Tuesday, 26 July 2016
in a desperate attempt to confuse us even further,
Kolee come up with something
completely similar
Gardeners welled
Hello. Today we are in the so-called Garden of England, famous for its orchards, hop gardens
and, of course, ( gesturing) ) for the deepest, darkest well in the world.
We have come to talk to the two gardeners, Emon & Mone Skyliten, who co-manage this spacious and delightful Garden.
Unfortunately, however, they appear not to be here today, and !what a shame that is.
( faint echoey-pained cry from 'distance' ) Ah listen ! Hmmm .. yes, even in this peaceful place
the silence be sometimes broken by the cry of .. !hmmm .. mmmm !of course the coypu
mown down by an errant stockbroker from Esher. . .. Mmm ! Lovely
(presenter then turn, and , with an air of resignation speaks to film crew :
Ok everybody, lets rock 'n roll ! Skyliten no-show ! Let's get the hell outta here, ?hmm
A Soylem-In-Kent production
Post-show discussion :
- so ? wot d'ya think Sik about me new film ?
- Well Kolee i'm particularly partial to the short and that was particularly short wasn't it ?
It got me thinking of the films by The Coen Brothers, in their House and Home period ?yes
Y'know, works like Blood Shingle, Furr-go, and how your film is nothing like that great work Mmm but then there's the the Koyn Sisters, y'know, Smeltin & Meltins ? .. and
their impressive body of work, yes..! Mmm/Hmm . .. indeed .. yes ...
. . . .. .
- and The Sisters' work is nothing like my film either, is it ? Sik
- Erm . . ! no
Dear K?Y
I'd like to say how great your Gardeners Welled doc-film was. butt, malheursment,
I didn't get to catch it and I heard it was a bit shit btw.
Anyhoo, that aside, I'm writing to you on a 'gardening' issue.
Well I say 'gardening' ; you might have to dig deep to find even subluminous reference
butt something will crop up sindood, if you look hard enough.
This is the thing, Kolee (Cauli) :
I have been traveling by Megabus quite a lot during the last few months, making a necessary journey from The Smoke down the M4.
What is becoming apparent is that, 20 miles or so to the south-west of the city, there is what can only be described as a 'hole' of some kind, a place where people, things 'disappear';
without trace; at Slough in fact, as near as make no difference.
Here, in random-alphabetical order, is a catalogue of everything which has mysteriously vanished into thin air at that hole: 3 mobile phones (mine) ; a pair of binoculars ( a priest's) ;
a vibrato/vibrator (a priest's ); a priest (as himself); 4-5 passengers (random, exact number disputable due to some conjoinedness); 2 drivers (less random); and a National Express waitress who had previously existed only as an expression of Neil Hannon's messed-up mind but who, latterly, did find solace and meaning with Megabus, who paid her to be a 'faux-waitress' with the soul intent of pissing off the IrishKunt ( pretty random ) . .. .
. . . .. .
- !Look ? ! Can I stop you there, dearest TWIMC . .? .
-
-
- Yes ? Ms ?Ynnit .!. we're waiting .. what is it you .. ?
- Oh ! No I just wanted to stop you there.
Butt now you mention it your use of language is
somewhat . ..!hmmm .. well somewhat inapropriat ?innit !
. . mmm I mean I we
thought the only IrishKunt was Bono ! !
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