Deepestblue

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2009-03-24T11:37:00.000Z

Swing Dancing from the Movie Twiced Blessed (1945)

2007-10-21T13:33:00.001+01:00

Seething, I am...

2007-09-03T10:30:00.000+01:00

Seething. 5pm Friday had en e-mail from a pathetic excuse of a planner which encapsulates all the petty beaurocratic snotty nosed crap that defines the way which this dear country blunders from one disaster to another. Its not a matter of who is in Government, its as bad whoever is in, its more to do with people not realising that their presence on this earth does make a difference, and that if they do nothing it has a real negative impact on those attempting to make this world better. So I got him in a corner and gave him one telephonic seeing to that he will not be forgetting for some time. Right THATS off my chest, now to more pleasant matters...

____________________

Soothed by Mrs Jackanapes administrations-I will return the favour sometime, I can concentrate now on higher matters, namely the epic production of "Fern the Green Fairy" at Blue Towers which premiered this weekennd.

This was an awesome production, created in the confined spaces of a cardboard box with the front cut out, trees stuck on the front, backdrop to the rear. Lighting comprising torches set into the side of the box, and green Christmas lights round the outside. The characters consisted of pictures photocopied out of the book (go on, sue me!) and carefully stuck onto pink and yellow straws. No attention to detail was left unsullied.

Little Miss Blue said I could be director if I paid her £85. When I said she could stuff it, she announced the fact that that option would cost me double. She definitely suffered from Producer's nerves an hour before the premier, needing a sit on her Dad's lap and a quick intravenous feed of hot chocolate- just wait till I release her on the unsuspecting planning fraternity-revenge is so sweet!!!.

The premier occurred 3pm yesterday afternoon, with June our neighbour, otherwise known as the "Fairy at the Bottom of the Garden" being invited (she wasnt even charged! a serious ommission on behalf of the theatre management),tea with egg mayonnaise sandwiches and chocolate cake served before the performance and during the interval-on the best china of course.

Yes, there were those who let the side down. Fluffy the Squirrel (the ASBO of the fairy world) became so excited when Fern climbed onto her back and ruffled his fur that he managed to cause structural damage to the theatre structure, dislodging the fairy lights in doing so. The maintenance team had to restrain him before he started gnawing on the electrics. They only suffered a couple of bites on the hand by the little blighter which were attended to by the St John's Ambulance Brigade, and now he is safely incarcerated in a straight jacket. ( makes note to ask Mrs Jackanapes if she has any novel recipies involving cooked squirrel).

And the highlight-well it had to be when the fireworks started. Those little lights have never been turned on and off so fast, and the aural effects were truly deafening

Who said don't work with children and animals....?

Amelie Trailer

2007-08-30T11:51:00.001+01:00

Just my favourite film....

Back down to earth

2007-08-30T09:42:00.000+01:00

So here we are again, back down to earth, in the saddle, and feeling like I'm coming back for a rest. The outfit was a raving success, judged by the level of panic in peoples eyes as I approached them.

Of course I couldn't possibly comment on any aspects of the party on Saturday night, about being caught in a compromising position by both my sister in laws dressed as the Gemini Twins (if you don't know them then that is your homework), touching base with a fellow school mate, the only other male in fancy dress dressed as Blowfeldt (spelling!), complete with cuddly persian cat and cigarette holder, and looking suspiciously like Mimimee in Goldmember, which led to some very good photography between ourselves.

Neither can I comment from the fact that the dog went for the drummer in the brass band in mid performance, sending musicians, music and music stands flying, and the threat of strike action by the whole band, nor that the police had to be called due to the excessive noise, nor of the purloining of wheelchairs of the more elderly party goers for joy riding down the lane, nor of the rampant gambling.

But the difficult thing managing different people's expectations. One person will hold that their way of making a Pimm's is sacrosanct, just as much as another person holds that theirs is. So when you are doing it your way, and two other people want it done their way, I do get tempted to tell them to shove the strawberry and the straw where the sun won't ever shine again.

Parties should be about fun, and friendship, about swearing undying love to a poor bugger you have never set eyes on, and playing football, or draughts, or more intimate games with those that you swore the same thing with last time. Life is far to short to worry about how to make Pimm's. There are far more exciting things to make anyway!

The big downside is that the pictures got deleted off the camera. Though they are saved on my sisters laptop, it will be a few days before they surface, if she ever lets me ever have them....

Man In Space -- Billy Collins

2007-08-24T17:55:00.001+01:00

The revolving building

2007-08-24T01:51:00.000+01:00

The video of the circle of the building rotating is real, not a computer image, I have no idea how he did it, except he must have had a great wheel inside the building! and it cost £450,000, which is a lot of rice pudding.

The image above is of a small installation I helped the artist with, where a doorway slid back and forth through a room...Good night!

News depths of depravity

2007-08-22T13:45:00.001+01:00

I didn't think my sense of depravity could get any worse, but it has.

This weekend, my sister is having a big James Bond theme party. You know the sort of thing, used to show off to everyone that shows off o you. Its meant to be very sophisticated; pretend casinos et.c. Unfortunately I mentioned it to the work experience lad here, and just said in passing how great it would be to go as Austin Powers, and he chirps up "Oh my mum made me a suit, why don't you try it on..." So there I am this morning, prancing around in a blue velvet jacket, ruff, and hair plastered to my head saying "Yeah baby!" to no one in particular. There are blue velvet trousers too, but my modesty prevented me trying them on just yet. All I need now are the false teeth and the glasses, and I'm on my way..Grrrreeaatt!

All I need now is P***y Galore....where has she got to...?

P.S. Wendy you are too right, we don't the great unwashed googling certain words and ending up here. This is a civilised blog, full of tea drinking soft chatter and bingo. Long may it last!

Upon administering a pill to Monty

2007-08-16T16:58:00.000+01:00

I haven't got a cat, though would love one, so i dedicate this excerpt to Monty, in the hopes that she never has to do this to you....us lads have to keep our dignity you know!

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Instructions for giving your cat a pill

1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.

4) Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call friend.

6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get friend to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down, remove ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered Doulton figures from hearth and set to one side for glueing later.

8) Wrap cat in large towel and get friend to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9) Check label to make sure pill is not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply band-aid to friend's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10) Retrieve cat from neighbour's shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Throw Tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

12) Ring fire brigade to retrieve cat from tree across the road. Apologise to neighbour who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap.

13) Tie cat's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed, hold cat's mouth open with small spanner. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet of steak. Hold head vertically and pour pint of water down throat to wash pill down.

14) Get friend to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15) Arrange for RSPCA to collect cat. Ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

A New Day

2007-08-13T15:55:00.000+01:00

Shhhhh, I'm resting today, after one of the busiest weekends on record. Hot and cold running food, parents staying, amidst constant games of Red Indians, and a particularly nasty game called Safari Park. Each person chooses a room, one person gets to visit each room , and has to guess what kind of heinous monster dwells inside from the gnawing and snarlings that are emanating from the enclosure. The most inventive one was enacting out the windscreen wipers having been pulled off in the monkey enclosure, that one gets my vote of homour.
My parents were in the garden and confirmed that the whole house resembled a rabid menagerie and weren't surprised if the neighbours hadn't called the RSPCA

That was the Saturday. The Sunday was no better. The swimming party involved enforced head stands underwater, and a combined game of water volley ball and being ducked by two particularly merciless 6 year olds, one impersonating one of The Incredibles, the other acting out quite effectively Spiderwoman

The house did not escape the attentions of our dear mites, with furniture scattered as if by a raging twister, and the boot rack looking as if a centipede had shed its load of footwear in a very haphazard manner.
So tonight its returning to the fray, starting to temporarily fill the holes in the outside walls and making an inventory for the Insurance claim that will inevitably follow in the days to come.

I suppose the Insurance Man will try and argue that birthday parties are an act of God. Feels more like the other place to me, and he should jolly well know!

Hustle and bustle

2007-08-10T08:37:00.000+01:00

Everything is happening in the Blue household over the next few days. IT is Little Miss Blue's birthday this weekend, so the night before last we manhandled the tent into place, blowing and cursing, pumped the air beds up, bundled duvets, pillows, arm loads of furry bears, dogs, cats and rabbits, positioned the green bucket, the potty and the toilet roll, and left the children tucked up in the evening's obscurity on a most still and poised evening.

And when you leave the intimacy of the enclosure, the cosy womb of the tent, with giggles and torchlight flickering, when you leave it, the silence is deafening, and the landscape is so so still; poised, taut as a violin string. And far away, across the flood plain, the mist hangs luminous like a shroud, sandwiched between the obscurity of the forefield, and the hills. A thin brush stroke of blurred light traced in the darkness.

And along the skyline the three still trees punctuate the horizon. One like a man dancing, one a person with a a large load on their back, and there in front, do you see? the small dog leaps ahead tracing their steps back home

Come into my parlour....

2007-08-09T16:58:00.000+01:00

Come here,a nd lend me your shell like.....between you, me and the gatepost, I'm a bit excited this week (when isn't he, I hear you ask....).

You see, we've managed to do something this week, that I've dreamed of doing for years. Its legal, and doesn't involve trifle, cream or rice pudding, before anyone asks.

Its seemed madness that we can be so close, you and me in this cosey place, and you cant see the full reality of what we design. Yes you can see the drawings, or pretty photos, or clever renders of the computer, but you can't move around, experience what it would really be like.

We are a step closer. Ok its not perfect,but the project that this is linked to is in very inital design stage, nowhere near planning, yet allows the client, in their office to envisage wha their space could be like. Its a simple image I grant you, but the implications are huge and very exciting.

Whats so good about this technology, is that the movie loads so quickly, and so can have much higher definition.

Click here and see the possibilities...

I know some of you won't like it, will prefer pencil and paper. But hey, I want both!

Test

2007-08-07T17:30:00.000+01:00

file:///Users/admin/Desktop/Waddow_internal.mov

Turning the place over

2007-08-07T13:43:00.001+01:00

2007-08-07T10:29:00.001+01:00

Having worked with Richard Wilson on a previous project, I was delighted to see his latest installation is now up and running and on display in Liverpool. I didn't think I was going to wax lyrical about Architecture here, but his work beautifully bridges the divide between Architecture and Art, and personally I find it fascinating. Nothing more to say here, the video says it all so Ill just let you enjoy it....

The Bottom Drawer

2007-08-02T21:45:00.000+01:00

You know sometimes, you have a day, and you think to yourself "You know, if I was a writer, this would make a really great short story"? Well one of those days came back to me today, and I'm going to share it with you, so sit down, get a cocoa, and lend me your ears, dears....

She was Sonya, a porcelain figurine straight out of an Edith Sitwell portrait. Fine brittle and translucent, and as sharp and as cold as an English Aristocrat could get. She had an enviable reputation before her; stories of girls having been skewered in the most indelicate of places as she dragged them across the boarding house floor dumping them out of the room unceremoniously. Her home life was not a passionate affair, it can hardly be when your best friend is a rabbit, and you are trained to kiss your mother and father like alabaster statues.
She found the perfect vocation, following in mummy and daddy's footsteps in the medical field, she chose pathology, where she could feel at home with the alabaster complexions and the damp cool skin of the cadavres. I often imagined her floating round the laboratory as her porcelain translucency matching the bowls holding her clients most prized possessions.

I was entranced when the invitation came. The wedding was to be at their house, a vast over sized Georgian Rectory with the small Victorian church just adjacent. He was a surveyor, whom she never said how she met; it couldn't have been at work, and we surmised she had descended to using one of the dating agencies designed for the discerning professional. And I was entranced, because I was to meet the rest of her family, a delight I had been relishing for some years....(to continue and to be edited)

A Satisfied Customer

2007-08-01T12:15:00.000+01:00

You know, it almost felt like summer yesterday. luckily I was going out for a small drink with The Organic Nursey Man, and we sat outside in the evening light, watching the swifts wheel and scream overhead and savour the sound of the occasional motorbike tear through the village like rampant demon, discussed Satish Kumar (the editor of Resurgence), the flagrant abuse of organic farmers by the hotel industry, and how soon his gourds would be ready for plucking.

He's a quiet man, brought up in Africa on an estate farm where his father was a manager, he speaks with his eyes, and dreams of wide open spaces, and times other than these; he is a man buffeted by the rigours of the modern world , and whose face increasingly resembles the land which he works, and whom I am dearly fond of.

Circles form in this pub. We designed the refurbishment of the building, the landlady is a good friend and The Organic Nursery Man supplies greens and groceries to the restaurant. It feels good, as sense of community and wholeness, the circle completed and wholeness once again inhabits the world, and to cap it all, I was wearing my favourite green hat with the small feather in the side (you haven't seen that yet, have you....?)

So today's outpouring is a simple offering; of companionship, simplicity and gentleness to a small group of people who have a special place in my life, and deserve to know it (that's you, that is......).

A surprising end to the day.....

2007-07-30T20:51:00.001+01:00

There is some thing surprising about lying down, up to your thighs in water, tepid water seeping into your boots and trousers whilst the quiet stillness of the late afternoon is all around. Yet there I was, surrounded by the perfume of water mint in the meadows between our house and the river, rescuing the children from an ill advised excursion into unknown territory.

They were fine, with their light bodies, skitting over the submerged undergrowth and escaped the quagmire with water up to their knees. I was not so lucky, I sank unceremoniously, lost my balance, and forcibly experienced what many women would pay a lot of money for in a Health Spa.

However, I am bathed, scrubbed and clean behind the ears now, the ony reminder of the escapade being a full washing machine, and a pair of newspaper filled boots standing by the hall radiator.

Tutti Frutti

2007-07-28T18:06:00.000+01:00

I cant write here yet, its too late, but had a wonderful time dancing lindy hop at the tutti Frutti Festival...

To Play Pianissimo...

2007-07-27T09:28:00.000+01:00

A poem by Lola Haskins, whom I had never heard of before, that I came across yesterday and loved immediately....

Does not mean silence.
The absence of moon in the day sky
for example.

Does not mean barely to speak,
the way a child's whisper
makes only warm air
on his mother's right ear.

To play pianissimo
is to carry sweet words
to the old woman in the last dark row
who cannot hear anything else,
and to lay them across her lap like a shawl.

Lola Haskins

Opening Books and late night visitations...

2007-07-26T12:19:00.000+01:00

An room in my interior was opened to me the other day. One which I haven't visited for many years, and which brought very strong memories back.

It was my great grandmother, a shadowy figure in my past, who let her husband died, moved her gardener in with her, and cut my father out of her will. I remember her as a frail figure behind a net curtain, and the ornate carved mirror that she carved herself which hangs in my parents house-My dad had to go and buy it at the auction.

But it is the books that I remember her for; ancient family bibles, and books by a range of authors 13 year old had never heard of then, and still don't much now; Edward Bulwer Lytton's ghost stories, Sax Rohmer, Leslie Charteris, and a strange book about a man called Alistair Crowley-I never asked my parents who he was....

My father bought them at the auction too, and I immediately commandeered them and stored them in my bedroom, which then was in the attic space; an iron bedstead with rough pitch pine beams, the ceiling following the line of the roof, and a steep wooden staircase leading from the floor below.

The books were written in; along the margin, above the lines; strange gleanings. As I read the book, the writings slowly revealing the wanderings of an elderly lady. She bega to inhabit my space there, showing me writings, and observations that never made complete sense, but sparked a constant wish to know her more, and as they did we began a friendship which has probably shaped my life more than I know.

As I read more, I had more and more a sense of the shadowy figure, who was on the face devoutly religous, but underneath had a flirting fascination with spirits, and the occult, a woman who wore black lace, who had antimacassars and Staffordshire figurines and who carved ornate mirrors with strange figures around it..

So there I was, late in the night in the attic with my valve radio and John Peel, Edward Bulwer-Lytton and my Great grand mother learning about the world we live in, I wish I had known her when she was alive, but then I might have agained a different view of her...not sure if I would have wanted that.....

Stories to be told

2007-07-19T17:28:00.000+01:00

My daughter went to spend an afternoon with a dear friend last week, an elderly dear friend, who has worked across the globe from China to Ghana.

They sat together for the afternoon, and Barbara, lets call her Barbara slowly and gently weaved the story of her life through the afternoon; of growing up in Singapore, and seeing cormorants shackled to their fisher men. of sanpans, and of being evacuated in the eve of the Japanese invasion.

But it is the cormorants that haunt me; imagining my daughter sitting a the feet of Barbara, and imagining the silver collared birds perching on the side of the sanpans, peering down into the water to catch the silver glimmer of fish as they pass underneath caught in the moonlight. Its the combination of the sleek black bill
the slender prow of the boat, the moonlight silhouetting the fishing nets.

Its times like this that I begin to glimpse how powerful story telling is....

Evening Mist

2007-07-19T08:19:00.000+01:00

There can be few better feelings than watching the evening mist rise from the river with your son in the evening. The trees, grass, meadows in shadow, and a luminous glow silences the view hanging in utter stillness, but not silent. There is a silver singing there as it hangs in the air. It will be gone soon, its part of its beauty, that you cannot hold on to it, only enjoy it whilst you have it.

In that way, the mist is like sons.....and that they both shine.

First Fruits

2007-07-18T15:52:00.000+01:00

I was down the garden first thing this morning, walking through the long grass. Watching the seed heads of the grasses by the hen shed shimmer in the low light and picking the first plums.

There is nothing like plums. There is nothing like coming upon the tree in the morning and seeing them bending the boughs down, and you bit into it and the juice squirts down your arm. And there are so many of them, and there are the other plum trees and the apple trees. We live in such abundance and can so easily over look it. There is nothing like abundance.

So I take a bagful into the office, and place a bowl of abundance for everyone to share in that place so that feeling in the first light continues throughout the day.

And I will do it again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after....

Mumsy Jackanapes

2007-07-17T08:49:00.000+01:00

Firstly can I welcome my dear sparring partner back, as you can see I've been a good boy whilst you were away and did some work, but hey, all things come to an end, and you brought a tear to my eye on your returning story, brought back memories too strong g to hold for long, but thank you, and it sounded a really wonderful trip. Now to put Mrs Jackanapes, and the other reader out of their misery, we have resolved the hoglet issue, we,ve shut the birds in.
They usually roam around our garden (and other people's if they feel like it) so now we are shutting them i a t night. As we live in the country, we don't have foxes any more, partly due to the hunt that used to prance about in the village next door, so we are back to copious amounts of eggs, no empty shells with their tops bitten off and a poor mother hedghog who will have to have her babies where she normally does, in the wood pile.

The Office Website

2007-07-14T10:06:00.000+01:00

Well, its been a quiet here for a few days, and why, because I've been working on the office website. Not a small task. 112 web pages on the practice, and yes I know there are apelling mistakes (if you spot any do leave a comment) but after three years of messing about it was time soemeone kicked arse on it. So here it is:-

http://www.masongillibrand.co.uk/

I didn't write the first page, so you cant blame me for that one, but the rest is my own handywork, and I'm shattered!

Uninvited Lodgers

2007-07-09T08:46:00.000+01:00

There is great excitement in the household today, you see, my four dear feathered girls who live at the bottom of the garden have got a guest staying with them. I did not know they were taking strangers in, they hadn't mentioned it to me. and it certainly isn't in thieir lease agreement, but I opened up the egg hatch this morning, and there was a pile of prickles snuggled down amongst the shredded paper and egg crates-a hedgehog.

At first I feared the worst-they are not know for their promiscuity, but the supine body suggested the Madams had had their wicked way with the poor fellow, and left him to die, but at a second glance it seemed more likely that he is a she, and possibly finding a place to have her baby hoglets.

It explains why the eggs have been disappearing recently. It also explains why the girls have been up so early, shouting their heads off and waking all the neighbours; I mean, have you tried to lie in whilst snuggling up to a flea ridden pin cushion....OK so you know what its like then!

Bit off moving in then eating the eggs though, wonder if the girls will return the favour when the baby hedgehogs arrive, chewing on the hoglets and spitting the gristle out. I hope not, even I wouldn't do that to a guest, paying or non paying!

The Cyprus Stone and the Security Guard

2007-07-05T00:55:00.001+01:00

The alarm sounds
The guard calls me over
Arms up, fingers probe me
His maleness disturbs me

He feels down
lets his fingers circle the stone
Explosives? detonator?
He frowns
I smile

I lift it out, the Cyprus Stone
Small, smooth, enigmatic
Tension fills the space between
Our eyes meet

He knows some secrets are best
Kept in silence
He waves me on
I pocket the stone again

Irish Night in Sicily

2007-07-04T08:40:00.000+01:00

Roll me over in the warmth of your tongue
weaving lives together in shimmering light
Grounded in hard rock
Visioning to infinity
and the lapping waves touching our flanks

Skim the surface touch the delight
sending out our ripples
ignorant that below
in the frightening depths choruses
the dark heat of the earth

We meet in the oil light
facing towards in the dance
arm linked until dawn
moving to the gulls' cries
piercing the darkness

The White Room

2007-07-03T21:41:00.000+01:00

So you liked the room did you? not much of a space, but its mine, well it isn't is it? I borrowed that as well. Feel like a hermit crab sometimes, burrowing into other creatures discarded ideas and using them.

You can stay for a time if you wish, as long as you go when I say. I'll pick up something, and talk about it, you'll listen. I'll hold it in my hands, let the light dance on it, and occasionally you'll see what I mean.....no, not what I'm saying, that's different, that happens in the sound; meaning comes by listening to the silences.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

I heard a clock ticking the other day. They seemed to be much louder when I was younger; markers of time, giving you permission to take another gasp. Reminded me of the sounds in my grandfathers room. He only had one room; well he had a kitchen, but he couldn't manage the step, and I never got to see his long journey to bed, he went there alone when the house was silent, shifting and ticking.

He had a tiled gas fire that hissed like an untuned radio, and on it were a pair of twisting fake oak candlesticks, never used; and the clock. A woollen rug lay on the floor. My father sliced off the tassles, he said they were dangerous and would trip up Grandpa - the only circumcised rug in Christendom.

On Thursdays we had tea there, ran over the road to Ringrose's to buy the custard slices from the bakery whilst Mum gingerly removed the five day old ham from the fridge and cut off the staler edges. From the pantry behind the gas fire came the cheap cut glass bowl filled with tinned peaches, the jug of evaporated milk, laid onto the table in front of the gas fire. On the edge of the table, like a household God stood the radio, on top of the mats. I only ever remember Jimmy Young speaking on it, and the recipe for Today.

There was a cribbage board. Polished. We played for hours together in the afternoons. I cried when he gave it to me for my birthday, and so did he.

Cold Turkey and Blythe-Crotches

2007-07-03T08:52:00.000+01:00

Its going to be a hard week this week; no Lindy Hop. Know I'm going to suffer cold turkey from that one....well, its Tuesday, and only six more days to go...

Whilst I'm moping, one aspect of life is people with double barrelled names and why they choose them. I remember once being told of a man with the unfortunate name of Mr Crotch, who found happiness late in life with Mrs Blythe, and not wishing to bestow his unfortunate attribute upon her, came up with the really wonderful idea of a double barrelled name; Mr and Mrs Blythe-Crotch. Isn't it wonderful how people find solutions in the face of adversity. Think I'll use is as my thought for the day and derive inspiration from it.

Talking of morning Radio programmes, I'm sorry that Mrs Jackanapes can judge Wogan without hearing him, being too busy with her ears wrapped round the comforting words of John Humphreys. You really should get out more. The Janet and John stories could have been written by you, featuring Janet, John, his shed, Mrs Biggerdike, Melanie Frontage and a series of very unfortunate double entendres (makes note to see if any are on line....)

Later...

There are similar ones on line, but the language is not as good, and the originals are being sold for Childern in Need, so I'm loathed to paste transcipts here even if I could find them, but do listen our for them, they are choice! I have to say though, I do find him sexist sometimes. If you are going to

Lashings and the White Room

2007-07-02T22:13:00.000+01:00

Well I like that. I decide to write something sensible, decent and civilised for a change, then get tongue lashed by trifle girl, and whiplashed by Mrs Jackanapes (I saw that film extract and knew I just HAD to have it.....). Despite the delicious pain inflicted upon me by you both, I shall press on with civilising them, and educating their fevered minds-God knows they need it!

What I was going to write about, before I was so rudely (and deliciously) set upon was where I go to when I am writing; not physically, not in the world, but an inner space, in the interior world.

At the beginning and end of William Dalrymple's book 'From the Holy Mountain', the writer is seated in a monk's cell. A simple square room with a small writing table, and a single bed and from that room, the whole history of Byzantium, Palestine, Turkey Israel and Egypt unfurls.

I return to that room many times, know the texture of the plaster, the smell of it, the sounds of the gulls through the window high up, the texture of the paper and the sound of the steel black pen as it tracks across its surface. I know how the sunlight tracks over the plastered wall, what seasons it touches the bed. I can tell whether it will rain, whether the cherries are ready, whether lovers sigh through the quality of light as it sifts down.

This is the place from whence I write. It was four years ago that the image came to me; sharper than anything, the blank paper with the pen resting next to it poised for a journey, and it is from that room I have journeyed, and it is where I will return to eventually.....

Good night

Peace within and without...

2007-07-02T08:32:00.000+01:00

Well today is a new day, Had a good weekend, slept well (apart from dreams about airplanes called Wogan and an inordinate amount of washing up, and I've changed my underwear, so what more could a man wish for....sorry? didn't quite catch that.

So since I am in such a calm and serene mood, I'm going to tell you about Quaker Meeting yesterday. Now you may be thinking can Blue really have a sprirtual side, with all this low mannered much of a muchness, but he has. Frankly the smut is much better out than in, and I do like to get it out as much as possible (don't I dears?)

We were visited by a group of peace walkers travelling from Dublin to London, and they arrived at our meetinghouse last Friday and spent a few days drying out. They had journeyed up to Northern Island, across to Faslane, Dunblane, and would be travelling via Menwith Hill and all manner of other significant sites that escape me now. They shared their poems with us, and some thrust their beliefs down our throats, but thats Ok cos we have big throats.....

They were a diverse bunch, the American Gandhi, a buddhist monk like person, an ex convict et al. I wondered have they got on travelling together, where the pressures were, who riled who, and whether dissent burst out on the walk.

Peace essentially starts within ourselves and flows out. If we are not at peace with ourselves, we are not going to solve the worlds problem (we probably won't anyway but thats a different sermon) so do me a favour. Be nice to yourself today. Tell yourself you really are quite something, and that Blue thinks you are the bee's knees and enjoy that warm feeling in your stomach.

Blue

The Return of Mrs Jackanapes......Run for your lives!!!!

2007-07-01T22:55:00.001+01:00

Sol Volatile and Jane Taylor

2007-06-30T21:09:00.000+01:00

Well, pass me the sol volatile because I need it.

Firstly has Mrs Jackanapes decided to leave the blog-she may be replaced by an equally awesome foil, I do not know, but I want it recorded here, that I really appreciate and love her wicked sense of humour, her wit and her raw satire, and will miss our foiling. I'm sure the blog will change its nature now, but I hope it will still be as entertaining!

Secondly, I had the pleasure and honour to see Jane Taylor (see previous entry) performing live on stage in front of about 50 people-almost a private viewing! When music is that good, its not enough to say "that was good, wasn't it?" so I'm going to try and take it further than that:-

Jane's singing is awesome, there is no doubt about it, but it is not necessarily the delicious quality of singing the achieves the stunning effect. The music runs along the top, yet underneath is a silent still connection that runs through all the players. That connection fills the room as incense. She is not in the room per say when she sings, but there were times in the set when she was set deep at the base of the song. She wasn't singing, the song was singing itself, and she was letting the quality and sense of the song run through her. Those are the times she blows me away, and I struggle to keep composure.

Lyrics, like poetry are born in the furnace of experience. Initially they can be raw and extremely private. The process of transforming them from a personal experience into an artwork, without losing that sense of passion is a long hard road, and one which is not always successful. The challenge is to retain all the passion in the raw subjective experience in the objective artwork, in order for the work to resonate with other humans. Jane does this magnificently

To top it all, I got to buy the band a drink, recommended somewhere half decent to eat an evening meal, had an uninterrupted chat afterwards and give her a farewell peck on the cheek.

This is a Blue which has had a happy day, but who will miss his dear foil, Mrs Jackanapes.

Tea and cakes anyone?

2007-06-29T08:30:00.000+01:00

I was passing the time of day with a friend yesterday, wondering whether there were any fairy cakes in the new cabinet - she knows how partial I am to a fondant fancy - when ,lo and behold,this morning on "Wake up to Wogan", the common man's alternative to John Humphreys, Terry announces that Jacqui Smith, the new Home Secretary is a brownie! How my cup overflows! A chocolate brownie right there in the heart of the cabinet, lighting dusted with icing sugar, and finished off with lashings of double cream. Rotti will have a fine time serving her up with tiffin and darjeeling at the 4 o'clock debriefing session, but bagsy me push her in on the trolley!

Now, on to more serious matters. Spare a thought for poor Trifle Girl, who is at a music festival in the middle of Wales in the rain soaking wet and getting pretty miserable. Now some of you may suspect me of enjoying imagining her rolling around in the mud, but that would be very base of you, shows how low your esteem is of me, and how little you understand my delicate nature. I'm very disappointed, really I am.

The poor girl needs all the support she can get in her straightened circumstances, and I wouldn't take advantage of a poor girl covered in mud, now would I?

Blue

2007-06-28T22:18:00.000+01:00

Trifle girl was asking me about this photo earlier, and yes dear I did take it. I always love photographing sunsets on the Western coast of Scotland (always! as if I do it every Tuesday!) The horizon is so low that the sky becomes larger, and clouds more real. It was photographed from Mull, looking towards Iona between storms-the tent withstood them both!

Blue

The New Junta-napes

2007-06-28T14:58:00.001+01:00

Two days into the new regime, and there is definitely something of the night at the centre of British politics...At first glance, nothing has altered, but The Ministry of Truth has noticed some disturbing changes in the appearance of Mr Brown-and we know why. Mrs Jackanapes is finally getting her claws into him. As they say behind every great man there is an even greater woman. The difference here is, this one is on top.

Imagine if you will, their weekly debriefing sessions.Gordon; quiet and obedient, Rotti (as Mrs Jackanapes is known in her wilder moments) commenting upon every aspect of his demeanor, the cut of his jib, even his sporren policy. whilst pouring the tea and cutting delicate slices of lemon drizzle cake and plying him with coconut fancies. This is the power behind the throne- Lady Bile-racy the King Maker. She's even planning to take over the ten past eight slot on the Today Programme, having the country on their knees as she turns John Humphreys into a helpless jelly.

Dear Harriet doesn't stand a chance. She means well, but is out in the cold against this cheetah donning the wig and leather trousers are signs of a desperate woman, knowing she has been outmanoevred before the bell has rung.

So what is in store for us know. The Left's answer to The Iron Lady has finally woken, and no Shire in the country is safe. Country landowners will quake in their boots when they hear the well known phrase turned against them... "if it ain't hurting, it ain't working..."

Blue

Oh I Do Like to be Besides the Seaside

2007-06-28T12:34:00.001+01:00

Roll up, roll up!!! Hot off the press from the Ice Cream Girl, the Ice Cream Van has been given the go ahead to be operating on Morecambe Prom! My dear Lindy Hopper Friend has spent the last couple of years renovating an original Bedford Ice Cream Van to let her ply her wares down the prom in the good old fashioned way. There is in fact going to be an opening ceremony, which will of course involve rows of dancers in starched hats and pinnies doing line dances with chocolate sundaes in their hands, me being one of them. Now before any of you start (Mrs Jackanapes), she will be reading this, and I DO NOT want her tainted by your coarse minds! (or me for that matter!)

Talking of all things delicious we are having warm chocolate cake and cream with this afternoon's cup of tea, and it sounds like there is going to be a food fight imminently-I might have to intervene with this one...see you later! (grins wickedly)

Later....

OO here it comes served on a plate with a fork. Now THAT is how to run an office!

Libellous Slander!!!

2007-06-27T23:06:00.000+01:00

Mrs Jackanapes. That comment was outrageous and you know it!!! I can't imagine whom you are describing with the innocent Mrs Harman, but I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation, like her bicycle tyre had become bloated and horribly deformed, and they had just visited the Bicycle Repair Shop for advice, which is handily placed just behind Ann Summers, the shop that is. Journalistic reports like this, dependant upon inference and supposition belong in the lower echelons of the tabloids, which is why they are here. At least the first record was based upon true, factual observation. Remind me to give you rigorous instruction on interviewing techniques and professionalism-I'm sure you'd be forever grateful.....

Secondly, I'd never heard of Cathouse Fetish, till you breathed its wicked name on my blog. Shame on you! researching such dens of iniquity even if it is in the name of journalism. What were you thinking of (don't tell me!).... I would post pictures of their lustful wares on this site purely in the interests of informing our public, but we'd like to think this is a family blog, despite its unruliest element's best efforts to make it otherwise.

Another thing, swing dancers everywhere are quite well aware of the unfortunate implications of their name in this day and age, which isn't helped by base innuendos such as yours. In the corner with you right now, I'll see you afterwards - its detention for you my girl at the very least!! Now, where did I leave my yellow fishing jersey......?

Curly Toes

2007-06-27T08:50:00.000+01:00

I forgot to mention on the previous post that the film footage is the only known record of Harriet Harman dressed up as an Alpine Barmaid- whether she did it under Gordon's instruction I do not know, but I'm sure the Ministry of Truth might like to cast further light on this interesting piece of information.

Now I was dribbling on inanely earlier about when I was in France, (or was it Burmah?). and I shall continue a bit with that dribbling. It always seemed to me that the village that we lived in, was like a deserted strand of beach, littered with flotsam from the sea, tht had come to rest there without rhyme or reason, and which together made a bizarre and surreal concoction. There was a man who went past our window four times a day-twice going to the bar, and twice back. We knew it was him by the combination of sounds that echoed down the narrow alley; squeaky bike wheels-he walked his bike with him whever he went, and the metallic thudding as his legs hit the ground. He was an ex soldier of the Franco Algerian war. Both his feet were frozen off by the Algerian rebel forces. He was a wonderful caricature; a handlebar moustache delicately dyed to hide his rapidly greying demeanour and a face that reflected the hardships it had experienced.

Now it could have been a mix up in the translation , but there always seemed something particularly perverse in freezing someone's feet off in a desert. Burning them off with a magnifying glass maybe, but not freezing...

Once we had learnt his story, it became clear why he pushed the bike along with him- it was his walking frame; upon looking closer at his feet, or where his feet used to be, there were steel rockers from whence the sound came. We came to know him as Curly Toes.....

Blue

Swing Dancing from the Movie Untamed Youth (1957)

2007-06-26T22:51:00.001+01:00

This film is a very rare piece of footage obtained exclusively by the Ministry of Truth, With Harriet Harman, the chick the blonde wig (I dont think it's Gordon), leading the celebrations of the new regime. Tony is seen at the end of the clip sporting his new steel string guitar round his back and joining the fray.... At last, a team that really knows how make the country swing!

Post Postscriptum

2007-06-26T13:47:00.000+01:00

As usual, the blog has been scrawled over, I said scrawled over by that rotweiler (no, I don't know how to spell it either) of a writer Mrs Jackanapes! If I wanted to do homework, and have it marked by you, I would let you know (knee starts trembling); in the meantime, sit down, put your hands on your desks, and don't chew gum in my class! Makes note to have Mrs Jackanapes on a tighter leash in the future....

You try and do someone a good turn, to rise them above the gutter, and it is thrown back in your face; but as it says in the good book, "turn the other cheek, as the Bishop said to the Actress"...now that's torn it (note the apostrophe)!

Blue reaches for his hard hat.

Raining Cats and Dogs

2007-06-26T08:34:00.000+01:00

Since the weather is so atrocious here (well not here, but on the East), my mind has turned to cats and dogs-namely Mrs Gubbins's cat at the marina. Its a noisy brute; was quite quiet when it first came, and now seems to think it owns the joint. This smugness of the cat seemed to occur at the same time as the marina dogs-a motly bunch of pugs and pit bulls were placed on leashes by order of whoever makes orders in marinas. The dear feline now stretches, preens and gloats across the short stretch of water at those lesser beings that have to be incarcerated.

Though generally I prefer cats, there was a white Afgan hound in France that won my heart from any philandering floozy. I had the pleasure to live in France in a village for a year. This dog frequented the village, and would often be found comatosed outdside the village supermarket. Though this ploy looked innocent enough, as soon as the manager went round the back for some pickled radish, the dog would leap up and enter the shop, wallking round, greeting the customers, saying such things as "what a lovely day", and "hope you have found what they were looking for". The dog's step would quicken slightly when the manager returned, and then would nimbly slip between aisles, as graceful asa gazelle, whilst the manager would run harum scarum round the should, crashing into customers, trying to rid the shop of the aforementioned (I'm sure I've used that word before) mutt. The dog, when it was ready, and not before, would leave the shop, leaving the manager to enjoying all the benefits of pulmonary collapse.

Across the road from the supermarket was a bench. This bench was often frequented by the elderly gentlemen of the village who were doing one of three things; waiting for a petang game to start nearby, waiting for their turn in a game of petang, or recovering from the exertions of a game. One day a car screeched to a halt, two hooded men jumped out, grabbed one of them, and started to hustle him towards the village bank (cunningly diguised as a portacabin). It took the gent sometime to explain to the would be robbers that it was half day closing, and it would be much better if they came back tomorrow......I'm sure more of my reminiscences are going to leak out onto these pages. More anon

Blue

Postscript: Mrs Jackanapes! Are you suggesting that this erudite and informative journal for the masses should descend even further! I'm ashamed of you, you being civilised and all that. I'm just glad that there is a glimmer of hope for you whilst you still read such words of inspiration and serendipity. Bless you my child.

(you know I really should have been a bishop....)

Back on dry land.....

2007-06-25T08:50:00.000+01:00

Yo ho my beauties, I see the post bag is overflowing, running down the stairs and across the road! Thank you Trifle Girl, glad you were awake in my lessons at least! I can see youve been burning the midnight oil to complete this on time...If Mrs Jackanapes gets the teachers apple, I think you get the teachers cream doughnut-careful with that cream dear.....

Now to Mrs Jackanapes.....Madam, if you continue to pay so much attention to me enlarged head, its only likely to get larger, and we all know where that ends up don't we? Yes, a sticky mess, and we don't want that do we? No!! (worse luck).

Well, moving on upards, which is the only place where this blog can go, the weekend boating was lovely. It is not a kayak, it is in fact an inspection launch, a small canal boat which I hve had the pleasure of knowing for four years, which I get to enjoy about 10 times a year, and I will post some pictures of her, when I can find them!

Chastisement

2007-06-22T08:47:00.000+01:00

I have to say, the take up on homework is appalling and you all should be ashamed of yourselves (you too Mrs Jackanapes, but for different reasons). It really is very difficult to do homework if you don't even turn up to the lessons.

In contrast Mrs Jackanapes has been an exemplary student, flexed her grey matter beautifully, and so my dear you may have the teachers apple, (no, dont do that to the pips.....) as for the rest of you blackguards (and mrs Jackanpes if she so wishes), I want pieces on what I am up to this weekend.

Yes I'm being let out, my bags are packed, I have my harmonica, my notebooks, and a deliciously large bowl of trifle (now why has he got that you may ask!) and Im off to play on boats, so if I dont get back in today, Ill say a bientot - and don't you dare write anything too sensible!

Now for Mrs Jackanapes......I'm well aware that you are quite capable of tying even an intellectual heavywweight like Brown in knots solely by flexing your grey matter - the though of anyone flexing their pink matter with him really should not be contemplated for any period! Im sure all of us, including him, would prefer it that way!

Blue

Socialist Climbers

2007-06-21T12:59:00.000+01:00

Time to sit down after a meeting of seemingly infinite langth and collect me thoughts. Recovering from a broadside from Mrs Jackanapes which was far too close to the bone!! Bighead indeed! and she dished my harmonica and my reading matter. Can't even sue her for this one, cos it was true.

Well I suppose retaliation might be second best, but it is oh so much sweeter!

You might have been aware on this mornings news that a certain Mr Brown had rung up a certain Mr Ashdown and asked him whether he would be in the cabinet. That much is common knowledge. What was missed by the tabloids, (but not by me cos I've got a big head) is that he actually rang up Mrs Jackanapes straight afterwards and offered her the post...can you believe it??? (no I thought not...would I lie to you). No one is quite sure which post he was offering, but, I have had it on good authority, that she will be heading up a new Ministry of Information, owing to her ability to write facts honestly and impartially and her ability to pass compliments at the drop of a hat.

Certain lower class tabloids have hinted darkly that she obtained the post following an altercation in a second class railway carriage a couple of days ago, between the aforementioned gentleman and two English ladies impersonating ticket inspectors, placing Mr Brown in an impossible position from which he couldnt possibly escape from; but I dont read common tosh like that and have no reason to believe it. Mrs Jackanapes never travels first class-not in a uniform anyway.

So it looks like her political career has really taken off. She'll be having John Humphreys in an armlock before you can say "crash the pips". Im just waiting for the time in the not too distant future where she signs herself off Lady Jackanapes of Billarichy. Then we will all be in trouble (and not just me!)......

Blue

High mindedness

2007-06-20T23:54:00.000+01:00

And now, to prove this is a highminded blog, full of intellect and rigour, here is a poem from Rumi, before I retire. Sleep well....

Those who don't feel this Love
pulling them like a river,
those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take in sunset like supper,
those who don't want to change,

let them sleep.

This Love is beyond the study of theology,
that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,

sleep on.

I've given up on my brain.
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.

If you're not completely naked,
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you,

and sleep.

Mornington Crescent

2007-06-20T12:37:00.000+01:00

In order to help you understand the rules on this blog re Mornington Crescent, I thought it best to post some of the more important rules that can be invoked....

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Recurrent themes

As the game has evolved, a number of common themes within the rules have arisen, and these are referred to in asides by the players:

* In general, a move to Mornington Crescent is not allowed very early in the game – the implication being that it takes some time or accumulation of points to reach. Tim Brooke-Taylor once started a game with "Mornington Crescent" and this was severely frowned upon as a breach of the general code of conduct of the game (the audience, however, found the whole thing hilarious and Tim was declared victorious after Humphrey referred to the "audience clap-o-meter"). An immediate victory did occur once on air in ISIHAC, but only after the player claiming it had spent four minutes explaining the particular "rules" he was invoking, therefore making the move acceptable, but the loophole was quickly removed.
* Varied rule sets such as "Finsbury rules" are invoked, generally being the subject for further asides in the game.
* Certain moves will be applauded by the audience, or greeted with intakes of breath. Audience reaction can also help shape the game. In one broadcast, a lone clapper applauded Willie Rushton, which resulted in Rushton being "huffed" by Graeme Garden.
* There are set and established plays, similar to openings in chess, occasionally named after players of the game on ISIHAC, such as "Rushton's Gambit". Knightsbridge to Ongar is said to be a favourite move.
* Once a player has named Dollis Hill, other players will often groan in anguish in anticipation of the forthcoming "Dollis Hill loop"; thereafter every alternate move will be Dollis Hill until the loop is "escaped" somehow.
* Players may be "in Spoon", which limits their actions in unspecified ways. During a game broadcast in 1995, the Chairman explained that this was a corruption of the original term, "in Spain". How this might occur, what effect it has or, indeed, as the chairman mused, what a player might be doing in Spain, however, remained unrevealed.
* There are similar states called "Knip" (or "Knid") and "prig".
* A move to Mornington Crescent may be predicted some number of moves in advance, as in chess: "Mornington Crescent in two."
* Aldwych is always a dangerous move.
* Real-life changes to the London tube network are sometimes alluded to in the game, most notably when the actual tube station at Mornington Crescent was closed when the lifts failed and a "rules committee" was said to have rushed through an amendment required for the game to stay playable. (The situation came to light only when Graeme Garden's triumphant winning move was declared invalid.) The ISIHAC team launched a spoof charity, the "Mornington Crescent Elevator Repair Fund".

New Girls in the Class

2007-06-20T11:39:00.000+01:00

Now, following events last night (or afternoon for some of you) we should have new girls joining us all today, so don't be shy dears and introduce yourselves. The rules are self apparent, and if you break them, you will be reprimanded. See it as a virtual Mornington Crescent (anyone who doesn't know about that needs to do some reading up!)

Laurie has been here but is poorly at the moment, so Ive been rubbing her chest with some Vick which she has appreciated greatly....Hope you are feeling better soon dear.

So homework for the new girls is introductions please. Nothing truthful, and nothing boring, and as usual good girls get special attention, bad ones get bottom marks. You have been warned.

Blue

Escapades and High Jinx

2007-06-20T08:41:00.000+01:00

Im a bit concerned for Mrs Jackanapes. You see, she went off on the 10.12 Virgin Express from Billericy and hasn't been heard off since. That on its own is not concerning, they do let her out on Wednesdays, to go down the betting office, (you know how she likes her riding) and she has been better recently, but she did have that turn.... I knew she had been planning something, secreting small bottles of Johnny Walker and pink glossy lipsticks into her hand bag, thinking I hadn't seen, but you see, the thing is she's gone with Mrs Woolly Hart, and thats the heart of the matter!

Now, imagining those two riding on a Virgin at the same time. It doesn't bear thinking about! (oo you didn't see that one coming did you!!), I mean its a long time since either of them rode on a Virgin, and certainly Mrs Jackanapes has been confined to the likes of me, 1960s second hand rolling stock with dodgy bogeys. As for Mrs W-H I couldn't comment, I haven't ridden on her....

I have rung Virgin Rail, told them to get Police escorts on the Billericy line, to look out for two well preserved ladies, with whiskey bottles in their hand, performing lap dances on unsuspecting travellers in Coach C, or donning severe uniforms in the toilets and pretending to inspect the tickets, then running off giggling once they've got their evil mits on the aforementioned article.

I'm certain neither of them went without a magazine to read. Apparently Mrs Jackanapes is an avid reader of "Hot Dip Galvanising", a wonderful magazine which I have had the pleasure to peruse; the techniques that they propose in there bring water to my eyes. Mrs Woolly-Hart however is much dirtier, its "Concrete Quarterly" for her-she does have a filthy mind, not like the pure pastures of that of Mrs Jackanapes (cough, cough).

......Talking of magazines reminds me of a lovely definition of magazines. It went like this; Cosmopolitan informs you what an orgasm was, Marie Claire informs you how to have mulitple orgasms, and Good House Keeping informs you how to knit one.....I wonder which one of those Mrs Jackanapes reads....?

Any way I hope they have a good trip. I can imagine them returning home with a little stick of pink seaside rock and an ASBO order as quaint souvenirs of their time away......

Welcome home girls!

Shim Sham

2007-06-19T23:20:00.001+01:00

Here is a dance called the Shim Sham, with the Granddaddy of Lindy hop, Frankie Manning, in the driving seat.

A New Day

2007-06-19T08:31:00.000+01:00

This morning finds me positively ravishing, all spruced up and bushy tailed, thanks to a few meandering daydreams about the stable boy tying Mrs Jackanapes to the bed post..(sharp intake of breath)...but I digress...and there was me trying to lift this blog out of the shocking state you lot got it into, dear me I'm ashamed of you.

One thing I forgot to mention ast night that J. a superb dance teacher from down South has been up to teach the Balboa workshops and to help along with the lessons last night. The advantage of having her there is that she can work on much more specific elements of technique. Last night she worked with me on letting the movements stem from the centre of the stomach, in body energy terms, the third chakra (OK, I know you might go in for that, but I do, so hold on with me) That point is related to ourselves our identity, our self worth, and there is a real sense of when the movement stems from that point the dance move stems from intention rather than action, you believe it into being, and is a wonderful feeling. You see, dance is more than just a good exercise for me, its about being alive, about living in the instant of the dance beat.

The added benefit is when you dance with a partner, male or female (both are good but very different, funnily enough...). With a partner you constantly communicate, but never verbally, always in position pressure timing, and of course the most important, tuning into them. It is a metaphor for life.

I leave you with a snippet from the Quaker visionary, George Fox (not a quote but close enough):- "The prophets say this, and the apostles say that, but what canst thou say?" In todays language, don't let other people live your life, it is for you to live.

Carpe diem, my lovelies!!!

A Happy Man

2007-06-18T23:29:00.001+01:00

Well, its 23.30-Ive come in from am evening of lindy hopping (started at 7pm) and am glowing, shall we say! Eating couscous with fresh herbs and tomatoes, and listened to Joules Holland very loudly on the way home. I doesn't get better than this, dears. I am a happy man.

Now I was going to tell you a bit about Balboa (so you can get off your pommels!) As lindy hop started in the mid to late thirties om the East Coast, in new York, centred round the Savoy Hotel, Balboa was rising in the West. It is generally danced to much faster music, but smaller steps, and generally on very crowded dance floors, hence the basic move is very close together. The women dance with high heels, they lean against their partner, resting their head on his chest. Bal swing is a variation, incorporating some of the swing and turns a la lindy hop, but stalwarts do see it as a separate dance, not as an extension of Balboa, me, I'm just relieved Im still in one piece at the end of the dance!

Now, its late, I smell, and I haven't finished my tea, so sleep well, and I'll see you in the morning

xxx

Withdrawal Symptoms and dreams

2007-06-18T17:43:00.000+01:00

Suffering from not enough Mrs Jackanapes...

Dreams last night consisted of travelling throught the snow fields in Switzerland to a town filled with tourists. We entered into an Arabic town house filled with Persian rugs, where Cromwell was interrogated and was finally cut down. There were four swords, two long ones made of soapstone, two stubby daggers, he was attacked with the stubby ones, whilst he stood within an ornate doorway, whereupon he turned into a Toby jug and the last image was a boken Toby jug lying on the floor.

I never have been one to read into dreams, but to treat them as entities within themselves. In interpereting them, the intellect becomes too involved, and they are as much about emotion and direct experience as intellectual theorising.

Besides, if I translated every dream, I would probably be a psychocological wreck!!

There is an advantage in seeing the meaning behind the dream dimly, more subtlety is achieved in the reading of it, its rather like reading a poem, don't you think?

The Oxford English Dictionary

2007-06-18T13:00:00.000+01:00

You know, I've become a bit disillusioned of late; I've been through the whole of my life assuming that it was the telephone directory that ladies of a certain disposition, (or rather their mothers) put down their clothing when going out with me. I used to time myself flicking from the External Landscaping section to the Interior Finishes, to see how fast I could polish my action, and would pride myself on my blindingly dextrous expertise, and how it would impress my conquests....

Of course in reality you were just getting up to the ladies haberdashery section, when the tome would be closed like a vice on your hand, and you would go home having to explain away why your hand looked like it had been recently aquainted with a concrete crushing machine.....

Now it appears that the Oxford English Dictionary has replaced the bastion of English Traditionalism in protecting ladies chastity, and this dog has to learn new tricks! Where do I start relearning my old dexterity in this new tome? flicking from pommel to gusset, or bounder to upended? gavel to G-string, or stableboy to saddle-sore?

I feel some homework coming on, so boys and girls, let me know which words one should flick between, and at which point the concrete crusher comes into play. Don't be shy, and remember, points mean prizes... I'm just popping out with Samantha, she's just wondering where the G spot comes in the alphabet, and I think she might need some help.....see you anon!

Have you been feeling yourself lately

2007-06-18T08:55:00.000+01:00

I have been touched, by concern in the postbag as to whether I have been feeling myself lately. To honour my modesty dear reader, and yours, I will spare you the details, but yes I have been, thank you. It is down to you my dear possums, that this has been possible. I could only hope you gain as much pleasure from it as I do, the difference is I would never be so indelicate as to ask such an impertinent question, now would I?

In contrast to this, I hear on the grapevine that Mrs Jackanapes suffered a touch of the hysterias yesterday afternoon. But rest assured my dear, that it is nothing that wouldn't be solved by me loosening your corsetry and applying sol volatile liberally to your chest until you are feeling yourself more again. Some of you less civilised beings wil be reading double entendres into this, and this is just a reflection of your tawdry minds; mine as always is on a higher plane, and I only have Mrs Jackanapes interests at heart, haven't I dear?

By the way, when you go shopping next do get some more Kleenex, I think we are both running a bit low....

Later....

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Just returned from a meeting playing Peter Gabriel Solsbury Hill very loudly. Damn its good!! got me thinking also that we are only fully alive when we live in this very instant. We are a product of all our past experience,and will be of all our future ones, but one has gone and the other is yet to affect us. For now it is this breath, this sunlight, this gust of wind that defines our existence. Like buddhist mindfulness. It is only when we embrance the experiences of the instant that we are fully alive, anything else leads us into longing and splits our being..... Ok enough of the crap, back to the fray!!!

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Dreaming, rising trots and bal swing

2007-06-17T13:28:00.000+01:00

Well I see that the postbag is full once again, from this blog's equivalent of Mrs Trellis of North Wales (did you hear Humph today? isn't he great) wanting to delve into my dream time. well all I can say is, this lot is censored, the nightimes ranting are not and they do not make good reading!

Once made the unfortunate confession to a dear male friend that I had a dream about him, myself and a pair of yellow marigold gloves; it took our relationshp to a whole new plane-he made sure he was never in the same room alone with me again. Not that he would have anything to worry about, I know which side I bat for, and as a bowler I regularly get maidens over (OK its not true, but its a cheap laugh, and this blog is full of them)

.....Last night was dreaming I was living in the Isle of Man. It was a rented place, and we had to enter it through a pantry window. There was a door, and we used it regularly to leave the house, but it was never there on the return, and we had to enter back into the building through the small window again, its my architectural side coming out, the only decent side I have!......

As for Mrs Jackanapes being a natural in the saddle, that has to go without saying. Her performing a rising trot on a leather saddle would take the biscuit from any Austrian upstart, and might well inhabit my uncensored moments from time to time...put that crop down.....!

Onto more prosaic matters, this afternoon takes me into new territories; my fist lessons in Balboa and Bal Swing. They are legal, do involve only one partner at a time, and I will inform you more about them in due course. For the moment, I'll have to leave you hanging on to the edge of your pommels, you lucky boys and girls....

Yeeehaaaahhh!!!!

Riding crops at breakfast

2007-06-16T21:51:00.000+01:00

Now, Mrs Jackanapes discussion on the joys of stable life (let me be your stable boy, dear), reminded me of an incident at a upper class hotel in a quiet seaside town in Devon, which was frequented by myself recently.

It was at breakfast when civility reigned, and I was helping myself to scrambled eggs and bacon, when an apparition appeared upon the breakfast scene which I'm never likely to forget. the lady in question would appear to have been of Austrian descent, her demeanour being very austere and commanding. Upon first glance she appeared young, but looking closer, she had skin more akin to clingfilm forced over the features of her skull; the skin having been forced so tightly behind her ears by her accommodating cosmetic surgeon. But that was not the most alarming aspect of this lady.....

She was dressed in green hunter wellies, tight jodphurs and a gold lamé jacket. Now my dears, I have been known to wear gold lamé jackets, and jodphurs, but NEVER together and certainly not at the breakfast table.

Think of the children!

What I wanted to know was; had she ever undressed from the night before? had she dressed for breakfast like this? or had this been her night time attire? And for heavens sake what was the point in all that attire without a riding crop!

I had visions of her riding her unfortunate steed at full tilt down the final straight, gripping him mercilessly with her unforgiving thighs, and cracking him across his rump to force him on to the finishing line, whereupon he would crumple underneath her, a spent force, never to rise again.....poor bugger!

I have to say it is an fine art of high civility to eat scrambled eggs calmy and demurely whilst such rampant thoughts invade your mind....Oscar Wilde would have been proud of me.

End of the week...

2007-06-15T17:45:00.000+01:00

oo, just waiting till the takeaway is ready this evening, just had the afternoon talk on Basel cemetries and ladies hospitals, and now feeling very giddy owing to the very large glass of wine I whipped down, so will go home, have a stinking good load of monosodium glutomate and get ready for a weekend of gardening. So, don't do anything I wouldn't do,

Mrs Jackanapes, you are a star m'dear, thanks for all the kind things you say.

Blue

Saving Graces

2007-06-15T10:26:00.000+01:00

Nearly choked on me lightly buttered flat cap earlier in the week when I received an email saying that Jane Taylor was coming to play at the Glasson Dock festival. Now, I know there may be a few people who haven't heard of Glasson Dock, the festival or even Jane Taylor, then you know what your homework is, dears. To help you on your way here is her website:
http://www.janetaylor.co.uk/index.html

She is an awesome singer, deserves to go a long way, and I cant wait to throw me brightly coloured thermals onto the stage at Glasson village Hall when she appears in all her splendour.

Later....

Enjoying the anticipation of soon being in the hands of my Pilates instructor, Jane; strapped to the bed, going through my routine, crying out and enduring unbearablepain overlooked by a merciless strong willed Irish woman who would turn a blind man to jelly, ooohh the torture I endure for an a smooth muscular torso....!!!

See you later, if she ever lets me out of her clutches!!!

2007-06-14T15:18:00.000+01:00

Moving along with the notion of waterfalls reminds e of the Austrian painter turned architect, Freidensriche Hunderwasser who died a few years back. Never formally trained as an Architect, his work is decorative, but full of vitality and imagination (though personally I prefer his paintings).

He had the unusual habit of always painting naked, which is a quaint variant on a nude model! Toward the end of his life, he emigrated to New Zealand, where he created the most magical garden around water. His name actually translates as Full-of-peace Hundred-Water.

He hated the stright line, aven his floors are uneven, so that you are aware of each step you take

2007-06-13T10:35:00.000+01:00

Talking of Tutti Frutti, there is a new Architectural competition of the same name, run by Urban Splash in New Islington, Manchester. 26 schemes will be chosen for sites 4-5m wide by 15m deep by the canal. You can add quick schemes on the website (www.newislington.com), and I could not resist drawing on the sketch pad there, a quick sketch of a Lieder Hausen; a house inspired by tight leather Swiss shorts.Imagine.... it is the supreme expression of form following function!!! (falls off chair laughing)

I might design a Harvest Festival pair of knickers to go with it, you know, where all is safely gathered in....

Enough, I jest, as you might have guessed by now (but not about the competition)

Moving on, Anon has made me go all shy (you know how naive and innocent I am....) wanting to jump into my waterfall.....all I can say is come on in, dear one, the water is lovely....

It reminds me, there is a waterfall in the Neath Valley, South Wales where you walk on the path behind the fall as it comes down, surrounded by ferns and moss. It is the most beautiful place in the world, where I wish my ashes to be scattered, and where to stand naked under the torrent of water would be the most beautiful experience in the world, just forgetting the hypothermia for a second....

Homework today; tell me about your favourite places on earth, those that have changed you and your perception of this wonderful planet, then spend some time under an imaginary waterfall, letting the water wash away your cares and fears. you are all beautiful, you just need to be told it more, as we all do (you don't have to tell me if you are naked or not!).

Blue

An apple a day....

2007-06-12T11:45:00.000+01:00

Now, although I have spoken to some of you about this, not all of you know that I do looooovvve an apple or two during the day.

Im sure God had to kick Adam and Eve out of the garden because he knew once Eve had tasted such delights, she'd never want to have sex again!

Poor old Adam, going at it, thought he was the bee's knees, and all the noise was because Eve was chewing on Laxton's Fortune. Anyway girls, I'm glad you didnt let the secret out, we'd be gutted to the core otherwise.

Anyway off to get my teeth into my own Golden Wonder now and let that juice just dribble down... see you anon

Just Desserts for Mrs Jackanapes

2007-06-12T10:33:00.000+01:00

Well, it looks like Mrs Jackanapes is the first one to sully my postings! thank you dear for your civilised and delicate prose so I willl dig into my bag of goodies and see what treats I have in store for you. Options so far are:-

1 Me wrapped in a Union jack (hmmm been done before......)

2 Stunning picture of Falling Water by Frank Lloyd Wright-stylish, decent and tasteful

3 Free set of Leiderhosen and rice pudding- Likely to be returned to sender, rammed where the sun don't shine......disgusting habit! you'd never find me doing something as delicious as that!!!

I'm going for 2. By the way having difficulty showing photos in blogs, so will post it at the head of the blog in due course. And do not despair dear ones, anyone wishing to claim prizes will be given their just desserts.......mmmmmmm you have been warned

By the way, re disco dancing.... we all have our little secrets don't we.......(cheeky smile)

Tutti Frutti

2007-06-11T17:41:00.000+01:00

The Ice Cream Lady has reminded me of an event that you will all be forced to attend, Tutti Frutti, images enclosed. Its a two day event of 40s and 50s dancing which will be gate crashed by a variety of evangelical lindy hoppers whose purpose in life is to let as many brothers and sisters see the light.

So if you dont know your "Shortie George" from your "Suzie Q" then its time to see the light!!!!!

I also note that noone has yet posted, which means this is a virginal site, free from being sullied by all your pure minds (loud guffaws!!!). So who is going to be the first to comment here. Copying unashamedly from Mrs Jackanapes (royalties paid later dear!), the first comment will get a prize of my choosing, depending upon what I think is most appropriate from the comment.

I will be a strict judge and any insolence will be dealt with accordingly (La, sweetie, Im watching!)

Back down to earth

2007-06-11T13:04:00.000+01:00

Just returned from a devillishly wicked study trip to Basel, and feasted on such delights as Taao Ando and Corbusier. For the footballers amongst you out there (and I know there are many (!), we had a tour round FC Basel's stadium looking at their preparations for 2008.

You will all be sad to know no dancing, lindy hop or dancing of any kind occurred and I return a frustrated and pent up ball of energy. Luckily tonight it will be unleashed on my ususal victims at Ludus dance Centre this Monday night (you know who you are), with a combination of the Collegiate Shag, the Hacksaw and Applejacks, a combination which would make the most ardent dancer wince in their sleep

Seriously back down to earth this morning, with a demonstration of what I can only describe as a perpetual motion machine, a discussion on Tingueley's sculpture, and the obligatory daily love affair with two apples. Gearing up for a hair raising afternoon in the saddle discussing swimmingpools. See you anon.....

Ronchamp (draft form)

2007-06-11T09:39:00.001+01:00

Feel you in the clearing, this presence
in the butterfly climbing up your white flanks
and the silent bells
This is no building
this is a breathing prescence
a bone rising from the secret ground
A relic from the maw the dark dull crack of war
of torn bodies and broken dreams
and what remains is silent whiteness
the bread and wine of holy spaces

Some wild lindy hoppin'

2007-06-05T18:13:00.000+01:00

Lindy hop at its wildest!!!!

And a more sedate (sedate I hear you cry!!) modern version......

and now Im off to brush up on the back charleston!

In the beginning was the Lindy Hopper...

2007-06-05T18:00:00.000+01:00

Well, this is the first step for this poet/Architect/Lindy hopper/lover.

Hopefully this will be a meander through my bizarre mind and kepp you lot from fall off your seat. Im in between returning from a wild wedding in Sicily (danced with five women and a bloke and got to bed (mine I'll have you know!) at 4pm) and a trip to Basel for some serious architecture studying, and experimentation on the effects of mixing cocktails with abalone, or whatever else they will serve us and if I am lucky some swing dance.

Some of you I know are rather partial to 40s films, and if I can get this thing to work, Ill post some of my favourite dance scenes here