This is not art. No. 36…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s existential angst is centred around the sound of the word penultimate.
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What a feast of form, texture, and colour! This piece is about two-and-a-half metres by four. If it were a painting on a gallery wall I think it could be cheerfully termed monumental! The limited palette of  browns and greys creates an intensity of blandness which straightway reaches out and takes the unsuspecting viewer by the throat, whispering close to the ear, To hell with your pouting pleasant pastels, this is real life you sucker!
Note the enclosed area of naked European skin tone fleshiness in the mid-right; see how the ovoid form is contained by those crisp brutally conchoidal click-snapped edges, see how they glance across to blatantly contrast with the woolly fluffy blurred edges of the large thrusting horizontal shape to the left – is that the profile of a human face I see at the border of the two? It is peering into the void and frowning? No, I think not – it is the face of pain…
Perhaps we now look below, to observe that which is supporting this grisly drama of forms – the dirty grim grey substrate, sliced by a fine-cut running line whose wound has been immaculately closed with non-regularly spaced tiny pinheads – will they hold? No, I don’t think so….
Now dear viewer, look above. Do we see a string of traversing equally spaced rectilinear clouds with angled ends, perhaps cheekily purloined from a Paul Nash sky?…
And finally, we spot those two clearly defined and dominating rectangular forms, how could we miss them? The bottom one seems to be only half completed, as if the artist has succumbed to their own dark mood and departed, unable to go on; it is obvious to anyone that these are included to form a mathematical equals sign – surely the irony is obvious…

No, you see, I was walking past this unused advertising hoarding a few weeks ago and spotted these funny shapes, and these bits of plywood – oh, and look the rain has run down it and made dirty marks too. It might make a nice, but gritty photo?… Click…

(PN Clouds)

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Some overheard and misheard snatches of cafe conversation…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s Sir Arthur Conan Doyle quotation is from The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902):
“Hist!” cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol. “Look out! It’s coming!”
There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the heart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of where we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror was about to break from the heart of it. I was at Holmes’s elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement…
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‘They are happy in their sundown…’
‘It’s the first in Accrington with a five-year gap.’
‘People are worried in their walls Bob.’
‘A minister who was a bit weird?’
‘Grandma was born, was born!’
‘An interesting dance, and a numbing wig.’
‘On paper it’s a pagey procedure.’
‘Not a knot-wert?…’
‘A purple reference, and it’s tax as you go!’
‘She gets cottage and a street session included.’
‘What?… A functionette?’
‘So, the vassal was six holes then?’
‘Dophters, my crikey, and a downed ghoul.’
‘It can go away in a one-twelve cabinet?’
‘Rain drops and music box fun!’
‘Get a stronger pole with structions with it Martin.’
‘The same girl at work got factored in again…’
‘Money is a carbuncle, Kenny had one of those.’
‘I took 750 meat sins hanging as they were.’
‘And that’s the end of the ring-road marrows!’
‘He had a Danzig streak…’
‘A single wallet, and four men?’
‘Jerry, it’s a counter-catch pole!…’
….
For some information of how these lines are compiled you could click here.

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Brownlow puts his foot in it…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s carefully selected colours are: bulging brown, swollen sienna, vile violet, ribald red, yawping yellow, and that funny shade of fawn that the rug went after it had been left in out the sun all day.
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‘Did you see him?’
‘Oh, hello Professor, I didn’t hear you come in…’
‘Did you see him?’
‘Who sir?’
‘Look Brownlow, there’s a thing sitting on my desk – and a badly scrawled note!’
‘Oh yes, sir, it was Dr Miles Dithrod from the British Museum, he…’
‘Yes, yes, he signed the note – he’s an ass!’
‘An ass sir?’
‘He’s a blithering idiot Brownlow, did you see him?’
‘Yes professor.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing, he just left that, er, thing, for you.’
‘Damn!… What’s that, that you are eating?’
‘It’s one of my Aunt Cissy’s coconut macaroons.’
‘Fine upstanding woman is your Aunt Cissy… Have you got any of them left?’
‘Oh, er, I’m afraid that was the last one. I have a packet of crisps, unopened sir, if you…’
‘Have you seen your Aunt Cissy recently Brownlow? What’s she up to?’
‘I, er, I’m not sure sir… I think she said that she was going off on holiday soon.’
‘Oh, a  holiday, on her own eh? Where to?’
‘I’m er, not sure sir… So, what about the mystery object that Dr Dithrod left?’
‘It’s no mystery Brownlow, not to a man of my knowledge and experience – by the way, where did you say your Aunt Cissy was going?’
‘Oh, I, er, can’t quite recall at the moment what she said… The object, the relic, it had the people back at the BM really baffled, but they do know that it is very ancient…’
‘Hm… Do they indeed! I think I will have that packet of crisps Brownlow – ah, thank you, Prawn cocktail eh?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Those BM people are wrong – as usual! This object is obviously not right, it’s a fake, probably made in the early 18th c. as a crude copy of an original pre-historic one, one that I am familiar with, that’s in the Ashmolean.’
‘Oh, I see…’
‘Brownlow, these crisps are horrible!’
‘Sorry sir, they were selling them off cheap in the mini-mart on the corner… So, the artefact… there’s not much to it is there?’
‘No, there isn’t, but do you notice the strand of crumbling leather still attached to it?’
‘Oh, yes, that is a puzzle isn’t it?’
‘Back in pre-history, in the area where the original, not this piece of tat, was found, all the local folk would assemble at the time of the summer equinox, to chant ancient melodies handed down from generation to generation…’
‘But how would we know that professor?’
‘Brownlow, I just know!… The great gathering was presided over by the chief of the tribe, standing on a lith…’
‘A lith?’
‘Yes, a lith… He’d be completely naked except for a narrow leather strip, or strap, with a pointed object cleverly attached on the front of it, as a symbol of…’
‘Fertility?’
‘Yes, Brownlow, fertility!…’
‘Goodness me! So, this pointy thing, on your desk…’
‘It’s a copy of the original. An interesting fake I suppose, but otherwise worthless to academia.’
‘But that’s fascinating sir!’
‘And speaking of fertility – and things carnal…’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Your Aunt Cissy, where did she say she was going on holiday – on her lonely sojourn?’
‘Well sir, I…’
‘Come on man! What is it?!’
‘Well she said that she was off to Greece, with an, er, old archaeologist friend of hers.’
‘What!… What’s the bounder’s name?’
‘Well actually sir, it’s…’
‘No! No!… Not Dithrod!…’
‘I’m afraid so… Er… by the way sir, when I’m writing the report on this artefact, how should I refer to it?’
‘Oh, just call it the Wrong throng sing-song thin thong prong thing.’
‘Whoo! Could you say that again for me sir?…’
‘No Brownlow!… I’m going to the pub for the afternoon!…’

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Encounter with a beast on the way home…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s existential angst is centred around the sound of the word gloom.
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No, this photo Dave, it’s not really that crisp and sharp, is it?…
But you see, evening was coming on, and the light wasn’t that good.
Being a Sunday there weren’t many buses back from town, so I decided that the time waiting for the next available one would be about the same as the walk home, so heroically I plumped for the walk – that’s the way I am you know…
As I was crossing the road in front of that embarrassingly bad mural the council had commissioned to commemorate the fishing disasters, I noticed a mark, a stain, on the road where someone had recently chucked a white plastic container of some unidentified liquid, perhaps it was tea or coffee? Oh look, I thought, the shape of the splash looks like some lurching figure, maybe I’ll take a quick snap… I liked the way the cup was still present in the middle, looking sort of moon-like – oh, and that yellow road line at the bottom sort of ‘grounds’ him doesn’t it?

Hm, you can see how murky it was, can’t you? I had the idea that I might come back the next day when the light was better – but that was a very stupid idea – the drink (oh, see, it looks a bit like milk) would have evaporated by then. Anyway, poor though the quality of the photo is, I think the striking shape of the figure makes up for it, don’t you? You can’t go wrong having a bit of anthropomorphism in your composition!
It doesn’t look that much like a person though, more like some Hollywood monster fresh out of his stinking polluted lagoon – he’s a product of nuclear waste dumping I expect.
But doesn’t the cup look good? It’s perfect for the composition, and if you look carefully you can almost make out a little bit of detail on it – which is surprising how overexposed it is.
Perhaps to liven this post up we should have a Name that Monster competition. Come on now, what’s his name? I’m sure it’s a ‘he’ by the way – just look at his drunken masculine gait! No prizes on offer though.
Perhaps I’ll start you off dear reader – I think he’s called Mohlo the Murky
Look out!… Behind you!… Here he comes!…

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Just a few short, but pithy things…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s dictionary words are: ajowan, warray, peplos, distyle, scuppernong, and theotechny. Please have these words looked up and placed in suitable sentences ready for Professor Mouldie first thing after breakfast tomorrow morning. The professor will be in the garb, and will assume the stance, of a sumo wrestler for the duration of the lesson – you should not allow this to distract you from your studies. (SW)
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Excuses for being late. No. 398.
I’m sorry I’m late, but my stratocaster was buzzing at the fourteenth fret.

A single overheard remark:
‘No Jerry, he’s in Bali at the minute…’

An observation:
In the cafe today there is a middle eastern looking chap having a long, it’s twenty-five minutes now, conversation in his native tongue on his phone – nothing unusual there, except that there are virtually no gaps in his speech for his interlocutor to do any replying. Perhaps he is dictating a chapter of his new novel to his secretary at the other end who is getting it all down in shorthand? Listen, he’s still at it!… Oh, and where’s that panino I ordered ten minutes ago got to?…

‘I want a pair of those nice bright blue Lycra cycling pants please.’
‘Yes, sir, of course, what thighs do you take?’
‘Eh?…’

‘I suddenly fancied some mature cheddar yesterday, and as I was in Tesco’s, I slid round to browse the cheese shelves.’
‘Oh yes, and what brand did you decide on?’
Creamfields.
‘Oh?… Why that particular brand?’
‘Well, you know, the nameYou see, cream, that’s always good, and it sounds smooth, when you’re thinking about nice food – and of course fields – that’s where happy smiling cows live, it’s nature, it’s all really authentically natural isn’t it? Creamfields, what a lovely word and image it is! Full of nature’s goodness! Great blobs of cream growing there in lush green pastures, looking forward to being cheese. The birds twittering in the blue sky – you know!…’
‘Pastures?’
‘Well, fields…’
‘Not a factory then?’
‘No, no, definitely not a factory.’
‘Well, I do hope you enjoy your cheese…’
‘Thank you, I’m sure I shall…’
(CC)

Hoy, what’s that plopping sound? Oh, it must be a piece of spam dropping into my comments box – let’s have a look. Yes, it’s a short piece from someone with the unlikely name of Rollexman:
Hi i’m kavin, its my first time commenting anyplace, when i read this post i thought i could also make comment due to this sensible piece of writing. What a data of un-ambiguity and persevereness of valuable know-how regarding unexpected emotions.
Well, thank you Rollexman, or is it kavin? And of course, thank you for getting in touch! I am gratified to hear that you find my writing sensible, and that your persevereness seems to be paying off big time. Don’t hesitate to get in touch again – I love your style, and I can take any amount of this sort of thing. Unexpected emotions indeed!…

Yes, I’m thinking of changing my name to – Sir N. Dipity.

A single overheard remark:
‘That Barbara! She lives in attitudes already!…’

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Enjoying messing about on the bench…

But first…
Dulltown, UK: Today’s existential angst is centred around the sound of the word Plantagenet.
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Me, I love pratting about (PA) with things and ‘improving’ them – it’s a very satisfying thing to do. One evening about a week ago as I was twanging some blues on my electric guitar whilst half-watching some tosh on the TV – my gaze drifted from the antics on the screen to the little amplifier that the guitar was plugged in to. It’s a ten watt Squier ‘practice  amp’ that a friend gave me a while back. I mentioned it in a post some months ago – in the post I was blithering on about a photograph that it was featured in – this one.

Look, there it is in the middle. You’ll see that it is sitting on a black box – this is a speaker cabinet that I made to accommodate a nice Celestion 10 inch speaker I had kicking around in my junk room. The speaker in the little amplifier didn’t sound that good, it was a bit ‘thin’ and cardboardy (I just made that word up). When I bypassed the original speaker and played the amplifier through the Celestion the difference was amazing. The Squier electronics part is actually very good, but it was let down badly by the tatty speaker that they put with it.
Anyway, as I twiddled away on some Otis Rush riffs I had the thought that having the little amp sitting on top of the speaker box looked a bit silly and it took up too much space both practically and aesthetically, and what I really should do is take the Squier amp to bits and adapt my home-made cabinet and install the amplifier’s electronics inside it.
In a surge of enthusiasm I switched the TV off, unplugged everything and took the two items into my little workshop – oh, I thought, what fun this would be! Here’s another picture from a couple of days later – it was taken about halfway through the job:

There on the right you can see the disembowelled Squier, its chassis with the electronics is on the bench in front of that tin of black paint. On the left is my cabinet with its speaker removed – note the slot I have cut in the top to take the amplifier control panel.
I must say it was a bit tricky working out how to fasten the amp chassis in place – it was designed for a box with a sloping front panel – see the hole on the Squier. Still, I figured something out eventually.
Of course about halfway through, the rather negative thought popped up that during all this fiddling I might have accidentally bashed one of the components on the circuit board, and when I finally got the thing together, put the last screw in, gave it a rub down with a fluffy duster, and plugged it in – it might not work any more, and I had buggered it up by messing with it. But being plagued by such negative thoughts is all part of the job…
As it was it worked fine at switch on – phew!
Here’s a picture of the finished thing: And by the way, it does sound jolly nice!

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Hm, beer… warmth…

But first…
Dulltown,UK: Today’s annoyance is first triggered when you find that you are getting more spam items on your blog than actual readers. Doh!…
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Walking into town, past the railway station car park the other day, I noticed a slightly scruffy man, probably in his thirties, sitting on the bonnet (hood in the US) of a silver coloured car parked in there; he was drinking from what looked like a can of cheap beer. Not an unusual sight I suppose, but it did trigger a couple of trains of thought as I sloped by.
1) The car could be his of course, and there would be nothing wrong with him sitting on it and having a swig or two as he did so; perhaps he could be showing off for a minute or two and in effect saying, ‘Look at me, this is my car!’ – before sauntering off into town to do a spot of shopping. Or…
2) The car doesn’t belong to him, but assuming that it has been recently parked, and the engine is still warm, it would be an ideal place for a person to sit for a bit of warmth, the day being an unusually chilly one. A beer in one’s hand and heat being conducted to the buttocks and the backs of one’s thighs from the bonnet – that sounds great!
If this were the case, I was wondering what might transpire if the owner of the vehicle suddenly returned. He (let’s say for the sake of the unfolding drama that this is a ‘he’ and not a ‘she’) might stroll up and observe the scene: ‘Hoy!… What the effing blinding hell do you think you are doing on the bonnet of my brand new effing …… (insert name of posh car here)!’ Possibly to be answered with, ‘Ah… right… sorry buddy, I was just warming my cheeks for a few minutes – can I offer you a gulp of nice lager?’
I’ll leave the rest of this interaction in your hands dear reader, you may choose to end this amicably with some bonhomie and cheery back slapping – or, with a couple of bloody punched noses…
The thing is of course, that sitting on the bonnet of a car wouldn’t really do much harm to the thing – unless of course you were perhaps a punk, wearing, what are I believe are called ‘bondage trousers’ with those attached shiny chains, and an assortment of heavy gauge chrome zips.
So, the car owner shouldn’t really be that upset, should he? I suppose it’s more the idea of the thing rather than the physical reality of it – the phrase effrontery might spring to mind here. ‘Hey fucker! Go sit on your own car! If you’ve bloody got one!’ etc.
Another thought:
Cars are funny things aren’t they? They are pretty expensive items, they are made to look so sleek, shiny, stylish, desirable, they appear to be going very fast even when they are standing still, that’s how us humans like our cars – and yet, we keep them not snug in the home, but outside in the street in all weathers, or in grim dark concrete multi story car parks. Drivers must have nightmares about their poor darlings sitting out there in the wild all night – but me, I wouldn’t know about that, I haven’t got one. I did give driving a try for a while, but I found it all too stressful and definitely ‘not me’ at all – I’m better off out of all that nonsense!
Aha, I think the weather forecast tomorrow is for the day to be quite cold, but dry. When I stroll into town I think I’ll be on the look out for a recently parked car to sit on for a few minutes – you know – just to see what might happen…

Posted in conversation, cool, drama, Dulltown, expletives, Hull.UK., humour, information, observations, seeing, serendipity, smiling, style, thinking | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments