my life as a artist
| Calendar |
|---|
life in a welsh sitting room
Tuesday 10th July 2007 12:09 AM
Pat's small cottage was built in 1600 BC on the site of a Neolithic Rayburn. The solid dry warmth afforded by its wise old stones was in marked contrast to the weekend's sodden misery of mud-flapping canvas. After the swirling cacophony and bowel-wrenching bass cabinets of Glastonbury, the songbird-speckled silence of the place was sweet balm indeed. In the afternoon we walked along the Kerry Ridge and looked out over the roof of Wales, which was leaking.
The First Wednesday after Glastonbury is traditionally celebrated by the Cleaning of the Wellies, when thousands of well-slept and freshly washed festival-goers go out into their gardens and chip the dried mud off their wellies with a golden toffee-hammer. Sometimes pieces of the dried mud are wrapped in clingfilm, and sold as cannabis at the next festival.
This year, comfortingly, the First Wednesday after Glastonbury fell on a Wednesday. Due to the complete absence of anything remotely resembling mud-baking sun, I washed my wellies down with a golden hose-pipe. Feeling partly shriven, I discussed with Pat the potential karma I'd accrued in the act of taking the sign to Beguildy. We decided we could either put it down to experience or put it on e-bay.
Refreshed and healed by the freely-given natural remedies of Mother Earth, we now considered the benefits of human civilisation from a more generous viewpoint, how the brutal concrete alienation of the city can sometimes cause such friction in an individual, that they become illuminated with a creative fire that can make them a beacon of hope for others. Lulled into bovine contentment by the sirens of bucolic bliss, we knew it was time, once more, to re-engage in the search for holy conflagration, to face the screaming banshees of a pre-apocalyptic urban hell, so we drove into Clun to buy a Guardian.
We went into a little café and shared a pot of Earl Grey and a large slice of carrot cake. (it looked nicer than the Brussels sprout cake) Then we went to the Spar shop and bought some thin-cut orange marmalade and a bottle of soy sauce. After about forty-five minutes, we both noticed that we were becoming illuminated with a creative fire, and being beacons of hope for others, so we went home.
The news section of the Guardian was filled with tragic stories of suffering, injustice and routine atrocity, so we were quite glad when we got to the crossword on the inside back page. I find cryptic crosswords are a bridge to happiness. They get one across without getting too down.
In the papers 'what's on' section we saw that the radio programme I'd recorded at the festival was featured in pick of the day. It said '11pm. Radio 4. Comedy recorded at the Glastonbury festival , featuring Canadian stand-up Phil Nicholl, performance poet Rory Motion, Janey Godley, Sean Hughes and Ed Byrne.'
It was nice to get a two word description, although it did go on a bit. My memory of the gig was one of tepid joylessness for all concerned, and I wasn't sure I was looking forward to hearing it…
Comments
Steve,
Sorry for the late reply, I can't think of anything to say.
Posted by Les Miserable , on Monday 16th July 2007, 10:15 PM
even though i hardly ever say anything, i enjoy reading your blogs and i'm always disappointed when there isn't a new one... like today!
Posted by devoted (or possibly sycophantic) reader , on Wednesday 11th July 2007, 4:51 PM
I haven't got Wales on my doorstep - how could it possibly fit? It's the size of Wales, you silly billy!
Posted by Steve , on Tuesday 10th July 2007, 9:57 PM
Aren't we lucky to have Wales on our doorstep, as it were? That's why I continue to support Greenpeace.
Posted by Les Miserable , on Tuesday 10th July 2007, 6:49 PM
Add Comment
