A very good mix

Friday June 10, 2005

The weather, exactly as forecast, cooled today, requiring a jacket as well as a t-shirt, and a hastier pace against a chilly wind than the leisurely sun-filled stroll that’s been my way for the past few days.

To Boston, for the post office and PC World, and to the DIY store and Tesco’s for bedding plants and provisions. I looked at the fuel gauge on the little blue Ford as we left, decided that there was enough there for another trip, and passed the filling station on our way home over the country roads. Fuel is horrendously expensive now, getting closer and closer to a pound a litre, and I tend to keep the interval between fillings as long as possible.

There’s a satisfying routine to all of this, even to the almost statutory traffic jam on the way out of the town. I can’t for the life of me see how they’re going to manage to route it but Boston will be much improved when the planned by-pass is created.

Slightly ahead of our once a month schedule we popped into MacDonald’s (or McDonald’s, I can never remember if ought to be an ‘a’ in the ‘Mc’) for lunch. Bad. I know that. However, we compensated to an extent by having a smoked salmon fish pie for dinner.

And, other than that, my morning writing session—which included making a new poem that got revised from time to time throughout the rest of the day until it was finished—and a little painting, I can’t honestly say that the day produced anything much of interest at all. That’s the trouble with waiting, I suppose. You tend to avoid interesting when you’re waiting.

 

A murder of crows
 
Along the road to Spilsby,
not far as the crows fly,
there was a murder, not of
crows but of a woman.
 
A police gathering happened,
passing motorists gawked,
and for three seconds
TV news recorded the event.
 
Forensics took place,
a man was arrested,
the tapes were removed.
All that is left are the crows.
 
 
John Bailey
Lincolnshire, June 2005

 

I put the fridge magnet from yesterday up on eBay, against my better judgement, but Graham insisted. I still haven’t got the pen problem sorted. I need a fine nib, flexible and with enough drag and bite to make for some character. If I were working on a larger scale I’d use a wooden lolly stick, sharpened appropriately, and dipped into Indian Ink. I love the accidental effects to be obtained that way. I can’t quite see how to achieve the same thing with miniatures. I experimented with an old, splayed fibre tip pen on paper, to the miniature scale, without success. Can’t experiment directly on the fridge magnet blanks—they don’t take too kindly to being scrubbed clean and re-worked. I shall find a way to make satisfactory ink marks on this tiny scale, though, see if I don’t.

Somewhere I have a sketchbook filled with little boat pictures from my last trip to the Norfolk Broads, along with several rolls of film, and I really must put my finding cap on and work out where I’ve stored them. There’s been far too much tidying up around here. No great matter. I have only to close my eyes, think Coot Club, and there are boats a’plenty, sailing eternal rivers in my head. Can’t vouch for the accuracy of those scenes, though, and it’d be good to reinforce my memory.

All in all, it may be a time filled with waiting, and avoiding the interesting, but I find it difficult to complain. I’m enjoying myself immensely just now, and finding a little gentle creativity mixed with periods of quiet sitting and thinking makes for a good mix, day on day. A very good mix indeed.

 


Stickford, Jun,'10
Safe moorings
Watercolour and pen on fridge magnet blank


 

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