Sunday, 13 November 2011

Story That Requires A Punch Line

I got to work. The wall had to come down. I procrastinate and procrastinate. I even put things off. So I decide to start: to walk before they make me run. Slowly.

When I get the bit between my teeth, the sledge pounding and blocks tearing away, visitors arrive. It’s hard to keep going. I get self-conscious when people watch me work. The visitors get invited through to see what the noise is all about.
Well’, the better looking of the two says. ‘He’s a real handy man, your man.’ I must admit, I looked the part. My hair was floured with plaster and brick dust. I half fancied that the physical activity had made my beard grow so that it was jutting out and that I looked like a navvy from a century ago. My checked shirt was hanging out. The gloves had red leather bits sewn onto the palms and fingers like cat’s paws. I had a shovel to lean on in the classic labourer at rest pose. The handle was worn smooth. My jeans also looked like I’d been working in a flour mill. You could see the steel caps poking through the frayed holes where the toes on my boots had worn. I was impatient to carry on with shovelling the debris into the barrow so that I could wheel it outside.

‘Just putting the finishing touches on this room’ I said.
This got a laugh.

I also thought about trying out another joke I had been rehearsing in my mind. I said… (Please insert your joke here)

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