my life as a artist
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may day may day
Monday 30th April 2007 11:30 PM
Tonight is Beltane Eve. I went to Tesco's this morning and got some strap-on deer antlers from the pagan ritual section. Went to the in-store café, the Sticky Web, and for 99p had a breakfast of egg, chips, tomato, potato omelette, fried bread, beans, hash brownies, mushrooms, veggie sausage, toast and coffee ('it's almost a meal in itself.' As Hovis Presley would say)
I haven't arranged anything but I'm hoping a few beautiful, wild women will come round to the caravan and light a fire, and we'll all dance round it and then I'll put my Tesco antlers on and we'll go to the woods and engage in vigorous and unrestrained sexual shenanigans. If they don't show up, I'll probably watch championship snooker with Ray Stubbs. (he presents it, I'm not going round to his house or anything)
Even with the possible added attraction of watching the snooker at Ray Stubbs's house, I think most people would prefer robust, outdoor, sexual congress. Caught up, as we are, in the primal surge of vernal desire, snooker offers little in the way of erotic release. During the cueing action there's sometimes a certain amount of thumb-forefinger frottage going on with the symbolically obvious cue, and sometimes there's a bit of kissing between the balls, but you wouldn't call it unfettered sensuality.
It's nearly midnight and they're still not here. They must have got caught up in traffic. Luckily, I've saved the receipt for the antlers. If I take them back to Tesco's and tell them that they become unstable when I'm rutting, I'll probably get my money back.
Posted 11:30 PM | 1 Comments | Permalink
red sauce
Friday 27th April 2007 1:34 PM
Last night did the microgeneration gig in Harrogate. It wasn't The Adelphi, as I'd thought, but The Majestic, which from the outside wasn't majestic at all, only very big. It would have been more truthful to call it The Very Big.
The toilet ( or 'the shitter' as Kate Middleton's mum refers to it), was so posh that it brought to mind the words of Peter O'Toole. 'It makes your knob look shabby'
It was an awards dinner and most of the blokes were suited, except for one magnificently organic individual, sporting a rainbow jumper and a free-range beard. The women were mainly wearing their everyday clothes, but with bits of negligee sewn on. Every course of the three-course meal was dribbled over with a bright red sauce (raspberry 2 tomato 1 (half-time 1-0))
I did a bit of patter and a poem about bicycles and snag my snog about climate change… I think I was slightly less compelling than the pudding, which was a raspberry cheesecake, so no shame there, then. Got home in time to release the bread from the bread-machine before it got soggy on it's own sweat. (my grandfather was a baker and swore on the prophylactic benefits of drinking a pint of bread-sweat every day) (he died when he was 24 of acute bread-sweat poisoning)
Despite my culpability by association with death and destruction in Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia and other places, I managed to really enjoy Manchester United versus AC Milan on the telly on Wednesday night. It wasn't just the sublime first-time passing and individual creativity of Kaka, Ronaldo, Rooney et al, it was also the added appreciation of forty years of footballing soap opera that is Manchester United…. Rooney, Giggs and Ronaldo,…Best, Law and Charlton… Derek, Wobbly Bob and Me…..
Posted 1:34 PM | 1 Comments | Permalink
can a green man sing the blues
Thursday 26th April 2007 10:09 AM
Tonight I'm going to the Adelphi Hotel in Harrogate to perform my 'Climate blues song' at a microgeneration conference. (microgeneration = domestic solar panels/windmills etc). The first time I became aware of the benefits of microgeneration was twenty years ago, in the middle of a muddy field somewhere in Wales at a hippy festival (for yeah, I am an old hippy… I once went out east ….in search of Norwich). I was watching a cabaret that was illuminated and amplified by a generator connected to six fixed bicycles. The bicycles were being pedalled by six hippies fuelled by herbal tea and hemp biomass. Brilliant!
And now we're having a conference on it… we're not trying to cause a big sensation, we're just talking 'bout microgeneration,.... baby… why don't you all f-f-fit more solar panels etc.
Having lived for most of the last five years in various yurts, boats and caravans, I'm quite familiar with the concept of microgeneration. Last year I was living on a boat on the River Ouse in York. As a hippy, this can be quite a dangerous thing to do, because if you go with the flow, you could end up in Selby or Goole.
I had a couple of solar panels on the boat, which ran some lights and a stereo system. I also had a lunar panel, which collected enough moonlight every month to make one wish. (not enough to give back to a grid, which probably doesn't exist anyway, although there might be one in Totnes)
It's heartening to see this conference taking place in the North of England as it seems that the seeds of new-age thought usually find deeper soil in the South-West of England. As a northerner, I can understand this. During my time in Totnes I learnt to access my inner child, but unfortunately it was while I was in the supermarket, and I had to slap it on the back of the legs for being stupid.
I've always believed in the saying 'think globally, act locally' but I think it's also important to 'think cosmically, act stupidly'…
Posted 10:09 AM | 3 Comments | Permalink
interesting things on the telly
Sunday 22nd April 2007 10:13 PM
I've just been watching this documentary about a doctor called Who, who (pause awhile and savour the sound of 'hoo-hoo') has the ability to travel through time. The tardis, a Time And Relative Dimension In Space machine, in the form of a police box, is how Who ( say 'how-hoo' out loud and allow the healing vibrations to resonate in your chest cavity) gets to where, and when.
Besides being able to travel through time and space, the tardis has other unusual dimensional qualities. My caravan looks quite roomy from the outside but on the inside it's quite roomy. The tardis isn't like that.
The documentary didn't make clear exactly who Who (without removing the perineum from the body, place it on a cushion and say 'hoo-hoo' one hundred times. During the last ten 'hoo-hoo's you should start to witness the web of the space-time continuum unravelling) was and if he was a real doctor.
There are many difficulties encountered in the multi-worlds of inter-dimensional travel, the most perennial and persistent being Daleks, malevolent giant tin pepper-pots from the Greek island of Skaros. Their insecurity, low self-esteem and lack of social skills gives them a tendency to say 'ex-ter-min-ate' and zap people with death-ray sink plungers.
Outside of ice-skating and watching 'Robot Wars' on the telly, Daleks find it hard to relax. With their lack of empathy and imagination, and encumbered by their unyielding metal bodies, Daleks rarely play charades. They're not like Lionel Blair.
Why Who (this is the one.. perineum..cushion.. cushion… .perineum… say 'wai-hoo' two hundred times. After one hundred times the web of the space-time continuum will have completely dissolved and you will be able to move freely through other dimensions. Tardis schmardis!I After two hundred you will be able to google existence.) bothers roaming the ineffable, infinite wastes of everything and nothingness beats me.
If I had a tardis I'd park it in London in 1966 and convert it into flats. I'd watch England play Germany then buy a cortina and go to a love-in. If there were any Daleks at the love-in I'd try and love them too, although I wouldn't have sex with them, unless we had really similar interests and looked good together.
I'd go and see one of my favourite bands in their early days, like the Who, who Who ( you can try this one, and see what it does for you, but it would be irresponsible of me to recommend it. My friend Gordon said it twenty times at a party in Fulford and turned into a squeezy bottle of Bramwells brown sauce.) has probably never even heard of… but I haven't got a tardis, and even though it was a documentary, you can't believe everything you see on telly… or read on the internet, for that matter… although I'd like to point out that nearly all that I've written is true, except, maybe, for the conditional sex with Daleks stuff … a spring day and a couple of pints…..
Posted 10:13 PM | 4 Comments | Permalink
nice job
Wednesday 18th April 2007 10:04 PM
I'm not going to get a proper job.
I look at what I've just written and am ineffably drawn to telephone Tony Allen, global village idiot and past-master at not having a proper job. ('twenty-five years ago I phoned in well') I describe to him the short chain of events that have led me to call him. After a brief but fruitful talk he rightly points out that one of the main reasons I've called him is to avoid writing my blog. He's in the middle of writing a film script so at the same time I'm not writing my blog, he's not writing his film script. Before we say goodbye I agree to do a gig in Ladbroke Grove for a ludicrously small amount of money.
So, what's a proper job that I'm not going to get? The army? I'm too old and I don't fancy the travel. There's a job going at the local vivisectionists, grafting baboons' hearts onto beagles' necks, but it's not really me. I've got a bit of a talent for cutting up and pasting sticky bits of coloured paper but I'm not so good with baboons. I've had experience manipulating balloons, but I think they're different.
I think I might phone Tony again.
Posted 10:04 PM | 5 Comments | Permalink
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