12.
Mitzy was no Brian Sewell, thankfully; art critic
though she was not, she could recognize the transvestite Turner Prize-winning
potter Graceful Perrier anywhere. Mitzy had even caught her owner’s infectious
enthusiasm for the artist-in-ceramics, having been allowed forbidden peeks
over the parapet of Mary Mary’s handbag at various exhibitions, the artist
himself depicted and peering back in varying poses upon
the glazed earthenware. The potter from Potters Barn was now immortalised in
the ceiling of the giant’s grotto. In the semi dark and thin, cold air of the
cave Mitzy stared up at a life size image in a lemon frock with strawberry
motifs, a trademark shoulder-length blond Mary Quant/Aunt Sally wig framing a
pale face in stark contrast to the vivid
rouged cheeks.
The giant rose momentarily in Mitzi’s esteem at the
thought of Graceful Perrier having once graced the dwelling of their
gargantuan host and left evidence of her visit daubed on the walls of the
giant’s giant larder. In the half-lit natural freezer Mitzi trotted forward for
a closer look at Graceful Perrier's cave painting of...well, Graceful Perrier.
Mitzti noticed that the circle of rouge on the left
side of the artist’s cheek was less blush-of-gushing-youth than.... Mitzi had
seen this marking before. Pulling one of the fur drapes that acted as both
insulation and partition to the antechamber which led out to the giant's
fur-lined lounge, Mitzi allowed a little more light to shine upon the
dumbfounded expression of the art-work. She had indeed seen this angry raw
effect on the doll-like face somewhere before, on a leg of long-forgotten lamb Mary Mary had
found hidden in the back of the freezer and set to thaw on the kitchen table;
it was freezer burn.
If a few days earlier Chovihani had successfully
flagged down a lift from the passing giant
out on the tundra and thanked his good fortune that any further
journeying on foot had been curtailed , he now cursed his luck at having been
removed from the Mittel Europa Waiting Room, and at being temporally displaced by a soul-mate who clearly put the acquisition
of unethically-sourced luxury goods
above their relation. Cascading from the back of a fast moving sledge, bundled
up in fur upholstery which, he had a suspicion, had not exactly come loose accidently, Chovihani
sat in a deep trench of snow, his ankle in agony, his cries drowned out in the wake of loud
imbecilic laughter..
Mary Mary, lost
in rhapsodies of fur was completely oblivious to Chovihani’s disappearance; The giant gave Mary Mary’s beard another
affectionate tug while thinking what a shame it would be when the time came to
remove his co-passengers beautiful ears; always the first protrusion to
succumb to frost-bite; the blackening
effect, experience had taught him, hastened the decay of the face as a whole.
Until then she would make a wonderful companion during the long perpetual cold and seamless
and dark days of the midnight sun; he would enjoy her store of tunes and poetry, she, in return,
would have unhindered access to fur.
Yes, indeed he would smother her in fur, no,
literally smother her; for he knew that one day she would grow restless and, like the others,
begin to talk of being homesick, of missing the bustle of a metropolis,
of the need to resume a career, and gradually to carp on endlessly about a yearning for some sort of night-life!
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