http://www.jesusonthetube.co.uk/ for my other website
http://www.agracefuldeath.blogspot.com/ for the A Graceful Death exhibition, paintings from the end of life showing on Saturday at Milton Manor, near Oxford
email@example.com to email me
I Am, With Poetic Licence, A Groovy Chick
But we all know that! You cry. Well, there is more. (And thank you.) I was invited by Arty Man Who Does Lots Of Things At Once And Has A Motorbike to come and join him and his Ginger Best Friend at a tiny pub in Bognor Regis, for an Open Mic Night. Well. You can imagine what the Muppet said. He has been there before and knows the score. "Why would you go there Mother," he said with panic in his eyes and both a squeak and a tremor in his voice. "They are far too young for someone like you and they may be drinking and very likely there will be a punch up and some knife crime and then you really won't like it." "My Son!" I said with a calm from years of hard living and spiritual development, "My Oldest Muppet, Oh Teenage Overlord, when I enter the pub, I don't need to even look at you. I will creep in and sit under a table near the loos and if anyone talks to me I will dribble and they will think I have been let out so my carers can have a bit of a break. " As it happened, I arrived late at the pub, Arty Man did a very good bit of music with his band, and I sat with the Muppet on bar stools in companiable bliss and every ten minutes or so he would gallantly suggest he walked me to my car. "I am not ready to go yet" I would yell gaily over the latest Rock Hopeful doing their thing loudly into the microphone, "but don't let me stop you".
So I am a Rock Chick because I saw Arty Man play his guitar and his Ginger Best Friend and the Muppet and I are, by association, in the band too. Because we know him. It works like that I believe.
So today I am tired. But fired up. I am going back next week with the Ginger Best Friend's Mum who is my friend too, and together we will start an Oldies Quarter in the pub.
I am going to Oxford on Friday. I will set up the A Graceful Death with the Glorious Clarissa, and we will camp out in the grounds of the Manor House. Clarissa has the tents, I will provide the food. There is, I am told, a party on the Saturday night. Well. After a Festival on Love Poetry, a Party can only mean one thing. Lots of Lurve. As long as there is food, I don't mind, I can love all sorts in a motherly kind of way, but only if I am fed. I suspect that Clarissa and I, being in a tent in the grounds, will have to go to bed amongst all the Festivities at some point, so we will probably be completely pie-eyed by Sunday morning. At which point I will gather my Paintings from the Greenhouse With No Glass, or if it is raining, the Tack Room With Lots Of Straw, and try and drive in a straight line to Chichester in time for a Barbeque to which I have, with 13 Year Old Son and the Muppet if he is with me, been invited. If I arrive at the nice and genteel but very large Barbeque with straw in my hair and the same clothes that I put on on Friday, I think it will heighten my reputation as an Artist of Genius.
So now, I must go and Get Ready. I have wood to prepare for two more diptychs which is four portraits in all. I tried to cut the wood with my trusty power tool yesterday but it ended up at least 2" smaller one end than the other. I am going to find a Man to do it for me. What the heck. I'm a Rock Chick. I don't cut wood, I have my mind on Rocking. And Rolling. Etc.
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