I am a bit of a stick in the mud. I did not need to say what I said about the Arts. Coming from a working class background in the UK, the tree does appear top-heavy with Henry and Henrietta. Still, I did not need to say that here. With me, less is more. You may see me in the National Gallery, for instance, walking towards a Titian, and just as you say, "Look, there's Iain!" I will have veered off, having spotted an interesting crack in the wall. Of course, this is mere fiction. The National Gallery would never allow the likes of me inside their walls.
My wife and I were kicked out of the National Gallery in Ottawa and 1/2 hour later we got booted out of the Parliament Buildings.
There was as an exhibit, a bed sheet with those little round circle stickies posted all over it. My wife touched it to see if her eyes were deceiving her. Well, out we went.
In the Parliament building there was a big old office, big old desk, big old everything, so I gave my wife the camera and told here to catch my photo behind the desk. She never had time... out we went.
Those were the good old days. Doing nothing but having fun. We were only in our fifties: much too young to rust.
My brother and I were at a museum in Ottawa with my parents. Let’s say that it was a long long time ago, like once upon a time long time ago. My brother and I were being irreverent as my parents were trying to show us something about culture, moving from one cubicle to another. My brother and I were acting silly ecstasy-like in front of some painting when I decided to push it even more by backing into my brother and farting on his leg. I turned around to realize that my brother had moved on and that I had farted on a stranger’s leg.
Maybe I have said too much already.
"Maybe"! Not so long ago, I was in a clothing store and did what Miss DESFORGES did, and as I walked away, I heard this young woman say to her partner, "Was that you?"
What better place than among the racks of the current season's fashion.
The father of my first love used to make a virtue out of such evacuations, accentuating the coming catastrophe by lifting a leg, like a dog marking territory. I don't know how our tender love survived. When the three girls, his daughters, would berate him about the emission, his stock response was, "Your nose is too near your arse."
Well, thank you, Miss Desforges for prompting this wistful reminiscence.
Plankton. Spongebob. Embroyos and flatulence. Where will it end?