Tuesday, 27 March 2007

The Prisoner

I walk down the street. I turn the corner. I walk. I cross the road
Iwalk down another road and I'm back where I started.
The buildings look strange but familiar. I know there is no escape.
I am not a number, I am a free person.

There's the posh sweet shop...and the shoe shop, the poodle
parlour - I mean hairdresser and the triple gift shops that smell
of parma violets. I stop by the knick-knacks-for- the-home
-that-can-be-purchased-with-disposable-income shop. Sinister
people in 60's style suits approach me.

'You are middle class. You cannot leave. Your world view is
based on received information from the Guardian newspaper.
You buy organic butternut squash, you think omega oils will
make everything alright. You think there are more interesting things
to do than housework, but you don't like humus on the carpet.
You have never been hungry. You believe reading is more
improving than watching TV, but you crash out in front of
unfunny game shows. You like your children to have interests
and you drive them to and from their interests leaving a carbon
footprint the size of Greenland. You would like to live a stylish life
in a house gutted by minimalism - but there is ketchup on the walls
and old socks and crisp packets under the sofa.'

You cannot leave.
Here comes the giant ball.....rolling down the street, squashing
art gallery owners and people selling unusual olives. Teenagers
in pink crocs run screaming.... Japanese bottled beer spills
onto the pavement outside the tattily trendy bar.

There is no escape


Anonymous said...

You are right there is no escape, but you could try reading the daily mail for a few days. I believe four days is the recommended antidote for your condition, which I don't believe is terminal, you merely require a short sharp shock.

Alternatively, open invitiation to the silver city with the golden sands...

Debi said...

I'm shaking with fear here. You're too good. Or bad. I'm confused. And scared. Maybe it's because the landcsape is so familiar. Isn't that me standing on the corner taking reportage style b&w photos of the action? Just by the shop that might sell clothes or might be an art gallery.

Meloney Lemon said...

Silver city with golden sands??? I've never heard of Aberdeen being called that before! Might come and find out The Truth.

Yes... Debi I do believe that's you on the corner selling signed copies of your books which I would put a link to - had I worked out how to.

granny p said...

My version (I've arrived via Debi) is the ending of Alice - all that paper rising up and engulfing you. (Don't think she or I wear/wore pink crocs. But then I'm definitely no teenager) The rest is all too familiar. Terrifyingly so. Daily Mail as antidote? Oh come off it.

Minx said...

That London is a funny place - thought about moving?

Are they sure about omega oils? I like everything to have an undertaste of mackeral.

Debi said...

Don't mention the fish, you mad fool!

Haven't you seen what they've done to my blog?

Minx said...

Fish and push. I did not mention the 'F' word in the first plaice.
You brought it all upon yourself Ms Alper - you are Dover solely responsible!

Meloney Lemon said...

I think that the said oils are derived from cold pressed organic flax.

Meloney Lemon said...

Hello Granny P. Did you come from Debi. Most people do. Welcome!