Yesterday a man asked what I’d do if he pushed over the tunnel with the remote control digger, I said I’d build it again. He laughed and left.
Dismantled the tunnel today to lay black plastic on the floor. Haven’t decided about the fish hooks from the ceiling yet.
Some kids must’ve used a swear word on the fridge doors because a few moments later someone else censored them.
A funny thing about writing a blog is people tell you they’ve read your blog and then I tell them what’s happened. But they’ll already know because they’ve read the blog.
I’m in the back of the shop and I hear a women say to a man and a child “You two could do better than that.” The other day I could hear the bingo caller upstairs.
Elaine walks past. I wonder if she wonders where I am.
I felt, sensed, a red dot on me, moving around. I followed the movement and trace it back to a couple of kids sat on the bench outside B n Ms. One of them is pointing a toy gun with a “laser sight” at me. I watch him pack it in the back of his trousers.
I sat in the shop window and watch the world go by.
Unrelated anecdote #1: A friend of a friend has a restraining order against her ex-husband. The ex confronts and threatens them, they report it to the police. The police say, it’s his word against hers and do nothing. What’s the point of the restraining order?
Unrelated anecdote #2: A friend of a friend is walking along the promenade at Blackpool. A guy with a Staffy off its lead walks past. Their is a couple with a Jack Russell puppy walking past. The Staffy attacks and kills the puppy. There is a crowd present, aswell as the Police. Many of the crowd are in tears, the Police do nothing.
Sunday used to be a day of rest.
A toddler bangs on the window. “Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in?Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in? Can I come in?”
“A pile of bricks,
A dead cow.”
A raised eyebrow.
A trio of scouse ladies stop and chat; they’ve been to Blackpool for the week, using their bus passes. They ask what I’m doing and I tell them. One of them says something that sounds like “You want to be an artist.” I ask her to say it again because I’m not sure I heard her correctly, she ums and arghs, then says you “You want to be an artist.” I say I am an artist.
Of the variety of questions I’m first asked I try and do a Roy Walker ‘Say what you see’ and pass the buck back and most of the time people say tunnel. On a couple of occassions people have said bridge and that’s stumped me. I understand tent, wigwam, construction site etc. but bridge….
Remembering the lady who said it looks like a bee, or was it a wasp, colony collapse.
@uistkunstist
