Sunday, March 28, 2010

thread, farmyard, comfort

Tangles of threads, undone, wander in search of forgotten purposes.

In The Grove and Calverley Ground, our two local parks, the smell of the farm yard hangs, rich and heavy. Loads of pig shit have been spread among the shrubs.

In the window of furniture shop, a man tests a sofa while his wife looks on. Does her slightly worried expression, as she leans over him, and his expression of comfortable bliss reflect their domestic relationship? And will being seated for a few minutes in a public place properly test the sofa's true qualities. In my experience sofas and chairs begin to be uncomfortable only after at least half an hour's serious occupation. Then again, if the sofa proves too comfortable, will he (or she, when she gets round to using it), be lulled too often into the unintentional sleep into which some of us fall in front of the tv, particularly in the run up to a general election.
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