Stella and the cod reference…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s 18th c. English expletive is ‘Murrain take such trumpery!’
I’ve been using this one quite a lot recently whilst watching the general election debates on TV.
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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA‘Sunshine’ 1991. Charcoal and pencil on paper, about 24″ x 18″.

‘Hey, what’s that skip doing outside your house David?’
‘Oh, good morning Stella my dear, do come in…’
‘Well?…’
‘Well what?’
‘What’s it doing there? Are you finally throwing out all your moribund old ideas David?…’
‘No, Stella, I’m not… It belongs to the house two doors up the street, they are clearing their garden and chucking out all their…’
‘Get the kettle on, I’m parched – What’s this?…’
‘What?’
‘This hippie drawing…’
‘What?…’
‘Looks like you’ve been hanging about with your old hippie mates down at Stonehenge – solstice-ing…’
“Solstice-ing’ Stella?’
‘Yes, I hope you’ve got something better than fig rolls in the way of biscuits this week, you tight-arse cheapskate.’
‘Wagon Wheels…’ (WW)
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
Burton’s Wagon Wheels?’
‘Of course… and it’s not a ‘hippie drawing’, you cheeky minx!’
‘Listen David, I can hear the kettle boiling, get that Taylors of Harrogate Yorkshire tea made, pronto… Hm, I could just see you down there watching the sun come up, crouching over your little easel with your little sticks of…’
‘So, do you fancy a Wagon Wheel with your beverage Stella?’
‘Hm, Wagon Wheel… don’t mind if I do David. You are very fond of having the sun in your drawings aren’t you? I suppose it’s handy to fill up space the sky, skies do tend to be a bit empty don’t they?… It’s a bit childish really…’
‘Childish?’
‘Yes, kids always have a smiley sun in their…’
‘How’s the tea and the Wheel?’
‘Hm, Very nice… Cod…’
‘Cod?…’
‘Yes, the sky looks like cod meat, like when you have fish and chips and you peel the batter back and… your clouds look a bit like flaky white fish meat David.’
‘Thank you Stella, you always say the nicest things…’
‘I suppose those will be monoliths then?’
‘Possibly…’
‘Or could they be, not made of stone, but a group of freshly formed early humans, standing wondering what the hell that big hot ball of buzzing nuclear fusion can be, that’s just unexpectedly sneaked up over the horizon?…’
‘Maybe…’
‘Speaking of things circular David, I do like the occasional Wagon Wheel…’
‘I can tell that you do Stella my dear, the amount of noise you were making eating it!…’
‘Ha!…’
‘Would you like another one, and top-up of tea?’
‘Alright…’

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Doom and the pastry fork…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s unusual pencil sharpener is the one shaped like a summer breeze.
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When I popped into the art gallery cafe yesterday afternoon I quickly became aware of the presence of a group of very old and very loud (perhaps some of them were hard of hearing?) ladies and gentlemen sitting around a small table in the corner of the room. After I paid for my tea and bun at the counter, I headed for a table as far away from them as possible and I sat down.
Suddenly there was a noisy outburst of ancient croaky voices from their direction; it was sprinkled with very strong expletives – it really was quite shocking. I glanced across and discovered the cause of the trouble; the old folks had been joined, probably uninvited, by Simon Doom, poet from the glory days of the Hull Surrealist League. He was banging the table with his fist in time with the staccato rhythm of the syllables of one of his spoems (spoof poems) that he was reading out to them in a doleful voice. I was just in time to see a frail-looking ginger bearded old chap stick a pastry fork into Doom’s forearm. Doom sprang up with a clatter of crockery and cutlery and headed for the door, he spotted me on the way and without saying anything tossed the piece of grubby paper with his spoem on it onto my table as he swept past. I smiled as I noticed that he was rubbing his arm as he went…

Jassy floomugs umptoss ak-ak-ak.
Poppajob tem tem whop sixto!
Mandelandle chumice wem-wem donk.
Sixto albanasta, bolbom bolbom!

Fuffin-doon doon-mott aarm-am.
Pomma-lomma wodge feff sixto!
Zumbite tuth wollig hoomspo.
Sixto andarbax, nun-nun-blo-tox!

Tangtug delvbow monstar ogg.
Themmel-bot gomate room-attic sixto!
Doshile bolmon bolmon chiddy.
Sixto azzacoil, muph-muph choop!

Jassy floomugs cylento uk-uk-uk.
Nizzi-nazzi bunbum acklam sixto!
Pavavalot swee-swee mongerdick.
Sixto alleraddle, muk-muk da-da pheb!

Simon Doom 2015.

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Gibby in the 1990s…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s random dictionary words are: aasvogel, abask, abecedarian, abiturient, abraxas, and weem.
Please have these words looked up and placed in suitable sentences ready for Professor Mouldie first thing after breakfast tomorrow morning. The professor might bring his tuba with him and play it during the lesson, but you must not let this distract you from your work.
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EPSON scanner imageHo ho!…
Yes, another picture, a digitally scanned 35mm negative, from my days of old-style black and white film and darkroom photography – I think this one is from the early 1990s. This is my friend Gibby in her great big hairy coat and her daft hat – isn’t she great?…
I think it might have been a bit windy that day, see how the hairy coat is a bit blurred as it moves about in the breeze.
I’ve haven’t done that many ‘portraits’ over the years, but I think this is a good one. Oh, and look how the perspective lines of the buildings at each side seem to radiate from Gibby’s face – that certainly helps the composition…

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Some titchy, but pithy items…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s existential angst is centred around the sound of the word corollary.
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Excuses  for being late. No. 247.
I’m sorry I’m late, but I became engrossed in sharpening my quills.

A single overheard remark:
‘I’ll be about fifteen moments, no no, about fifteen minutes…’

Watching the antics of the political parties on TV during the run up to the general election here in the UK, I’m coming to the conclusion that we are really still in the medieval period. The bankers and the right-wing people are the Normans, and the left-wing people are the downtrodden Anglo-Saxon serfs. Oh, and of course there are those Celtic folk up north, the Picts and the Scots. I think I’d better get my longbow out and whittle a few arrows…

A spiral-bound notebook conversation in the cafe:
‘I see that you have a spiral-bound notebook…’
‘Yes, I have…’
‘I have one too.’
‘Oh yes, so you have…’
‘Does your pen slide nicely into your spiral for storage?’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘It’s a useful feature isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is…’
‘Of course, it’s not really a spiral you know.’
‘Is it not?’
‘No, it’s a helix.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well well well…’

I walked into town yesterday. As I passed a tall block of flats a skinny youth emerged from the shadows shouting, ‘Hey!…’ at me and tapping two fingers across his mouth.
‘Eh?…’ I shouted back.
He did the two finger lip-tapping thing again for a moment, and then shouted, ‘Wanna buy a bit of smoke, a bit of weed?…’
‘Ah…’ I said, ‘No thanks…’
He looked very disappointed and went back into the shadows…

A single overheard (possibly misheard) remark:
‘It’s my shoulders, I’m carrying Berlin…

I’m thinking of changing my name to Ken Tucky-Chickin.

Oh, what’s this? An item of spam in my comments box; it seems to be from someone called Gameopt;
‘Hi Dear, are you genuinelyy visiting this internet
site on a regular basis, if so subsequently you testament without question exact pleasant experience.’
Well, thank you Gameopt, it’s very nice to hear from you; I shall certainly bear in mind what you have said.

The BBC TV weatherman:
‘The absence of meaningful sunshine…’

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A childhood memory…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s joke is the one about the Prime Minister’s trouser legs being eaten by the prize pig. Oh, how we chortled as we crouched behind the cow shed…
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Here’s a recycled old post from the dark days when I was blogging on something called Myspace.

When I was a young lad I used to be taken out for weekly Sunday morning walks by my dad. We’d walk around Hull’s docks and the river front until about noon when I’d wander off home and he’d pop into the Red Lion or the Windmill pub for a pint of beer. These walks were quite fascinating, and having been a seafaring man, he told me lots of interesting stuff about ships, docks, lock gates, davits, anthrax, mud, timber, jellyfish, masts, Plimsoll lines, signalling flags, ropes, steam whistles, coal, bollards, floating mines, boilers, dredging, binnacles, flying fish, bridge telegraphs, and loud hailers…
One nice sunny Sunday, we were strolling along, and he suddenly exclaimed, ‘Quick!… Look over there!…’ and pointed with his finger. I looked into the open doorway of what turned out to be an abattoir, just in time to see a cow being shot in the head and it crashing dead to the floor… Thanks Dad…
My dad thought that I had always been a bit too sensitive, and was possibly a bit of a sissy (maybe I was, and perhaps I still am?) and that I needed a ‘bit of toughening up’ – he obviously thought that a glimpse of that great big cow violently meeting its maker might do the trick; I don’t think it did though…
But then again, these days I can cheerfully eat the occasional roast beef and salad sandwich without dredging up any old upsetting childhood memories… Me, I’m a tough guy now…

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Mail Art Postcard No. 4463…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s instruction is to twist the bare ends of the red and black wires together, carefully pull the cardboard insulator from between the contacts of larger of the two relays, pour a little cold milk into the hot tea, add two sugar lumps, and stand well back…
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4463I suppose, as there are general election campaigns raging here in the UK, you might call this a ‘topical’ postcard. I didn’t intend any political statement when composing this one, but this chap’s face was crying out to be used on one of my cards.
For my readers outside the UK perhaps I should explain – this is Nigel Farage, the leader of UKIP, the United Kingdom Independence Party. He’s like a normal creepy politician, but at full throttle, and is possibly bonkers…
Yes, having snipped some suitable pictures and odd phrases from the pages of some old copies of that awful TV listings magazine What’s On TV, I spread them out on the kitchen worktop so that I could choose which images and words I could pair up and juxtapose. Holding ‘Terrific tapestry’ in one hand, I glanced down to see what might go with it – aha! Of course, Nigel! No obvious relationship between the two, but, yes, it looked just right… There does seem to be some sort of odd, intangible, surreal meaning though, doesn’t there?… I could feel the serene bowler-hatted presence of Rene Magritte standing behind me, there in the room…

 

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Think I’ll call this one ‘Spillage with leaves’…

But first…
Dulltown, Europe: Today’s colours are: brown, brown, brown, crimson lake, brown, brown, and brown.
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DSCN3618Here’s a photograph I took last September. I uploaded it to my Flickr page a few days ago, but didn’t intend to write anything about it here – however, as it has had a few ‘likes’ I realise that it is possibly a bit most interesting and possibly a ‘better’ picture than I thought it was.

What do you reckon that the liquid is? I think it’s probably milk – definitely looks ‘milky’ to me; see the way it has a slight blue tinge at its edges, milk does that. Yes, it’s another of my ‘pavement/gutter photographs’ which obviously I take looking straight down at the ground. One has to be very careful not to get one’s great silly feet in the frame doing this. When taking these pictures I adopt a stance with legs wide apart – yes, it does look very silly, I wait until there’s no one around and then snap it quickly.
The idea behind this technique is that because downwards-looking pictures are not that common the viewer initially will assume the subject to be vertical, perhaps in this case showing something stuck on a concrete wall?
If you half close your eyes and squint at it, the white shape could be a nice thermonuclear device going off – see the great clouds of shite spreading horizontally in the breeze across the Nevada desert, and probably heading straight for Las Vegas…
What about those leaves? Some are still green, but some are turning brown; it is September… I have no idea what bush or tree they are from, and actually I don’t really care. (Please don’t bother getting in touch to tell me!)
‘So, Watson, take a look. What can you deduce from this arrangement of items spread out before you?’
‘Well, my dear Holmes, there has obviously been a spot of wind recently, which was strong enough to detach even the odd green leaf from the tree. The wind carried the leaves across the area and only the ones which were caught in the sticky milk were retained, the others being blown away to other parts.’
“Sticky milk’ Watson?’
‘Yes Holmes, sticky milk…’

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