... of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and most horrid is emotional blackmail ... whilst for this blogger, the only sacred thing is life itself
Monday, November 4, 2013
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Saturday, November 2, 2013
still clinging on in battersea ... made in new york ?
https://archive.org/stream/copperweathervan00jwfi#page/10/mode/thumb
weathervane catalogue via feuilleton
Friday, November 1, 2013
A sometimes daft and improbable Friday
Homeward bound at dusk, the platforms at Vauxhall are crowded,
the signs aren’t working, the African station announcer is hesitantly struggling with his syntax … and then everyone on the station looks
incredulous because a completely clean and completely empty train draws in.
In mid-afternoon, as I slow down for a level crossing by
Betchworth Station, a highly polished green steam locomotive thunders past, belching
grey smoke and drawing eight antique brown and cream Pullman carriages.
On the three-thirty bus to work this morning, a jolly crowd
of well-heeled but penniless Halloween clubbers get on and argue about the
fare. One athletic young man is dressed
as a pumpkin … and he is ready and willing, he declares loudly in a public school accent, to
fight any passenger that disapproves. “Relax !”, I tell him, “You look great !”
http://www.orient-express.com/web/uktr/british_pullman.jsp?c=ppc&p=uk&cr=uktr_br_bp&gclid=CM-5yanyxboCFRMctAodwxsAZQ
http://www.orient-express.com/web/uktr/british_pullman.jsp?c=ppc&p=uk&cr=uktr_br_bp&gclid=CM-5yanyxboCFRMctAodwxsAZQ
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Friday, October 25, 2013
3BT
Alvi greets me at his front door. He holds up two small pine cones for me to
see. Laughing, I reach in to my bag and
pull out … a pineapple ! You can see from
his expression that his little brain is already engaging with problems of difference
and similarity.
Walking through the dark rainy streets to the factory, above
the roar of two cheese lorries backing on to their loading bays just before four in the morning, the night
loader Winston Heavens’ radio is playing. I hear, and then recognize in only two or three seconds, the
opening bars of Talking Heads' Once In A Lifetime (Same As It ever Was); same as it ever was indeed, because that riff excites me now just as much as the first time I heard it in the
Dug Out thirty something years ago. I pause to stand there in the rain, briefly enraptured
School is out for some, and all along the Wandsworth Road, and down
in Nine Elms it is a great sunny afternoon for tiny children of every race and
colour to be out walking with their grandparents.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
another twist in the plot ... i threw away my own tv set ?eighteen? years ago ... now i'm unexpectedly watching childrens' tv with my unexpected grandson
i have belatedly remembered to credit the photographer ...
she who should be obeyed ...
lady lavender randall ...
librarian to the stars
our school's motto was carpe diem ... i found this short discussion in http://alexandresoaressilva.tumblr.com/
OCTOBER 8, 2013
"‘Carpe diem’ doesn’t mean seize the day — it means something gentler and more sensible. ‘Carpe diem’ means pluck the day. Carpe, pluck. Seize the day would be ‘cape diem,’ if my school Latin servies. No R. Very different piece of advice.
What Horace had in mind was that you should gently pull on the day’s stem, as if it were, say, a wildflower or an olive, holding it with all the practiced care of your thumb and the side of your finger, which knows how to not crush easily crushed things — so that the day’s stalk or stem undergoes increasing tension and draws to a thinness, and a tightness, and then snaps softly away at its weakest point, perhaps leaking a little milky sap, and the flower, or the fruit, is released in your hand. Pluck the cranberry or blueberry of the day tenderly free without damaging it, is what Horace meant — pick the day, harvest the day, reap the day, mow the day, forage the day. Don’t freaking grab the day in your fist like a burger at a fairground and take a big chomping bite out of it. That’s not the kind of man that Horace was.
"
— Nicholson Baker, from The Anthologist (via ayjay)What Horace had in mind was that you should gently pull on the day’s stem, as if it were, say, a wildflower or an olive, holding it with all the practiced care of your thumb and the side of your finger, which knows how to not crush easily crushed things — so that the day’s stalk or stem undergoes increasing tension and draws to a thinness, and a tightness, and then snaps softly away at its weakest point, perhaps leaking a little milky sap, and the flower, or the fruit, is released in your hand. Pluck the cranberry or blueberry of the day tenderly free without damaging it, is what Horace meant — pick the day, harvest the day, reap the day, mow the day, forage the day. Don’t freaking grab the day in your fist like a burger at a fairground and take a big chomping bite out of it. That’s not the kind of man that Horace was.
"
(via tierradentro)
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Thursday, October 10, 2013
3BT … this week, though not all in one day
A green woodpecker with a red flash flies out of an oak wood across the country road on that low dipping flight
that might take him up and down a series of invisible waves … and quickly disappears
across a wide meadow towards another wood, swooping between two placid horses,
one black, one white.
Whist
stopping to admire an autumn flowering magnolia at Ockenden Manor, I marvel at the huge creamy petals and then tilt my
head further back to watch a buzzard drawing first one small figure of eight in
a deep blue sky, and then another, and then another. His wings hardly move, but each time I think I
see him curl the most extreme feather tips of one wing, and then the other.
At the
perimeter of Gatwick Airport, whilst the never ending procession of heavy jets
carve their noisy paths along the runway, only fifty yards away from them, a
kestrel dances on air before making a long low swoop in to the rough grass.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Monday, October 7, 2013
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)