Please Do Not Touch

If you’ll kindly check in your coats and bags to one of the lockers on your left, I’ll begin the tour.

I see you’re struggling – no worries, here to give a helping hand, always.

We shall proceed. Welcome to the Beaufort Gallery. The layout goes east to west, chronological order. The curators are sticklers for correct categorisation and labelling of specimens – I beg your pardon, I mean pieces. Species, peecies. You’d think I’d have the patter down pat by now, bless my soul! Fire exits are clearly signposted. Please refrain from touching any of the artworks. Photography is not allowed. If you find yourself particularly taken with any of the artefacts, we have a gift shop bearing the likeness of many of them. We have toilets available on every level (though I see you’ve already been). There’s a rooftop terrace where you may avail yourself of speciality coffees (I’m an Earl Grey fan, myself) or something stronger if you’re in the mood. Personally, I’m always in the mood.

But enough about me. A little background history on the building before we enter the first exhibition room.

The building was purchased by the current owner’s great-great-great grandfather, Percival Beaufort, in 1859. Percival was a hunter, who used the space to display taxidermy creations of his greatest hits. Upon his passing, ownership went to his son, Harold, who officially opened it as a museum. How lovely it is, when a hobby can be used to turn a profit, don’t you think? I used to collect stamps, sadly all thrown out by my mother who had been having one of her furious clear outs post a session on the gin. A cleansing, inside and out, if you will. There’s an alternative timeline where my children are building little frames for all my little stamps and charging people to look at them.

Go carefully down the steps there. Some of the tiles are coming loose, no doubt from all the heavy weights dragged across them…not that that is by anyway a dig at your size, sir.

Just this way, to the first picture. Note how the artist plays here with light and shade. We see the dark figure lying prone on the contrasting stark whiteness of the kitchen floor. The crack in the linoleum seeming to direct us to examine the facial expression. It is not until later, on further inspection, that we see the fangs in the shadows. As an aside, I ended up adopting that cat. No, really!

A little more back story on the history of the building. And may I just say how delightful it is to have such a captive audience. After Harold’s reign, it became a hotel, owing to my strong-headed grandmother muscling in. She used to joke to her husband that he treated the place like a hotel, which is how she got the idea. It's all in her diaries, which are not on display, but if you ask nicely...anyway, it failed, mostly due to its location I expect. We’re a little bit too tucked out of the way here. People only find us if they really want to, or if they are chosen as the lucky winner of some competition – we do still keep some beds available on the second floor. And not many people think to leave us a review – the making of most businesses these days.

Ah, I see you are quite taken with this portrait. You’ll see the artist has titled it ‘Headlock’. Perhaps partially inspired by the 2006 electropop release by Imogen Heap, but a realist would say it’s probably due to the cage encircling the victim’s, I mean subject’s, head.

The building fell into disrepair until I discovered it when researching my family history. I just had to turf out some squatters, spiders, and another S-word to rude to mention. Surprise! I am indeed the owner. I like a hands on approach. Much like you did. What did I tell you about letting your mucky little fingers touch the goods, hmm?

In fact, my hands can be seen here in the third photo we come to, holding a knife to a former employee’s trembling belly. He threatened to spill the secrets of how I create my scenes, so I spilled his guts.

Now the fourth, called ‘Smile, it Might Never Happen’. Named after what he said after he was through following me down the street and catcalling me. See how he smiles so wide now, you can even see his molars. Turns out, it did happen for him.

The fifth. Mr Handsy. Not anymore! I kept his fingernails, painted them and drilled holes in them to make a little necklace. I wear it to church on Sundays. Mrs Davis from the farm down the way liked it so much I said I’d make her one of her own.

You look like someone who needs to be somewhere else, so I shall wrap up this tour. Elegantly, with a ribbon on top. Come with me to the movie room. Take a seat.

I said SIT DOWN.

Sorry, that must’ve hurt. But now you can rest and reminisce on what you’ve seen. Maybe have a think about how you got here. Now I’ve introduced you to all the other guys who have wronged me, how are you feeling about your future, ‘sweetheart’? Are you regretting brushing your chipolata up against my cheeks in Big Eddy’s yet? Thought you were in with a chance of shoving your hotdog between these buns, ‘hun’?

Man, I should really learn to eat before I do these gigs. Can you tell I’m peckish? You look starving. I guess that lovely lace-y cocktail I gave you wasn’t very filling.

Couldn’t get you to shut up back in the bar. How does it feel to be subjected to someone else’s stream of consciousness, ya streak of piss? Oh yeah. I’m lyrical, maniacal, but certainly no dream pixie whatever, ya’ll.

If I can just position your legs so they are lined up with those of the chair – it’ll be easier if you stop thrashing about – and I’m just going to untie your wrists so they rest on the arms, and now! Seeing as you have so little to say, just nod in the direction of the implement I should use first. Was that the pliers? An unusual starter, many would have saved that for main. But I do so love breaking tradition.

Let me just get a before pic of you. Dammit, you’ve made your face all shiny with all the bawlin’g Let me pat that dry for you real quick. Enjoy my tatas in your face – it’ll be the last time you get close to any. Now, smile for the camera, ‘babe’!