All about our Arf'
Arthur's Biography
A novel by Arthur P Shrimpton.
I am born. Its the beginning of my life. And as the clock strucketh the hour, there I was,
brought into the world, your very own Arthur P Shrimpton, ready to live and love and
conquor. Sadly, nothing much has happened since then. It's been a disaster from start to
finish. I dont know why I even bother getting up in the morning. Just whats the point of
it all?
Now. What else can I tell you about me on this architecture site? I suppose I could bore you some more with news of my exploits and wanderings around the buildings of London. But i'm sure you know exactly where i'm a comin' from. I walk the streets from dusk to dusk in search of architectural perfection. And when I find it, I document it, photograph it, and then write about it. Sometimes I even try to enter a nice building, but am always turned away on account of being too shabby or nosey or a security risk, which is stupid because I only want to have a look around, and dream of owning the place. Sometimes, if its like an old Victorian haunt, I wonder what it must have been like say 150 years ago when some building was first built, the atmosphere of old London and londoners in this building, with their clothes and furniture and gossip and horses. It must have been amazing. I'd love to go back in time. I'd show them a thing or two. Anyway, then I open my eyes and look around at 21st century London in the same building, with all the noise and mess and technology. And then notice some big burly thug ready to chuck me out cos i'm a serious security risk like a terrorist or something. Bloody cheek! The humilaition of being turfed out and thrown into the gutter. I was at Dunkirk you know!
I suppose my life's nearly over. I was hoping it would be much better than this. But nothing ever happens! Its just the same old rubbish on TV, same people, and I still never win at Bingo. I've strolled these streets for a lifetime, and still enjoy it, but its quite upsetting seening all your favourite places being pulled down. If I was London's Mayor I would stop all this madness and reconstruct most of old London. Then I would pull down that new Mayors building. Its horrible! What idiot thought that one up?
And now my written story ends. I hope you didnt fall asleep reading it like I did when I typed it. You might be wondering how someone could live so long and not actually do anything. Life might be more than Television, or discussing the weather, or making yet another cup of tea. But personally, I seem to have decided to let everyone else do the exciting things for me, so that I may read about it instead. Anyway, must go now, the cat is scratching at the door trying to get in, and she sounds angry. Oh dear. Goodnight everybody!
Oh well, nevermind. Things could be a lot worse. At least its not like in the war, what with those doodlebugs raining down on us. And at least we've got the television. And out in the yard, i've got a flock of pigeons for friends. Them there pigeons never let me down, are never too tired to go out, and make a loverly pigeon pie if theres nothing else left in the larder. I like pigeons. They're my best and only friends.
Now. What else can I tell you about me on this architecture site? I suppose I could bore you some more with news of my exploits and wanderings around the buildings of London. But i'm sure you know exactly where i'm a comin' from. I walk the streets from dusk to dusk in search of architectural perfection. And when I find it, I document it, photograph it, and then write about it. Sometimes I even try to enter a nice building, but am always turned away on account of being too shabby or nosey or a security risk, which is stupid because I only want to have a look around, and dream of owning the place. Sometimes, if its like an old Victorian haunt, I wonder what it must have been like say 150 years ago when some building was first built, the atmosphere of old London and londoners in this building, with their clothes and furniture and gossip and horses. It must have been amazing. I'd love to go back in time. I'd show them a thing or two. Anyway, then I open my eyes and look around at 21st century London in the same building, with all the noise and mess and technology. And then notice some big burly thug ready to chuck me out cos i'm a serious security risk like a terrorist or something. Bloody cheek! The humilaition of being turfed out and thrown into the gutter. I was at Dunkirk you know!
I suppose my life's nearly over. I was hoping it would be much better than this. But nothing ever happens! Its just the same old rubbish on TV, same people, and I still never win at Bingo. I've strolled these streets for a lifetime, and still enjoy it, but its quite upsetting seening all your favourite places being pulled down. If I was London's Mayor I would stop all this madness and reconstruct most of old London. Then I would pull down that new Mayors building. Its horrible! What idiot thought that one up?
And now my written story ends. I hope you didnt fall asleep reading it like I did when I typed it. You might be wondering how someone could live so long and not actually do anything. Life might be more than Television, or discussing the weather, or making yet another cup of tea. But personally, I seem to have decided to let everyone else do the exciting things for me, so that I may read about it instead. Anyway, must go now, the cat is scratching at the door trying to get in, and she sounds angry. Oh dear. Goodnight everybody!