Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
southwark ... the golden hind, the cathedral, and the borough market
i woke up at my usual work time so i used my wonderful freedom pass to cross the city before sunrise ... this was early on saturday whilst it was still friday evening in los angeles, hence the friday byeline at the top of the page
Thursday, July 21, 2011
3BT, 21st July 2011
About an hour after a wet grey dawn the clouds began to fragment and then a dozen silver sunbeams formed an inverted fan in to which the relatively tiny smudged shape of a distant jumbo jet descended and slowly turned. I had forgot how big the sky.
Later, in the Sussex Weald, I drove the truck quite slowly up a steep lane through a darkly shaded tunnel of trees and far away at the top of the slope there gleamed an oval patch of brilliant green, too bright at that distance for me to know if it was field or foliage … and in that second, two very tall and long-legged thoroughbred horses pranced into the pool of light with their riders.
At day’s end, the lumpy grey clouds re-arranged themselves around the setting sun and caught fire, as if Tiepolo and Turner had taken sides in some kind of Heavenly Paint Wars. This would be the ideal setting for an allegorical painting featuring the apotheosis of all of my favourite bloggers, tinted with a glowing distillation of all their many shades of sweetness and laughter. I’m not sure if they would prefer to be dressed in skimpy arrangements of fur and feathers, or seamless raiments. Fight amongst yourselves, friends.
Later, in the Sussex Weald, I drove the truck quite slowly up a steep lane through a darkly shaded tunnel of trees and far away at the top of the slope there gleamed an oval patch of brilliant green, too bright at that distance for me to know if it was field or foliage … and in that second, two very tall and long-legged thoroughbred horses pranced into the pool of light with their riders.
At day’s end, the lumpy grey clouds re-arranged themselves around the setting sun and caught fire, as if Tiepolo and Turner had taken sides in some kind of Heavenly Paint Wars. This would be the ideal setting for an allegorical painting featuring the apotheosis of all of my favourite bloggers, tinted with a glowing distillation of all their many shades of sweetness and laughter. I’m not sure if they would prefer to be dressed in skimpy arrangements of fur and feathers, or seamless raiments. Fight amongst yourselves, friends.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
3BT 19th July 2011
A grey silhouette, the statue of a soldier on a Great War memorial seems to glance sideways across Streatham Common through the early mist towards Flanders.
In the early sunlight of the same misty morning, the miles of grey razor wire curled all along the dewdropped netting of the airport perimeter have sunlit cobwebs in every loop.
In the early sunlight of the same misty morning, the miles of grey razor wire curled all along the dewdropped netting of the airport perimeter have sunlit cobwebs in every loop.
The loved one returns from her brief exile in the Isle of Wight, cleans the bath, and later serves a perfect supper … a glass of prosecco next to a dish of pasta cooked with fennel and garlic, raisins and sardines “al limone”.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
i just heard from his wife donna, that tony stimpson, that human fountain of laughter and kindness, has slipped away from us to go twinkle again amongst the stars ... so long, dear dear friend, i had been missing you already
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
found at last ...
in a book stall at salehurst church ... marvelously musty but at an affordable price, nearly thirty years since first admiring the contents ... and having just found it, i then fell off the tiny wobbly seat in the bookstall, grazing my knuckles, banging my pelvis ( ischium ) on the sharp edge of a stone step, twisting the knee that had surgery two years ago, and whacking the side of my skull on a stone pillar ... my common expletive roared out and is probably still echoing around .. but ... mustn't grumble !
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Oxford_Companion_to_English_Literature
Friday, July 15, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
3BT
Paul, a real Old Kent Road type with no inhibitions, and I, are standing in the yard with our trucks at dawn, wearing our new high-visibility jackets. A jumbo jet approaches from the south, over Brixton Prison, when it should be approaching from the east. We call out and wave our arms. Catching sight of us, the pilot executes a steep turn, just in time to line up with the runway at Heathrow. Job done !
Two old customers, big hotels sadly missed for the last year or two, begin to order from us once more. Especially cheering because each has a charming, intelligent, personable individual doing the “goods in” job.
New potatoes, boiled in their skins, then chilled and smothered in garlic mayonnaise. Enough calories for me to run a marathon, were I so inclined.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
3BT
A flock of light brown sparrows chaotically zig-zagging across a light brown field of wheat that is bending and waving before a hot southern wind.
Looking up to the first pink clouds at dawn in Brixton and seeing the swifts are already flying high.
Entering the darkened kitchen after nightfall to wash the dishes and having my eyeballs unexpectedly tickled by the silent shimmer of a distant firework display.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
a startling message from beyond the gravy by the indefatigably workaholic richard nye
i'm not yet quite sure how to trigger the animation ... click on it ?
peripheral vision
Driving through a dark part of the New Forest on a very bright day, you begin to see things in black and white, especially at the periphery of your field of view.
As we pass a side-lane, a momentary glance freezes a picture which the mind resolves in to a painting in sable, silver and gold.
The bright lane leading to a steep roofed cottage, dark with a tall chimney in a gap in the wood.
In the lane, towards the house, a slender black cat pauses to glance our way and holds one front foot raised in mid-stride.
In the foreground, a golden hen tiptoes across her own sharp shadow.
Peace and tranquility in a bubble of time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)