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The Briefcase

I had a very long day on Monday and at about 5.15 p.m. found myself in a very long queue for my replacement car tax disc. Of course the queue was full of people like me who never do mundane administrative tasks until they absolutely have to i.e. the last day of the month. This guy, also buying car tax, with this briefcase was therefore, to my mind, a total anomaly amongst the rest of us disorganised rabble.

If only I could have had enough of the paparazzi in me to snap the contents of the briefcase when yer man opened it on the Post Office counter: the heady glow of the contents of The Briefcase in Pulp Fiction had nothing on what was in this…

Composition Note: the rubbish on the right belonged to the man who was servicing the Passport Photo Booth. This is a very technical task that involves a dustpan and brush. I was going to take a photo of that too but then the queue moved along.

A surrealist telephone conversation

Me: Hello

Dad: Hello. You know he’s left then?

Me: No (do not mention I cannot see into alternate realities (yet))

Dad: Did he leave some bananas here?

Me: I don’t know (see alternate realities: bunch of bananas section)

Dad: Well, if not, that means we have a mysterious banana leaver coming in here… and… leaving bananas…

Me: Ummm

Me: Do you want to take them then? (give me a break – I’m working with what I’ve got)

Dad: No I don’t want bananas! (*with feeling* I knew he didn’t like melon much, but I had no idea about this banana hatred)

Me: Oh

Me: Hmmmm

Me: Dad, this is a rather surreal conversation y’know

Dad: *laughs* I suppose it is. Ok, well see you soon *slams phone down as per familial MO*

There was a brief interlude about wardrobes, but that would just confuse matters further.