Bouncing on a Concrete Airbed

I popped into the Rachel Whiteread exhibition at Tate Britain yesterday morning.  I'm fascinated by her stuff - the back to front of a fireplace, the inside of a school desk, the wrong side of a window, the invisible middle of a hot water bottle made out of concrete and resin.  I'm no art critic but what happens to me when I see these sculptures is not unlike the fascination I feel at miniature villages and dolls' houses.  It's the surprise that a change of scale brings, and the swapping of the ethereal with the solid.  It's the same delight I feel when something you expect to be constructed of one thing - wool, say, or stone - is offered in steel, say, or fur. The object in this exhibition that delighted me the most was the airbed.  Here it is:   Expecting something to be soft and comforting only to find it cold and unyielding will be a nasty surprise, but it's the kind [...]


a prince of love in every way

I have always been proud of my excellent memory.  I can tell you exactly what people said, what they wore, how they behaved, from years back.  No one queries it, which is how I know I’m right. I am staying in the apartment in Aix en Provence that I first visited as a fifteen year old.  It’s not unusual to visit places you came to as a child, often you visit periodically over your life.  I guess it’s slightly less usual to have had a forty year gap. Several things have struck me.  First, I’d not have recognised it, in a million years.  I didn’t remember where it was in the town, the colour, size or shape of the building.  The family owned (and still does) two apartments in the same block and I could have sworn (did in fact swear) that the upper one was across the way rather than directly above.  Wrong.  I also was sure that the bathroom was larger, much [...]


how it cost me £480 to edit one page of my website and even that was a bit rubbish

I have just spent a whole day on my website.  It's run by Wordpress, as you can probably see, and yes, it's not finished.  It's not just the whole day I've spent on it, it's the ... let me see ... four and a half months I have spent finding all sorts of imaginative ways to avoid doing it.  So, if I charge £60 an hour for my time, (more for commercial mediation) that's at least £480 it's cost me in what I haven't earned, and that doesn't take account of the wear and tear on my endocrine system. I can guess what you're thinking.  Get an expert.  It's a no brainer.  Someone who knows what they're doing could have sorted this for me in less than fifteen minutes.  In fact, I had some coaching on this a couple of months back, during a training weekend, and the coach was itching to tell me who he'd recommend.  It's obvious I could get an expert, they're [...]