The Impressionist
“And this is my carrot!” The man placed his hand on his head and wiggled his fingers. So far he had shown me his impression of a potato, turnip and broccoli. They were all remarkably similar, involving him leaning forward slightly and staring at me with a haunted, bug eyed look.
At least the carrot involved a hand gesture.
“Very good,” I lied.
“Thanks. Do you want to see my Kidney Bean? I can also do Pinto, Borlotti and Butter Beans. Still working on the Broad Bean though.”
“You should go on Britain’s Got Talent with this act. Simon Cowell will love it.”
“Do you think so? Really?”
“Don’t see why not. They have all sorts on there.”
“That’s right.” I could hear the cogs whirring in his brain.
“I’ll have a word with my brother. He does a brilliant wheat impression. Barley and oat as well. But not rice. He nearly drowned once doing his impression of rice in a paddy field. But we could be a double act! Him cereals me vegetables!”
“Don’t forget about the pulses.”
“Cheers!”
He hadn’t bought a ticket and tried to bribe The Guard with his cauliflower impression, which was remarkably similar to his other vegetable mimicry in that he leaned forward slightly and stared at The Guard with a haunted, bug eyed look.
“Don’t care if you are a leg of lamb with all the trimmings. No ticket. No journey.” The Guard was correct but harsh. I was hoping the man did an impression of a leg of lamb with all the trimmings. But he didn’t.
He was put off at Stonehouse Station. As the train rumbled passed, he smiled at me and then reprised his carrot. I raised my cup of tea towards him. It was the best impression of a carrot I had ever seen. Come to think of it, it was the only impression of a carrot I had ever seen.
