Broom (13)

BROOM (13)

I was stood on a stool with my new feather-duster, detaching old cobwebs with what power I could muster when the one with the hoola-hoop swooped into sight, gyrating those hips with immense speed and might.

She said:

'You know those old photos of French boulevards; the ones where you really do have to squint hard? The ones that took ever so long to expose; so long that one wouldn't be wrong to suppose that Parisian roads - nay, all capital streets - were devoid of life; yea, untrodden by feet?'

I tried to look cool but, I have to admit, I've a deep-seated loathing of all arachnids.

'Yes. You know about Talbot and that French guy - Daguerre? The first to go public; the first who would dare to suggest they could turn three dimensions into two . . . '

The sight of a spider got me all of ado.

'Well, I often retreat to the fire escape, for a smoke and a think and a bit of a break. . .

'CCTV's always interested me but, now I can see, that my own institution's got its eye trained on me. It's installed an old camera: a pin-hole, in fact.  (Made out of a beer can and some sticky black tape.) My fear: though the camera is less than precise (and it takes several months for the pic to take shape) is that, despite long exposures removing all trace of the people who pass at a brisk walking pace, I am - regular - sat on the stairs . . .

'Now, won't it be awful if after six months, a latent image has registered me sat, all hunched-up? The untrained observer might wrongly deduce that I'm under-employed, and at a loose-end when, in fact (for the record) I actually spend more time than I paid for at work.'