I’ve got a dilemma. I have been using medium format bricks for the past few years, and I like em lots. However over the years I have noti…
I’ve got a dilemma. I have been using medium format bricks for the past few years, and I like em lots. However over the years I have noticed DSLRs slowly get better and better, and been seduced by the smooth looking tones, the high ISO powers, and above all the ease of it all. So, after saving up for ages, I have just bought a fancy new digital camera. I call it my space camera. I like it alot, I lust after buying it new lenses to see, new battery grips to give it more stamina, and giant amounts of memory for its brain. I think I am slowly getting used to how much more complicated photography is with such a huge number of buttons and choices. However, I can’t seem to damn well take any really good photos with it. Last weekend I kind of gave up, and went out armed with the old 1-2 combination: Holga + Mamiya C330, and everything was back to normal. It was like the feeling you get after you glasses or something, I could see again! Why is this???? Does anyone know? Weird.
This is my first venture in the process of both / critiquing the art of others, and sharing my own “art” if I may be so bold. I have alw…
This is my first venture in the process of both / critiquing the art of others, and sharing my own “art” if I may be so bold. I have always had a passion and love for photography, and I know what I like and do not like. As a person whom loves art and tries to collect, I will never and have never done so to be what i like to call “THE NET-WORTHLESSLY MOTIVATED COLLECTOR” As a self-employed futures trader in Chicago for the last 24 years (yes people in the actual “Pit”), the lay person has no concept of the world traders live in. With a failure rate of about 98.4% there is no rhyme nor reason, why those that have made it vary from Rhodes scholars to road workers. Trust me, its true and I haven’t got the time or motivation to bullshit. It is often said that money can’t buy you this or that, can’t buy you hap-pi…... bull FC’N shit. I see plenty of loud mouthed, fat-headed no concept of any type of style, culture tact decorum, smack talk, loving the sound of their own voice piss-ants every day that I trade. Trust me some have taken the term imbecile to levels that haven’t been seen since the :Dot com rally in the mid 90’s. they have smiles on their puffy-ass faces and fools nodding their heads in unison two feet away. They might not be internally enlightened but I just don’t see all the sadness and despair that is slathered all over the homeless crack-head living in a May-tag box 2 zip codes away.
This is me signing off for a couple of weeks. I’m flying out to Uluru for a much needed desert holiday. I’ve got heaps of stuff planned, ...
This is me signing off for a couple of weeks. I’m flying out to Uluru for a much needed desert holiday. I’ve got heaps of stuff planned, and heaps of nothingness planned too. I’m really excited. So if you’re wondering why I’m snobbing you off- that’s why. I’m not here! / Moonrise Over Uluru by Mark Boyle
So I’m back from my brief holiday to Uluru, Alice Springs and Kings Canyon. 2000+ photos later and I never want to look at a big red rock…
So I’m back from my brief holiday to Uluru, Alice Springs and Kings Canyon. 2000+ photos later and I never want to look at a big red rock ever again! But seriously, I had a great time. I embraced the nothingness of being in the middle of nowhere and made heaps of friends around campfires and on tour buses. I’ve come back with bunches of email addresses and the business cards of some great artists and other friendly folk. I thought being away would allow me to comtemplate life, the universe and everything, but found that instead it allowed me to swtich off for a while and not think about anything too hard. It was fantastic. When’s my next holiday? / Me riding a camel with my friend Christine. My mother and sister are on the one behind us / Just a bit of prettiness from the base of Uluru / Me being a tourist in Alice Springs at the Sunday Market Of course now I’m back in Melbourne where it is colder and I have to pick up where I left off. Thankful that I still have some annual leave up my sleeve, I’ve got some time to pursue other interests and ventures… and catch up with all you wonderful people on the bubble. So, what’s being going on while I was away?
Never blogged or journaled online before so here goes… / In this little corner of the world on the eastern coast…of the South Island o…
Never blogged or journaled online before so here goes… / In this little corner of the world on the eastern coast…of the South Island of New Zealand spring has finally sprung after a long and cold winter. The little cottage garden outside is waking up after its long hibernation and exploding with blossom and colour. The old plum tree looks like a canopy of white confetti and loud pink blousy blooms of camellias are now smoothering themselves over the 12 foot high bushes/trees. / On Monday the first ducklings of the season appeared in the garden…mother duck proudly showing me she had 11 fluffy followers. These numbers have already started to drop sadly, as neighbourhood cats, mine included are very attracted to them. I did successfully retrieve one from the jaws of my tabby Sam…and even managed after some searching to reunite it with a distraught mum. / Tulips, bluebells and daffodils pop up here and there and the sun has been shining this week a little more than normal. / I’ve been raising seeds assorted herbs and tomatoes on the indoor window sills..it is still too risky to put anything outside, as the fear of frosts is not over. / I completed two small paintings this week. It was an experiment in using a limited palette. Both paintings were of feet…ballet dancers feet. The colours I used were Titanium white and Raw Umber…quite surprising how just two colours can create so many tones. / I sold 6 paintings over the last 6 weeks…at two large annual exhibitions, one in Auckland and the other in Wellington. I sometimes wonder where mypaintings end up..the kind of homes they go to. Imagine if you could tag them to find out! / I have really enjoyed my first week on RedBubble, found lots of supportive, creative people out there and look forward to seeing and sharing my work with you all. / There is a cloud of waxeyes outside my window as I type this, greenfinches/goldfinches busily eating seed from the feeders in the garden…and this morning I was woken up my the a very impressive song from a grey warbler…so happy spring is here. Enjoy your week.
The terrible traumas of the last few weeks are already becoming a distant memory and have been consigned to the brimming recycle bin of…
The terrible traumas of the last few weeks are already becoming a distant memory and have been consigned to the brimming recycle bin of life. The sloth appears to have recovered from his duel with the dentist and seems none the worse for his experience. The intensity of summer is at an end and the days are becoming shorter. The garden is being romanced by vibrant Dhalias, dazzling us with the colours of their Mexican heritage. Burnt orange, Fuschia pinks, Marigold yellows, brilliant scarlet and pure, creamy white. They grow in profusion, crowding the borders and competing aggressively with the purple and pink Michaelmas daisies. The feathery leaves on the Sumach ( Japanese Maple) that grows at the foot of the rockery are turning a delicate yellow gold with the occasional vermillion leaf in between. Even the weather has become conveniently autumnal with the mist rolling down the mountain and spreading its moist mantle over the valley below. But the garden heaves a great sigh of relief and welcomes the the torrential downpours that soak the grateful roots of the old apple trees. However, the peace and quiet of this sunny monday morning was shattered by a triumphant yell from the the study. When I went in to investigate this unruly outburst, I was confronted by the rare sight of the Sloth jumping up and down, waving a letter excitedly in the air. (a rather risky activitiy as he suffers from Angina!!!). ‘We’ve won! We’ve won! Here, look at this!’ He held the letter under my nose with trembling hands. ‘We’ve won the bloody Spanish lottery. We’re rich!’ I snatched the letter from his shaking hand and scanned a smudgy photocopy informing the Sloth that he’d been entered in the Spanish lottery via the internet and his numbers had come up. It stated that he was the lucky winner of 800,815 euros ( roughly £500, 600 ). To collect his winnings he had been given an email address and several phone numbers to contact someone called Steve Gomez. Poor old Sloth! Anyone with half a brain could see that it had SCAM, written all over it. But he desperately wanted to think it was true, as much as he wants to be rich and famous. He has a certain child like innocence that believes the little old ladies who come to our door and con him out of his cash. He’s a sucker for a hard luck story. This is a man who has an unshakeable belief in God and probably believes in Father Christmas too!! Both concepts seem synonymous as we are conditioned from childhood to believe in them. We never actually see them in the flesh though. ‘Look!’, I say. ‘It’s just a trick. They’ve got your name and address from the internet. You’re always buying things online’’. Sloth sighed heavily. He doesn’t do patience. He began to speak very slowly and loudly as though he was talking to a simpleton or someone who was profoundly deaf. ‘It doesn’t matter where they got my name from does it? I’ve obviously won something and I’m going to ring the number and check it right now. OK?’ ‘Ok! But it’s a Spanish number. It’ll cost a fortune on a Monday morning. Why don’t we wait until after six o’clock?’ His shoulders began to shake. The volcano was rumbling. ‘This is irrelevant in the scheme of things. The cost of a couple of phone calls is small beer when it looks like we’ve won half a million!’ Well, there’s no answer to that! There were three phone numbers. He rang the first number but slammed down the receiver after dialling it several times. ‘It’s giving the unused line signal. I’ll try the other one.’ This time there was an answer. ‘Hola! Buenas dias! Puedo hablar con senor Steve Gomez por favor?’ Sloth said breezily. ‘Quien?’ a female voice crackled down the line. ‘Steve Gomez. G- O- M- E- Z ’ Sloth spelled the name (using the Spanish alphabet) helpfully. There was a long pause, then, ‘No hay Steve Gomez aqui senor.’ The Sloth stiffened and grapsed the receiver firmly as though it was the arm of the Spanish speaker on the other end and tried again. ‘Mirar! Tengo una ficha sobre la lotteria….........’ ‘Senor!’ the voice interrupted. ‘No hay Steve Gomez. No existe’ ‘What do you mean? ‘Doesn’t exist’ ?’ Suddenly English had become the lingua franca, born out of sheer desperation. ‘Hello...’ Sloth tapped the phone frantically but was rewarded for his trouble with the irritating purr of the dialing tone. ‘See! I told you it was just a scam! The man doesn’t even exist….’ ‘Of course he exists! ’ exploded the Sloth and pounded up the stairs two at a time to send the non exisitent person an email. The next morning the Sloth was up bright and early checking his emails. He came into the kitchen excitedly brandishing a sheet of paper. ‘I told you it was genuine’ he said self righteously. ’ Take a look at this’. I read the email and saw that it was indeed from someone calling himself Steve Gomez and informing the Sloth that he would be ringing from Spain that very morning. His smugness was unbearable as he began humming a tune from his latest Roy Orbison CD and stiring his capuccino noisily. At eleven am the phone rang and the Sloth went into a frantic pantomime of manic handsignals worthy of a bookie ’s tic tac signalling the odds on the racecourse! I took this to mean that I was to answer it as the Sloth hates speaking on the phone. Expecting a conversation in Spanish I began by greeting the caller in what I believed was his native tongue. There was a brief silence from the other end, then ‘Er….can you speak English?’ ‘Yes of course. Sorry! I thought you were Spanish. You have a spanish name so I thought….........’ I trailed off. ‘You have an African accent’ I ventured. A loud chuckle exploded in my ear.’Well that’s because I was born in South Africa, you see!’ Somehow, I couldn’t make out the clipped , adenoidal vowels of South Africa in his speech. By now I was bristling with suspicion but to prove my point to the gullible Sloth, I continued. The deep, dark African voice identified himself as Steve Gomez and asked to speak to the Sloth. I explained that he had a cold and had lost his voice, so I was handling things for him. He seemed completely unfazed and told me cheerfully in a lilting African accent that Sloth had won some money in the Spanish lottery. He needed to know if he wanted to be paid by cheque or have the money transferred into his bank account by electronic transfer. ‘Of course we would need your bank details for this operation’ he crooned smoothly. I decided to play the shark a little longer and said ‘It would be better if you sent a cheuque’, I said breezily and gave a false address. ‘Steve’ seemed very happy with this. So much so that he then dropped the (the terribly predictable) bombshell. ‘Well that’s good! Now there’s only one more thing you must do to guarantee payment of the cheque’ he giggled. ‘What’s that exactly’ I said slowly. ‘Well!’ he paused ‘The Spanish bank charges £l,OOO’ ‘What for?’ I said my voice beginning to rise. ‘Its the handling fee ma’m’ ‘A £l,OOO handling fee’ I repeated. I looked over at the Sloth who looked so woeful as he gave me the thumbs down. Dreams of a life of Riley fading into the ether. I quietly put down the receiver and switched on the answerphone.
Barbarella and Kenton I get back all sweaty and tired from feeding my friend’s cats and walking his dog only to catch the last trill…
Barbarella and Kenton I get back all sweaty and tired from feeding my friend’s cats and walking his dog only to catch the last trills of the telephone as I come down the path. I kick off my shoes in the hall while it sputters into answer phone mode. A high female, child -like voice fills our tiny living room. ‘Hello you two! Just a quick call to ask if you’d like to go the beach today. It’s such a lovely day, we’ll call in and pick you up in half an hour,’ she said breathily. I stare at the phone warily and decide not to interrupt the message. Blast! I know it will be almost impossible to get out of it without offending her. The machine whistles and clicks to signal the end of the message then falls silent, its red eye winking conspiratorially. She is right though. It’s a fabulous morning. The sun shines on the kitchen windows lighting up the streaks and smears and the thin layer of dust on the bookshelves. Glancing up I can see a skein of cobwebs festooning the ceiling. I don’t really feel in the mood for housework. Does anyone? Don’t get me wrong! Barbarella and Kenton are a lovely couple. They’re so generous and kind and full of fun and have been described by some in the village pub (rather unkindly) as the oldest swingers in town. They make a very handsome couple when out walking together. They are both diminutive, but immaculately dressed. Barbarella in her gold sandals, toenails twinkling with purple pearl nail polish and her long, straight hair dyed a fiery red. However, a lifetime of heavy smoking and soaking up the sun has taken its toll. Tiny lines criss -cross her face, deep creases run from her nose to mouth, so often turned down in repose. The watchful green eyes behind the steel rimmed glasses are rather faded and crow’s feet nestle in the outer corners. / Despite her pint sized appearance Barbarella is a feisty lady and has been known to give rein to some pretty spectacular rages if she believes she’s been crossed. (Which is pretty much all of the time!!?) Paranoia strikes deep! Naturally Kenton is very proud of her and doesn’t seem to notice these tiny imperfections. He is fiercely protective whenever there’s an altercation with anyone who doesn’t quite agree with her opinions. (It’s more than his life’s worth!!) Tradesmen, shopkeepers, villagers and friends alike, and there lies the rub. They just don’t seem to have any friends. He’s got masochistic tendencies and is brutally tactless and she tends towards Sado- hysterical paranoia, ‘Nobody in this village likes me! I’ve never done anything to them!!’ Well! A desire to indulge in cunning game playing and absurd, inappropriate flirting with unsuspecting husbands is no pre-requisite to a lasting friendship with female friends. Loyalty and respect has to be earned. Ah well! Kenton loves sports clothes. Smart navy polo shirts and matching navy tracksuit bottoms are the order of the day. The whole outfit complimented by snow- white trainers. Although, actually taking part in any kind of sport is against everything that he holds dear. All that pounding the pavements in the pouring rain, and getting home soaked stinking of sweat. Collapsing with fatigue and covered in mud. What does it really achieve except make one feel terribly ill! Besides, Kenton doesn’t have to worry about his figure. He’s slim but not muscular. For a man pushing 60 he reckons he looks pretty good with a full head of thick, coarse black hair, courtesy of Grecian 2000 (well who’s to know?) and a heavy moustache on his upper lip as thick as a stork’s nest. Besides, the ladies like a moustache. He thinks it makes him look romantic and macho. You know what I mean, a bit like Charles Bronson! Or Vlad the impaler! Take your pick! Poor Kenton! He’s such a sensitive soul. Living under the cosh of a controlling wife isn’t doing him any favours at all. He once confided to the Sloth over a couple of pints of Guinness that when Barbarella’s on the warpath he takes to his bed for days, pleading depression. He threatens do a runner one day. That of course, takes a lot of cojones and the Sloth isn’t completely confident he could pull it off! / ‘Why don’t you stand up to her?’ asks the puzzled Sloth. / ‘It’s not that easy. She’s got ways of getting back at me. She’ll hide all my booze and fags. I used to talk to this bloke in Birmingham on the internet y’know. He’s an electric train freak like me. He came with his wife for a visit last summer. We went / to an electric train fayre and we all got on famously. Barbie was charm personified and we / Said that we’d keep in touch by email. Well time went by and I realised I hadn’t heard from Billy for a while, in fact there were quite a few cyber friends I hadn’t heard from. Barbie said he must be busy. Then the other day Billy appeared on the doorstep. He was on his way back home from a conference in our area so he thought he’d pop over and see us. Very sociable chap is Billy’ / Kenton Pauses to take a deep draft of his Guinness, taking care to flick the cream off his moustache. / ‘Anyway’, he continues, ‘Billy wanted to show me a new website on the old computer so we went in to my cubbyhole to check it out. Billy’s a bit of a whiz on the computer. Not like me! That’s why I call him Billy Whiz!! Geddit!!’ He then proceeded to laugh uproariously at is own joke. The Sloth nods encouragingly. / ‘Anyway, after a bit of fiddling it didn’t take old Bill to realise that his address was on the ‘block sender’ list, along with a few other mates of mine. The Sloth shakes his head in disbelief and sits staring glumly into the depths of his Guinness / ‘I don’t know how you put up with it. What did she say when you tackled her?’ ‘Not a lot really. Made some excuse about not wanting people to trouble me and make me anxious’ / The Sloth gives him an old fashioned look and holds out his hand, ‘Gives us your glass mate, it’s my round!’ / I can hear the sound of the front door slamming shut and a clumping of trainers falling onto the floorboards in the hall. The Sloth is back from his morning Jog. Large dark patches stain the back and under arms of his blue T shirt and strands of gingery hair are plastered over his head. Fine droplets of sweat run down his face, pink with exertion. He grins good- humouredly and bends down to kiss the top of my head. I breathe in his scent. Sloth is such a tactile soul! Part of his charm! ‘I’m going for a shower’ he mumbles into my hair. Then, over his shoulder as he heads for the bathroom, ‘Did you put the sausages on?’ ‘Er….. No. I was just going to tell you. It looks like we’re going out for lunch with Barbarella and Kenton.’ His face darkens. ‘Oh God! Can’t you ring her back and say we can’t make it?’ ‘No, it’s too late. They’re on their way round here. Now go and get in that shower!’ ‘But I’ve got plans for this afternoon…I…..’he trails off miserably when he sees my face. A day out with Barbarella and Kenton is often both eventful and exhausting. This morning, the men sit in the back of Kenton’s dusty old Ford, circa 1989, like naughty schoolboys, farting nervously and competing to see who can tell the dirtiest jokes! I sit at the front with the driver who sits on two cushions so that her gold sandals will reach the pedals and so that she can see over the top of the steering wheel. After barking orders sharply to the men in the back seat we set off for the great Welsh seaside adventure. We arrive at the little seaside town of Mumbles. I always used to wonder why it was called such an odd name and speculated it was because of the sound the waves made as they lapped the shore or the echoes round the bay of the foghorns from the fishing trawlers in the winter. Its name is in fact derived from the French word ‘Mamelles’ which means breasts, well, it had to be didn’t it! It refers to the two islets that rise from the sea and are quite visible from the terrace of our favourite restaurant on the hill. In his lifetime, the famous poet, Dylan Thomas, referred to it with much ironic affection. However, I think this piece of local culture has passed Barbarella by and she is frantic to find a shop that sells her favourite lipstick because she’s left her lippy at home! The whole town has an aura of the 1950s about it. Low key and still relatively un- spoiled. The beaches are empty and the ice cream seller looks rather forlorn. The children have deserted him and have returned to school. No doubt this will come as a relief to Barbarella. Children are a total anathema to her. She could never see the point of them let alone understand why women give birth to them. Such a messy and humiliating business. Then there was the sheer drudgery of bringing them up, not to mention the expense. She has the privilege of being an only child. Spoiled and petted, attention was lavished on her by adoring parents. She has become addicted to it and as an adult continues to crave it. She certainly doesn’t want children vying with her for attention. She wants to be the total focus of everyone she meets. Everything must revolve around her. She is after all, unique! However, all is well with our princess Barbarella at the moment. She’s in a good mood as she swings the big unwieldy car round those tight bends. The sun is shining and everything is under control. Her control! She slips a CD into the player and the voice of Elaine Paige fills the car at an earsplitting volume. Barbarella immediately begins a duet, her pitting her thin voice tunelessly against the strong vibrato of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s most illustrious musical star. Never mind that Barabarella is tone deaf and is incapable of carrying a tune in her head. The boys applaud timidly from the back seat anxious to keep our very own diva sweet. We all heave a sigh of relief when the restaurant heaves into view. It’s perched on top of a hill overlooking the sea. The Sunny terraces are facing the glittering ocean and have wonderful views. Our usual seats on the terrace are available so we seat ourselves under the gaily striped parasols. The Sloth clearly has designs on the bar and probably on the little waitress in the revealing top with her bottle blonde hair falling seductively over one eye, gazing quizzically over at our group. Barbarella is already issuing orders at Kenton who meekly stands to attention. ‘I need a drink after all that driving! Go and get me fizzy lemonade Kenton, and don’t forget the ice and lemon like you usually do’, she snaps. Kenton sighs, shoulders now sloping dejectedly. ‘Right away my precious’ / The Sloth puts a supportive arm round Kenton’s now drooping shoulders and gently guides him in the direction of the bar for some much needed alcoholic therapy. Barbarella and I decide we’re definitely feeling peckish and each of us chooses a meal from the menu. In spite of her slender child’s frame, Barbarella has the appetite of a Brickie on a building site! She chooses several pasta dishes and a large sticky desert to follow for both herself and Kenton. / She leans back in her chair, yawns and stretches luxuriously, sticking out her well padded bosom obviously enhanced with ‘chicken fillets’! Kenton, she confides, loves ‘breasts’ and she of course is rather deficient in that department. So she enlists the help of one of the latest accessories for the discerning woman and treats herself to some very realistic inserts for her bra!! Now, voila! Instant pneumatic success. ‘But you don’t have that problem, do you?’ she chirps. I smile enigmatically. ‘Mind you, my mother was a big woman like you. She always got so depressed when she couldn’t get clothes to fit her’ / I bare my teeth in what I hope looks like a grin. / The men come shuffling over to the table each bearing a wobbling tray, heavily laden with bottles of beer, glasses of Guinness and the soft drinks for the ‘ladies’. / The men sit down arms akimbo and legs stretched out for any unsuspecting waiters to trip over. I notice that they’re are Smirking furtively at each other and divine they’re sharing some dirty joke or have been comparing notes about Angelina!! Barbarella smiles sweetly at the Sloth and keeping her eyes on his face puts her short legs up on the nearby terrace wall and raises her skirts in what she believes to be a seductive manner. She reveals enough cellulite to recoat an orange and varicose veins that stand out like bunches of grapes. The Sloth smiles at her weakly then leans forward in my direction. / ‘Have you ordered yet?’ I ask. ‘Well no. I don’t know what you want.’ I’ll have the fish’ / ‘Me too’ / The Sloth waves the menu vaguely in the air and this is the signal for a tall, gangling boy to come over to our table. He brushes his fair hair out of his eyes and with trembling fingers takes out a little notebook and a stub of pencil. Yessir! What you like? He blurts. / ‘We’d like Haddock and chips please’ said the Sloth gently. / He scribbles own the order and turns to go. Then suddenly Barbarella takes off her enormous sunglasses and calls over to him. / ‘I want to change my order. We’ll have the fish too!’ / The waiter’s youthful brow becomes as furrowed as a ploughed field. / ‘Yes, Madame’ he murmurs. / ‘You’re not English are you?’ She drawls / ‘No Madame, I from Poland’ He stands proudly to attention when he says this. / The Sloth looks up and asks him, ‘Where is your town in Poland?’ / He gives a little bow and says, ‘Krakow sir’ / ‘It’s a beautiful city’, says the Sloth ’Wonderful architecture’ / ‘You can go there sir?’ the boy says excitedly. / ‘No, but I’ve seen it on TV’ / ‘You spik Polak sir?’ / ‘No, but I speak Russian……’ / ‘I too….’ / To the waiter’s delight the Sloth then engages in a little Russian conversation. Although the Sloth has extremely long fingernails (the envy of many of our women friends) and hair to match on occasions, he is possessed of a gift for languages. He can converse with ease in Russian, German, French, Spanish and Welsh too, look you! Barbarella however, is totally unimpressed with the linguistic abilities of the Sloth and sees them as an unnecessary interruption to her lunch. She begins rattling her knife and fork on the table like a couple of swords. / ‘Are we getting any food today?’ she asks pointedly. / ‘Very well Madame’ says the waiter and blushing profusely, hurries off to the kitchens. Barbarella has just reached the punch line of an extremely long winded and confusing joke, when the food arrives. Kenton and the Sloth fall on theirs like a couple of starving wolves. She picks over her food, irritably moving it around with her fork. / ‘This isn’t what I ordered’ she growls. ‘And it’s stone cold!’ Her eyes sweep around the terrace like a heat seeking missile trying to winkle out the hapless waiter. Her strident voice rents the air as she yells ‘Waiter!’ Some diners glance up from their plates and gaze curiously in our direction. The waiter comes to the table and bows. ‘There is something wrong Madame?’ / ‘Barbarella wastes no time. ‘This isn’t what I ordered’ she pipes. / ‘But you ask for the fish Madame’ / ‘Tell me’ she says, ‘How long have you been in this country?’ / The waiter hangs his head unhappily. ‘Three weeks Madame’ / ‘Three weeks! Don’t they have fish in your country ‘cos this isn’t fish, Oh no! It’s bloody pasta!!! Her voice rises to a high pitched shriek that gets everyone’s attention. / Our table is now the focus of the entire restaurant. Kenton stops, his fork loaded with food halfway to his mouth, clearly struck dumb. The Sloth and I keep our heads down, concentrating on our food as if our lives depended on it. / ‘I change Madame, no probs!’ The waiter whisks the plate away and rushes back to the kitchens before Barbarella can say another word. A murmur ripples round the terrace from the other diners who sensing a showdown, no longer see any reason to be discreet and have downed their cutlery. They now sit looking over at our table expectantly. They don’t have long to wait. / The waiter returns to the table and with a flourish, places a plate of piping hot food in front of Barbarella. ‘It is good now Madame, yes?’ / She bends her head towards the plate and sniffs. ‘This fish is off’ / ‘Off?’ / ‘Yes, Off, O-F-F off!! Smell it for God’s sake’ / The waiter bends down beside her and tries to sniff the food, he jerks back, somehow bringing the plate with him and depositing the hot food neatly into Barbarella’s lap! She gives out a high pitched shriek as the heat burns through her skirt and scalds her thighs. She leaps to her feet. / ‘You stupid idiot! Look what you’ve done! This is a designer skirt. It cost me a fortune and now it’s ruined!’ / ‘Oh dear! I so sorry Madame! Plis! I help you!’ the poor, harassed waiter tries to mop her skirt with his cloth. Kenton rushes to her aid with a paper serviette and begins to dab ineffectually at her skirt. The Sloth meanwhile, is making a superhuman effort to remain in control, although I notice that he’s very pink and his shoulders are shaking in silent mirth. I on the other hand try to be helpful and throw a glass of mineral water onto the affected part. This at least will cool down the burning sensation. However, Barbarella is incandescent with rage.’ Get the manager. Get me the bloody manager now! I want compensation for this’ she mutters menacingly! / The waiter stands by helpless, powerless but philosophical. / The commotion has attracted the attention of the owner of the restaurant, a tall figure, who comes rushing to our table all false smiles and useless offers. He listens patiently to her angry explanation. ‘, and I want him sacked. He’s useless! He brought the wrong food, with the wrong sauce and then he tipped it all over my designer skirt!’ she ranted. / ‘Why the hell can’t you employ English waiters?’ / The manager gave her his best and most oleaginous smile. ‘This is an Italian restaurant Madame; most of the waiters are Italian. They speak good English, but we do employ a few Polish waiters. They are so much more respectful and reliable than English waiters.’ / There is no answer to this. The manager is however, magnanimous and clearly believes the in the old adage, ‘the customer is always right’ ‘Allow me to bring an a la carte menu Madame, and you and your party can choose anything you like with wine. The compliments of the house.’ This seems to pacify Barbarella. This and the sight of the manager taking the poor Polish waiter roughly by the arm for what was obviously going to be a king size bollocking. I expect the poor chap was on the minimum wage too! Life is too cruel sometimes.
Hi guys, Yet again this is just a quickie for you hoping you are all as well as can be expected and happy with life as we know it? Oh…
Hi guys, Yet again this is just a quickie for you hoping you are all as well as can be expected and happy with life as we know it? Oh yeah, and to bring attention to all of you out there who love animals especially cats, my sister’s website. My sister Pauline, the one fighting leukaemia, writes about cats when she has the energy on her website: www.thedailymews.com I know she is my sister and I support her in her writing in a big way but she is really very good. She puts the cat’s point of view over through her observations from years of having so many of them and it is as though the cat is talking to each other. The stories are really very funny and sometimes tearful but are a very good read all in all and if you love cats as much as you say you do then it is worth giving her a visit, I know you will be pleasantly surprised. She has mentioned Red Bubble a few times at the end of her mews letters so directing people over to see our work so it works both ways eh? And she doesn’t charge if you become a subscriber and if you do please tell her I asked you to have a look at what she has on offer. Ok, that’s it for now and thanks guys. Have a really wonderful weekend with lots of good luck, health and happiness. All the best to you my friends, Tony
Having been inspired by this brilliant project by …
Having been inspired by this brilliant project by Claire i am going to make a New Years Resolution on RB and try to keep it. I am going to modify the idea Claire had a little and I am going to try and keep a Visual Diary for 2008. I am going to attempt to take one photo every day to remind me of something notable that I did or that happened on that day. Hopefully I will be able to look back at this time next year and remember what I did on EVERY day in 2008. Wish me luck
Hey Gang Semi-permanent is in town and brings with it a bunch of great art shows. Ive uploaded a ton of photos i took at some i vis…
Hey Gang Semi-permanent is in town and brings with it a bunch of great art shows. Ive uploaded a ton of photos i took at some i visited this week including, REKA one, Curvy and Kids Today. check out my Flickr photos and get inspired HERE Sorry i couldn’t take any photos at the Archibald prize BUT Ive still gotta get to a few gallery’s so stay tuned for more we love art !! Jumpy / :-P
Funny i chose such a title as my sky’s filled with hues of grey … [grinz] Yesterday was pure “Shetland Blue”. Lunchtimes become …
Funny i chose such a title as my sky’s filled with hues of grey … [grinz] Yesterday was pure “Shetland Blue”. Lunchtimes become brief adventures when my camera is set free. So I escape from the classroom. Every moment is here and now. Thank God afternoons stretch like an exhausted rubberband! Summer is short around our neck of the ocean. As we titled back to the sun, night is shrinking like nylon tights washed at 60. / That’s when light is teeming with birds. Blackbirds, skylarks, curlews, “shalders” [oyestercatchers]... Wrens, courting gulls… Our seabirds too are coming back. :)). / Gannets, bonxies [skuas], tirricks [arctic terns], puffins… That great symphony has begun! “Vegemite” brown still dominates most of the land. Our wild flowers too shy to grin or to appear bare to our sun. So far, Lesser Celendine dared to burst. But as May comes, our wild meadows will self-indulge and make us dream / ...Mother Earth is smiling again. Cloudscapes too begin to display amazing shapes. The other dusk, i caught a wolf above a ridge :)). I spend a lot of my time looking upwards. Sometimes the wind shred them apart… or make them cry, just like today. Thank God showers never last long. ...Father Sky looks a beautiful chameleon! Our hills and bays never dressed in monochrome tones. Light’s a trickster, just like Loki. That’s when I love to watch the wind… “Hello, Earth, Hello, Earth.”
I bought a pretty visual diary today. It has a blue fabric cover with the word “create” indented in the corner. It was from Kikki.K a…
I bought a pretty visual diary today. It has a blue fabric cover with the word “create” indented in the corner. It was from Kikki.K and to be honest, a bit expensive for a book filled with blank paper, but I’m hoping it will be worth it. I’ve been a bit restless lately, with life in general but my photography in particular. I’ve been bored with what I’ve been doing…. feeling a bit stagnant… Frustration with my studies and meeting some pretty amazing people lately has given me a bit of the push I needed to get myself out of this rut. So my visual diary will be for everything inspiring, thought provoking, surprising, and frightening. Everything really.. I’m hoping it will spark some ideas and help others flow. I might even start writing creatively again.. something I used to love but haven’t done since I started this formulaic communications course.. Who cares about the who, what, where, when, why, and how when you can have curiosity and quirkiness that doesn’t necessarily make sense but is far more interesting? It’s time to break some rules.
If anyone is interested I`ve started a blog about life in Japan. Please click on the link below. My Blog...
If anyone is interested I`ve started a blog about life in Japan. Please click on the link below. My Blog Enjoy! :-)
Further to my earlier journal entry I’ve now ”...
Further to my earlier journal entry I’ve now written a small photo diary of this morning’s events.
( recieved this in an email this morning. it had me chuckling away so i thought i’d share. Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary…... 8:00 a…
( recieved this in an email this morning. it had me chuckling away so i thought i’d share. Excerpts from a Dog’s Diary…... 8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing! / 9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing! / 9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing! / 10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing! / 12:00 PM – Lunch! My favorite thing! / 1:00 PM – Played in the yard! My favorite thing! / 3:00 PM – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing! / 5:00 PM – Milk Bones! My favorite thing! / 7:00 PM – Got to play ball! My favorite thing! / 8:00 PM – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing! / 11:00 PM – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing! Excerpts from a Cat’s Daily Diary. .. Day 983 of my captivity… / My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet. Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Bastards. There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’ I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage. Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow—but at the top of the stairs. I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded. The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now….............
Home from a wonderful week on Skye catching up with old friends, visiting old haunts and taking lots of pictures! Very mixed weather b…
Home from a wonderful week on Skye catching up with old friends, visiting old haunts and taking lots of pictures! Very mixed weather but managed three glorious sunny days out of a week and the rain stayed off when we went out …. what more can one ask for? Hope you’ve all been behaving yourselves while I’ve been gone? It’s going to take me sooooooo long to catch up with all your work so please forgive me if I miss any out. It’s lovely to be back among friends Love and laughter to you all! xxxx
Right throughout this year did rain / Torrents of torture and barrels of pain / Here’s hoping that it can be set right again / Cause it’s do…
Right throughout this year did rain / Torrents of torture and barrels of pain / Here’s hoping that it can be set right again / Cause it’s doing my head in, just staying sane Good Riddance 2008: Year of the Hell
I was sent this yesterday, and would like to share it with my RB friends. It shows the difference between dog and cat thinking in a hu…
I was sent this yesterday, and would like to share it with my RB friends. It shows the difference between dog and cat thinking in a humourous manner. Dog’s Diary
slideshow of Forest Diaries drawings / ”!http://img8.uploadhouse.com/fileuploads/3746/p374698…
slideshow of Forest Diaries drawings /
14th April 2009 about 11am / I went to the Warringah Mall Shopping Centre and bought a white balloon. / It was a beautiful cobalt blue sky …
14th April 2009 about 11am / I went to the Warringah Mall Shopping Centre and bought a white balloon. / It was a beautiful cobalt blue sky with white clouds. / “Ali is happy,” I thought. / I let go the balloon at the roof top car park. / The balloon went up very fast and soon it was only a black dot in the sky. / I kept watching the dot for a long time. I read a journal on RB the other day which was written by Ali’s mum. / She lost Ali on 14th April last year. / I was touched and I decided to do the balloon on 14th. / But I can’t remember who she was. / I only wrote “Ali” on my diary. / Silly me…
That’s my prediction. Set up our calendars now , and within the next f…
That’s my prediction. Set up our calendars now , and within the next few months (if not sooner, and I hope it is), Redbubble will start converting them to the 2010 months. We can make it happen. Yes, we can! Why am I saying this? Calendars make fantastic Christmas gifts! / So I want Redbubble to make the change NOW. My clients and I need to be able to purchase long before Christmas, thus being able to post/deliver to the recipient. I have started promoting calendars already, so I eagerly (and patiently) await the format-change to our calendars!
Yet another person has purchased my green calenda…
Yet another person has purchased my green calendar today!
The shipping costs for a load of calendars = AUS$16.93 / One calendar = AUS$17.00 / therefore… / We are better to purchase enough calendar…
The shipping costs for a load of calendars = AUS$16.93 / One calendar = AUS$17.00 / therefore… / We are better to purchase enough calendars to get FREE shipping. / Well, that’s my theory and I am sticking with it. / Now to sell them…
I can’t decide if I should keep my Tiny Diary entries just like it is…. !http://images-2.redbubble.net/img/art/backingcolor:white/...
I can’t decide if I should keep my Tiny Diary entries just like it is…. or crop them… Which do you like better?
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