Thursday, 5 March 2009


Odd. After crawling up the High Street slower than slow, but still making small progress, the bus always came to a juddering and lingering stop outside the Taxidermist's. 

We all peered in. Quiet. Pensive. It was a shop full of curiosities, like something from back in time, advertising a range of services including having your own specimen preserved, hires and sales from stock. Bizarre and yet, well-established in the everyday of newsagents, office supplies, kebab sellers and fruit stalls half way to my work.

And I always wanted to stand on the corner opposite and see who the customers might be and what they might have tucked under their arms. Appointments only, it said on the door.