Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Knitting and Safety

Sat here knitting, writing, watching bad yet good telly I am surprised at how well I multitask. It's like my brain is so full of energy and noise that the only way I can concentrate on what I need to get done is to channel all the excess into other outlets until nothing is heard but the history noise. Slowly but surely I'm typing the words, knitting good rows and learning about lives I never lead.

Knitting is so soft and natural to me. It takes up my hands and fills both of them. I've been experimenting with crocheting, and the spinning with one hand, reaching in and out of chains drips slowly out my fingers. It's both frustrating and fascinating. I'm not sure I like the dense fabric of it much. I think knitting will always be my go to craft.

Some thing in me wants to knit primeval simple warm things to look after people. Blankets for babies, rugs for floors, simple sweaters for my friends to wrap them in my love always. I want to loop tales with hopes and prayers and make smiles. If only I had the money for yarn.

Knitting and Safety

Sat here knitting, writing, watching bad yet good telly I am surprised at how well I multitask. It's like my brain is so full of energy and noise that the only way I can concentrate on what I need to get done is to channel all the excess into other outlets until nothing is heard but the history noise. Slowly but surely I'm typing the words, knitting good rows and learning about lives I never lead.

Knitting is so soft and natural to me. It takes up my hands and fills both of them. I've been experimenting with crocheting, and the spinning with one hand, reaching in and out of chains drips slowly out my fingers. It's both frustrating and fascinating. I'm not sure I like the dense fabric of it much. I think knitting will always be my go to craft.

Some thing in me wants to knit primeval simple warm things to look after people. Blankets for babies, rugs for floors, simple sweaters for my friends to wrap them in my love always. I want to loop tales with hopes and prayers and make smiles. If only I had the money for yarn.

She returns hurtling at a thousand miles of an hour…

Many thanks to my startling scribe, Toddy. He has provided this blog with the most beautiful writing it has seen for a while. I salute his eloquence and his inspiring style. Here's to many more guest posts by him when I am otherwise occupied or out of commission.

I broke my arm. I fell off a balance board on to my right side really heavily on New Years. I swear I hadn't had an alcoholic beverage. It was at the start of my second party of the evening. It seemed fine. Then it swelled up overnight, and Tom took me to casualty on New Years Day. We were there for five hours. He must love me.

Chaos and mayhem ensued. I broke it at the worst possible time. I was half way through essay writing period. I had an exam to sit and a gobbet to translate. I did everything I could. I went to the uni. I got extensions, I petitioned for scribes to help me get things in for the deadlines. Unfortunately, even though I pay lots of money to go to this uni, my department refused to pay for any other help except a scribe for my exam. The scribe was appalling. She'd never done it before and could only type with two fingers. She clearly wasn't an arts scholar as she couldn't spell simple biblical names. Dictating to a scribe is disconcerting enough, let alone under exam conditions.

I'm not moaning that much. I was grateful for the help I did get, but considering my fees, and how students on other courses pay the same for far more contact hours, practicals and field trips, I feel a little bit of ill will is allowed. What was even more astonishing is the way my friends and family rallied around me. Many people have sat and typed for me, helped me revised, cooked for me, cleaned for me, organized and planned for me and looked after me and listened to me moan. Peter, Toddy, Yellow, Spanky, Dave, Matt, Cecil, Hannah, Dad, all the chaplaincy people, my grandparents and Tom. Thank you. Thank you for helping. I feel like I can get through this. Oh and anyone else I've not thanked.

One essay is done. The other one is half way there, and I will write more since I seem to be in a writing mood. Then next week sees me writing my gobbet. The weeks have flown away from me. I have a dinner party to cook for this weekend. Then on the 5th I have an interview at UCL for their MA in Museums Studies. I'm extremely nervous. Extremely nervous. I have no idea what they will ask. The guy interview me literally wrote the text book so I am going to swot up on that. Growing up scares me somewhat. I just want to get through this last term, write an interesting dissertation, and start finding myself again. What a cliché ? University has been killing me in someways, as I feel like I have no time to do creative things, the things that I enjoy the most and make me happiest.

When I try to explain this to people, they quite often tell me that I just need to find a proper job and make some money. I know little shreds of me will die if I have to do that. I live frugally now, and won't need much more money once uni is over. I want to go to work smiling as often as possible and being satisfied with what I do. My mum and dad do that quite often. I'm a realist, I know it can't happen all the time, but I know that their jobs fulfill them. That's all I want.


 

Picture and more lightweight fluff to come when I have it. All I have today is words about confusion.

She returns hurtling at a thousand miles of an hour…

Many thanks to my startling scribe, Toddy. He has provided this blog with the most beautiful writing it has seen for a while. I salute his eloquence and his inspiring style. Here's to many more guest posts by him when I am otherwise occupied or out of commission.

I broke my arm. I fell off a balance board on to my right side really heavily on New Years. I swear I hadn't had an alcoholic beverage. It was at the start of my second party of the evening. It seemed fine. Then it swelled up overnight, and Tom took me to casualty on New Years Day. We were there for five hours. He must love me.

Chaos and mayhem ensued. I broke it at the worst possible time. I was half way through essay writing period. I had an exam to sit and a gobbet to translate. I did everything I could. I went to the uni. I got extensions, I petitioned for scribes to help me get things in for the deadlines. Unfortunately, even though I pay lots of money to go to this uni, my department refused to pay for any other help except a scribe for my exam. The scribe was appalling. She'd never done it before and could only type with two fingers. She clearly wasn't an arts scholar as she couldn't spell simple biblical names. Dictating to a scribe is disconcerting enough, let alone under exam conditions.

I'm not moaning that much. I was grateful for the help I did get, but considering my fees, and how students on other courses pay the same for far more contact hours, practicals and field trips, I feel a little bit of ill will is allowed. What was even more astonishing is the way my friends and family rallied around me. Many people have sat and typed for me, helped me revised, cooked for me, cleaned for me, organized and planned for me and looked after me and listened to me moan. Peter, Toddy, Yellow, Spanky, Dave, Matt, Cecil, Hannah, Dad, all the chaplaincy people, my grandparents and Tom. Thank you. Thank you for helping. I feel like I can get through this. Oh and anyone else I've not thanked.

One essay is done. The other one is half way there, and I will write more since I seem to be in a writing mood. Then next week sees me writing my gobbet. The weeks have flown away from me. I have a dinner party to cook for this weekend. Then on the 5th I have an interview at UCL for their MA in Museums Studies. I'm extremely nervous. Extremely nervous. I have no idea what they will ask. The guy interview me literally wrote the text book so I am going to swot up on that. Growing up scares me somewhat. I just want to get through this last term, write an interesting dissertation, and start finding myself again. What a cliché ? University has been killing me in someways, as I feel like I have no time to do creative things, the things that I enjoy the most and make me happiest.

When I try to explain this to people, they quite often tell me that I just need to find a proper job and make some money. I know little shreds of me will die if I have to do that. I live frugally now, and won't need much more money once uni is over. I want to go to work smiling as often as possible and being satisfied with what I do. My mum and dad do that quite often. I'm a realist, I know it can't happen all the time, but I know that their jobs fulfill them. That's all I want.


 

Picture and more lightweight fluff to come when I have it. All I have today is words about confusion.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

T in the Bookshop

"This is what I imagined university would be like".

That's what Alex said yesterday when she, Tom, John and I spent a clear
afternoon sitting in the cafe / second-hand bookshop down Portswood Road.

We started in the science fiction section * (which includes fantasy,
rousing the ire of Tom...) and proceded to general fiction, crime,
cookery, sport and music. Of course we looked at the naughty ones -
"The Fuck Up", "Eff Off", "French Tarts"... and the big book on
asparagus, with a very special diagram.

I had to get on with my drawing practice, so I did some pencil
scratchings that looked a bit like Alex and a bit like Sitting Bull.
Hmm. Then she drew me. The neck was too long, but I looked a bit like
Jonathan Richman **, and Alex is much better at it than I am.

So we drank coffee and chocolate, and wandered out after a while, to buy
fancy cupcakes. This will be repeated.

On the way we passed a rather fun chestnut tree with spiky nuts hanging
all over it.



Today I've spent far too long on Bleep, Boomkat and Tigersushi.
Soon all will know that Pingipung blows the brass. ***

I've still been working at the 8-bit sewing. Yes, it's the computery
effect, but in cross-stitch. Wahey. Something like "quixotic", I think.

Find Dave and the Quiz a New Home.
Jones wants a St Trinian's theme next Thursday. The rest of us aren't
too sure. I could attempt a St. Custard's look, but I think we need
more group photos like this one of King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band. It'd
be most apt.

That's all for now.

* I want to write a thesis / make an exhibition / anything, really...
about the cover art of science fiction paperbacks.

** On the subject of lanky men dancing, here's some more

*** Okay, so I got the Blue Harvest dvd too.

T in the Bookshop

"This is what I imagined university would be like".

That's what Alex said yesterday when she, Tom, John and I spent a clear
afternoon sitting in the cafe / second-hand bookshop down Portswood Road.

We started in the science fiction section * (which includes fantasy,
rousing the ire of Tom...) and proceded to general fiction, crime,
cookery, sport and music. Of course we looked at the naughty ones -
"The Fuck Up", "Eff Off", "French Tarts"... and the big book on
asparagus, with a very special diagram.

I had to get on with my drawing practice, so I did some pencil
scratchings that looked a bit like Alex and a bit like Sitting Bull.
Hmm. Then she drew me. The neck was too long, but I looked a bit like
Jonathan Richman **, and Alex is much better at it than I am.

So we drank coffee and chocolate, and wandered out after a while, to buy
fancy cupcakes. This will be repeated.

On the way we passed a rather fun chestnut tree with spiky nuts hanging
all over it.



Today I've spent far too long on Bleep, Boomkat and Tigersushi.
Soon all will know that Pingipung blows the brass. ***

I've still been working at the 8-bit sewing. Yes, it's the computery
effect, but in cross-stitch. Wahey. Something like "quixotic", I think.

Find Dave and the Quiz a New Home.
Jones wants a St Trinian's theme next Thursday. The rest of us aren't
too sure. I could attempt a St. Custard's look, but I think we need
more group photos like this one of King Oliver's Creole Jazz Band. It'd
be most apt.

That's all for now.

* I want to write a thesis / make an exhibition / anything, really...
about the cover art of science fiction paperbacks.

** On the subject of lanky men dancing, here's some more

*** Okay, so I got the Blue Harvest dvd too.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

An Amanuensis Writes

Hi. It's still me, in place of Alex. I haven't written for a fortnight and I can't flow in prose
tonight, so here are some lists. Maybe one day I'll give you pictures. Maybe soon Alex will be
back. Here goes:

Things that Alex is doing:
* single-handedly whipping everyone up into a frenzy of dancing, dressing-up, shopping, opera and
puddings.
* exams, fool

Art activity since last time:
* wallpaper jigsaws
* portrait-drawing
* 8-bit sewing

Reasons why I'm often tired:
* 8-bit sewing
* bed at 4.30; up again at 8
* walking to Tesco at 2am
* swimming lots for the first time in months
* generally flinging myself around on the bicycle

Next projects:
* discover the art of petits-fours. This may involve...
http://www.tinyliving.com/store/product/1877/tiny-frying-pan/
* search the world for typewriter ribbons
* invade the forest with John

Activities in my office so far this week:
* carrot-throwing
* dog-wrestling
* rump-slapping
- and that's just... the fun bits.
Oh, and the sweat-inducing "Jump Around" ringtone!!!!

Three particularly enigmatic confections:
* lollipops
* rolos
* mars bars

List of music that I have enjoyed a lot in recent days:
* albums:
The Blow "Paper Television"
Cornelius "Sensuous"
Edu Lobo "Cantiga De Longe"
Hefner "The Fidelity Wars"
Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood "Nancy And Lee"
* songs:
Belle & Sebastian "I'm Waking Up To Us"
Cub "New York City"
Heavenly "Shallow"
Herman Dune "Song Of Samuel"
Konono No. 1 "Paradiso"
Leonard Cohen "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye"
Pelle Carlberg "Clever Girls"
Scott Walker "My Death" / "Next"
The Vaselines "Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam"
* people:
Alice Coltrane, Freddie Mercury, the Lucksmiths, Tom Ze

Now for the pub.
Ya get me?
T

An Amanuensis Writes

Hi. It's still me, in place of Alex. I haven't written for a fortnight and I can't flow in prose
tonight, so here are some lists. Maybe one day I'll give you pictures. Maybe soon Alex will be
back. Here goes:

Things that Alex is doing:
* single-handedly whipping everyone up into a frenzy of dancing, dressing-up, shopping, opera and
puddings.
* exams, fool

Art activity since last time:
* wallpaper jigsaws
* portrait-drawing
* 8-bit sewing

Reasons why I'm often tired:
* 8-bit sewing
* bed at 4.30; up again at 8
* walking to Tesco at 2am
* swimming lots for the first time in months
* generally flinging myself around on the bicycle

Next projects:
* discover the art of petits-fours. This may involve...
http://www.tinyliving.com/store/product/1877/tiny-frying-pan/
* search the world for typewriter ribbons
* invade the forest with John

Activities in my office so far this week:
* carrot-throwing
* dog-wrestling
* rump-slapping
- and that's just... the fun bits.
Oh, and the sweat-inducing "Jump Around" ringtone!!!!

Three particularly enigmatic confections:
* lollipops
* rolos
* mars bars

List of music that I have enjoyed a lot in recent days:
* albums:
The Blow "Paper Television"
Cornelius "Sensuous"
Edu Lobo "Cantiga De Longe"
Hefner "The Fidelity Wars"
Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood "Nancy And Lee"
* songs:
Belle & Sebastian "I'm Waking Up To Us"
Cub "New York City"
Heavenly "Shallow"
Herman Dune "Song Of Samuel"
Konono No. 1 "Paradiso"
Leonard Cohen "Hey, That's No Way To Say Goodbye"
Pelle Carlberg "Clever Girls"
Scott Walker "My Death" / "Next"
The Vaselines "Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam"
* people:
Alice Coltrane, Freddie Mercury, the Lucksmiths, Tom Ze

Now for the pub.
Ya get me?
T

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

This Is Not Alex

Alex Jones is still... unavailable... and I realise I didn't tell you why.
I am Alex's internet... representative... "T". I've had some joyously diverting times and, now
that I'm the daddy here, I can tell you all about them.
The Jones family party took us late into Saturday night (including the song, of course). We
stuffed ourselves, played the best party games and did some particularly photogenic dancing.
Sunday was slow. I ended up at the House Of The Yellow Cushion, drinking Bailey's and watching
Family Guy till far too late.
Last night at the Curry House we fondid (a lot. Beef in oil; most things in cheese; marshmallows
and giant strawberries in chocolate), watched Black Books & Bill Bailey and said words beginning
with P. It got late. I had little sleep (at least, in bed), but a deliciously late morning (ie.
in at the rakish time of 8.40). Work involved the silent undressing of a Christmas tree; a lot of
Earl Grey and some other things that I won't tell you about just yet.
My painting now won't be needed for three weeks and I must do something different for this Sunday.
That will take time. I'm making cakes too. I'm making anything that will use up my superfluity
of treacle.
As a result of last night I am the subject of a Facebook application. Someone said I'm "quietly
awesome" (not "arsesome", treacherous fingers).
I went on an odyssey to Regent's Park to return a blackboard to a cats' home; and then took lots
of wallpaper samples from Wickes, thinking that there must be some artistic use for them. What I
actually bought was a dozen rolls of gaffer tape.
This evening SCM were to go bowling with the Atheist Society. Tom didn't get my text asking about
a lift. I went to Chaplaincy and found that I'd just missed the motor party. I walked home very
quickly, girded up my bicycle and rode very quickly to the bowling place, which, this year, is
called "Tenpin". Tebourba Way knackered my shoulders. We had fun and good company, although I
did some weird bowling stance and Helen kept laughing at me. I think Jens won over all. After a
while I went to leave. It was raining. I went back in to button up everything that could be
upbuttoned, in the absence of anything waterproof, and left. I had a flat tyre. Now, I don't
know if the Millbrook Pixies had paid a visit, or if I'd run over... one of them with their sharp
pointy hats... and I had to replace the other tyre only last week... but, despite Tom's pump
action, I'd have to walk home. But no: Charlie gave me a lift. Now I'm in at an almost-sensible
time and have not gone to Let's Kill Disco (http://www.letskilldisco.com/) to get Jupped up. Must
go next time.
Now: sleep.

This Is Not Alex

Alex Jones is still... unavailable... and I realise I didn't tell you why.
I am Alex's internet... representative... "T". I've had some joyously diverting times and, now
that I'm the daddy here, I can tell you all about them.
The Jones family party took us late into Saturday night (including the song, of course). We
stuffed ourselves, played the best party games and did some particularly photogenic dancing.
Sunday was slow. I ended up at the House Of The Yellow Cushion, drinking Bailey's and watching
Family Guy till far too late.
Last night at the Curry House we fondid (a lot. Beef in oil; most things in cheese; marshmallows
and giant strawberries in chocolate), watched Black Books & Bill Bailey and said words beginning
with P. It got late. I had little sleep (at least, in bed), but a deliciously late morning (ie.
in at the rakish time of 8.40). Work involved the silent undressing of a Christmas tree; a lot of
Earl Grey and some other things that I won't tell you about just yet.
My painting now won't be needed for three weeks and I must do something different for this Sunday.
That will take time. I'm making cakes too. I'm making anything that will use up my superfluity
of treacle.
As a result of last night I am the subject of a Facebook application. Someone said I'm "quietly
awesome" (not "arsesome", treacherous fingers).
I went on an odyssey to Regent's Park to return a blackboard to a cats' home; and then took lots
of wallpaper samples from Wickes, thinking that there must be some artistic use for them. What I
actually bought was a dozen rolls of gaffer tape.
This evening SCM were to go bowling with the Atheist Society. Tom didn't get my text asking about
a lift. I went to Chaplaincy and found that I'd just missed the motor party. I walked home very
quickly, girded up my bicycle and rode very quickly to the bowling place, which, this year, is
called "Tenpin". Tebourba Way knackered my shoulders. We had fun and good company, although I
did some weird bowling stance and Helen kept laughing at me. I think Jens won over all. After a
while I went to leave. It was raining. I went back in to button up everything that could be
upbuttoned, in the absence of anything waterproof, and left. I had a flat tyre. Now, I don't
know if the Millbrook Pixies had paid a visit, or if I'd run over... one of them with their sharp
pointy hats... and I had to replace the other tyre only last week... but, despite Tom's pump
action, I'd have to walk home. But no: Charlie gave me a lift. Now I'm in at an almost-sensible
time and have not gone to Let's Kill Disco (http://www.letskilldisco.com/) to get Jupped up. Must
go next time.
Now: sleep.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Guest Entry

Dear Reader,

you may, of late, have wondered at the absence of any new posts from your muse, Alex Jones.

I am come to tell you that Alex cannot make any entries this week. You will hear the reason in
time, but I shall tell you only that, on this occasion, no needles were mispositioned.

While that lady labours at an essay on Elephantine women and ancient Jewish marriage law, I am
your temporary host for a variation in the paths that you traverse on these pages. There shall be
no discussion of knitting or boyfriends (excepting a note of respect to the hospitable Tom) ...
but of what shall we talk? This day bears for me stuffed peppers, a splash of the ocean and a
sufficiency (not far off a surfeit - as if such a thing were possible) of crumpet.

The stuffed peppers are for the Jones family party tonight. There shall be dancing. Peppers
shall be stuffed from within and from without. They're really quite addictive. Still, I can't
forget the chocolate pudding that Miss Jones makes. It would knock your mum into a cocked hat.

The ocean pounced at me this afternoon and my feet are still drying. I had never visited Hurst
Castle and the spit at Keyhaven. O woe. It's remarkable. The blusters of wind, the chops of sea
and the graveness of the heavens enclosed me, as I stalked the stones under the guidance of the
excellent Peter.

Crumpets are the food of those aspiring to greatness in the coming year. And of me. They
stustain me. I stayed up all night painting ionic columns and cockle-shells in an orgiastic
explosion of psychedelic pastiche.

Now I must depart this electronical filigree, this gauzy sheet of ether, and accept the
hospitality of the terrific (in all ways) Alexandra. May she return to you soon.

Thoughts are, of course, with our friend Mel.

Guest Entry

Dear Reader,

you may, of late, have wondered at the absence of any new posts from your muse, Alex Jones.

I am come to tell you that Alex cannot make any entries this week. You will hear the reason in
time, but I shall tell you only that, on this occasion, no needles were mispositioned.

While that lady labours at an essay on Elephantine women and ancient Jewish marriage law, I am
your temporary host for a variation in the paths that you traverse on these pages. There shall be
no discussion of knitting or boyfriends (excepting a note of respect to the hospitable Tom) ...
but of what shall we talk? This day bears for me stuffed peppers, a splash of the ocean and a
sufficiency (not far off a surfeit - as if such a thing were possible) of crumpet.

The stuffed peppers are for the Jones family party tonight. There shall be dancing. Peppers
shall be stuffed from within and from without. They're really quite addictive. Still, I can't
forget the chocolate pudding that Miss Jones makes. It would knock your mum into a cocked hat.

The ocean pounced at me this afternoon and my feet are still drying. I had never visited Hurst
Castle and the spit at Keyhaven. O woe. It's remarkable. The blusters of wind, the chops of sea
and the graveness of the heavens enclosed me, as I stalked the stones under the guidance of the
excellent Peter.

Crumpets are the food of those aspiring to greatness in the coming year. And of me. They
stustain me. I stayed up all night painting ionic columns and cockle-shells in an orgiastic
explosion of psychedelic pastiche.

Now I must depart this electronical filigree, this gauzy sheet of ether, and accept the
hospitality of the terrific (in all ways) Alexandra. May she return to you soon.

Thoughts are, of course, with our friend Mel.