Soaking up the sights of the Jubilee flotilla
The cross that Bruno made
For many days the days have been filled with the distant and monotonous tap of Bruno’s hammer. I take it as the reassuring sound of a man at work but my neighbour finds it very disturbing and calls me to complain.
‘Have you heard the hammering?’ he asks.
‘Yes’ I reply, ‘it is my neighbour Bruno. He’s mending his shed and repairing the shared fence that is falling down. I am very grateful to him. I have apologised to him for my laziness but he says “no, no, I like the work” and so we are both happy.’
Bruno is Italian, retired and suffers from continual pain which he finds easier to deal with when he is working; and he has a voracious appetite for work. Interestingly it was he who pointed out that Chelsea’s European Cup victory was built on the Italian style: defence and lightning strike.
My neighbour, who does not work, is disappointed by my lack of support and I think surprised that I am not more offended by this disturbance of a sunny summer afternoon. ‘I’d like to go out into the garden and enjoy this lovely weather but I can’t’ he says.
‘Ah well!’ I’m not so sympathetic. I feel the same way about summer parties next door. There is nothing more lovely than a good summer party where the volume of chatter rises and rises until it is drowned by the sound of a heavy beat that thumps the skin of a warm summer night. How can one begrudge one’s fellow men and women a good night’s raving.
Think of it like this, the conversation is the sound of the surf and the thud of the drums, the rollers pounding the southern shore. Now embrace the sound and let it rock you to sleep. Or maybe grab a bottle of wine and go next door and join in.
Anyway Bruno is still banging away but not today. Is it because of the rain or the Queen’s jubilee? I don’t know. But sitting here in the shed I observe his handiwork and I declare it excellent. Its given the bottom of the garden a slight shanty town look through the use of a multitude of different pieces of scrap timber. The fence is standing, Bruno has enjoyed himself, and today my neighbour can enjoy the silence.
Its a shame about the rain but that is a cross (like the one that Bruno made) that we all must bear. Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device
The cross that Bruno made
For many days the days have been filled with the distant and monotonous tap of Bruno’s hammer. I take it as the reassuring sound of a man at work but my neighbour finds it very disturbing and calls me to complain.
‘Have you heard the hammering?’ he asks. ‘Yes’ I reply, ‘it is my neighbour Bruno. He’s mending his shed and repairing the shared fence that is falling down. I am very grateful to him. I have apologised to him for my laziness but he says “no, no, I like the work” and so we are both happy.’ Bruno is Italian, retired and suffers from continual pain which he finds easier to deal with when he is working; and he has a voracious appetite for work. Interestingly it was he who pointed out that Chelsea’s European Cup victory was built on the Italian style: defence and lightning strike. My neighbour, who does not work, is disappointed by my lack of support and I think surprised that I am not more offended by this disturbance on a sunny summer afternoon. ‘I’d like to go out into the garden and enjoy this lovely weather but I can’t,’ he says. ‘Ah well!’ I’m not so sympathetic. I feel the same way about summer parties next door. There is nothing more lovely than a good summer party where the volume of chatter rises and rises until it is drowned by the sound of a heavy beat that thumps the skin of a warm summer night. How can one begrudge one’s fellow men and women a good night’s raving. Think of it like this, the conversation is the sound of the surf and the thud of the drums, the rollers pounding the southern shore. Now embrace the sound and let it rock you to sleep. Or maybe grab a bottle of wine and go next door and join in. Anyway Bruno is still banging away but not today. Is it because of the rain or the Queen’s jubilee? I don’t know. But sitting here in the shed I observe his handiwork and I declare it excellent. Its given the bottom of the garden a slight shanty town look through the use of a multitude of different pieces of scrap timber. The fence is standing, Bruno has enjoyed himself, and today my neighbour can enjoy the silence. Its a shame about the rain but that is a cross (like the one that Bruno made) that we all must bear. Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless deviceGoing to San Frantzen
Sent from my BlackBerry?? wireless device
Suma the Ginger Terror
This is the young male cat Suma who lives three doors down at Peter Lewandowski’s house. He’s beautiful, charming and a killer. I’d heard about cats and song birds but never really experienced their destructivness until son Leo called a few weeks back to say that Suma had found the wood pigeon’s nest and decapitated one of the nestlings and mauled another. Leo had rescued the third but what to do. The nest which had seemed so remote, hidden and safe had been breached by this keen young predator so there was no going back to Mum. In the end Leo took it to the vet.
But cats don’t have it all there own way. My boss Louise has two grey hounds that were adopted from an animal rescue place. She told me how they went to stay with friends on a farm and one of the dogs ran down the resident pussy cat and killed it. Wow that’s a hell of a way to announce your arrival. Apparently greyhounds are absolute terrors when it comes to killing cats. Seems like its a dog eat cat, cat eat bird. Bird eat worm world out there. But then I guess we all knew that anyway. But I was surprised about the greyhound killing the cat. I always thought it was a case of dog chase cat, cat hiss and scratch its face, dog yowl and wonder what the hell happened. Not so. And the moral is …
The Couple
They stand side by side in the park
One dressed in fresh spring greens
The other still bare after the winter
To avoid entanglements
They are trimmed on the near side
And grow freely on the far
Close enough to touch
And hear each other murmur
On a breezin summer night
But far enough apart
To miss the violent slappin
When the wind gets up
Two trees together
Or just far enough apart
When the rain came
After the drought
The rainwater fills and flows
The beaten path
So many raindrops
In these last seven days
Have softened the ground
The downcast head
Looks into the puddles
Where heavens reflect
When the rain came
After the drought
the rainwater fills and flows
the beaten path
So many raindrops
in these last seven days
have softened the ground
The downcast head
looks into the puddle
where heaven reflects
The Long Player (our father on vinyl)
The Long Player
Our albums which are packed in boxes
Hallowed be thy names
Thy record player comes
Playing will be done
On turntable, its heaven!
Give us this day our daily analogue
And forgive us our digitals
As we forgive those who play techno
And lead us not into downloads
But deliver us from file-sharing
For vinyl is much warmer
Full of power and glory
If a little bit crackly
For ever and ever
33rpm
Note:
This came to me at the weekend when I was looking for a suitable present to buy a couple of 50 years olds. Having just started playing my vinyl again on a rather tasty Dual turntable that I bought for £5.00 at a car boot sale, I thought I would see if I could find an L.P. that was also 50 years old. Lo and behold in the first charity shop I entered I wound a wonderfully garish edition of South Pacific (released 1958).
When I got home I googled it and found that it was perhaps one of the most successful recordings ever, having stayed in the top 5 of the UK charts for around 214 weeks which by my calculation would have meant that it was regularly heard in the four years leading up to their conception. Then I just needed something to explain why I had bought them an old record, and my mind turned to the fact that 50-year olds, myself included, are of the vinyl generation.
We are all pictures at a #saatchi exhibition.
An exhibition of ‘new’ German art at Saatchi Gallery in the Kings Road featured a large mirror which goes from perfectly straight to hippy hippy shake. That’s art imitating the fairground. I read that good art has a ‘narrative’ that evolves and deepens over time. Not convinced this will. I seem to remember it also asks us to look again and see more deeply. Maybe this does for a moment.
One aspect of art is to take something from one context and reveal its significance in another – bricks maybe. I liked the shaking mirror. Only one person can really do this and just once. So well done that man or woman who thought of sticking the distorted mirror in a gallery. It’s not got a lot of depth – apart from the bend of the wobble – but it does also remind us that art originates in play time which keeps Jack from becoming a dull boy. So do visit the Saatchi Gallery whenever you can. Its full of fun and creative inspiration, in a beautiful building in a lovely location, and its free. Thank you Mr Saatchi.