... put aside the cash that comes in for my Sunday entertainment and food for the week. Often I have to choose between the two. This might be one of those weeks. That's not as dire as it sounds; I quite enjoy this form of self-discipline. I used to like those saving boxes that had compartments for different objectives: 'Holidays' 'Clothes' (Rent, Heating etc. etc. but those compartments weren't so much fun.) Money means so much more when it arrives in the hand and sits in the purse. I fell a bad victim to the plastic culture. So difficult to keep track of something insubstantial, theoretical.
On Saturday I play music - music licence be hanged. On Saturday I have a glass of wine about now (3.30pm.)
2 Aug 2008
...and here's the other thing...
.....I wanted to say... to withinthewalledgarden The colours of the dyed wools are glorious! Am I right in thinking tansy is also known as ragwort? That is certainly poisonous to horses and cattle daft enough to eat it. I have served my time clearing it out of fields the ponies were about to graze.
I am getting this image of Gillian's kitchen as an alchemists' lair. Etchings of alchemists always have them in sinister dark places with stuffed crocodiles tied to the ceiling; live owls flitting in and out, and bats of course. Bats - well these have made more than a guest appearance on the blog - and now the chemicals... that's most of the requirements for a career in witchcraft and wizardry. I hope all the bottles are clearly labelled.
I am getting this image of Gillian's kitchen as an alchemists' lair. Etchings of alchemists always have them in sinister dark places with stuffed crocodiles tied to the ceiling; live owls flitting in and out, and bats of course. Bats - well these have made more than a guest appearance on the blog - and now the chemicals... that's most of the requirements for a career in witchcraft and wizardry. I hope all the bottles are clearly labelled.
I was in a good mood until...
....I tried to leave comments on two blogs and didn't manage to pass the sentries at the gate. To add insult - one of the blogs was my OWN!!! Blah! Anyway, here is what I wanted to add:
I'm looking forward to Chillsides' exposition on Tracey E. Thought that might evince a response. And as for Croydon - I lived in Thornton Heath for a number of years. That was close enough. Croydon was my nearest shopping centre. I didn't enjoy it. On another site I read the comments of an ex-Croydonian after a return visit; she said she didn't realise how awful it was whilst she was living there. We don't do we? We create a bubble for ourselves. I had a circuit of shops in Thornton H where I could talk to the shopkeepers and I stuck to them obsessively. It's a survival thing. Chloe and Sandy texted from London after crossing from one mainline station to another during the rush hour. 'Sardines R us!' In oil I imagine - and some poor souls do that daily, in fact can't imagine the horrors of living in the boondocks of Forres.
That sort of life affects the way we behave. Sophie used to look people in the eye when she passed them in the street; after several years in London she strides briskly, looking straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact. Visitors from the deep south are a jarring element this time of year. They drive more aggressively; they seem to be made nervous by friendliness; would rather remain aloof, slightly supercilious, slightly mocking? They bring a tension with them that is palpable. It's the way they have learned to survive.
I'm looking forward to Chillsides' exposition on Tracey E. Thought that might evince a response. And as for Croydon - I lived in Thornton Heath for a number of years. That was close enough. Croydon was my nearest shopping centre. I didn't enjoy it. On another site I read the comments of an ex-Croydonian after a return visit; she said she didn't realise how awful it was whilst she was living there. We don't do we? We create a bubble for ourselves. I had a circuit of shops in Thornton H where I could talk to the shopkeepers and I stuck to them obsessively. It's a survival thing. Chloe and Sandy texted from London after crossing from one mainline station to another during the rush hour. 'Sardines R us!' In oil I imagine - and some poor souls do that daily, in fact can't imagine the horrors of living in the boondocks of Forres.
That sort of life affects the way we behave. Sophie used to look people in the eye when she passed them in the street; after several years in London she strides briskly, looking straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact. Visitors from the deep south are a jarring element this time of year. They drive more aggressively; they seem to be made nervous by friendliness; would rather remain aloof, slightly supercilious, slightly mocking? They bring a tension with them that is palpable. It's the way they have learned to survive.
1 Aug 2008
..and...er...
....I'm thinking of making a special trip down to see the exhibitions.... not just her of course but, well, I'll have to take a look at her stuff too ... check it out .... make sure it's b%ll%cks.. which I'm sure it IS but ... I might as well... you know... check!
Anti-Emin Rant
All those who admire Tracey Emin please look away now. I am about to rant!
She is to have a 20 years retrospective in Edinburgh and is reported to be ‘nervous.’ This is the loud-mouthed, self-absorbed, creator of ‘The Bed,’ who has turned her name into a brand image for bad taste, coming over all sensitive?
After bewailing the loss of her Tent in the fire and the general lack of public sympathy (nay, even public amusement) she said...
“ ..... I'm also upset about those people whose wedding got bombed last week [in Iraq], and people being dug out from under 400 ft of mud in the Dominican Republic.'
Well, gosh. How big hearted to feel their experiences were as hard as her loss eh?
Then there was this interlude:
‘Emin was commissioned, as part of a scheme throughout London titled Art in Sacred Spaces, to collaborate with children on an artwork at Ecclesbourne Primary School in Islington, North London. Pupils made the piece with her in Emin's style of sewing cut out letters onto a large piece of material. In 2004, the school enquired if Emin would sign the work so that the school could sell it as an original to raise funds. They planned to auction the piece for £35,000 for an arts unit[67], as it could not afford to display the large work. Emin and her gallery White Cube refused saying that it was not a piece of her art, therefore reducing its value and requested it be returned. But Emin quickly came to an agreement with the school, where she paid £4,000 to create a perspex display box for the patchwork quilt to be showcased.’
I bet the school would have preferred the art unit and it would have been more use to the children in the long run. Also - think of the pride those children involved would have felt!!
But she was born in Croydon and after such a poor start in life what can you expect?
She is to have a 20 years retrospective in Edinburgh and is reported to be ‘nervous.’ This is the loud-mouthed, self-absorbed, creator of ‘The Bed,’ who has turned her name into a brand image for bad taste, coming over all sensitive?
After bewailing the loss of her Tent in the fire and the general lack of public sympathy (nay, even public amusement) she said...
“ ..... I'm also upset about those people whose wedding got bombed last week [in Iraq], and people being dug out from under 400 ft of mud in the Dominican Republic.'
Well, gosh. How big hearted to feel their experiences were as hard as her loss eh?
Then there was this interlude:
‘Emin was commissioned, as part of a scheme throughout London titled Art in Sacred Spaces, to collaborate with children on an artwork at Ecclesbourne Primary School in Islington, North London. Pupils made the piece with her in Emin's style of sewing cut out letters onto a large piece of material. In 2004, the school enquired if Emin would sign the work so that the school could sell it as an original to raise funds. They planned to auction the piece for £35,000 for an arts unit[67], as it could not afford to display the large work. Emin and her gallery White Cube refused saying that it was not a piece of her art, therefore reducing its value and requested it be returned. But Emin quickly came to an agreement with the school, where she paid £4,000 to create a perspex display box for the patchwork quilt to be showcased.’
I bet the school would have preferred the art unit and it would have been more use to the children in the long run. Also - think of the pride those children involved would have felt!!
But she was born in Croydon and after such a poor start in life what can you expect?
First edition.
A young mother of two (she looked about 18yrs) just came in for a variety of books ranging from 'The Rats of Nimh' to Steinbeck 'Of Mice and Men' ( a penchant for small rodents?) through Pratchet, with an amble into Dan Brown. I was touched to hear her list of requests because if I had passed her in the street I would have put her down as a TV & DVD sort of person who wouldn't have a single book in the house at all. Which just goes to show what a judgemental person I am and probably a literary snob to boot. ('To boot??' Must look that up..) Still she did have her limits. She wanted a replacement copy for her 'Romeo and Juliet' because she had lent hers to a friend and never got it back, which was a shame as it had been a first edition.
I gulped a bit but said not a word.
I gulped a bit but said not a word.
Pinch'n a punch....
...the first of the month. White rabbits!
There's no-one to do it to today so cyber pinches to all my readers!
The 1st of August. It's pouring with rain and last night I was suddenly aware how the nights are drawing in. (I like that phrase 'drawing in.' It is at once cosy and inward turning.) There's always a moment in August when I feel autumn has arrived and today is that day this year. It's a lttle sad (I am a melancholic, romantic person) but also good to feel the changing of the seasons. With darker mornings I would expect to sleep later and might if the gull chicks (now the same size as their parents) didn't wake me with their wistfully 'where's-my-food?' cheepings. They now sound deeper, rather asthmatic, or like an adult bird with laryngitis; probably their voices are breaking. Do bird's voices break? I wonder how they know when it's time to fly? They don't seem to try out their wings other than to stretch them and scratch a bit. I have a shelf of bird books and could probably find the answers but I like to wonder, in both senses of the word: to ponder a question, and to regard with awe.
The other sign that autumn has arrived is the upswing in Amazon sales, largely for the sort of book one needs for college courses. The shop has done really well this week. Hooray!
There's no-one to do it to today so cyber pinches to all my readers!
The 1st of August. It's pouring with rain and last night I was suddenly aware how the nights are drawing in. (I like that phrase 'drawing in.' It is at once cosy and inward turning.) There's always a moment in August when I feel autumn has arrived and today is that day this year. It's a lttle sad (I am a melancholic, romantic person) but also good to feel the changing of the seasons. With darker mornings I would expect to sleep later and might if the gull chicks (now the same size as their parents) didn't wake me with their wistfully 'where's-my-food?' cheepings. They now sound deeper, rather asthmatic, or like an adult bird with laryngitis; probably their voices are breaking. Do bird's voices break? I wonder how they know when it's time to fly? They don't seem to try out their wings other than to stretch them and scratch a bit. I have a shelf of bird books and could probably find the answers but I like to wonder, in both senses of the word: to ponder a question, and to regard with awe.
The other sign that autumn has arrived is the upswing in Amazon sales, largely for the sort of book one needs for college courses. The shop has done really well this week. Hooray!
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