Art And Literature
DEL’S INSPIRED MOMENT
Early on, a visitor to LinkedIn’s Friday Flash Fiction thread posted a comment to say that our grammar, spelling and so on were poor, and offering his services (for a fee) to edit the stories. He was too soft a target, really.
Del scratched his head. He'd never heard of 'flash fiction' before, was keen to join in, but what exactly was it? A type of story about night-time photography? A type of story for perverts? A type of story about lighthouses? None of these offered much scope for inspiration.
All he needed was a hundred words, no more.
Suddenly, it came to him: the instructions contained a typo which would have been spotted if they’d been properly proofread. It should read “flash friction”.
Shaking his head, he drew a match from a box in his pocket and struck it. Job done.
IN AN OFFICE SOMEWHERE
The publisher sighed. He’d not been looking forward to this meeting with the author.
“This book of yours, ‘How To Pass Mathematics Examinations’. There’s a problem. Quite a few, I’m afraid.”
The author bristled. “Such as?”
“Well, it says here two plus two equals five. That’ll have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not right. And triangles don’t have four sides. And you can’t fill π with chicken.”
“I’m the mathematician. I know about these things. I have a degree.”
“From where?”
“Pluto. University College. A 2:1. Tell me, where’s YOUR mathematics degree from?”
“I don’t have one.”
“SEEEE!!!!!”
(Publisher sighs.)
HARD TIMES
Back in 1959, found myself bummin’ around Minnesota way, playing guitar and singing songs to earn my next meal. Truth was, I could barely read or write then.
I remember running into this nasally-voiced little guy with curly hair who sang folk songs. We swapped a few things; I gave him one of mine about stuff blowin’ in the wind, he gave me one called ‘We Shall Overcome’. Turned out that wasn’t even his. I think he used mine, though.
Later, someone else took a kinda pop-song of mine called “She Loves You”. Never found out what happened to that.
AN IMAGINARY AUDITION
"Mr Bell? I'm Frederic Chopin. I've come for the... audition."
"Come in, sit down please."
"So what's the gig, Mr Bell?"
"Look, Freddie, this telephone I've invented – thing is, now we need jingles, tunes that play when you're hanging on the line for ages. Must be really short."
"Why?"
"So they play repeatedly and get annoying. You do short stuff?"
"The Minute Waltz."
"Too long. Do you have a Half-A-Minute Waltz?"
"A Demi-Minute Waltz? Sorry, no."
"Can't you play your Minute Waltz twice as fast?"
"Suppose so."
"Perfect – you've got the gig. It'll sell like hot-cakes in the call centres."
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE, FINGER-LICKIN' STYLE
I remember the day Bingley and the Darcy guy hit town like it were yesterday. Bingley was looking for chicks; the Darcy guy was harder to read. Soon they'd landed with the Bennet girls, although neither Ol' Man Bennet nor his wife had any swing with their daughters.
Anyway, Bingley and the eldest girl Jane hung out, but the next one, called Lizzie, was tougher. Hot with a Winchester. But Darcy pulled her; Lizzie picked up a bad apple in that guy Wickham and Darcy rode to the rescue.
These days Darcy and Lizzie live on that big ranch Pemberley.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE N' A SINGLE DEEP-FRIED MARS BAR, A' WI' SALT'nVINEGAR PLEASE
Bingley and Darcy swanned in lookin' fur lumber. Bingley got aff wi' Jane Bennett; Lizzie telt Darcy tae awa'n bile his heid. Yon Bennet lassies, mind, were ootae control. But Darcy 'n Lizzie? Ach, wan wis as bad as the ither. Meanwhile Collins, who'd bag off wi' onythin in skirts, ended up wi Charlotte.
Onewise, they a' skirled aboot dancin' awhile, there wis sum stuff wi' Lydia and a nyaff ca'd Wickham so Darcy paid them tae get married. Lizzie was fair cowpit, married Darcy and ended in yon big hoose!
In Scotland there'd have been a pagger fur sure.
THE VISITING SPEAKER
The storytellers’ group sat in a circle, listening politely to the visiting speaker. He’d spoken for well over twenty minutes. Most of them were beginning to feel their eyes glaze over as he’d outlined his past history, then gone on to read some of his work. Some of the group were beginning to shuffle in their seats to relieve the discomfort in their behinds.
But a small number who were paying the greatest attention had begun to notice subtle changes in the appearance and behaviour of their guest.
Then they realised he had stopped speaking and become a giant penguin.
A QUOTE FROM THE DECORATORS
- “Hi, Pops! Nice to hear from you!”
- “You wanna go ahead with the job? Sure? Whaddayawant on the ceiling? Plain white?”
- “Pictures? Jeez, Pops, ceiling paper on a curved ceiling’s tough. It’ll cost.”
- “You what, Pops?”
- “You want some pics of Bible scenes painted by HAND up there? Sixty feet up? I’ll need scaffolding, Pops.”
- “Really? Just send you the bill? OK, but gold halo paint prices are pretty high just now. What pics d’ya want?”
- “Whatever I like?”
- “No, I don’t do smiling women. That’s the other guy, Pops.”
- “Sorry, Pops, I can’t ‘throw in a helicopter’ for free.”
THE CRITIC
He waited for the appropriate response.
Sure enough she said, as programmed, “You are quite right, Master. My work has no meaning. It is worthless. I am worthless.”
He continued to gaze out of the window. “And it does not meet the requirements you were set,” he added.
She intoned, “You are quite right, Master. I did not meet the requirements as set. My work is worthless. I am worthless.”
He decided he was done. “You are dismissed.” She left immediately.
He smiled in satisfaction. At least he could criticise intelligently even if he himself could produce nothing of value.
OZ REVISITED
By now, Dorothy had collected quite an army: a lion, a dragon, a grizzly bear, a straw man and a tin man on her journey to see the Wizard of Oz seeking help in confronting the resurgent Wicked Witch Of The South-West. This might previously have caused problems for arm-linked sixsomes, but the intervening years had seen The Yellow Brick Road expanded into a ten-lane inter-state highway. They were there in no time.
"What d'ya want now?" the irritated Wizard drawled. Dorothy explained, patiently.
"Her?" the Wizard replied. "Just threaten her with a parking ticket. She'll be a quivering wreck."
METAMORPHOSIS
With apologies to Franz Kafka...
Gregor woke from troubled dreams to discover that he was eight months pregnant. Transformed in his bed, he lay on his back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his large belly, slightly domed. The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off any moment. He had developed breasts, and such was his size that he could barely move.
"What's happened to me? It must be a dream,” he thought, and tried to turn over and sleep. But it wasn't a dream.
He shook his head. “I must stop eating kebabs.”
THE WILLIAMS FAMILY AND THE TWIN-NECKED FOURTEEN-STRING BANJO
Kentucky's Williams family had a unique claim to fame: only they could play the extraordinary twin-necked fourteen-string banjo. Essentially, it was two five-stringers, with two extra drone strings in cavities in each neck's back. One neck was tuned in fourths F-B-E-A-D-G-C, the other in fifths, G-D-A-E-B-F-C.
Famous tunes included "Kentucky 14-String Hoe-Down" and "Kentucky Williams Blues", playable only by family m
embers with unusually long fingers. Some experts think they had Marfans Syndrome, but it might have been in-breeding: they always married cousins.
In the 1960s the Williams started to marry out; nowadays the extraordinary music is limited to old recordings.
INSIDE THE LOUVRE
Why do people stare? – It’s so rude. They stare at me, so I stare back at them. Then more people wander up, they stare at me, too, so I stare back at them as well.
They talk about me; they want to know what I’m thinking, but that’s my business, not theirs. They don’t even speak in Italian – not so much as a “Ciao, Lisa”.
You wonder why I’m smiling? I’ll tell you. Every day, thousands of people who know nothing about art pay around fifteen euros to come and stare at me.
That’s a smile of contempt, trust me.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ON THE No36 BUS
On the lower deck of the bus, Roseanne sat reading Pride And Prejudice.
Across the isle, three women discussed fridge contents – fruit, chicken needing to be used, some broccoli.
Behind Roseanne, two men discussed fingernail-clipping and shaving techniques. However, their switch of topics to deodorants was just too much for her.
“Shut the **** up! I’m trying to read!”
As instructed, everyone was immediately silent; fourteen faces turned towards Roseanne unblinkingly. Then the whispering started.
“Who does she think she is?”
“I’ve got a Kindle.”
“I’ve read 50 Shades.”
“What’s reading?”
Roseanne sighed, shut her book, then closed her eyes.