Tag Archives: Dr Mutterfort

Desperately Seeking Sanity

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deja-vu-shadow-of-bottle-on-wall-uk

Deja Vu

Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE, was a large rotund jolly gentleman in the same vein as a young Stephen Fry, all floppy fringed with a similar sense of humour.
‘As we can’t locate your previous identity and nobody seems willing to come forward to donate a spare one, then it may be wise to construct a new one for you…. er, the old one probably wasn’t working too well in any case, otherwise you wouldn’t have ended up in here,’ he chuckled warmly, as he started scribbling frantically on his prescription pad.
‘Voila!,’ he exclaimed as he tore off my prescription with an extravagant flourish.
‘Here you are child, this should sort you out, now run along….chop, chop…. what are you waiting for? You must start immediately . . . shoo, shoo . . . toodlepipski.’
I hastened out of his office into the reception area where I sank down into a battered leather sofa and read the following:-

Identity Construction, Stage 1

1) Begin writing a bizarre fictional blog relating vaguely to your everyday experiences.

2) Explore the nature of an everyday object such as the humble bottle, find a way to exploit its inherent potential as a receptacle for purely emotional material.

3) Read books of quotations and note down the ones most relevant to your current situation.

I was beginning to feel a peculiar sense of deja vu….

Amnesia

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Addressed

I t was perhaps several months later when I awoke to find myself in a hospital bed in Dorchester. I had forgotten everything – Mogwash, the bottle of greed, my dear friend Sebastian and the fact that I was merely a character from a fictional blog. The doctors spent many hours trying to help me regain my identity, all seemed hopeless… I had been found wandering, dazed and confused in The Booze Bucket – purveyors of fine wines and dubious ciders. Chillingly, I had a fatal head wound and a not unattractive limp.
Nationwide television appeals pleading for friends or relatives to come forward to identify me and take me home proved fruitless. It appeared that I had not been reported missing.
To pass the time I spent many happy afternoons in the hospital craft room teaching myself the ancient forgotten skills of calligraphy; hour upon hour would pass whilst I sat at a desk addressing colourful envelopes to imaginary people with made up addresses.
Dr. Clive Mutterfort, DGM, MRCOG, MClinPscychol, MFFP, DCH, PhD, GCSE,

wedding-calligraphy-for-london-bride-uk

Addressed

seemed convinced that clues to my identity/hometown/bottle of greed were to be found in my inky scribblings, I had no reason to persuade him otherwise.