This is a London
favourite, a classic piece of graffiti
Ken Dodd's Dad's Dog's Dead
which has ended up as a band name
, a web site name, plastered on tshirts, and all. It looks best on the wall, though, in gloriously plain white capital letters, stretched long and eating your brain, rattling around like a tongue twister
for hours, echoing the rhythm of your walking
may be no one's favourite person. When the taxman
caught up with him, no one felt sympathy. Dentists loathe him. The Diddy Men
scared the hell out of all small children. But, there's something oddly pathetic about the death of his dad's dog, even if it is just a fiction of alliterative delight.
I once almost rented a flat, just because I would have to walk past this graffiti every morning on the way to work.