| Mr
Cane's in town (1.05) |
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Anyone
who knows me knows that I like to collect found writing. Thanks
to his campaign of miniature adverts that decorate my neighbourhood,
Mr Cane has made himself a home in my box of scavenged shopping
lists, love letters and other forgotten refuse. The signs are tiny, four or five centimetres wide and half as high. They are written in biro on bits of scrap cardboard, one says Sainsbury's on the other side. Then they are covered with sellotape and stuck to pillar-boxes, lamp posts, bus stops and other pieces of public furniture. Recently I've started seeing computer printed signs. I've only ever seen them in my neighbourhood, but it's possible that they exist elsewhere too. I see them so often that I've become a little bit blasé about them. The signs vary only slightly: C-P Service for She, Mr Cane, and then his mobile number. Or they have a little picture of a cane with Mr Cane Service for She underneath. Lately Mr Cane has been branching out in new directions that are too unpleasant to think about. I give you the Beard Caress. What I like about the signs is their crappiness and also the weird language they use. "For She." What's that about? For She Who Must Be Obeyed? It reminds me of the time that I worked at a swingers' mail order magazine. I'd type up personal ads which were written in a kind of arcane coded sex language; women with shaved bits were always shaven, not shaved, penetrative sex was referred to as ultimate, as in "husband to watch, ultimate not necessary". Mr Cane sounds like a product of that world. I've never had the guts to call Mr Cane and find out what it's all about, but that doesn't stop me wondering. Does he really have a client base of women in Stratford who like to get beaten by him, or caressed with his beard? It's hard to imagine it. Maybe putting up these obscure little signs is his thing and he lives in a fantasy world of willing submissives and peculiar desires. Whatever it's all about, they never fail to cheer me up. |
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