The Woman Who Mistook…

In a moment of cava-induced enthusiasm at the degree show opening a couple of weeks ago, the spouse bought a tiny bird sculpture from one of the students of the ceramics department. I think he must have been missing the magpie babies after their sudden disappearance. There was a bit of haggling over the price owing to the influence of alcohol, so the puzzled young artist got five quid more than he was asking for, and promised to deliver the goods once the show had ended.

The ceramic bird is clearly not a homing pigeon, because two weeks on, it still hasn’t appeared, but this morning I was walking through the empty studio and spotted it perched in the sunshine, in a hole in one of the exhibition boards where a computer monitor had previously been.

Flippin’ students, I sighed to myself, what a stupid place to leave it.

As I got closer, my missing bird disappointingly turned into a big lump of discarded duct tape and I marvelled, not for the first time, at how my disordered sensory faculties always prefer to opt for the ludicrous rather than the logical interpretation of what is presented before them. Like when Ted Danson said on a tv drama the other night, during a courtroom scene, “Let’s make a splash” and I heard “Let’s make a swordfish”.

Now I can see why I might have mistaken a lump of duct tape for a bird, but that swordfish has got me stumped.

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