I’ve been working where I work for a long time. Years. Maybe hundreds of years. I can’t remember.
Anyway, the delightful thing about working here is that I’m still discovering new things. The other day, for example, I went into a room I’m sure I’ve visited countless times before, but I noticed something new. Something important.
I found my box.
11 comments on “Marshall Box”
Did you unscrew it and put something inside? It needs a small version of your public art sticking to the back of the cover if nothing else.
I didn’t do this but I think I very much need to.
The important question is did you put yourself in the box?
I wouldn’t fit. Not yet. But I’ve started my Box Diet and I’ll be box-fit in three months. In the box for Christmas, that’s the plan.
Christmas Day. Chris is nowhere to be found. Kate finds a box in the middle of the living room (adjacent to the globe drinks cabinet). She opens it and finds Chris there, tiny and placed inside a lovely box. This means she can now put him away on the shelf whenever she’s done with him.
I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t my dream. Ideally, the box would have little wheels so I could be driven around the carpet like a toy car, but it’s not a dealbreaker.
Given your recent new wood skilling course I’m sure that tiny wheels for your tiny box is but a mere six hours’ worth of work away.
Get to it, son. Get the shave horse.
Whittle myself some wheels? I’m up for that. I’ll slice a tree down to a set of rustic castors in no time.
Make sure it has a footstool to go with it. No matter how long it takes, sixteen years or not, it must have an accompanying footstool.
Fourteen years. Plus three years to whittle the wheels. I’ll be rolling around in my lovely box by 2039.
If that’s not something to look forward to then I don’t know what is. Old man Marshall in his wheely box. They’ll put you in a home so fast, bless.