Happy New Year

Thank God that’s all over. 2017 sucked majorly; a year of stress, bereavement, and what felt very much like running to stand still. I’ve lost count of the number of people I’ve spoken with who found last year really difficult. So, goodbye 2017, don’t let the door hit you in the  derrière on the way out. I actually developed a cold at 5pm on New Year’s Eve. Cough, cough, splutter, splutter. What the helling hell??? A final punch in the guts from 2017. Luckily, ample consumption of pharmaceuticals (legal ones, thank you! 🙂 ) and Jack Daniels (also legal), put paid to that. 2017, the year that just kept on giving and giving……

Welcome, 2018, and thank you Father, that I survived to see it. It’s going to be a terrific year. How do I know? I’m on a promise, baby. To God be the glory, as always. Firstly, I woke up sans cold although I wasn’t fooled by that, I took the meds anyway. Secondly, I’ve started painting again. 2017 was so blooming stressful, I was unable to so much as put a scrap of paint on canvas. I had the canvas in my living room for the whole of 2017 and could not even make myself draw a single line. I put paint to canvas this morning, and it felt wonderful. Clouds are my thing at the moment so I’ll probably paint them obsessively for a few months. It’s as though the world has turned on a hinge, I can feel it me water. So, to the children of light who helped to make 2017 a bearable year, blessings and hugs and kisses. To the sons and daughters of Belial who helped to make 2017 such an ordeal, a smack in the back of the head, and a big fat raspberry.

In the interest of détente, I have wiped the slate clean of all wrongs and I’m starting 2018 sharing the love. I’m starting with some of my favourite images from 2017; hope you like them. Plus, I have jokes. First, a terrible one:

A Roman walks into a bar and holds up two fingers, “Sir can I have five beers please.”

Then, one of my all-time favourites:

A man walks into a bar and says, “Ouch!”

Plus:

Someone stole my Microsoft Office and they’re gonna pay.
You have my Word.

I cannot start the year without offering you some Ogden Nash (sounds like a trending new superfood: Ogden Nash with Chai berries and Harissa……) :

The Octopus

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I’d call me Us.

Wishing you all a veritable year of blessings and grace and favour. 2018, it’s gonna be good ‘un. And the people of God say……..

 

 

 

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Emmanuel

Got up on Christmas  Eve morning and checked my phone. 48 WhatsApp messages. What the hey? Did the only sensible thing and switched the phone off immediately. My plans are to do absolutely nothing useful for the next few days. Answering 48 messages is not on that list. Having made this momentous decision, I managed to have a pretty terrific day.

Mooching around King Street in Hammersmith, I came across a Peruvian trio playing pan pipes and singing. They were pretty good and truly, nothing says Christmas like Peruvian panpipes- in Hammersmith anyway. Then I went home and settled in to watch Star Wars: The Force Awakens. I had boycotted the Star Wars films after the travesty of the frankly risible prequels. Six hours of my life that I’ll never get back. Harsh words were spoken at the time, some of them including “George Lucas, you talentless hack. There ought to be laws.” (please fill in your own 20 minute rant at this point). The Force Awakens was a revelation – who knew Star Wars could be so good when the script is not written by someone suffering from tone-deafness, and when the actors can actually act. It helped that I was eating KFC chicken washed down with a litre of Tango and a can of M&S Pina Colada in a tin. Pure class. A meal with no nutritional value whatsoever; it was utterly delicious. That’s twice in 6 months that the Colonel has overpowered my will. I may need to join a support group 🙂 Now I can’t wait to see The Last Jedi. It was nice to be proved right – the prequels showed that George Lucas shouldn’t both write and direct. Either one and we’re in business; both, and we get self-indulgent tripe. George, all is forgiven. Come to my arms, my Beamish Boy. Obviously, I now need my own light sabre IMMEDIATELY. In fact, I need two. What if one breaks? Thhrummmm.

After the film, I sort of fell into a grease-and sugar-induced coma but I woke up in time for the midnight Christmas Eve service. I love going to church at night – it’s so quiet, everyone else is asleep and I always feel faintly heroic, as if I’m holding up the pillars of Christianity all by myself. Well, just me and 2.7 billion others 🙂 Even as a kid, I loved a midnight service. I’m a natural owl rather than a lark, it makes perfect sense to me to go to church at 11pm. Besides, everyone there really wants to be there, or why would they bother? Christmas Eucharist at my old church, catching up with my beloved pals. What could be better? Best.Christmas.Eve.Ever.

One of my friends whom I hadn’t seen for a while said that I looked as though I was at peace. And I thought, “Yes, I do have peace.”  Not through my own endeavour though, it’s by divine grace. And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? “I bring you tidings of great joy.” “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favour rests!” Not the stuff you get from yoga or pilates or mindfulness. The Real Deal: peace despite your circumstances, not because of them. Emmanuel: God with us. More than being ‘good’, more than ‘sanctity’. A gift of love; “Come unto me all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.” Here endeth the lesson. So, if the turkey is undercooked, and the cat has eaten the pigs in blankets and been sick, and you hate your in-laws and they hate you back, fret not. I wish you peace, and rest, and contentment in all things. So, merry Christmas to you all, and happy birthday to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.

PS: The gingerbread house was made by one of my colleagues Jasmine. She makes them for family and friends every year. It’s pretty good, isn’t it?

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AlaraApothecary: We Brighten Your Day

Goodness gracious, the whole world has gone nuts again. Having survived the extremely dangerous drive from London to the countryside last week, I’m afraid the allure of snow has worn off big time. And can I just say that I was not at all loving the freezing sleet last Monday either. The eternal sunshine of  the spotless mind, it was not. I actually did enjoy shopping for once though. Fave store? Selfridges, no contest. Their windows are always really good and I loved the giant revolving Santa. Oh, for an air rifle. Pull!!! 🙂

Anyhoo, people seem to have gone mad, rushing around like headless chickens. I sense a change in the air though: even though there is the usual frenetic end-of-year target palaver, it just seems a bit more chilled this year. I am awash with bottles of Prosecco and flowers and biscuits from my awesome clients so I expect this has coloured my perspective somewhat. For all the people out there who are really stressed, I’ve hunted down some jokes for you. I also have a copy of one of my favourite images of man on the moon. Did we go into space? No comment. I’m sure I’m just too stupid to understand the science, that’s why I’m such a sceptic. All I’m saying is, I want to see those suckers replicate the moon landings with us all watching in real-time. I’m not holding my breath…..

I also have a picture of Alain Ducasse’s restaurant in the Plaza Athenee Hotel in Paris for you. It’s completely mad, isn’t it? I love it; just looking at the picture makes me smile. If you’re going to go over the top, do it with verve. I’m going there the first chance I get- once I can find someone nuts enough to stump up the 800 bucks for dinner for two cos’ I surely won’t pay that for a meal. Please form an orderly queue.

Last but not the least, I leave you with the following:

A boy asks his father to explain the differences between irritation, aggravation, and frustration. Dad picks up the phone and dials a number at random. When the phone is answered he asks, “Can I speak to Alf, please?” “There’s no one named Alf here.” The person hangs up. “That’s irritation,” says Dad.

He picks up the phone again, dials the same number and asks for Alf a second time. “No- there’s no one here named Alf. You have the wrong number. If you call again I shall telephone the police.” End of conversation. “That’s aggravation.”

“Then what’s frustration? ” asks his son. The father picks up the phone and dials a third time: “Hello, this is Alf. Have I received any phone calls?”

Have a terrific week.

 


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Work Work Work
   


Photos: Port Side mirror:Ed Napper for Harcourt; Night Sky cabinet: West Elm; Twist stool: Tamasine Osher; Ferro Vitro Chandelier: Cox, London.


The last couple of weeks have been ridiculously exhausting; I seem to have been deluged by a tsunami of end-of-year work madness, with everyone rushing around like lunatics. I’ve had one day off in 12 days and I can tell, that’s for sure. I was going to measure my blood pressure the other day and I decided against it! In the midst of all the Christmas hullaballoo, with people apparently possessed by a frenzied spirit of consumerism, I bring you offerings of beautiful products you can admire without feeling the crazed urge to own them. Very nice eye-candy, I think we can all agree. I always find it ironic that our society now celebrates the nativity of a man who owned absolutely nothing and left a single robe as his sole noted possession by buying as much stuff as we can, and overindulging for a solid 12 days. Mental.


Having decided that I am currently working just to live, as opposed to having some time to actually live, I’ve been berating myself for ignoring things like writing and painting. I haven’t painted a single picture this year. I appal myself. I was looking at pictures of Orozco’s amazing murals in the Hospicio Cabanas in Guadalajara and they’ve inspired me. They remind me of the drawings for Josep Maria Subirachs’ sculptures on the Sagrada Familia. I love the work of both artists. 


 


 


Photos: Hospicio Cabanas, Guadalajara; Passion Facade: Subirachs, Sagrada Familia


While we are all looking forward to a nice and I’m sure well-deserved break at Christmas, Orozco’s murals made me think of the wicked aid blockade currently being perpetrated by Saudi Arabia against the people of Yemen while the whole world sits on its hands and looks the other way. The season of peace and goodwill. I’m hoping the carol service I’m going to this Sunday will restore some of that peace and goodwill. If you’re feeling generous, please donate towards providing for those affected by the Yemeni and Rohingya Crises. 


I’ve got a ready-made cure for any bah-humbuggers out there: Harry McLintocks’s ‘In the Big Rock Candy Mountain’. It’s one of my favourites from the ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou?’ soundtrack. Have a lovely weekend at the Big Rock Candy Mountain 🙂


One evening as the sun went down


And the jungle fires were burning,


Down the track came a hobo hiking,


And he said, “Boys, I’m not turning


I’m headed for a land that’s far away


Besides the crystal fountains


So come with me, we’ll go and see


The Big Rock Candy Mountains




In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,


There’s a land that’s fair and bright,


Where the handouts grow on bushes


And you sleep out every night.


Where the boxcars all are empty


And the sun shines every day


And the birds and the bees


And the cigarette trees


The lemonade springs


Where the bluebird sings


In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.




In the Big Rock Candy Mountains


All the cops have wooden legs


And the bulldogs all have rubber teeth


And the hens lay soft-boiled eggs


The farmers’ trees are full of fruit


And the barns are full of hay


Oh I’m bound to go


Where there ain’t no snow


Where the rain don’t fall


The winds don’t blow


In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.




In the Big Rock Candy Mountains


You never change your socks


And the little streams of alcohol


Come trickling down the rocks


The brakemen have to tip their hats


And the railway bulls are blind


There’s a lake of stew


And of whiskey too


You can paddle all around it


In a big canoe


In the Big Rock Candy Mountains




In the Big Rock Candy Mountains,


The jails are made of tin.


And you can walk right out again,


As soon as you are in.


There ain’t no short-handled shovels,


No axes, saws nor picks,


I’m bound to stay


Where you sleep all day,


Where they hung the jerk


That invented work


In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.


….


I’ll see you all this coming fall


In the Big Rock Candy Mountains


 


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O Tempora O Mores
   


I can’t believe it but Rome is dangerously close to edging Florence out of my list of favourite places in Italy. For a start, the food is cheaper and the people are better-dressed. They’re not as chic as the Milanese, but then who is? Milanese policewoman wear high-heeled boots for crying out loud. It must be a thief’s paradise – equality, si. But let’s not get carried away – we draw the line at hideous, clumpy shoes 🙂 The macaroons are from the Cafe Trevi gelateria which is so popular that you’ve got to get a ticket and queue. I draw the line at queueing for gelato in Italy; how good  can theirs be? It’s a lovely place though, with two stores on opposite sides of the street. The chocolate shoes are from the ridiculously lovely new Rinascente store; those chocolate shoes are size 5. Even I couldn’ t eat that much chocolate. I visited the Rinascente store on the one day it was chucking it down with rain and this extremely elegant doorman was there to give me an umbrella bag so I don’t track water all over their shiny marble floors. That’s posh, innit? The wretched store is so beautiful and smelt so good, I would very much like to move in. I’m determined to get AlaraApothecary products in there. From my mouth to God’s ears…..


I also really liked Marco Bicego’s lovely black diamond and rose gold jewellery. The fresco is one of those from the Carta Geografica room in the Vatican. As for the street sign; so, I’m sheltering under an awning when I spot this sign across the road. With my dodgy eyesight, I read it as ‘Via del Trafford’. I start wondering, why does the Old Trafford have a street named after it in the middle of Rome, the stronghold of A.S Roma and Lazio? Then I thought, ‘why not? There should be an Old Trafford Road in every city in the world!’ If that doesn’t make me a diehard Man U fan, I don’t know what does.


Rome? I highly recommend it. I didn’t make it to the Colosseum this time but I wasn’t bothered. I’m  not that keen on treading the ground where so many Christians lost their lives anyway. But then I had a thought– 2017: 2,1oo,ooo,ooo Christians worldwide, Number of Roman emperors, zero. So I guess we win. Jackasses. Bearing a grudge 2000 years later? You bet 🙂 In the spirit of conciliation, I leave you with one of the best knock, knock jokes I’ve ever heard:


Knock, knock.


Who’s there?


Cash.


Cash who?


No thank you. But I will have some of those peanuts.


Have a terrific week.


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