|Scrabbleman? No, Scrabblewoman|
So, I’ve seen the BBC News, I’ve read about it in the Hastings and St Leonard’s Observer…. the Philosopher said to me last night, “Do you fancy a game of Scrabble?” He gets the board out, and would you believe it, there are no tiles left apart from ‘Z’ and ‘X’.
“What’s happened here?” he says.
“Make up your own mind, Monkey-face” I replied, quick as a flash.
No really, Scrabbleman isn’t me. Battleaxes don’t do anonymous subversive artistic statements. But two questions occur to me:
– Why are the people responsible for stuff like this always men?
– At what point do the things cross the line from being messy graffiti to being intriguingly amusing art?
I don’t know the answer to either of these questions, and am too busy with our new house and the Great Scone Survey (see previous blog posts) to think about it very much. Just been down to the Land of Green Ginger in the Old Town High Street with some friends.
I noticed out of the corner of my eye they had no scones today, just as well, because I had the Twice-baked Cheese Souffle which is very filling and totally fantastic.