| Invitation : We are kindly welcoming you to joining our Virtual Story Desk , eventually share your stories from the depths of your soul and beyond, narrated by the infamous Mr. K. Let’s start ….. Here we introduce Mr . K. Enjoy and expand . Don’t be shy. It’s only words. Therefore, email us on : info@womensculturalarena.org.uk |
| A Puppet with strings attached – 1 I always like to browse around the (old curiosity shops- Bazaars/markets) when on my travels, on the lookout for the ‘obviously unobvious ‘! that little something different stand out piece that makes no sense at all, except its own originality. The proprietor of the , let’s call it a glorified double garage , in the sprawling district of Yang city was a small bent over crooked chap , smoking a large cigar. ‘Hello Sir, Can I help enlighten you? , he announced in an unannounced fashion in my general direction.’ I was flattered , never had I been made welcome in any treasure trove , with such a positive greeting. ‘Good morning ‘ I replied, what a fabulous, err … shop you have Sir, everything from carpets, rugs, books, pipes, bags, cloths, pots and pans ..(none of them looked new, everything in the beautifully confused haphazard layout had an old , although magnetic attachment to my roving cultural curious mind’s eye) ‘I am looking for ( I hesitated )… ‘A puppet ‘ I reluctantly mumbled, knowing my wife needed some props and ideas to enhance and upgrade her monthly ECC (Exotic Culture Cafe gathering) back home. Her words as , I kissed her goodbye at the airport were as usual ‘Bring me something back, exciting and unique, if you can find it, you can afford it ‘. ‘Mr Ken ‘ made me feel most welcome , and filled in with loads of background stories/ tales which I politely acknowledge, interpreting his pigeon English/French/Spanish, as he slowly showed me around his kaleidoscopic Wonder world. He teased me with a raised finger, a yelp and a high pitched laugh, a dramatic ring on an old bell, which he informed me was from the Titanic. We eventually stood in front of several tea boxes, wrestling with several old’ penning farthing ‘ bikes , and what appeared to be an astronaut space suite for recognition and potential buyers in a gloomy corner. ‘Yes, these should be of interesting to you ‘ he confidently croaked in his own unrivalled sales pitch voice. ‘All the way from Ceylon and Indonesia these chests, full of puppets , take a look , please , please take a look , plenty puppets good price’ , he assured me with a knowing smile and lung full of smoke. ‘Mr. Ken’, was busy with another curious visitor whilst, I excitedly, childlike, went through the old battered tea chests covered in muslin cloth and smelling of every event and mystery of the last 1000 years, an exotic mix of nostalgia, mystic and foreboding came over me. I dug deep , I was greeted with hand puppets, finger puppets , sailors, soldiers , postman, policemen, male , female, neutral, small, large, broken, some sad, some happy, what an indecent looking bunch of cloth, wooden, painted stringed wannabe’s . What next? © story line by NSW 30th May 2020 |
