Monday, February 22, 2016

House hunt in France, September.

Thought i'd start a new blog series about moving house to the French countryside and trying to go organic.
Firstly the house hunt, we didn't look at many houses in actuality because we'd become so savvy at exploring possibles on the net and then painstakingly google earthing them, the first house we went to see in real life was in Villefranche Sur Saone, a lovely half timbered (lost timbers) 17th century affair with a little walled garden. The drawback was access, as at this time I had in mind the plan to buy a motor home, there was no way we'd get it around the narrow corner lane at the back of the house, but we could live with that,  just.  The reason we chose that area was because it was relatively close to Lyon, where Amanda's 3 kids were now living after bringing them all up in a small industrial and unfortunately voted by its locals, as the most boring place in france to live; Oyonnax! They naturally wanted the bright city lights of Frances nearby, second biggest city, Lyon.

Villefranche was only around 40 mins drive north of Lyon, much closer than the hour to Oyonnax.
It's not all bad in Oyo, they have their mountain skiing around them, one cross country skiing place is only a 15 mins drive up a little mountain. However, this year the snows just didn't arrive!

We fell in love with the Villefranche house and even partially measured up! From the bedrooms we could see directly into a medieval manor house gardens and a historic tower, though their massive tree that shadowed the garden whilst we were viewing gave us early autumnal chills and was thus another point against it from an organic veg growing aspect.

As we left we asked the estate agent, just how close was the huge motorway that cuts Villefranche in half was? And he said it was around a kilometer away, so we waved goodbye, happy with his reassurance.

This is where it all fell apart as I decided to hunt out the motorway, drove in its direction, under a low bridge just around the corner and realised with horror that it was only around 50 meters away behind just one row of houses and the motorway was above that bridge we'd just driven under!
One of my only stipulations was that it had to be in a pollution and noise free zone and this was anything but pollution free, so this became our first disappointment after checking out the prevailing winds would fully pollute that side of the road area.

Saturday, June 20, 2015

Michaelmas daisies

Ben woke up and felt great. He’d not felt so good for ages - not since being demobbed from the army a couple of years ago.
But times had not been kind to him. Of late he’s lost his glamorous minder job for the White House for turning up drunk for work on several occasions.
He’d even been on friendly terms with the President. Now all that was gone.
Who’d hire a drunk in a security job? It was on his home security file and would be there for good - game over.
After that his life spiralled out of control, finally ending up as a homeless bum, out on the streets panhandling for coppers with a fellow ex-army buddy – Smiler Sam from his own troop, who’d taught him about the life of the road. Smiler was like the brother he’d never had. They were inseparable, and his winsome trademark smile could open any liberal's purse or pocket, giving them a huge advantage over the rest of the bums both in the broiling heat or the glacially cold highways of Washington.
Ben scratched his arms, they were sore and felt like he’d caught the sun again.
He finally opened his eyes and in the semi darkness, tried to make out what was wrong with his ‘guns’ but just saw angry red patches all over, like when he’d first had all those fake Thai style tattoos applied in a sweaty dive on the side of the river Nile at Luxor.
He was still too stoned to realize that the tattoos had all been expertly erased with many laser treatments during the time he’d been out cold, the final skin peel was just cosmetic. After it had calmed down his arms and shoulders would look like new. 
He’s also been dried out and cleaned up, he’d had an angry stomach ulcer removed and a one inch section of bone had been keyhole surgically removed from his long muscular legs, giving him a slightly more chunky look than his previously impressive 6’4” lean height.
Ben went back to sleep - the sleep of the just.
Next time he awoke he was hungry, Veterans aren't good when they're hungry and need constant refuelling, dagnabit! He was Lee Marvin!
His feeding tube had been removed and he was now on a drip between treatments.
This time it was daylight, the sun was pouring in through luxurious white wooden blinds.
To him it was like being inside a rich architects house, though he knew it was some kind of posh clinic with the double doors and round viewing windows.
A tall vase of sunflowers sat on the side below an oil painting by? He couldn't quite place it. It was a creepy dark image, and looked like a big lump of butcher’s meat on a meat hook over a round table with a chalked ghostly barred tent frame around it, making him shiver.
Then it occurred to him, how did they get sunflowers in winter?
He  looked down at his arms, remembering the sunburn pain as if it were last night, he held them both up, looking at each arm closely as his focusing still wasn’t 100% from the drugs they were feeding him. But this time he suddenly realised these arms were not his!
His expensive tattoos had totally disappeared, the new blemish free skin was without his myriad moles and his poor bitten down nails were beautifully manicured, long and polished. Upon his pinky finger he spied a large gold frat ring with an impressive ruby.
The red jewel went perfectly with the blood spots on the freshly laundered white sheets perfectly, Blood? WTF!
An urgent buzzer began to ring above and behind his head, the side doors opened and a trolley of instruments bumped its way through, pushed by a bearded Italian Doctor.
“How are we today, Ben?”
“I’m fine thanks, but I’m a little confused?”.
“Do you feel well, Ben” the Dr asked with a concerned head tilt.
“I, I must admit I feel very hungry, actually. Am I in some sort of drying-out clinic or something?”
“Or something, Ben?” he flashed a mischievous almost diabolical grin at Ben and continued:
“Please don’t worry about the hunger Ben, we'll get your drip tube reattached immediately, that’s why you woke up hungry. You need your sugar and med drip and without it your body craves the carbs and protein, it’s all in these bags above your head  it’s very expensive, a bit like the ones they have taken to Mars with them.”
“This is 2028 and I’m sorry, you’ll not know any news from the past year, but a rocket with six astronauts took off in the spring, they’ll be in suspended animation for a year, I pioneered the brain cooling technique they have used and we’ve also used it during your treatments, the President has spared no expense for you Ben and he visits you constantly and even stays the night in your room sometimes”… “That pinky ring you’re wearing? 
He put that on you the last time he saw you”.
“Ha, the nurses even joke that he’s married to you!”
 “Jerky, the Pres, in my room?”
“Yes, he’s taken quite a fatherly shine to you my boy, he always admired your physique and said you were his favourite in his security team during his last term.”
“I’m going to be really sorry to lose you, Ben, you're a magnificent specimen and have been one of my nurses' most popular patients” he said, as he quickly and easily reattached the drip needle into Ben’s impressively pronounced forearm vascularity .
Ben immediately began to feel better, the Dr smiled down benignly upon him, and he started to drift off into a delicious sleep, whilst twisting his pinky ring, thinking the Pres wants me back on his team but not before he heard the Dr ripping a strip off an ugly asian female nurse for not keeping Ben fed properly. 
This final jarring note to his sleep caused Ben nightmares for the first time, as his subconscious was now onto something fishy going on…  
Ben woke up again, now there were large hybrid Michaelmas daisies on the side in the vase. The muted tones of the flowers made the painting stand out more and he instantly recognized it this time or perhaps his head was clearer. It was a British painting by Sir Francis Bacon, he’d majored in Art and was fascinated by the Screaming Pope images when he’d first seen them. Later used by Isis to great effect to mock Rome after they had assassinated the Argentinian Pope a few years back..
He’d always remembered the purple Michaelmas daisies on the tutors front desk in the autumn term at high school, his tutor was a wild flower fresh air freak, and a card carrying pinko vegan hippy to boot-plastic boots! 
He remembered her fondly but had made her life hell from the back of the classroom, jeering at her relentlessly happy outlook on life and her love for the double term Hilary Clinton who had done so much that had recently been unravelled by the new Bush brothers term in office. Later he realised they had been the happiest two years of his life, smoking pot at lunchtimes whilst listening to antique 45 discs of Bob Dylan, taking life drawing classes with real life nude models, whilst trying to hide his erection from them by crouching behind his easel. He smiled when he remembered all the other guys also sat cross legged during those life classes.

On his final graduation day his tutor looked up at him as he was already 6’4” and she gushed:
“I suppose you'll be joining up too, Ben”?
“Yup M'am, going to whup those Isis Bastards out of Egypt for what they did to Karnak and the Pyramids”.
“It was a dark day for mankind when they destroyed all those ruins from antiquity, but you're joining up won't change a thing and you just might lose your pretty little head if you get caught, like so many other poor souls already have”..
“Ain't nobody getting my head m'am, just my girlfriend! The class cheered him like they always did. He winked at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back this time.
“I do hope not Ben, you’ve been a royal pain in the butt at times, but you're basically a straight up good guy, I can see great things for you if you only apply your gifts?”
“Sure will, M'am!” again another wink and the class filed out. That was the last time he’d seen his tutor. He’d often wondered what had become of her. Who’d know?
All those classroom banters with her had taught him loads about life and even encouraged in him a robust democratic outlook on life that annoyed the hell out of his redneck father, much to his own amusement!
Today the toad of a nurse was back, she was writing his notes,  saw he was awake and in her high pitched, broken staccato sentences:
“Ow are we Bengie Boy”?
He hated that name and took an instant dislike to her..
“I feel great, thanks m'am. Look, can you tell me how long I’ve been in here and what in God’s name happened to all my tats?”
“Bengie, you came in here voluntarily. You signed contract with dis clinic to terminate your life. We fully 'intent' to fulfill your wish, but you were chosen out of several thousand applicants to be the most important donor in history.”
“I, I did WHAT?” - Ben shouted.
“Please don’t get 'angwy', Bengie, you’ll get me in trouble again! I was just answering your questions. We loved having you here. You’re so 'andsom' - you are going to break a lot of arts, very soon…

You were in such a sorry state last fall when you arrived, you were at the end of your tether, your face was a mess, you’d lost most of your teeth, your liver was about to give up on you and you were covered with disgusting tattoos, even your face had large tattoo over it! But we fixed all that with our state of art laser treatments. Your teeth aren't false either, the doctor spared no cost, he even gave you your friend Sam’s wonderful teeth. Our ‘il Doctori’ does have a wicked sense of humor!  Im sorry about your 'fwend' by the way, but he was nothing special, apart from his smile to the clinic, so his body parts were spread to the four corners of the country.”
Oh my god. He felt vomit rise as his tongue explored his friends beautiful teeth. He remembered, his father had smashed his teeth in with a baseball bat and had thrown him out onto the streets after finding out Ben had spent his stash of rent money on his own beer habit.
The Nurse continued:
“You must have seen our happy 3D posters in the slums: ‘Be at rest for Christmas’? and then dropped into our downtown clinic to sign-up to our state sponsored euthanasia program. It’s been a huge success, with all those ex-service bums that should never have come home. We process dozens every week, just from this clinic alone. Lets be honest, the beautiful  rich will always need new body parts"!

He had indeed, it all became clear to him now, he and his friend Sam had dropped in together, frozen to the core after the last of the night soup kitchens had been made illegal. They had been very nice, well - why shouldn’t they? They were getting their body parts already freshly chilled!
They had signed and were given lashings of piping hot coffee and chocolate chip cookies, he guessed the drinks and cookies were laced with sedatives, but they didn’t care, they just cried with relief to be out of that biting cold.

He’d been brought up like a prince as an only child, only the best was good enough for her son, his mother would often say, when he just wanted the same sweet crap all kids ate.
No GMO rubbish for him! His mother spent every penny she earned from the clothes factory on the finest organic food she could find.
The older he got the more handsome he became, he was the organic, pesticide free apple of her eye. At his graduation her heart almost burst with pride and happiness for him. When he announced the next day that he was signing up, she was just as happy for him, knowing that those skinny blonde bitches wouldn’t trap him into an early marriage, and he’d still be her beautiful boy for a year or two longer..

Fate was to grant that his mother never lost her son to a skinny bitch as she died quite suddenly one day from an inherited unknown heart condition. It was a condition that couldn’t be cured when the infarction occurred. It would have been too late unless she were incredibly rich and could afford a transplant on the spot.
He was in Egypt when he’d heard, getting the last of his tattoos with Sam, in that sweaty coffee dive across the road from the Nile. Hell, he couldn't even get drunk to drown his sorrows as the booze shop had been blown up the night before.. So he turned to a backstreet bong and a quart of black resin.

His father never recovered and took to the bottle, but as a proud redneck always paid his God damned bills, that’s why he’d lost it with his son - he’d always been secretly jealous of his mother's diverted love and attention for Ben.
His father was incandescent that night at the little Prince, who had turned out to be a no good, petty thieving son of a drunken bitch - something he’d always suspected of him.
That night he washed his hands of Ben.
“Im Sorry, Bengie boy, your father passed away whilst you were having your treatment, »il Doctori » couldn’t leave any unfinished er, problems..”
His heart sank again, and he gulped down the lump from his throat. He was all alone in the world now. The Nurse had taken great care to tell him the bad news after the needle had been plunged into his massive shoulder muscle, sending its narcotics home. She then felt like she was on a roll, being the good catholic asian she wanted to confess her sins to someone who would soon be dead, in a few hours in fact.

“The President of the united States of America is to go through a total body transplant tomorrow. Your beautiful youthful body will be grafted onto his fat ugly old head. You'll both be sharing the same shoulders until his head has taken root. By the way, you were one inch taller but, il Doctori cut an inch out of your legs, leaving no scars, all keyhole and you’ve undergone a few other minor ‘alterations’ too."

"BUT WHY?" Shouted the now hyperventilating, Ben.

"That no good warmongering President has had it taken out of him. He has inoperable cancer and is expected to die within days, so now its time to harvest your body, that’s why they had to remove your, er, artwork Bengie boy, old wasps don’t go in for those, just the discrete Prince Albert ring you might have noticed in your cock, it’s not only the pinky he wanted to gift you with Bengie!
By the way, we’ve all had a bit of fun with you, darling Bengie boy, not such a boy either! You can do wonders with a Viagra solution in a drip. The president insisted on it every visit he made!
After all, not many guys can truly say they fucked themselves can they"?
She stroked his arm a little too fondly and then squeezed his bulging pec and twisted his left nipple hard. His mind was in meltdown, he’d heard distantly of failed head swap operations a dozen years or so ago - my God - was it the same mad Italian  il Doctori that had had to flee Russia after the dead head swap scandals?
He made a soft ‘Huh!’ sound when he remembered his tutor telling him to use his gifts, how ironic. I’m going to be the president's replacement body! 
But he secretly knew the joke was going to be on the odious Bush brother as he’d been informed via telephone in Egypt that he needed a new heart, as he had also inherited the same hereditary heart defect as his mother. The Washington hospital had suddenly burned down soon after with all his family records and now his medical history was wiped clean.  

A year later in the same Michaelmas fall term the president never knew what had hit him.He was dead before he’d hit the ground, exactly one year after Ben’s euthanasia and the new president's total recovery to rude health.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Saturday, October 31, 2009

lost and found ~ Halloween story ~ part one

lost and found, originally uploaded by Paul Grand.

The Trikes Return

It was the first time we had returned to the coast for several months,
the last time was in the autumn when that strange mist had rolled in from the sea.
We like to take our dogs as often as possible, they love frolicking about in the waves,
and it gives the smelly old things a good freshen up!

We've been together for 15 years now,
we have no kids, no room for them in our tiny terraced Mortlake Cottage opposite the old children's workhouse in S.W. London.
We just have the one bedroom up a very steep staircase.
Micheal had often remarked that it wasn't a very child friendly house, and as events turned out it would never be because 'Mich' as I affectionately call her, developed breast cancer and had to go through a year or so of grueling treatment. Thankfully that was several years ago and now she's clear and over the worst of the treatment, except now after the chemotherapy she'll never be able to have children...
I expect the dogs are now our surrogate kids, we're always getting ribbed about it by our opera singing neighbors,
but we make one handsome family, the two big gray Afghans and Mich and I both being blonds look like we were made for each other in a strange kind of way.

Back at the beach the dogs were having a ball of a time, we had their favorite red 'ladybird' ball,
which we threw into the sea for them both to fight over!
Mich got worried in case they got too overtired so we brushed the dogs as best we could and had a flask of hot milky coffee,
sitting in the Volvo looking at the sun glancing off the slate gray sea.
The dogs in the back on several old towels, fell into a pleasant exhausted sleep wrapped around each other.
I noticed Mich was very quiet, not her normal quiet, but with a lost, 'far away' look in her eyes.
I asked her what was wrong?, and she said "I wonder if that little girl we found is alright"?
I started to say "Sorry?" And caught myself, of course, the little Girl on the trike.
"Of course she's alright, its lucky the address was printed on the seat or we'd have had a real job of finding the parents"!

I remembered back to the last time, we were walking with the dogs through this thick sea mist along the promenade when we heard this god forsaken high pitched weeping coming towards us.
We stopped in our tracks, the dogs hid behind our legs with their noses in their legs, obviously afraid of the sound.
We then heard a squeaking followed by the appearance of a little fair haired girl with bright blue button eyes wearing a pink peaked cap on a trike.
She'd been bawling her eyes out, and was obviously quite lost.
As she approached we could hear her blubbering that she couldn't find her Mommy and Daddies house where she lived.
She said she'd lost her trike on the beach and had been looking for it, and couldn't return home until she's found it.
Now she had been reunited with the little yellow bike she couldn't find her own house!
Mich was bewitched by her, I could see they would have made a perfect mother and daughter, and that old lump in my throat returned, as I knew it was the one thing she could never have.

Mich was wonderful with the girl, she calmed her down in moments and had a reasonably cohesive conversation,
the girl was bright and seemed older than her years as she spoke very well for a toddler who had lost her way in her own neighborhood.
Mich found the address as soon as the girl stood up, it was an old ex-libris paper book sticker on the saddle, number 9,
Regents Terrace, just a little way on from where the girl had come from.
She told Mich her name was L i l - l y, after her mothers favorite flower. And cheerfully chatted away as if we had always known her,
Mich could do that with kids, it was uncanny how easily she made friends, and I'd always been proud of her talent as I was in contrast, quite shy.

We found the house in a couple of minutes, the white regents terrace rose up like the nearby white chalk cliffs,
which added to the mysterious reflected sunlight through the ethereal fog.
The dogs were having to be pulled,dragged even, as they were scared of the child, I put it down to them not being used to kids.

We rapped the nautical brass knocker on the white painted door and all stood expectantly.
The girl looking up at us smiling like it was Christmas morning.
A moment later a thin pale women wearing a long knitted kind of white dress answered the door;
"Oh, there you are you silly child"! Putting her arms out and lifting her to her chest, hugging her as if she had been lost for days!
The women thanked us profusely and offered us a cup of tea or something, as she pulled the trike around her, into the hallway,
it was the least she could do, but the for the dogs, we'd have loved to have accepted.
They were madly pulling to get away, perhaps wanting to go back into the sea, which was still obscured by the thick sea mist.
So we made our goodbyes and left.
Mich remarked on the pearl 'Lilly' broach the women was wearing, that you don't see people wearing those old broaches any more.
Mich recognized it as being a collectible 'Hatty Carnegie' retro design as Mich sells jewelry on Portabello Road once a month.
Of course, she added, Pearls are considered bad luck by some, her mother always said they stood for tears..

That was last year, its now early March, spring.

I turned to Mich in the car and asked her if she would perhaps like to call at Number 9 again?
She smiled and said it was a great idea, I inwardly groaned as meeting the little girl again might set off Mich's depression again,
which had lasted several days after the child in the fog.
This time, as the dogs were sound asleep we opened all the windows a few inches, although they were fine as we were under the shade of tree. We then locked the car and walked across the road towards the distant terrace. Whilst walking a strange thing happened, another sea mist gently came as if from nowhere, blocking out the sun and bringing the temperature right down, I wished I'd brought my coat, but as we were almost there, we continued, Mich clearly delighted to be going back, and not feeling the drop in temperature so I let her light mood continue.
At the door, we recognized it immediately, the nautical ships wheel knocker, quite kitsch to a Londoner's eyes, but had a charm about it, I liked the way its polished verdigris had stained the white gloss of the surrounding paint finish a very pale sea green, It brought to mind the Mausoleums bronze doors in Highgate, a favourite dog walk of ours.

A moment later the door flew open, this time a harassed young man answered, dark haired, wearing a'V'necked sweater,
with holes in the sleeves and covered in flecks of paper.
This threw us for a moment, thankfully rescued by Mich's charm, she asked if Lilly was Ok? as we were just passing.
The man looked genuinely puzzled for a moment and said, "I'm sorry but we have no 'Lilly' here"?
But we're sure it was this house we returned the child to?
Just then we heard the voices of two kids and two little dark haired heads popped around each side of the man,
"Who is it da"? The twin boys asked in unison.
"Its nothing, just a mistaken address", he said, as if to end our conversation.
He began to close the door when Mich Blurted out;
"But I'm sure it was this house, I remember the printed label on the Trike seat, Number 9?"
The mans face lit up, "Ah! he said, so you are the people that returned the trike, thanks for that".
The boys are always leaving it on the promenade, he swung open the door and there was the little yellow trike in the hallway under the coat stand.
"We thought we had lost it and gave up looking. It was last October, half term wasn't it boys?
The twins made themselves scarce, as if acknowledging past faults.
We had gone to our house in the south of France for their half term holidays.
When we returned it was back in the hallway.
We assumed the cleaner had found it and brought it back, so I must thank you for that"!
Our faces where blank and he could see we were quite lost.

Mich continued, very quietly, almost desperately, "But we had returned the trike with a little blond girl and had been met by a blond lady who offered us tea, but had to refuse because the dogs were too much to handle", gesturing back towards our obscured car..
The man, not wanting to be unkind, listened to the story.
Mich continued, she remembered the girl was called Lilly, the Mothers favorite flower.
Suddenly the man looked up and said;
"Actually, I'm stripping the old nursery upstairs at this moment and white Lillie's were the pattern on the wallpaper,
I've also uncovered an infants writing around the bottom of the walls in crayon under the wallpaper, It looks like she was practicing to write; 'L i l - l y' he slowly pronounced".
He added, "The Trike came with the house when we bought it a few years ago,
so I wonder if you've possibly mistaken when you last came here"?
We looked at each other, could we?
The man continued, "We've had the devil of a job getting this house into a livable state again, it was locked up for several years after the last owners died quite suddenly".
Mich looked at the man with an incredulous expression.
"Yes, he continued, the mother, father and child were cruelly wiped out on the motorway whilst driving through thick fog, the child was never found, they assumed it was thrown into a fast flowing, deep river which runs into our nearby sea "..

By Paul Grand
Copyright 2009

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

La tour romane

La tour romane, originally uploaded by Paul Grand.

On Sunday 'Beziers central' had a bit of a cloud hanging over it.
So, I got the dog into the car and headed north.
From the road to the mountains I spotted this remarkable tower sticking out of the sunlit vines.
I took a right and investigated, Leo, the mountain dog, had a great time, and I was happy to see the clouds
as in the photo, left behind in the distance.
This 10th century Franco Roman tower is just outside the medieval village of Puissalicon.
Its just a short 10 min drive north from my coastally situated Beziers.
Its known as a veritable masterpiece of Romanesque art in Languedoc.
Its 4.3m wide and stands at 26m.
It was built as a bell tower for the church of Saint Etienne de Peazan priory.
These buildings are now lost in the mists of time, probably during the wars of religion.
All that remains is a fragment of an arch top, left on display at the base of the tower.
This is one of the most precious monuments of the region of Beziers.

I was very lucky to find this 'Tour' bathed in a biblical light,
seeing this site much as the original 10th century Gallo-Romano people saw it.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

The Mac ness of it all!

nights backdrop, originally uploaded by Paul Grand.

Thursday night I had meltdown with my 24" Imac, I'd maxed out on both my HD internal memory and externals. I was just going through old pictures on the externals and viewing each one when everything froze, nothing was click-able, though the web worked fine.
I rebooted and cleared out the cache etc several times and then left it overnight, but not before having discovered I had 300GB of memory left on my Ex HD, so I turned on 'Time Machine' and left it a couple of hours backing up.

Next day after finding it was all still frozen I decided to bite the bullet,with Re-formatting...O_O
This time I clicked on an option that said 'Save your old system files' and then left it an hour or so to see If I'd lost all this years work....
After a restart I was amazed to see all the file crap on my screen reappear and was once again working! :-)
Thus, I then checked the backed up files on the external to find to my relief it had indeed backed up:-)

So just to cover myself I'm now backing up all important files of finished work onto a third external HD before deleting and have so far, recovered 80 gigs of space back on the mac...When everything is backed up,
I'll re-format again but this time a full reformat, to get the Mac back to its newish-old self...

The first page flickr explore winning picture, shown above, was just one that could have been lost forever, had the 'Time Machine' malfunctioned and the Mac having had a full reformat.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Paul Grand ~ Carved with pride!

Sunflower landscape, originally uploaded by Paul Grand.

I feel as if I've been raging at art critics all my life,
in my infants school when I was about 6 years old I did a crayon drawing.
As the sky took over most of the page I was sent to see Miss Winterton, the headmistress who brought her corgi dog with her into school each day, a witch of a women who I remember would take great delight in reading out a long list of children killed on the roads every morning at assembly, I digress. She took one look at my picture (a landscape, not unlike the above) and said it was 'all wrong' I'd used too much space!
I cant remember the punishment but I do remember coming out of her office in tears.
This is where I wish I could go back in time and give that evil women a good talking to, ask her;
" Why she was such a power tripping anal hag"?
Going on to tell her;
"People like her shouldn't be let anywhere near children, let alone manage an infants school full of fresh,
innocent kids to have her 'old school' sadistic Victorian, uptight values screamed at them".
I'd also love to ask her, (as it used to fascinate us in the playground)
"What was it with the one big toe always bent upwards"? - In her over-tight, brown leather pointy shoes"?
I think we came to the conclusion that it was her 'starter foot', for the broomstick!

Several years later I grappled with the Golden section, I often use its formal 'suggestions' to this day.
Just last year I heard of the 'Rule of Thirds'. What a great little rule, I see many people follow it to the letter and thus I see many boring photographs...
If you knew the history of the Royal Academy in London, you'd know it was run by the worst kind of establishment snobs, who detested any kind of new art movement until it was coincided safe by the art critics in newspapers,
this place was where the Rule of Thirds came from.
The over-sized, bewigged statue of Sir Joshua Reynolds still stands in their courtyard, bizarrely, he was an ugly, squat and pugnacious little man, but his statue is of a tall, handsome fellow.
I expect its how he saw himself after the application of his rule of thirds?

Only yesterday somebody said, about the picture above; "lovely field. i would have loved more field than sky i think"
So I took a look at his photographs in flickr, just to confirm that this guy 'knows nowt about style'
And true to form I saw; boring boring, same, same.. he'll go far!:-)
Ironically, this picture is probably 'The Picture' that most closely follows the rule of thirds that I've ever done!

A year or so after seeing Miss Winterton, I was brought to account again whilst still in the infants,
this time I received a slap across the face for decorating my white wallpaper backed book,
It was something like 'Wood-chip', and I had shaded it with my pencil, I thought it was cool, but she didn't and said;
"I was the type to carve my name into trees" Ouch!

In secondary school I did something similar and "overdecorated a lovely painting"
- she said, and was similarly told off, though mercifully without the slap.
So what did I learn? - I guess I never did, because I'm now helping to produce textures to be sent around the world,
to 'pollute' (their words) other peoples images!
Oh, and I never did carve my name into a tree! :-p

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