Just so you know.

The other day, when I decided to throw caution to the wind and paint again, this happened – but, you’ll be relieved to know that I put a stop to it as soon as I could.

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First it became even more hideous – in a mocking sort of way, but I had the last laugh when it found itself in the trash.

Don’t mess with me!

So, coward that I am, I went back to the old faithful.

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Which bored me.

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And threatened to put me in another funk.

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But, I plodded on,

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Making stuff just for the sake of it,

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 Which bored me more.

Until finally I gave up and sulked myself further into the funk.

Is it the same funk? I wonder to myself.

Or, is it allergies? Stranger things have happened. I do live in Texas you know, and suddenly, all that green stuff is laying about, conspicuous in its innocence (to the trained eye), on all available surfaces.

This, and those wind turbine things, remind me of the late great science fiction books. The turbine things are the new and improved War of the Worlds aliens. Sleek in design yet even more sinister in their silent, never moving way. They just bide their time, collecting the wind so to sniff out human happenings, looking, but not looking, and, all the time multiplying until, before you know it, they’re everywhere, like in Sweetwater, TX.

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See!

(Actually, that’s not Sweetwater, but yet another example of alien infiltration on the outskirts of a doomed Texas town. Who will be next?).

And the pollen? Well, that’s obviously some kind of insidious microorganism waiting patiently for us to inhale them into our bodies, so that they can use us as a weapon to fight the wind aliens and continue their quest to take over the universe. Some of them will be wasted, of course, but it’s a sacrifice they are willing to take.

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For them, failure is not an option …

As for Inspector Lynley, I was finally allowed to see the connection between the baffling – why are you telling me this – sub story, and the main story. I must admit it was in a bit of a ‘duh’ way, like I really should have seen it coming. But, as I’m not really that invested in the story the connection caught me off guard and it ended up more as the ‘boom boom’ part of a bad joke. (Can’t really sound that out in words so you’ll just have to work with me here).

I still haven’t finished listening to the story, but we all have to suffer in our own way.

On a lighter note: I burnt a hole in the studio counter when I put the nitric acid into a ceramic dish, (don’t judge me – it said I could). It was obviously not the right kind of ceramic dish, I think because it was old and crackly. I just thought, wow, that nitric acid evaporates quickly, but no – it had seeped right through the bottom and now I have a humongous area of molten formica counter top to forever flaunt my failures. It’s as though one of those alien versus predator things has dribbled its caustic saliva onto it.

And, the moral of the story is …

Never play with acid when you’re in a funk!

I’m telling you, this mood better change quick otherwise I’ll have no studio left.

Be afraid. Be very afraid …

I want to –

Paint soooo much, but I just canny do it capt’n.

It’s my most worrying thing to do.

Sometimes I ignore it and just don’t look over at that whole other side of the studio, you know, the one with all the exciting colours patiently waiting to play.

But, I know it’s there, because it’s niggling a hole in the side of my head.

So today I’m going to get to it – it’s going to be a painting day.

(I think).

Lighten up girl. Inspector Lynley is still half heartedly trying to solve the graveyard murder, which is a convenient place to get murdered in if you ask me, and as I only listen to the story when I paint, he’s pretty much been dragging his heals over the whole thing.

It’s time to put a stop to this story before anyone else gets hurt.

Actually, I’m not really enjoying it, it’s more something to listen to really. It does kind of take the painting anxiety away a little by dragging me into it’s (boring) drama, a bit like taking a xanax really, although it’s been going on for so long now that if someone doesn’t tell me who did it soon and explain to me how the whole little sub story about the toddler murder fits in to the thing, someone is going to hear about it.

So I’m off out now to paint and listen. I’ll let you know how the whole sorry mess turns out … if it turns out.

A little something for you to mull on while you wait.

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Come on. You know you want to try it, if only to laugh out loud because you knew it wouldn’t work even before you tried it.

The clue here is (repeat if necessary), although the whole fizzy science experiment thing does sound rather exciting.

“He smiled understandingly –

-much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced-or seemed to face-the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey.” Page 48, The Great Gatsby.

Don’t trust this man!

’nuff said …

I’m reading …

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Because I have to.

The first sentence that made me feel as though perhaps this wasn’t going to be as tedious a task as when I first attempted to read it, waaaay back in school, was:

“If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him …”

Really that’s only part of the sentence, but you’ve got to love that word – gorgeous? There’s something, I don’t know what, about it when used here, by a man, toward a man. It smacks of jealousy to my mind, or contempt. Perhaps admiration, but I don’t think so. He’s probably merely sharing an observation, but what a great introduction to this man. I know immediately that I don’t want to like him, but probably will because he’s going to be all charismatic and charming, and we’re going to fall into his trap …

Either that, or I’m way off base and, as usual, am living in my own little made up world of what I think things should mean.

It reminds me a little of the way Patricia Highsmith writes about Ripley. Now, there’s a creepy fellow …

Anyway, I’m reading it because I can’t go to see the movie until I have, and the movie doesn’t look as dreary as the book seemed to be when I was a kid.

In the rest of the news: I spent yesterday painting. Sounds good fun but it ended badly. Going out there in a minute to throw all my brushes away.

How about you?

That boy did a fine job …

The Union Jack pattern has arrived!

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Click image to go to pattern

I haven’t forgotten about the quilt I was working on before Christmas – or the five hundred and sixty three others that are waiting patiently for me to finish.

If you remember, this is where I left it. On the floor, alone, wondering when I would return … if I would return …

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But now the Union Jack is here.

Will there be war between the two quilts? Somehow I think the Empire might well win …

Talking of the Empire, (for which I have regret and apologize profusely),

 on to the movie.

It was good, but not as good as I thought it would be. To be honest though I didn’t know what I expected. I think the hype got the better of it for me.

That said, someone please explain to me why that boy didn’t even get a nomination for his role?

He was brilliant in my opinion, and not bad to look at either, but I wont say that as that would make me want to be 19 again and I just couldn’t go through all that teenage angst again. Once was more than enough for me thank you very much.

I loved the book. One of my favourites. I found it shocking and heart wrenching, and thought-provoking – and, I love to think and be shocked, it makes you sit up and take notice in a, more often than not, mundane existence.

I read it a long time ago and had forgotten about the violence. I hate watching all that lion chasing gazelle David Attenborough stuff and get upset when it comes on the t.v. so the parts in the movie that touched upon that almost made me regret watching it. I had to look away a few times, but I got over it, and am pleased that I did.

I seem to have a love affair with all things Indian. I think it began with, A Passage to India, and continued from there. For some reason, everything I have ever watched or read that is Indian in nature touches me. For me there is something magical about their culture, their myths, their art. Perhaps it’s their spirituality, what ever it is I somehow have always felt a connection.

Who knows, perhaps I was Indian in another life.

So, if you were to ask my opinion, I would probably say the movie was certainly good, but read the book if you only have one option.

Although that boy did a fine job …