shiny stuff in the back streets off wandsworth road

http://www.stonework.co.uk/

joined up thinking ...

... nicely crafted connectors.

good night sweet ladies ...

fluid mechanics ... the armitage shanks mystery

at the national gallery there's an astonishing exhibition of paintings by "canaletto and his rivals"

and there's a smaller exhibition of some paintings by bridget riley

each shows the power of the human imagination synergized by the precision of the artist's perceptions and dexterity

then some of us can go to the gents where precision and dexterity seem to be unimaginably difficult for the males of the species among the museum-going public and the floors are rarther slippery

i still haven't received a penny !

delicious but expensive

http://www.wagamama.com/food/item/orange+beet+down+%7C+new+juice/3715

insomniac photography ( part 999 )

history ... out with the old ! ...

although it took me a month to get to page 573,

i wish i could have read this wonderful book in 1984 when it was first published

and it is a mystery why the labour government never got around to honouring the lady

... even though there is no mention in the text of the saltonstall wives depicted on the cover

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antonia_Fraser

... and in with the new - ish !

at the font, the suggested names of "lucifer parmentier" were greeted with perplexity

intolerable cruelty

Floating upwards from a night of dreams into voluptuous consciousness, just before dawn certain localized sharp movements and non-verbal vocalizations alert me to the loved one’s wakefulness, and so I venture to speak.

“I dreamed I woke up on my day off and someone made me a cup of tea.”

She whose given middle name is Sardonique, replies.

“That was only a dream.”

Chinese winter sports ... a mystery wrapped in a puzzle wrapped inside an enigma ...

Clearly, he thinks he's hard, but look at those nancy-boy gloves, and he's only playing against a bunch of women.

clearly modelled by the young george clooney

apropos de nuffinque a l'annee prochaine

oh, what a grey day !

there's no cure for my insomnia ...

all the world's a stage ...

a sunny sunday morning, and i'm refractorily olfactory and f-f-f-freezing !

Even on the coldest night, although they are blackened and are drooping up to their necks in deep frozen drifts of snow, you can still smell the lavender.

A shrunken old man, in freshly ironed clothes that are now two sizes larger than himself and wearing improbably shiny shoes, gets on to the bus … and he’s reeking of mothballs.

Hungry and returning from a freezing hour on the Common, walking through a wide empty space between some anonymous tenements, I am taunted by the smell of bacon being wantonly fried by invisible sociopathic housewives.

left out in the cold ... the car she forgot to buy me ...

let's get this party started