Wednesday, 18 December 2013

Noel Who?


Christmas kinda died with my mother a few years ago.

Sorry mum, but I just can't do it the way you did...
making everything wonderful for everyone else, doing food the same way every year - cooking pudding no matter how damned hot, decorating the house, moving all the goddam furniture for a plastic tree no one notices is there and then going to church - once a year. Merging the pagan and the Christian rituals always seemed really silly - especially down this end of the planet. Then there's fretting about whether someone will like that cheap whatever I've given them.

The worst thing about Christmas is the feeling that you have to have it.

Yep, Christmas has died...argh! did I say that?...louder!...'CHRISTMAS HAS DIED' But it sounds as if it might come back to life and so only 'CHRISTMAS IS DEAD!' will cut the cheese on this one.

I feel relieved, free, unfettered.
I can enjoy summer without feeling guilty that my festivities are only contributing to the loneliness of all those who haven't a family to pull crackers with...I will have no festivities...


The statement makes me feel joyous and loving toward my fellow man.

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

Face Lift

Staying on top of aging has never been easier.

Last Christmas I attended a week long music festival in Queensland.
I went alone.
I was single again, free, I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
I was young again. A new woman. Reborn.
For six days I danced, laughed and applauded and on the seventh I rested.

New Year's morning, on my back, in my tent, reluctant to pack up and drive the long drive home, I rummaged for a mirror to apply a bit of makeup.
I gazed sleepily into my reflection, suddenly startled by the image that greeted me.

A younger, fresher me looked back.
Gone were the worry lines on my brow, the laugh creases at my mouth and crows feet edging my eyes. In their place was smooth skin, bright and new.

'Crikey' I exclaimed to no-one ' all this dancing and having fun has taken years off my aging face!' and 'it REALLY IS TRUE what they say about having a good time.'

My new found youth lasted only a minute.

Checking my earrings, I found my wrinkles hiding behind them, sniggering and chortling...

This revelation complicates for me the question of who is on top.
Do you look into the face of your aging partner? or do you let him see the aging you, as all your excess skin falls forward, diminishing your eyes and swelling your jowls? Lucky our sight worsens as our bodies do.
Making love in the dark is much underrated and me thinks it's kinda sexy.

Wednesday, 28 August 2013

60's something

I was younger than I would like to have been in the 60's. Now I'm older than I'd like to be, but at least I'm not as old as I would be if I had been as old as I would like to have been in the 60's.

Back then my parents had parties for every special occasion.

They played vinyls on a record player that skipped when they fox trotted too heavily on the wooden floor in our lounge room.

My Aunty Pat would always arrive looking wonderful and stayed that way until the end.

Dad and my Aunty Pat

Aunty Pat was a great hostess, Always gorgeous and up to date with fashion. When Aunty Pat sported the latest beehive hairdo I had to copy.

I didn't know why my mother was amused when, on the morning of one of my Aunt's visits, I emerged from the bathroom with a bouffant that could have hidden half a dozen of her apple tarts within its intriguing puff.

Perhaps she spied the scrunched up comic section of the Sunday paper under the thin layer of hair on top of my beaming eight years young face.

I thought I looked as cool as Aunty Pat did.

I was twice teased that day.

Saturday, 17 August 2013

Pony Express

Many years ago, A long time agoWhen I was a little girl, When I was young, my mother often took me to visit my cousin in Lewisham.

My cousin had a rocking horse.

Not one of the small ones like in the picture above but one of those closer to the size of the real thing when you're four.

You know the ones. It was so big it was supported by a heavy wooden base and had strong metal struts through to a wooden brace from one end to the other - and real stirrups! It was made of wood and had a leather saddle and a rope mane and tail.

Hey, it was kinda like this one

Photo from Instructibles in the U.K.

I remember climbing up onto it after curiosity took over my fear.
I can still imagine embracing it's neck and the endless rhythm and sound of metal grinding as I urged that thing on and on.
I remember that after a while I pushed that pony to it's limit and it was heading for the door.

Of course all too quickly I grew up and rode real horses, live ones that bolted for home when it was time.

Now I think it must be terribly frustrating to be a rocking horse, standing in one spot and going back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and to imagine a real horse behaving in such a manner is downright silly.

Friday, 19 July 2013

Pas de Quatre

I didn't want to be a ballerina when I was a girl.
I'm still a girl (stroke woman - ?) and I still don't want to be a ballerina.
But sometimes I wish I had wanted to be one.

However, when I was a younger girl, I could still fully appreciate the distinct resemblance the flowers at our back door step had to ballerinas.

This is a painting I have in an exhibition at the Nexus Gallery in my home town. They are Fuchsias and named after Leonhart Fuchs. I had spelled it Fuschia and luckily our wonderful gallery coordinator was on the ball and corrected my mistake for the label.

If Emma has to tell us how to say it then I might not be the only one who writes it incorrectly.
I wouldn't want to be a Mr Leonhart Fuchs at school in this day and age.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Short Black and White

I have been drawing regularly at a local cafe in my home town.
The cafe is called The Vintage Nest and is full of lovely collectable old stuff.
People go there to have coffee with friends - or their laptop, and I go there to draw them.
I have to draw them really quickly because you wouldn't believe how much people move around when they're drinking coffee.

I'm exhibiting the drawings at the cafe in September and I've started a blog called short black and white for the project. 

Sunday, 9 June 2013


The longer you stay away from your blog the harder it is to make a post. There comes a sort of constipation for which there must be some kind of blogging equivalent of a fibrous substance that you can ingest (read perhaps) to move things along a little.
What would it be I wonder? What do you find stimulates your literary bowel?
Perhaps a little bit of gweenbrick ...back in a minute...

Hahahaha, he's so good...

but still nothing moves in my crummy creative colon - except bedraggled alliteration.

Maybe a challenge...a writing challenge!
- hang on I'll do a search...w...r...i...t...i...n...g...c...h...a...l...l...e...n...g...e

aha - 'Seventh Sanctum' - 'A site of generators to randomly produce concepts, characters, and descriptions for stories, role-playing games, and art, as well as have fun or combat creative...' blah blah
This could be just the ticket! Ideas for stories that get those fingers clacking away. Click...

In the site a contributor named Clara suggests - 
'A character kills someone. During the story, a character finds a long-lost friend. The story is set in a school.'
uhhhh - no, no movements on that one...

Mike suggests -
'The story starts on a battlefield. During the story, a famous person goes missing. During the story, a character drinks something they haven't had in a while.'

Bob says -
'The story starts with me naked and it must end with me riding a horse.'
Where do these ideas come from?

Angela says -
'The story takes place on an island. During the story a sexy girl finds a dark secret. A character is angry throughout the story. the story must have centaur in it. The story ends on mountain.'
A centaur? 

None of the above move me but perhaps I'm being too picky.
I decide to go with the centaur and the sexy girl.

I want to include a map - unfortunately I have to write the story first and I wonder if there is room in the publishing game for an expert map know - someone who just reads manuscripts in the morning and in the afternoon draws a map for them and maybe a glossary of terms also. I could be an expert map and glossary of terms maker...I'd enjoy that.

Anyhow I need a story first which will be shallow and uninteresting because I just want to make the map to go with it. They always put a map at the beginning, it draws you in...

Once upon a time (I did say shallow) there was a sexy girl stranded on an island. One day she found a dark secret hidden in the sand. The dark secret made her very angry. She took her anger out on a passing centaur, whipping him mercilessly.

The girl wanted to get rid of the dark secret. She carried it to the top of a high mountain to a stark, barren place where there was a sacrificial altar overlooking a terrible cliff.

The centaur, broken and bleeding, secretly followed the sexy girl up the mountain and watched from behind a rock as the girl laid the dark secret on an altar. She held a knife to it's throat, uttering incantations in a language other than Centaurian which, roughly translated, said, 'Now, dark secret, I will give you a shave - since it is your excess hair that makes me so angry!'

Seeing his chance to take revenge on the sexy girl and save the dark secret, the centaur ran at her, jumping high in the air.

The girl heard hoof beats behind her and moved aside as the centaur went sailing off the cliff to his death.

Suddenly the sexy girl wasn't angry anymore. She and the dark secret went home together, stopping for a few drinks at Jack's bar and Grill on the way.


Sunday, 28 April 2013

Back in 10 minutes

It's been a while eh?
I've missed all my blogging friends...

I wonder about all that's happened to you guys in the last 10 months.
Have you had babies...divorced...changed sex...

I was going to prepare a montage with appropriate music for this, my first post in ten months...
But as you can see I didn't.

I handed out a lot of business cards over the time I was gone - with this blog's address on it.

People might have come here while I was away.

They heard the lonely wind howling in the emptiness, the banging of unemployed doors on loose hinges...and if they lingered they might have seen tumbleweeds roll across this, this void in the blogosphere.

They might have seen Trolls...You know the sort of Troll I mean. Those that drop in without an invitation, leave an automated response saying how wonderful your blog is and would you like to come by their site sometime. Advertising Trolls...

I wouldn't like one of those mating with my undertroll .
I know they were here because they kept leaving their scats in my mailbox.


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