journal of a writing man

Friday July 9, 2010

Ten days since my last post.  It’s been a quiet time, you see, with a blank canvas on the easel (well, not blank exactly but we’ll come to that) and a largely blank mind along with a mostly empty to-do list.

Things hotted up these past three days with a visit to IKEA in Cardiff, a provisioning trip to Swansea, and the annual trip to Neath Abbey to take the little silver Ford in for MOT testing.  All accomplished successfully, even the IKEA adventure.

I was proud of Graham there.  We’d gone with the intention of buying pseudo-wood laminate for the second bedroom floor.  I knew there was something wrong when I was sent off to find a chair while I waited.  Some little while later, when I’d got bored, I made my way back to the aisle between the towering storage racks to find him with a sample of every type of laminate they do, fanned out on the floor in front of him.

“Wassa matta, chook?” I asked.

“Well, look at them.  They’re all rubbish and I can’t choose between them.”

“If you feel like that there’s no choice at all.  Put ‘em all back and we’ll have a re-think.”

“You may be right.  Give me a bit longer, though.  See if you can find a place to sit down again for five minutes.”

Isn’t it astonishing that a furniture store has so few places where customers can rest their weary bones these days?

So, anyway, he put them all back and announced that laminate wasn’t for us.

“Too cheap and clicky under foot,” he said.  “I’m sorry to have wasted our time like this.”

“It’s not a waste.  You’ve reached a decision and that’s a good thing.”

On the way home I asked him if he’d decided what we would put down in the two main bedrooms to replace the last of the old carpet we inherited with the house.

“I don’t think we should put cork down,” I said.  “Too much like hard work, and not really bedroom friendly.”

“No.  You’re right.  Looks like it’ll have to be carpet, then, and after all the bad things we’ve said about dirty, smelly carpets.”

“Not to worry.  At least it’ll be our dirt and our smell.”

So, back home, a welcome cup of coffee and a late lunch of hash and eggs cooked by Graham.

“I don’t think I’m as keen on IKEA as I used to be,” Graham said.

“Ah.  Had to happen.  Pass the ketchup, please.”

Finally, returning to my painting, I took a long time bringing up the work in progress to the point where it had totally and absolutely failed to please, gave a big sigh, and scraped all the paint off.  Then I gave it a light coat of titanium white overall, using its translucent quality to my advantage so the main landscape and sky colours show through.  And it’s been sitting on the easel drying off ready for a second go.  That’s one colossal advantage of oil painting on canvass — you can make as many false starts as it takes, and it’s always easy to recover.

Starting over with a new house and a new hill

Tuesday June 29, 2010

So, ten thirty this morning, after a splendid cup of Graham’s special coffee, I stood in the kitchen doorway and started in on thinking about painting.  Of a sudden, I cast caution to the wind, utter a heart-felt “Oh, phu*k it!”, stalked into the study, picked up a brush, loaded it with a good fat indigo, and smacked out the outline of the first oil painting I’ve done in years.  When I started my right hand got a fit of the trembles, which could have discouraged me, but another “Oh, phu*k it!” and the support of my good left hand held the brush relatively steady to finish the outline.  By which time the tremble had gone and I had the strength to go ahead and block in the darks so that I can bring them to life with a nice juicy impasto later in the process.  By gosh and golly I’d forgotten what fun oil paint can be!

House on hill -- stage 1

A short break, and I was back at the easel, blocking in the foreground and now, as the evening draws in, I’ve finished the sky and started on easing the features of the foreground.  I’m having fun!

House on hill -- stage 2

Tomorrow the fun will continue…

Thursday June 24, 2010

This morning to Graham’s mother’s for a short visit bearing fresh cake from Morrison’s.  The poor old dear has been unwell for over a week, having contracted some kind of bug that a local hospital doctor suspected came from foreign parts, insisting that she must have been abroad recently.  She hasn’t, but she did spend an afternoon in the company of an old friend who’d just got back from Australia, calling in at several tropical places en-route.  These old folks seldom take the precaution of travel shots so our suspicion tends to that direction.

Anyway, the old lady is more or less over it but very, very tired.  And yet she’s determined to go off on holiday herself at the weekend.  Graham is worried but there’s nothing to be done about it.

And then, home, feeling rather weary myself.  I think I shall give foreign travel a miss this year.

Wednesday June 23, 2010

Just got back from the cardiologist.  “You’re doing fine,” he said.  “Our job now is to keep you fit and well for the next 10 or 15 years.”  “Sounds good but make it 25 and we have a deal,” was my response.  And he didn’t even tell me to stop smoking my 15-a-day.  Sensible chap.  Sensible chaps are so rare these days.

The only trouble now is that I shall have to take painting and/or writing seriously so as to keep the old marbles rolling around happily for longer than I’d thought would be the case.

This may be one of my first painting subjects, when I’ve thought about it for a while longer:

The house on the hill

And now I shall put my feet up for the rest of the day.  Fish’n'chips for dinner… yummity scrummity!

Monday June 21, 2010

I woke in time to greet the sun.  From now on, hopefully, I shall be able to sleep in a little later each day.

To Swansea this morning early.  Strangely quiet, and with a number of closed-down shops.  I needed to get to the bank, and we needed to stock up on coffee beans, both of which were accomplished.  Then to Sainsbury’s and home via the petrol station, filling the tank in advance of the likely price hike after tomorrow’s ‘emergency’ budget.  It’s likely there’ll be a steep tax hike on wine and ciggies, too.  I’ll give up the ciggies but the wine will continue to flow.  It cost just over £40 to fill the tank on the Fiesta.  Just doesn’t seem possible, somehow.

And now, filled with chicken soup, olive bread and a mint choc-ice, it’s off for an afternoon siesta behind closed blinds.  It’s fiercely sunny out there.

Tuesday June 22, 2010

I hate to have to say it but the emergency budget seems to be balanced. I’m happy to see that pension increases are to be properly increased after all this time.  It’ll not make me love the Tories any more, but it’ll not add to my dislike and distrust of them.  Of course, it’s only an interim budget.  The real one will come in November, giving them plenty of time to cook up an evil brew.

Hey ho.

Graham’s spent his day constructing some very neat boxing for the new plumbing in the downstairs cloakroom.

Another lovely sunny day.  Meat balls and spaghetti for dinner.  Second glass of wine settling in nicely.

Hospital appointment with a cardiac consultant tomorrow.  It’s good to have a bit of dread in one’s life.