29.4.12
Shrink to fit
The Rag and Bone man's talents are considerable I know. However the photograph holds a clue to his ability to make sartorial alterations. A 1960's flying jacket which, in its original condition, would have easily accommodated Bernard Bresslaw, was dyed, in the washing machine, using a boil wash. Now he's going to have a hard time finding a monkey small enough to wear that jacket well. The beauty is that it held it's proportion perfectly through its shrinkage. Excellent colour as well. Funniest thing I've seen this year, so far.
24.4.12
Totally Automatic
Have you ever wondered how an automatic transmission works? Probably not. But I came across this wonderful Meccano model explaining how a car can magically change gear for you. It appeals to the geek in me. (Of which there is a considerable amount). A note to myself to get out more.
22.4.12
More congratulations!
Big congratulations to Alicia. She has had some of her photographs published. One mag I cant remember (sorry!), Black and White magazine and fLIP magazine in the Incognito Extra. Also Alicia's new website is up and running. Expecting great things in the future.
14.4.12
First thing you learn is that you always got to wait
I'm waiting for my man
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
A cold, cold, Wednesday night, too many beers and a total disregard for the delicate matter in hand had me on that train a'going round the bend. A twist too many and the 36 year old fuel tap was defunct. Boy, was I mad at myself! A black cloud gathered and swirled above me for the rest of the long week.
The first parts supplier I visited at the weekend laughed in my face. OK I deserved that. Then I remembered my man. Yes, it would be a 58 mile round trip, if he was open. He never answers is phone. But he supplies without fail.
Despair turned to elation as I swung the car into the parking bay of the workshop. He's there. No other hopeful is loitering, trying to attract his attention with ambitious projects. I waited patiently for the 10 minutes he used to open up a gearbox. Clean and precise like a surgeon on amphetamines.
Looking up at me and then to the petcock I held towards him I knew I had his interest. He stepped over a plank of wood bedecked with signs and symbols warding off mortals from entering the vast cavern of treasures and returned with two crates full to the brim with petcocks. Tipping them onto the floor in front of my feet as pearls before swine he directed me to pan for gold. Each possibility was accompanied by his encyclopedic knowledge of the bike to which it belonged, along with the year of manufacture and its likelihood of satisfying my goal. Then the force kicked in. My hand plunged into the hill of cast metal and retrieved a gem that shone like the morning star. The mans congratulations and incredulity were a bonus.
I now have a working fuel tap and a one legged mutant frog-amphibian thing as a potential figurehead.
Twenty-six dollars in my hand
Up to Lexington, 125
Feel sick and dirty, more dead than alive
I'm waiting for my man
A cold, cold, Wednesday night, too many beers and a total disregard for the delicate matter in hand had me on that train a'going round the bend. A twist too many and the 36 year old fuel tap was defunct. Boy, was I mad at myself! A black cloud gathered and swirled above me for the rest of the long week.
The first parts supplier I visited at the weekend laughed in my face. OK I deserved that. Then I remembered my man. Yes, it would be a 58 mile round trip, if he was open. He never answers is phone. But he supplies without fail.
Despair turned to elation as I swung the car into the parking bay of the workshop. He's there. No other hopeful is loitering, trying to attract his attention with ambitious projects. I waited patiently for the 10 minutes he used to open up a gearbox. Clean and precise like a surgeon on amphetamines.
Looking up at me and then to the petcock I held towards him I knew I had his interest. He stepped over a plank of wood bedecked with signs and symbols warding off mortals from entering the vast cavern of treasures and returned with two crates full to the brim with petcocks. Tipping them onto the floor in front of my feet as pearls before swine he directed me to pan for gold. Each possibility was accompanied by his encyclopedic knowledge of the bike to which it belonged, along with the year of manufacture and its likelihood of satisfying my goal. Then the force kicked in. My hand plunged into the hill of cast metal and retrieved a gem that shone like the morning star. The mans congratulations and incredulity were a bonus.
I now have a working fuel tap and a one legged mutant frog-amphibian thing as a potential figurehead.
Two - Lane Blacktop
James Taylor as "The Driver", Dennis Wilson from the Beach Boys plays "The Mechanic" and Warren Oats is GTO.
A slow, lonely, desolate odyssey through the empty heart of early 70's America.
An intriguing, glorious and flawed movie.
A film too dark for success.
A slow, lonely, desolate odyssey through the empty heart of early 70's America.
An intriguing, glorious and flawed movie.
A film too dark for success.
10.4.12
9.4.12
Star Star
Saturday night. Cold night. I don't often utter expletives when alone, unless I've hit my thumb with a hammer. "Fucking Hell!" was all I could contribute to the annals of astronomy when I saw Saturn and it's rings for the first time. I had one minute of silence and wonder before cloud cover brought me back to Earth.
A photograph is no substitute for the experience of photons bouncing around outer space and hitting the back of your eyeball but this is the closest to my view of the planet.
I'm not a believer in coincidence, recently, several unrelated events have led me to W. G. Sebald. I shall begin reading as soon as possible.
A photograph is no substitute for the experience of photons bouncing around outer space and hitting the back of your eyeball but this is the closest to my view of the planet.
I'm not a believer in coincidence, recently, several unrelated events have led me to W. G. Sebald. I shall begin reading as soon as possible.
2.4.12
Françoise Hardy
Heard "Just Friends" on the radio yesterday. Triggered a memory of this image. (I can't understand why it stuck with me!). I didn't remember the bike as a Honda CB.
French girl on a motorcycle, Spring is here. I'll cut this post short, for fear of reproach....
French girl on a motorcycle, Spring is here. I'll cut this post short, for fear of reproach....
1.4.12
Just a second
Spent a pleasant Saturday afternoon adjusting the timing, taking instruction from the Haynes manual.
Untested as yet.
Beginning to see organic properties in the bikes construction.
Certainly a direct influence of The Rag and Bone Man
Untested as yet.
Beginning to see organic properties in the bikes construction.
Certainly a direct influence of The Rag and Bone Man
Sky blue
Pestered to lift the canvas for this photograph.
Sophie's magic chariot.
A beautiful Piaggio nearly ready for the highways of London
End of the weak
This is a sad appendix to the previous post.
I went to view Brigitte's wonderful egg in situ on Friday, only to discover that it has been vandalised. The sheer ignorance and wantonness of the act left my belief in the social contract considerably strained.
However, Omnicolour, (the printers who originally produced the lettering) have stepped up to the mark and are in the process of making a brand new version for the future owner.
I seem to be re-reading The Meditations at random now. Not such a bad way to defeat cynicism.
Another useful thought of direct application is the particular virtue nature has given us to counter a particular wrong. Gentleness is given as the antidote to cruelty, and other qualities to meet other offences. In general, you can always re-educate one who has lost his way: and anyone who does wrong has missed his proper aim and gone astray.
And what harm have you suffered? You will find that none of these who excite your anger has done anything capable of affecting your mind for the worse: and it is only in your mind that damage or harm can be done to you - they have no other existence.
Marcus Aurelius
The Meditations Book 9 42.2
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