Instant Art

We've spent an inordinate amount of money framing stuff recently.

I am still excited about this.

#....Breast stroke, side stroke, fancy diving too....#

#...oh, don't you wish you never had anything else to do?...#

Source: an old non-fiction book for kids (Puffin)

Bought from: a second-hand book shop in Sebergh (heaven for book geeks)

Framed by: The Picture Framer, Kirkstall, Leeds

I like the diver's swimming cap the mostest.

Do you know how hard it is to photograph something in a frame? I still have some fathoming of the DSLR to do.

Her Majesty's a pretty nice girl but she doesn't have a lot to say

Bedders and myself ended up at a Rotary Club dinner the other night for reasons I won't go into.

I know. We're wild. Sometimes I wonder about the toll this crazy lifestyle is taking on my poor body.

I had no prior knowledge of the Rotarians. Well, other than they organised Public Speaking competitions in the educational borough of Sunderland in the mid-90s. Which I may have entered. And maybe used as a soapbox to project my views on sexism in soap operas. Or whatever.  

Anyhoo, so a Rotary Dinner we attended. I tried to prepare myself by having a snoop on their website.

There were lots of photos of men wearing medals and standing next to flags with their hands on other men's shoulders and whatnot.

I sat opposite the chap in the middle at dinner. I'm pleased to report that he was very pleasant. 

And lots of photos of men shaking hands. Ah, shaking hands.

'Secret handshakes and all that, I imagine,' I said to Bedders, nodding wisely.

'That's the Masons, you idiot,' he retorted. 

There were galleries and galleries of photographs. Galleries including photographs like this. 

Which I found hilarious. It's like those caption competitions they used to do on Have I Got News for You.

We arrived at the Golf Club (of course), the husband in a shirt and tie and me in a dress (NO DENIM!) and headed for the bar. I ordered a small glass of wine and, boy, it really was small. They served it in a teeny sherry glass.

Bedders collared a knowledgable-looking chap. Knowledgable-looking in that he was wearing a red jacket and a pink tie.

"Wat's this Rotary Club business about, then?" he asked flippantly. I swear, having a Yorkshire accent means you can get away with being cheeky ALL of the time and no one takes it to heart.

"SERVICE BEFORE SELF!" came the barked reply.

A helpful fellow came over before the meal.

"We're going in now. First, we eat. Before we eat, there's a grace. Afterwards, we usually make a toast, then business, then annoucements from the secretary. Then we toast the Queen, which everyone generally stands up for."

"Bedders." I hissed. "Bedders!" I hissed again, more urgently. "Toasting the QUEEN?"

"Calm down."

"I once LICKED a picture of the Queen in a PUB for a DARE. There's empirical evidence of it on Facebook. I can't toast the Queen. I'm not toasting the Queen."

"Calm down."

"I'm not toasting the Queen."

So we went to dinner and I sat between Norman and Tony (lovely fellas) and listened to the business and the toasts and had the craic about international security risks and training teaching assistants.

And everybody was very warm and friendly and totally unlike the bloke I sat next to at a wedding over the summer who was utterly unpleasant and told me in no uncertain terms that India is "remarkably dirty" and I'll probably die of dysentery in one of their squalid hospitals over Christmas. Buuuuh.

But I think he was a Mason, anyway, and not a Rotarian at all. Oopsy.

And they still do public speaking competitions, which I was pleased about.

I'm making a list...

(poor photo courtesy of a mate on facey b)

Yesterday I wrote about the power of lists to Sort One's Head Out. Indeed, lists are powerful things.

For the wedding (I feel less inclined to write about the wedding at the minute, so bear with me - I WILL quit boring on about it soon. I also need to change my header which claims I'm 'preparing' to get married. I'll get around to it shortly, probably as yet another procrastination tactic when I should be planning a heeeeeuge scheme of work, or 'SoW' as I like to call it) we were stuck for table names.

We'd been to weddings before (more than one, would you believe) where the tables were named after different breeds of sheep. Blue-faced Leicesters, Suffolks, Texels...oh yes. At a wedding we went to this summer the couple had named all of their tables after different brands of tractor. I honestly didn't know there were so many different types. Apparently this sort of craziness is fairly common amongst farming folk. Another couple printed off polaroid-style pictures of places that were important to them and wrote a little piece about them on the back - the Tyne Bridge, a Brownie hut etc. My friend sent me photo text from a wedding she'd been to where all of the tables were named after achingly cool song lyrics. 

The weekend before the wedding we went to Corner of Eden - cue heavenly choirs - with our parents for some serious Chill The Feck Oot Time. On the Sunday night they'd departed and Bedders and I were left pondering the table name situation. With 6 days and counting to the big day, we exchanged some cross and naughty words.

Places we'd travelled to? Streets we'd lived on? Books we'd read and loved? Pubs we'd, err, got horribly drunk in? We started making themed lists.

A Damascene revelation followed: we chucked the 'themed' aspect and starting listing - well - STUFF.

LET'S LIST A LOAD OF STUFF WE LIKE IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER.

EVERY TABLE - GIVEN THAT WE ALMOST HAVE TWENTY SIX OF THE BUGGERS - CAN BE NAMED AFTER A LETTER.

WE'LL HIGHLIGHT THE WORDS THAT BEGIN WITH THAT LETTER IN BOLD.

AND WE WON'T HAVE AN X, Y OR Z TABLE.

Some of it can be serious.

Some of it can be funny.

Some of it can be a bit lovey.

Some of it can be a bit rude.

No one need understand all of the references - in fact, it would be impossible for any guest to 'get' them all - but it would provoke a bit of conversation, surely?

For example, if my mate's boyfriend Eddie was to meet my cousin Kath he'd know EXACTLY what the 'Are you a tinker?' reference was all about and SHE'D be able to explain Mickey Mac's to him, Mickey Mac being her brother and all.

Good eh? I love lists, me. I like Neil Gaiman's list of things 'they' (err, that would be me, then) don't teach you at school. I'd like to make my own version.

“They don't teach you how to love somebody. They don't teach you how to be famous. They don't teach you how to be rich or how to be poor. They don't teach you how to walk away from someone you don't love any longer. They don't teach you how to know what's going on in someone else's mind. They don't teach you what to say to someone who's dying. They don't teach you anything worth knowing.”

-Neil Gaiman

IThinking about lists, and specifically about why we (well, I) love lists, I found this: 10 Reasons Why We Love Lists. Oo, handy. Anyone would have thought I'd googled 'Reasons Why We love Lists.' Ahem.

Oo, the word 'list' was used by Shakespeare in Hamlet. Oo, I fancy doing a Benjamin Franklin and listing all the words/terms I can think of for being drunk. We were on about this in A-level English Language the other day - how they'll arrive at University and start hearing words for 'drunk' that they've never heard before. I still remember the look on my roommate's face when a TOTES rah asked her if she'd been 'smashed' the night before. Err, you what-what?

I need to go and do some work now. I'll blatantly start by making a to do list.

Listmania

I got married. And I started questioning everything.

Not the husband, I hasten to add. No no. All is well in that particular department. All for the best, considering we're now wed.

But rather I started to question lots of other stuff. My job, for starters. Although I'm uber-committed to it (possibly too committed, in some ways), there are aspects of it with which I'm not happy. My house. Let's face it: I'm here by accident of history. And although 'here' is just grand, and now has a fancy-ass new boiler (BORE OFF) and paintings on the walls and an entire alcove of bookshelves - the joy - it is very definitely in a city. And I am not definite about being in a city.

I'm not being a dick. But I'm doing OK work-wise and life-wise. Could I afford to take a bit of time out and have an adventure? Thus far in life, I have been VERY safe. If I want to do something I need to just bloody well go for it...don't I?

I asked Google. Is it normal to question - YOUR SEXUALITY? asked the Google drop-down guess bar. You know when Google gets a bit pre-emptive on you? No, I said. Is it normal to question - YOUR SANITY? REALITY? YOUR RELATIONSHIP? Woah there, Google. Quit with the amateur-psychoanalysis. Is it normal to question EVERYTHING? And I found some articles about OCD and an online shoot-em-up game. Eeeeh?

So I talked to Bedders. Bedders felt similarly. Phew. So what the feck should we do? 

We did what everyone should do in times of crisis. We made a LIST. Lists are like tea - they sort everything out. 

This is what I looked like, making aforementioned list. Except with not-so-good hair. Bette Davis, I salute you.

(from wehadfacesthen.tumblr.com)

It went like this.


LIKES:


EACH OTHER (HURRAH!)
RUNNING
WRITING
NICE HOUSEY THINGS - ANTIQUES, CURIOS, PICTURES...
NICE HOUSE
COMMUNITY WORK
BLOGS
MYSTERY TRIPS (BUT NOT AS AN ANITDOTE TO MISERY)
BOOKS
THE COUNTRYSIDE
BEING OUTSIDE
CAMPING
ACTUAL BODILY TIREDNESS (THE SATISFIED KIND)
IRISH STUFF
HAVING AN ADVENTURE PLANNED
TUTORING
SHEARING SHEEP
FEELING FIT
GENUINE PEOPLE WHO ARE COMFORTABLE WITH THEMSELVES (FOLLOWING WITH A LIST OF FRIENDS WHO WE'D DESCRIBE IN SUCH A WAY)

This picture really makes me smile.

Then came the dislikes.

DRIVING
LONG DAYS
BORING DOMESTIC SHIT
FEELING STRESSED
RISING PANIC
FEELING UNFIT
COMPARING SELF TO OTHERS
WORRYING ABOUT WHAT CLOTHES TO WEAR
INDECISION
DRIZZLE
TARGETS
BEING A MANAGER OF OTHER PEOPLE
BAD SKIN (BLATANTLY STRESS-RELATED)

This was an interesting process. I thought I cared a lot about having money (I know. How vile and shallow). But I don't really think I do (Ahaaaa, you cry. You only 'don't care' about money because money isn't an issue! If it WAS an issue, you WOULD care about it!). Apart from the 'house/housey stuff' point, I don't much care for it. My mother would probably say, 'You're always gallavanting across the country and staying in fancy places.' This is true. I do like a swish country B&B. But all too often we book these things as an antidote to misery, and that is No Good. No Good At All.

Looking at the lists, I felt a bit like I'd been doing things backwards. I go and pay people to stay in their lovely home where they work for themselves as an antidote to my own life where I'm based in the city and I'm a slave to the wage.

So. There is no resolution as of yet. But I am working on it. Thoughts appreciated.

Feck that...

...we're gannin out for tea.

It's been one of those days.

If you think you're sexy...

Oh Jarvis. You are the embodiment of everything I value in the world.

You are Northern and working class (well, someone called Jarvis can only be semi-working-class at most, but your wry observations of the underbelly of society make you an honorary member of the Club of Common Man. Solidarity, brother!)

You present on BBC 6 Music.

You waggled your arse at Michael Jackson/the assembled Brit Awards collective.

You won the 2002 Stars in Their Eyes celebrity special impersonating Rolf Harris.

The Pulp website is a triumph of design - ooo, it gives me shivers.

You once said, "Anyone who thinks they're sexy needs their head checked."

And now Faber and Faber have published your collected lyrics.

This is SO on pre-order.

What are you looking forward to receiving in the post?

Bedders on Film

We've gone a bit photo crazy. Snapfish are dining out on us, I tell thee.

And I thought I would share with you my favourite wedding photo so far.

LOOK AT THE FEAR ON HIS FACE.

LOOK AT THEIR HANDS ON THEIR KNEES.

I think Fr Sean is the most wonderful priest to walk the earth. His sermon blew our minds. His sermon at Clare and Krish's fusion wedding EQUALLY blew our minds.

Anyway. Hopefully these buggers will be with us soon. Then we can move on from Project-Thank-You-Cards to Project-Make-The-Parents-A-Wedding-Album.

Joyous.

Eesh, one's wedding day. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

On Friday night, we went to a friend's for tea. And a sumptuous tea it was. We popped out into Leeds for a wander afterwards in parkas and proper sensible shoes - it's winter now, man - because it was LIGHT NIGHT. Ah, Light Night.

http://lightnightleeds.co.uk

**my links are being grumpy for some reason**

Basically, the museums are open late. One can wander into the City Museum and draw/write something on a postcard. Hand your postcard to a curator. Curator staples it to a washing line. BADABING - you're an artist.

Cue lots of pseudo-political whinging and bullshit from students. "Love my country - hate my Government." Deep, man. Ah me, I'm finally at the age where I curse the presence of students. They drive up house prices in the area - and speaking of driving, they drive bloody everywhere and clog up the roads like nobody's business. Since when did a student have the money to run a Mini Cooper S? 

And the Town Hall was open late, too. So we went in, attracted by the promise of Victorian Cells. Oo, Victorian Cells, I thought. Spooky!

Except they were full of crafts. Like stuffed foxes made out of felt. And fairy lights. And hand-stitched mushrooms. Bit incongruous with the spirits of those poor souls sentenced to death in there. It was all a little bit odd.

Anyhoo. That wasn't the reason I brought this up. So we went for tea and received a Very Exciting Parcel. A belated wedding present.

And this is what lay beneath the pretty paper.

Oh my word. It's a WW2 child's evacuation case.

With a lovely blanket.

I am speechless.

Once again, the cleverness and originality of our friends astounds me.

So there you go, folks. Stuck for an original wedding present? Get them a retro picnic set. They'll love you forever.*

*guaranteed