Thursday, October 09, 2008
Next door have left there bin out again which is annoying and it's right in Hazel's way - not room to park the car. I moved it and cut my finger for my trouble which annoyed me even more. Trust me to cut my finger ona perfectly smooth plastic wheelie bin!
The badges are from our collection of many hundreds- found at boot sales and flea markets over the years. They attract quite a lot of comments on Flickr which is another annoying thing ( o dear I'm starting to sound more like Victor Meldrew everyday! ) as the exciting photos of us feeding the ducks and wearing tea cosies get hardly a sideways look.
With collections like this you can pretend we were very politically minded and right on in the 80's - going on CND marches and camping out at US bases but the this could not be further from the truth. Large gatherings of this nature make us both feel queasy. I've never protested about anything in my whole life , not even as a student. I suppose I did protest about the art school regime of compulsory life drawing and colour wheel experiments by not going in and staying at home to paint what I wanted.
I was awoken from a vivid dream this morning at 6 when Hazel's radio timer came on and plunged me bleary eyed into the reality of bankers and money troubles. I was at a doctor's waiting room or maybe a flea market - they looked very similar - and I was looking closely at some mail art I'd found among the sandwiches and cakes on one of the stalls by the receptionist. It seemed to be a tiny packet of hand carved wooden blocks - for printing pictures of boats and sunshiney seaside views. As I peered through the useful periscope I always carry for such occasions I could see that it once belonged to Joe Decie. The stamps on the envelope suggest it originated in Australia. The receptionist went into a long diatribe about the sender who was travelling around England as a scaffolders mate and had fallen from a high building into some trees. It's then I woke up so don't know what happened to the stamps. Did I buy them? Was it my turn to go in to see the doctor? Did he hurt himself in the trees? I shall never know I expect. How would you make a poem about all this for national Poetry Day?