Us top-flight artists don’t usually do requests, but what the heck…
The Captain (1941–2010)
Run, paint, run run!
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Author Archives: Richard Carter
Doodle
I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, but the iPad Brushes app makes cheating very easy.
W.G. Sebald (1944–2001)
Original photo here.
Getting technical
Jen in conversation with her friend the farmer yesterday:
“What did you get Richard for his birthday?”
“An iPad.”
“…” [blank look]
“A type of computer.”
“Oh! So not a triangular piece of leather for covering a damaged eye, then.”
Cloooossshhhh!!
… the noise made by my glasses case (containing my glasses), as it flew out of my pocket and into the flushing toilet last night.
Ambient Pap, Track 01: Synthetic Hip
Last April, you might remember that I came up with a list of new music genres.
As nobody else has yet seen fit to record music in any of these new genres, I have decided to put together my own album of Ambient Pap tracks. Here is the first track, which I have named Synthetic Hip in honour of the aforementioned post last April. The track is designed to be played in a continuous loop (which should come in very handy when I need some background music for a video):
Or, to put it another way, Jen bought me an iPad for my birthday. She is one cool dude.
Soaking it in
I love early Springtime: flowers coming into bloom, bumble-bees buzzing around the garden, the first butterflies of the year, birds getting frolicky, the evenings getting longer. Spring is a great time to be alive.
The week before last, Jen and I went for a long paddle on the Northumberland coast. Last Sunday, I sat on a bench in the garden in my shirt-sleeves, reading the London Review of Books, drinking a mug of tea, and soaking in the sun. How perfect is that?
Our house this morning.
We don’t have climate in Britain; we have bloody weather.
Alternative history
Guardian video: Robert Harris on Fatherland: ‘What would have happened if Hitler had won?’
Answer: They would have banned smoking in all public buildings, started monitoring all of our personal correspondence, anaesthetised our brains with vapid television and radio programmes, banned dogs from beaches, and sold us a pack of lies about how we could combat climate change with a few windmills.
But I suppose the trains would at least run on time.
Sometimes, words are inadequate
Killed by monkeys
As we saw yesterday, Sigurd the Mighty received his comeuppance at the tooth of his decapitated enemy, Máel Brigte the Bucktoothed. The same could not be said for Aléxandros, Vasiléfs ton Ellínon, King of Greece from 1917–1920, who met his end at the teeth of a pair of irate monkeys. Wikipedia takes up the story:
The attack occurred on 2 October 1920. In the report dispatched from Europe, it was stated that the King had been walking in the park with a pet dog, when the dog was attacked by a monkey. The King fended off the monkey with a stick but in the fight the monkey bit him on the hand slightly. “Another monkey rushed to the defense of his mate, and in fending it off, the King received another bite which severely lacerated a gland. The infection which set in following the bites gradually poisoned the King’s entire system …” Both animals were found to have been diseased after they were destroyed. Within days, he developed a severe reaction to the infection, and after initial signs of improvement, became critically ill on 12 October. […] On 25 October 1920 King Alexander died at Athens, of sepsis.
Pict on someone your own size
You have to hand it to Máel Brigte the Bucktoothed, he certainly had style:
Wikipedia: Máel Brigte of Moray
Máel Brigte, also known as Máel Brigte the Bucktoothed or Máel Brigte Tusk was a 9th century Pictish nobleman, most probably a Mormaer of Moray. He was responsible—in a bizarre posthumous incident—for the death of Sigurd the Mighty, Earl of Orkney. ‘
Little is known of Máel Brigte’s life, but the story of his death is recorded in the Orkneyinga Saga. According to this text, Máel Brigte was challenged by Sigurd to a 40-man-a-side battle to “settle their differences”. Treacherously, Sigurd brought 80 men to the fight, and Máel Brigte knew he had been betrayed when he saw that each of Sigurd’s horses had two mens’ legs on its flanks. Máel Brigte exhorted his men to “kill at least one man before we die ourselves” and although a fierce fight ensued he was quickly defeated and killed. Sigurd had his enemies’ heads strapped to his victorious men’s saddles as trophies, but as Sigurd rode home, Máel Brigte’s buck-tooth scratched his leg. The leg became inflamed and infected, and as a result Sigurd died.
Giving the punters what they want
You asked for more knockers on Gruts, and I am happy to oblige:
A very large knocker last week.
You won’t see knockers like that in Murdoch’s tabloids.
Crumbling at the seams
Oh no! That world’s last bastion of liberal impartiality is under treat:
Murdoch on Twitter yesterday:
Seems every competitor and enemy piling on with lies and libels. So bad, easy to hit back hard, which preparing.
It’s all part of my secret, right-wing, old-toff, monopolistic master plan. Let’s have it on, indeed, Murdoch! Whatever that means.
Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!
Rrrrrrrreet Petite!
BBC: Jocky Wilson: Remembering the ‘Braveheart of darts’
… That 1989 [World Darts Championship] final victory was the culmination of a rivalry that spanned a decade, as Bristow and Wilson chalked up seven world titles between them.
For sports fans of the era, the two men are synonymous with one another.
No, Eric Bristow and Jocky Wilson were not synonymous with one another. Ignoring the tautology—actually, no, let’s not: the word synonymous implies with each other—if Eric Bristow really were synonymous with Jocky Wilson, it would mean that they were the same person. One man playing against himself in a World Darts final might make a good Monty Python sketch, but I can’t help feeling that the regular punters would be a tad frustrated. What the BBC commentator is trying to say is that the names of Eric Bristow and Jocky Wilson will forever be associated with each other.
All of which pedantry is simply a pathetic excuse for me to show off my own darts trophy. Me and my partner, Bull-Buggering Dave Beaumont, were Grey College (Durham) Doubles Winners, 1984–85, don’t you know?
So, finally my nickname is out.
And to think you lot didn’t think I looked particularly athletic.
Turbine update
You might remember that, back in November 2010, I pointed out that ‘some clueless twat with more money that sense’ (who I later learnt was a friend’s uncle) had just erected a wind turbine on the moor above our house.
You might be interested to learn that the last time I saw its rotors actually rotating was well before Christmas.
They’re the future, apparently.
Postscript 28-Mar-2012: The turbine has finally started turning again. I am guessing somebody from the wind turbine company came to fix it. Presumably the same somebody who is currently erecting a second turbine a short distance from the first. Will these clueless morons never learn?
Whey-Aye Five-O!
Some Geordie surfers last week
Hit the North!
Look, it was a perfectly simple mistake to make…
At this time of year, Jen and I always go away to Italy. We have previously visited Sardinia, Sicily, Sorrento, Rome (twice), and Florence (twice). This year, I said I would arrange the holiday, and asked Jen where she would like to go:
Jen swears blind she said North Umbria.
The man, not the role
BBC: Prince Harry in Brazil: I can’t find love, says royal
Prince Harry has admitted he sometimes wishes he was “normal” and suggested his royal role can put women off.
Harry, your lack of appeal to women has nothing to do with your role, and everything to do with your being a nasty little ginger shit who attends Nazi-dress parties.
Tricks and licks
Jen and I and eight other guests went to a friend’s birthday dinner-party yesterday evening. As ever, the food was excellent, although the pigeon-breasts-on-toast starter had to be renamed dark-chicken-on-toast, for the benefit of the two young grandchildren present.
Also as ever, I somehow ended up with the job of keeping the kids entertained. So I showed off my crap magic tricks, including two which are actually quite good: the jumping-match trick, and the rubbing-the-coin-against-the-table-until-it-disappears trick. It’s just a shame I didn’t have a small set of wooden steps to hand, otherwise I could have shown them my totally awesome disappearing trick. Then, of course, I had to show the kids how to do the tricks themselves. Or, rather, I had to show the elder of the two kids how to do the tricks himself, while his younger sister contented herself with shrieking in my right ear.
After a while, I realised that the short, fat, bald man at the other end of the table was seriously winding-up the kids’ mum. He’s a bugger for winding people up. Should I intervene? Yes, I probably should…
Then I had a flash of inspiration, and turned to the kids:
“Hey, did you know that it’s really lucky to lick a bald man on the head?” I asked.
That soon diffused the situation all right.
International diplomacy’s loss is unpaid-childcare’s gain.
Chatting with the Magic Band
Nite Owl writes:
I had to share this with you……
I had a day off on Monday & went to Southsea (Hants) to check out the second hand record shops. As I got out of the car, I saw I had parked outside the Wedgewood Rooms music venue. My eyes were immediately drawn to large poster of the Trout Mask cover on the door & the words ‘The Magic Band 7th March’. Well, I can tell you, I had tickets in my hand in nanoseconds.
I’ve never seen them live before & it was an amazing night. Drumbo isn’t Don & he doesn’t pretend to be. I have never felt so much power & dedication at a gig. Rockette Morton paces & sweats around the stage like a man working up to a coronary. Denny Walley screams out the slide parts & the second guitarist (name escapes me) does a fine job of replicating Jeff Cotton’s guitar parts. He told me that he had been learning every Beefheart guitar solo since he was foureen.
Got a chance to chat & get autographs at half time (I wish I’d taken some vinyl to sign).
Drumbo spotted my Zappa tattoo & asked why I had a tattoo of Margaret Thatcher. Denney Walley said ‘no, that’s Billy Connolly’.
From the ‘AND’ at the start of Steal Softly Through Snow to the slide fade at the end of Big Eyed Beans from Venus, it was a nerve tingling night.
I don’t know if they are coming to a theatre near you, but they are not to be missed!
cheers for now
Nite
Some Magic Band Autographs yesterday.
Editorial comment: You don’t get reviews like this in the Murdoch rags. Tune in next week, when Bill will be interviewing Bruce Springsteen, and I shall be holding a séance with Charles Darwin.
QUEEN IN ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANIST OUTBURST SHOCK!
One from a couple of weeks back:
BBC: Queen highlights Church of England’s duty to all faiths
The Queen has spoken of her belief that the Church of England has “a duty to protect the free practice of all faiths” in the UK.In a speech at London’s Lambeth Palace, she argued the Church’s role was not to “defend Anglicanism to the exclusion of other religions”.
She added the concept of an established Church was “occasionally misunderstood” and “commonly under-appreciated”.
The concept of an established church misunderstood? By whom? Surely Her Majesty wasn’t having a quiet pop at secularists! It seems to me that secularists understand perfectly well the concept of an established church—which is why they oppose it.
Do you think the founder of the Church of England, one of Her Majesty’s more colourful predecessors, would have agreed that the church had a duty to protect the free practice of all faiths? That’s certainly not my recollection from history lessons. And, if history teaches us anything, it is that you should never try to invade Russia in the winter state-endorsed faiths are an extremely bad idea indeed.
On the subject of the Queen’s colourful predecessors, it occurs to me that, for all their drawbacks, it is getting on for 200 years since we had a window-lickingly, stark-staringly bonkers head of state. Still, there’s always next time, eh? (And you were wondering why the Scotch Nationalists are dragging their heels so much about this referendum thing.)