A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! More like a garden is a lovesome thing – not! I’ve spent far too much of today cutting grass – with a pair of secateurs. I can’t begin to tell you how much I have loathed the whole experience, and I would like to take this opportunity to tell Poldark what he can do with his scythe…. I always suspected that gardening is not for me, and now I have proof. A more singularly pointless exercise, I cannot imagine. Having previously lived in flats, I have not had to deal with all this palaver before. Parks, woods, huge landscaped Capability-Brown-fests, I love them – as long as some other poor fool is doing the grunt work. Faffing around with garden plans, flower pots, herb gardens, all excellent. Weeding and cutting grass, not so much. The whole enterprise is that most awful worst of both worlds: time-consuming and boring. I would have gladly kept on ignoring the wretched plot but it was beginning to look a little ‘Day of the Triffids’. It was only a matter of time before my neighbours started a petition. If I’d had a tree in the blasted garden, I would have contemplated hanging myself from it. But no, all there is is blasted grass as far as the eye can see. To paraphrase Sir Thomas Beecham, “You should try everything once except incest, morris dancing, and gardening.”
I now have a new theory that it was cutting the grass that tipped Adam and Eve over the edge, although selling the whole of humankind down the river just for a bit of novelty is a bit much. What I like is cities, pavements, bars, restaurants, manicured gardens maintained by people who are not me. You get the idea, I’m sure. Maximum kudos to all farmers everywhere. I know they have machines etc to help, but it’s still my idea of a living hell, with extra dust. I am definitely a town mouse, no doubt about it.
It reminds me of one of my favourite Talking Heads songs, Nothing (But Flowers):
There was a factory
Now there are mountains and rivers
You got it, you got it
We caught a rattlesnake
Now we got something for dinner
We got it, we got it
There was a shopping mall
Now it's all covered with flowers
You've got it, you've got it
If this is paradise
I wish I had a lawnmower
You've got it, you've got it
Years ago I was an angry young man
I'd pretend that I was a billboard
Standing tall by the side of the road
I fell in love with a beautiful highway
This used to be real estate
Now it's only fields and trees
Where, where is the town
Now, it's nothing but flowers
The highways and cars
Were sacrificed for agriculture
I thought that we'd start over
But I guess I was wrong
That song always makes me laugh. It’s the ultimate anti-eco song. I used to love planting stuff as a child but I now realise that it’s the biology I like – the magic of germination, creating a plant from seed. I planted a thriving orange tree and a thriving mango tree when I was a kid. I also grew some maize but my father made me cut it all down as growing maize was not comme il faut. No, me neither; all parents are crazy. Still, now the wretched grass has been cut, I am looking forward to the bit I like – flowers, planters, herbs. I’m considering a mini apothecary garden. It’ll be awesome. In the meantime, here are some of my favourite builldings, with nary a blade of grass in sight. As for smokable grass, just say no. That stuff will make you psychotic. Only if you are unlucky, you say? Tell me this, have you won the lottery even once? How lucky do you think you are, really? Exactly. In the meantime, I will be looking for plants that smell of diesel fumes and nitrogen oxides; all the lovely stuff that makes London so great to live in. Just kidding 🙂 As penance, I leave you with Thomas Edward Brown:
A Garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot,
The veriest school of Peace; and yet the fool contends that God is not—
Not God! in Gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign:
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.
Wishing you all a cool, scented arbour when the going gets tough. Pip pip.
(Photos: Wolof Building, Senegal; Church of St George, Lalibela; Chrysler Building, NY; Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao; Guggenheim Museum, NY)
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For All The Saints
I haven’t posted for a while in light of the terrible events we have been living through lately. It just seemed indecent to indulge in my usual frivolous musings about ridiculously expensive/precious items in the face of other people’s monumental losses. But then, in the midst of life, we are in death. What do we do when there is so much trouble everywhere? The best I can come up with is to do my best not to make the world a worse place than it is. It also occurs to me that whilst we are stricken by the recent string of disasters in the UK, there are unimaginably horrific events happening every day in Syria, Yemen, Libya, Iraq and Afghanistan. We can put those troubles at the back of our minds because they do not impinge on our daily lives. What then happens when trouble comes calling on us? It brings to mind the old adage that you stand up when they come for others because one day, when they have worked their way through everyone else, they will come for you. Who will then be left to stand up for you? The ‘they’ is not necessarily a person or a group or a system, of course. I guess it just makes me focus on the fact that I am here for a limited time; I’ve got to get my stuff done before I check out of Dodge or else, why waste all that oxygen?
So, back to my usual – do all the good you can for all the people you can in all the ways you can whenever you can. I will not pass this way again. Now all I have to do is to keep remembering that. I leave you with a riddle by the politician George Canning to keep you going:
On a cheerier note, I particularly like this poem by Harry Hearson whose ingenuity is entirely based on the crazy English habit of not pronouncing words phonetically:
Nomenclaturik
There was a young fellow named Cholmondeley
Whose bride was so mellow and colmondeley
That the best man, Colquhoun
An inane young bolqufoun
Could only stand still and stare dolmondeley.
The bridegroom’s first cousin young Belvoir
Whose dad was a Lancashire welvoir,
Arrived with George Bohun
At just about nohun
When excitement was mounting to felvoir.
The vicar – his surname was Beauchamp-
Of marriage endeavoured to teauchamp
While the bridesmaid Miss Marjoribanks
Played one or two harjoripranks
But the shoe that she threw failed to reauchamp.
The answer to the riddle is ‘Care’. Wishing you all a carefree and wonderful week.
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Top Ranking
(Presidential Voice) My fellow Brits,
May I take this opportunity to congratulate you on giving the politicians the kicking they so richly deserve once again. I knew that you would not let me down and my faith in you has been amply rewarded. It is most gratifying to see how many people refused to drink the Kool-Aid that was being pushed down our throats, to see how many people refused to buy into the disgraceful fear-mongering and vicious character assassination we were offered in lieu of actual policies and manifestos. A plague on all their houses seems to have been the collective response. If I may step out of presidential character for a minute: Nick Clegg, Nicola Sturgeon, Amber Rudd, hahahahahaha. The latter escaped by the skin of her teeth but I’m sure you’ll all be waiting for her in the long grass…….Sorry about that, back to the presidential voice 🙂
When Jeremy Corbyn was first elected as Labour leader, I told people he would eventually do for the Tories and they all scoffed. Well, they’re not scoffing now. If there had been any other Labour leader in place a few days ago, the Tories would have won by a landslide. Running the nastiest, most personal campaign I have ever seen didn’t do them any favours but I can understand why they did it; they just can’t understand how the electorate thinks or what they see in good old, unfashionable Jeremy. Looking at the insane Tory manifesto, a more suspicious person than myself would think they were deliberately trying to lose so Brexit would be derailed. The other possibility is that they were high when they came up with it. Obviously, that cannot be true at all.
So, to all the people who think they can subjugate the entire human race by applying a mixture of fear and appeals to self-interest, you are on a hiding to nothing. We will never willingly cede our civil rights and humanity in exchange for your patently spurious promises to protect us. No one believes you but we have learnt to keep quiet and save the kicking for when you are within reach. Eventually, the one-world martial state the politicians are trying for will come to pass but heads up: you won’t get it without a fight. Never mind getting your hands dirty, you will have to wade in the bloodbath you’ll need to contain 7 million souls and ultimately that plan is doomed. Why? Because greater is He that is in us than he that is in the world. The knavish tricks will always be confounded. In addition, even a small child can see that curbing our internet access, spying on us constantly and restricting our freedoms will never keep us safe, so enough already. Besides, if one human being built it, another one can find a way around it and you can’t put the entire human race in internment camps.
So today I say to you all: Go to your constituencies and have a terrific, safe weekend.
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I Know What I Like
I spent much of last weekend haunting art galleries and generally imbibing culture with a capital K. The first thing I noticed again was how easy it is to fully immerse yourself in art once you are in the zone. I went to both Tate Britain and the National Gallery over the bank holiday weekend and they were both rammed. Yet after a while the other patrons became background noise and I was barely aware that there were other people present. I’ve experienced it with both art and music and it’s amazing when you finally leave the gallery/hall and real life floods back in. Only then do you realise you’ve been transported elsewhere for a while.
The second thing I noticed was that I’ve been ignoring my muse. Yes, I do too have a muse 🙂 Swanky, right? You don’t believe me? Pah, you’re just jealous because you don’t have one 🙂 I have a gazillion paintings rattling around in my head and I am too lazy to put them on canvas. It’s like being permanently preggers. It also amazes me how individual an artist’s style is. No matter what my subject is, it always looks like one of my paintings. It’s like magic.
So, I played that game where I get to select which paintings I’d like from the collections. No. 1 is the astonishing ‘Madonna in Prayer’ by my boy Sassoferrato. It’s ridiculously beautiful- that blue, that red, the showpiece use of chiaroscuro. Totes amaze. The Zurbaran ‘Agnus Dei’ was not on display, boo! hiss!! but obvs I’d have to have that. Next up is my all-time favourite Van Gogh, ‘Two Crabs’. I love this painting like a fat kid loves cake, I really do. There were loads of perfectly indifferent Turners at the Tate, yawn, but I’d have to pinch his ‘Shipwreck’ for certain. Last but not the least, two new faves, ‘The Idle Servant’ by Nicolaes Maes because it makes me smile, and Bronzino’s astonishingly luminous ‘Madonna and Child with Saints’.
I’m afraid all of this is very DWM as both galleries are not exactly overflowing with art from other countries; they are British galleries. So, for your delectation, some of my fave artworks by Nigerian artists. Oresegun Olumide’s photo-realistic paintings are a wonderful new discovery and yes, I know El Anatsui is Ghanaian but all his work has been done in Nigeria so we are keeping him, thank you very much 🙂 I really like Chris Ofili’s ‘No Woman, No Cry’ which surprises me as glitter and elephant dung are not high on my list of artistic materials. If you’re having a bad time, get thee to a gallery. Art soothes the savage beast as much as music does. AlaraApothecary: your mental health is our priority. Have a fab and inspired week.
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Fall In, Fall Out, Fall Down
O Tesla of absolute beautifulness, how I love thee. I saw the new Model X Tesla as I was on my way from Chiswick, and thank God I was not at the wheel and crashing into the Hogarth roundabout. What a beaut! And yes, I want one. Stat. The photograph does not do it justice, believe me. That car is fierce. The next day, I was on Chiswick High Road and I overheard a conversation between a guy in his 30s and his son who looked to be about 5/6 years old. There was a Ferrari 458 Spider stuck in the traffic jam and the little boy was goggle-eyed with excitement. I heard the guy explaining to his son that the car was just for show-offs and that the owner was only seeking attention. I was very tempted to call out this po-faced ignoramus. That is not as dangerous as it sounds, it was Chiswick; the most that would have happened is that he would have given me a lecture about global warming and offered me some kale and/or quinoa salad 🙂 OK, the owner of the car did not cover himself with glory, what with his H1 5EXY numberplate but come on, what a car! Just because it was being driven by some juvenile delinquent does not negate the fact that it is a superlative example of automotive engineering. My inner (OK, outer) petrolhead wanted to hug the car and whisper endearments to it (yes, I am aware that I have some ongoing issues), and take that boy from him and show him round Bugatti and McLaren showrooms. I hope he is not condemned to a life of knitted hemp sandals and Kia Picantos. No offence to Kia but it sure ain’t an Aston Martin DB5…….
It actually got me thinking about nature vs nurture again. I was recently listening to Fela Anikulapo-Kuti’s music and falling about in giggles at the song ‘Zombie’. This is the one single piece of artistry that ensured I was never going to join any military or para-military organisation. I would have spent my military career on permanent latrine duty because of insubordination. Order! Halt!! 🙂 Early exposure to Fela and Bob Marley pretty much unleashed my inner anarchist and I never did find my inner conformist after all that. Walking past Whitehall and Downing Street and seeing the army on the streets of London feels really surreal. Anarchist or not though, maximum respect to the Armed Forces and Emergency Services guys and gals. I’ve lived through a serious fire and I cannot get over the bravery of anyone who runs into a fire, or that of someone who runs towards the sound of gunfire and explosions. Irrespective of what I may personally regard as casus belli or not, there is no doubting the courage of soldiers in the same way there is no doubting the appeal of Ferraris even if you would never buy one for environmental/prudence/sanity reasons.
By the way there are 93 secondhand 458 Spiders on AutoTrader. The cheapest is £169,000. Yes, I checked. 🙂 Now, who would pay £169,000 for a secondhand car? Or indeed, a firsthand car? There’s crazy, and there’s KERRAZY. I also saw a turquoise Lambo Aventador in Beauchamp Place on the same day. It did not look as wrong as it sounds. I think I need therapy. Have a terrific week.
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Grass? It’d Better Be Smokable
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! More like a garden is a lovesome thing – not! I’ve spent far too much of today cutting grass – with a pair of secateurs. I can’t begin to tell you how much I have loathed the whole experience, and I would like to take this opportunity to tell Poldark what he can do with his scythe…. I always suspected that gardening is not for me, and now I have proof. A more singularly pointless exercise, I cannot imagine. Having previously lived in flats, I have not had to deal with all this palaver before. Parks, woods, huge landscaped Capability-Brown-fests, I love them – as long as some other poor fool is doing the grunt work. Faffing around with garden plans, flower pots, herb gardens, all excellent. Weeding and cutting grass, not so much. The whole enterprise is that most awful worst of both worlds: time-consuming and boring. I would have gladly kept on ignoring the wretched plot but it was beginning to look a little ‘Day of the Triffids’. It was only a matter of time before my neighbours started a petition. If I’d had a tree in the blasted garden, I would have contemplated hanging myself from it. But no, all there is is blasted grass as far as the eye can see. To paraphrase Sir Thomas Beecham, “You should try everything once except incest, morris dancing, and gardening.”
I now have a new theory that it was cutting the grass that tipped Adam and Eve over the edge, although selling the whole of humankind down the river just for a bit of novelty is a bit much. What I like is cities, pavements, bars, restaurants, manicured gardens maintained by people who are not me. You get the idea, I’m sure. Maximum kudos to all farmers everywhere. I know they have machines etc to help, but it’s still my idea of a living hell, with extra dust. I am definitely a town mouse, no doubt about it.
It reminds me of one of my favourite Talking Heads songs, Nothing (But Flowers):
That song always makes me laugh. It’s the ultimate anti-eco song. I used to love planting stuff as a child but I now realise that it’s the biology I like – the magic of germination, creating a plant from seed. I planted a thriving orange tree and a thriving mango tree when I was a kid. I also grew some maize but my father made me cut it all down as growing maize was not comme il faut. No, me neither; all parents are crazy. Still, now the wretched grass has been cut, I am looking forward to the bit I like – flowers, planters, herbs. I’m considering a mini apothecary garden. It’ll be awesome. In the meantime, here are some of my favourite builldings, with nary a blade of grass in sight. As for smokable grass, just say no. That stuff will make you psychotic. Only if you are unlucky, you say? Tell me this, have you won the lottery even once? How lucky do you think you are, really? Exactly. In the meantime, I will be looking for plants that smell of diesel fumes and nitrogen oxides; all the lovely stuff that makes London so great to live in. Just kidding 🙂 As penance, I leave you with Thomas Edward Brown:
A Garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot,
The veriest school of Peace; and yet the fool contends that God is not—
Not God! in Gardens! when the eve is cool?
Nay, but I have a sign:
‘Tis very sure God walks in mine.
Wishing you all a cool, scented arbour when the going gets tough. Pip pip.
(Photos: Wolof Building, Senegal; Church of St George, Lalibela; Chrysler Building, NY; Guggenheim Museum, Bilbao; Guggenheim Museum, NY)
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