http://www.jesusonthetube.co.uk/ for my other website, paintings of you and your family/friends/pets on a tube of your choice with a Jesus of your choice. Just click the link and see, it speaks for itself
http://www.agracefuldeath.blogspot.com/ for the A Graceful Death exhibition of Paintings of the End Of A Life
antonia.rolls1@btinternet.com to email me
Mysteries And Imponderables, In No Particular Order
I wonder if there are infinate Mysteries and Imponderables for us all. I wonder if we are only sometimes aware of them, like perhaps, once a week. And for the time we are aware of them, we wear our Puzzled Expressions and feel that the world is Really Very Strange. Then the usual day to day things take over and we are distracted from the Mysteries and Imponderables and get on with cooking the kids' dinner and answering the phone and checking the Hamster is still alive.
A quick word on the Hamster. It is still alive and is now in Costya the Teenage Overlord's room. Costya doesn't know this yet, Costya will be home on Friday and so the places the Hamster can Be inside the house will be all used up. It will have to come back into the studio and I will have to spend my days with a teeny furiously hungry and dedicated white blob that thinks it is pumping iron on it's wheel and will build itself up into an Arnold Schwarzenegger type Hamster and bend the bars of it's cage to escape with a roar of achievement. I am fond of the Hamster but I don't get involved with its plans.
The Mysteries.
I received a text from 13 Year Old Son last night that said "I hope she comes". This was about 5pm and he was not yet home from school. "Who? Who?" I texted back eagerly. Did he mean his new Love? The Angel of the North? His Grandmother?
The reply was "She's Here." Oh my God I thought. It is the Angel of Death. My 13 Year Old Son has met with the Angel of Death after school and the dinner will be ruined. "What? Who? Are you sure you are texting the right person?" I replied with eager curiosity. And then there was Silence. She, whoever she was, was there.
13 Year Old Son did come home. The She in question was his friend's mother who had offered him a lift home, but I didn't know that. Not till the friend's mother came in and had a cup of tea.
I have just received a text from 13 Year Old Son from Bognor Station. It said "no returns".
I have given up trying to understand him so I will leave it to Fate to sort out whatever that means. The trains have a new policy of not selling return tickets? The station has been warned not to sell him return tickets? He will never return anyway? A philosophical statement that in life there are no returns? He is telling me not to come back from wherever I am going today? Whatever. If I see him tonight I will assume that he worked it out. If not, then he gave me fair warning.
The Polish Grandmother has moved in and is barely here. I believe she is with her deeply passionately sad Polish friend who is recently Single in Littlehampton. The Polish Grandmother, who looks a bit like a more mature and very attractive Cheeky Girl, is supposed to be working on the Lagness Chain Gang with other Polish and Eastern Europeans, picking and packing fruit. I think she has either lost her job or is living a double life as a Secret Agent and is Under Cover in my house. She is really a highly paid and efficient member of our New Governement's Polish Fruit Farm Pickers And Packers Crack Squad.
So far, I have one main imponderable.
I received an email from someone this morning greeting me as Dear Rolls. Why? Has a certain ring to it but it looks like it isn't a nice jolly personal email from a friendly human, it is a Computer Generated Email and Very Impersonal.
It may be from the Polish Grandmother. In Disguise.
I have just seen the time. Today I am going to London to deliver a painting. After that I am collecting 20 Year Old Daughter from her Aunt's house, and we - Daughter and I - are going to the Wailing Souls Reggae concert in Brighton tonight. This is very profound. A slight Imponderable is What To Wear. Do I wear my Reggae Outfit to deliver the painting and say nothing? Or do I go to the Reggae Concert in my Delivering Painting Clothes and say nothing. I need one of those Rasta Hats that have the dreadlocks attached. Then I can deliver the painting smartly and whip out the hat on the way to the concert and mingle with all the other 50 year old artists who have delivered paintings and are accompanying an exquisitely beautiful 6' daughter for an evening of Wailing Souls.
Well. No more texts from 13 Year Old Son. I think he is probably at school, from which, if his most recent text is right, there is No Return.
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