somebody’s cat – sorry not sure whose, or whose image but we don’t at present have a cat to photo, with or without crisps
At present I’m re-editing my short stories with a view to making them into a ‘collection’.
What to call the book? one of the titles perhaps? or something random; something to encapsulate the wandering, miscellaneous subjects . . .
As sometimes happens, my brain (and I assume with most other peoples’) suddenly decided to present me with a curious phrase I haven’t recollected for about forty years. Cats Like Plain Crisps.
The whole figment came back to me – complete in every detail: 1974 or so, Mum driving round a roundabout in West London in the aged Hillman Minx; me in the back staring out on a grey, sleazy day after a school holiday spent in the Hovis-ad-like countryside of Dorset.
Mum, negotiating the rush-hour traffic and probably saying ‘bugger off’ to other motorists, failed to acknowledge this wonderment of graffiti – hand sprayed in large black letters on the blank end of a house, but I obviously logged it away for use forty years later.
Except . . . that it’s actually quite well documented. I checked on Google and there are images of the writing, not of the wall I had seen, but other walls, and on bridges, and padlocks, even. Apparently the first ever ‘Cats like plain crisps’ was scrawled on a kitchen wall in a Grosvenor Rd squat, Twickenham, and then reproduced possibly by the same wonderfully-deranged person in other areas of West London.
Oh well, just another 40 million words/phrases to choose from . . .
Weasels Dislike Chamber Music?
