http://www.jesusonthetube.co.uk/ for my other website about Jesus on the Tube
http://www.agracefuldeath.blogspot.com/ for the A Graceful Death exhibition of paintings from the end of a life
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Angels Angels Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink
And so on and so forth. The Angels are everywhere, but I am able to drink, that was just an artistic take on poetic licence.
I have been painting Angels on Pebbles and Small Stones. My supplier is Bognor Beach and I am not sure how long I can keep up with supply and demand, and for Bognor to remain a popular seaside resort. If the beach is bare and the sea doing strange things because the stones are not there to provide a ballast to the tides and whims of the water, because all the stones are in shops with goddam angels on them, the goddam holiday makers are not going to be sympathetic at all. But, I say in my defence, you still have Ice Cream and Chips. Is that not enough? The win win solution would be for the holiday makers to be provided with a grant of some sort to buy back the stones, replace them on the beach, and Bognor Beach would be the only beach where you had to run over billions of painted angels stones to the sea. There would be a knock on effect where the Moral Fibre of the whole of the South of England would noticeably rise.
Today I go to the Craft Shop in Arundel to sit and do my bit for the co-op that I have joined. Very good it is too. I will sit for the morning session and sell sell sell. I have a flask of tea, a pint of full cream milk and a blue and white spotty mug so I will be imposing my will and personality on the place from the word Go. (Don't mess with her, frightened shoppers will say. She has Tea.)
And the rest of the news? Well, things are looking up. I have now a Polish Grandmother who may well be younger than me (certainly got a better figure, and wears short skirts and high heels and small tee shirts and is very sexy), in my spare room at the moment. She does not speak a word of English. Not a word. And she has moved into an English speaking household. Our English speaking houseshold. Very brave. I like her and hope she will survive in the UK. I feel very responsible for her welfare as nothing on earth would make my childrens' grandmother go to Poland and wear short skirts and work on a fruit farm. Nothing.
Other things to report are -
The garden needs doing. This will be the job for the nice lady who I get to do the garden once a year. It is so overgrown and the grass so very high I wouldn't be surprised if she found a combine harvester in it somewhere.
Costya the Teenage Overlord is planning his next birthday in June. I want, he says, a full weeks partying with no slacking, and the 1812 Overture with cannons at the end.
13 Year Old Son went a bit mad doing his French homework and nearly had to be sedated. He and the French Student wrote a speech in French and 13 Year Old Son learnt it by heart. None of the other students nor the French teacher expected a full seemingly off the cuff account of a holiday he and I had had in a posh Parisian hotel last week. Most of the other kids talked haltingly about their eyes being brown and their brother being called Charlie and their dog chewing on a bone.
I had a lovely time with my elderly Aunt from Birmingham who was driven down by my lovely Uncle and his wife to my mother's house yesterday. Elderly Aunt is utterly beautiful in a way that makes you want to write poetry. Like a tiny elegant sparrow. She was when younger, our most favourite Aunt to stay with. She was funny, bold, clever and let us do things like, in my case, wear her wigs. Blimey. And her false eyelashes. And we ate chips in front of the telly. She lived in a high rise appartment in Birmingham and painted a mural on the wall that took your breath away it was so wonderful. She didn't think it good enough so the next time I came, it was painted over.
She painted an eye on my tummy when I was little which was shut when I sat down and bent over and open when I stood up. Magic. She was utterly magic.
Once she saw some kiddies playing on their bikes innocently in the courtyard 16 floors below her from her appartment. She had bought her husband some whiskey and had kept the tube it had come in. She says she didn't know what made her do it - she stood on her balcony and boomed through the whiskey tube "This is God speaking. Clear off" and she said the kids playing below got on their bikes and shot off in all directions. Poor kids, she says looking sheepish and really wicked, they weren't doing anything wrong.
Must go now to the Arundel Shop. Wonder if there is a machine that can send out subliminal messages saying Buy The Angels Buy The Angels. Probably end up with lots of customers having unexplained epilepsy. But! It is Worth It! All for the sake of Art. (Buy the Angels..)
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