Thursday, March 10, 2016

Murdock The Cat


    I love poking around in vintage shops.

    There is no sense of adventure finer than wondering what might be around the next corner, and these places are unusually heavy on available corners.

    As a bonus, the opportunities for discovering the mouldering bodies of previous owners  are plentiful — and the same applies to soggy biscuits.

    Here’s my latest find, somewhere in Liverpool near Central Station.




    I lost all track of time for over an hour as I perused the dinky glassware, overpriced jackets and Carlsberg pub ashtrays.

    Murdock the cat (seen pictured here atop a wooden Chinese dragon) (and pronounced meehrdoch, cos this was Liverpool) eventually gave up his place overlooking the door and made his way to the counter where he just lay.

    People buying incense or mugs or old vinyl (I’m trying to give a flavour of the place here — it had everything) would fuss him as they paid for their stuff — and he responded by doing absolutely nothing.

    I’ve never beheld such a trustworthy cat.

    As it turned out, I left the shop with precisely nothing.

    Deeper into the Scouser maelstrom, I encountered Sports Direct and stocked up on underpants against a lurid panorama devoid of cat, dog, budgie — even spider.

    No kidding — I am turning into a Philistine.



    

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