the death of the Princess of Wales, royally unpatronized department store.  Pictures perhaps will be taken.  By one.

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