Sunday Spread.

Let’s consider the contents of this table, all the while reserving the need to question the psychological meaning thereof.

Or not.

You can’t see a laptop that was removed in between the thought of writing this down and the writing.

Thereof.

So, that leaves three – this and two others.

?

The table is being used by two people at present.

This one.

And another.

Significant.

There’s a torch, upended on it’s potentially shining part, left there at 4:58 a.m.

And an empty bread board, made by someone who would be 107 years old f still alive.

In some ways an antique.

There’s also a small wooden pestle and mortar containing recently pestle and mortared salt.

And a tea-cup containing granulated brown sugar.

It’s next to an empty glass, in turn next to the upended torch .

And then, a tennis ball.

It is under consideration for being stamped, addressed and sent to Melbourne for the David Shrigley exhibition.

A long shot perhaps.

A lob into the dark even.

Certainly a backhanded idea.

An empty, glasses case – triangular - bearing the inscription We are dreamers.

The glasses are absent. (The dreams not).

Sitting on a nose, beneath two eyes searching.

They find a sketch book, recently closed and a fabric-roll of pencils, rubber and sharpener.

Recently active.

All three.

There’s an opened, not yet played , board game.

Published in 1977, bought today .

3 euro.

Underneath, almost hidden, the wax paper wrapper from an orange in the market. 

Origin – Valencia.

There’s a clementine alongside, unconnected except by first the market and now the table.

A bag of rice.

Two pieces of cheese wrapped in cheese paper – a Castilian sheep’s cheese and a smoked raclette made from unpasteurized milk.

Butter, a tin of sardines, some glacé cherries, some turmeric roots and an empty brown paper bag which, not long ago, contained a cinnamon flavoured rolled pastry.

Sunday is market day.

Since starting this, the empty glass is now full of sparkling water. It has to be seen as coming from nowhere as there is no attendant bottle.

Though there is a small carton of cream sitting at an angle on the edge of an external hard disc attached to one of the several laptops.

There’s also a coiled, unconnected cable.

Unconnected to anything.

Especially the aforementioned one-of-the-laptops that is already connected.

But it’s next to a note-book.

Old-school.

Paper and pencil.

But there is no pencil in sight.

Just another, smaller note-book, held together with rubber bands.

A couple of postcards, one black-and-white.

Another, solitary and non-functioning, rubber-band, a piece of paper with an important code word and some miscellaneous pieces of fabric.

A t-spoon.

An empty coffee cup, that earlier held tea.

A home-made book mark, three kisses embroidered thereon and an hour-glass in a heavy, black, wooden frame.

On the side, the words – 5 minute break.

Though this took longer to write.