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Tuesday, 28 September 2010

In which VSB huffs of in his silly car...

Have been complicit in the removal of vile Saturday 'Boy'. A retired teacher, need I say more, darling reader. He annoyed Lovely One to the point of making me spill my masking fluid all over one of me masterpieces. He just kept on poking his oversized hooked beak into my delicate workings with interesting remarks like,
'If you stuck the paper down properly it wouldn't cockle. You do know what cockle means don't you?'
'I never use masking fluid. I use copydex. Cheaper and just as effective. Would you like me to show you how to use it?'
Then we fell into a conversation regarding another of the artists in the gallery. The sophisticated and glamorous JV.
'She's improved a bit', says VSB
'Oh, I really like her stuff', says me 'fabulous perspective'.
'Linear or Ariel', counters the smartarse VSB
'Flippin 'eck' I countered, 'people come in and say things like, 'Oh I love that. It would go lovely with our wallpaper Dave.'
That is how most people buy pictures, not with an eye on the bloody perspective. They buy things that compliment their surroundings. I used to get all uppity about that, wanting them to take account of the artistic merit of stuff, but frankly Darlings, if they hand over the moolah, I couldn't give a kipper's dick why!
He went on...
'I see I can't have a conversation about art with you.'
I gave him a hard stare and wobbled off for a chocolate cake pie.
Then he committed an unforgivable sin...
He badmouthed Dear Little S!
I simply cannot sanction anyone saying anything horrid about my little S.
VSB went off in a hissy fit following a list of instructions left for him by S. I was in favour of copydexing his cockle.

Wednesday, 15 September 2010

In which I make two important discoveries...

I had a lovely b/day, and thank you for asking, darling readers!
I spent the greater part of it working in the Elburton gallery with dear little S, who is referred to as 'My Boyfriend', by Bloke. Poor S shrieked with horror at the suggestion. No need to be quite so rude!!
I had intended to work from home but I am far too easily distracted by a magical device knitted into me telly that lets you watch things you've missed. I got up at 5.45am with a view to finishing the set of Christmas Cards that I've been painting all week. I was galvanised into action to produce said cards when She Who Must Be Obeyed, (Gallery Owner) uttered the terrifying phrase,
'I wonder if I should get another artist to design the Christmas Card?'
So now, everyone knows the way to motivate Lovely One is to issue threats!
Anyhow, by 10.15am I was still sitting glued to re-runs of 'Come Dine With Me', with dripping wet hair, still in me jim jams and with wet nail polish.
There was nothing for it but to hop in the porsche and hole up at the gallery, where there's nothing to do but work and bitch about the Saturday Boy. More about that ghastly individual another time...
I produced what can only be described as several masterpieces and made two v important discoveries...
I scoff at Captain Cook and Snott of the Antarticals, Lovely One has discovered the Nelson Slice.
Dear little S and moi oft nip out the back for a coffee and a cake and I espied the aforementioned slice in the bakers. I tell you dear readers, the personage who thought it a good idea to sandwich a chocolate cake in between two bits of pastry/shortbread type stuff should be knighted forthwith! Never mind world peace and all that bore snore old bollocks - let's hear it for the Nelson Slice inventor. He or she, which is more likely, gets my vote every time! A chocolate cake pie. You can't get better than that!
The other discovery was: One simply cannot live a glamorous life on the edge in a two bedroomed bungalow.
Bloke was positively salivating at the thought of himself and Lovely One encsconced in said bungalow. We sashayed forth to investigate and were met by a lively octagenarian in a flouncy summer frock who proceeded to guide us round in the manner of Phil and Crusty, waxing lyrical about the blown vinyl wall covering and the patterned carpets. The kitchen reminded me of my previous mother in law, which is not good. I'm just not ready to be old. And bungalows scream old to Lovely One. Anyway we progressed to the garden which overlooked a sort of Serengetti wilderness.
Next door I could just make out a barely alive biddy propped against the window having a peer at us. Spotting her, our host said,
'Everyone keeps themselves to themselves round here. It's very quiet.'
VERY QUIET peruses Lovely One. I want the neighbours popping in for Vodka and fags regularly!
And then, darlings, the veritable peace was shattered when our octagenarian guide let out an enormous fart! Rather than apologise or even ignore it she flapped her flouncy skirt about in the manner of a flamenco dancer.
Bloke, ever the gentleman, said'
'Ave that one on me Missus.'
I turned tail and fled muttering something about a one way ticket to Bogota.

Monday, 13 September 2010

In which I encounter a ninety year old streaker...

Well, Bonjour dear readers. It's my birthday. I am officially nearing the end of my fabulous good looks. I look as if I've got me face on inside out this morning. To be fair to Lovely me, I am feeling a bit under the doctor today due to the nightmarish day out 'enjoyed' by moi and Bloke yesterday...
Because my idea of a good day out is visiting galleries and buying back catalogues to nick ideas from, followed by buying shoes and handbags, then scaling the north face of cliffs in order to get photos of interesting things to paint, I added into the day a little treat for Bloke. I had 'done' this particular touristy thing afore with Vile Husband and Boy, many long and waned moons ago and imagined that Bloke may enjoy the trip. So, off we meandered in the Hummer to Seaton to avail ourselves of the tram.
'See Seaton and die' is the welcoming greeting on the sign as one enters the town. Well, if it's not, it should be! The ghostly silence is occasionally punctuated by the dull thud of an octagenarian dropping dead on the pavement. Coupled with that, it would appear that yesterday was official 'Special Needs Day Out' day. There were enough mobility devices in a 360 degree vista to knock a large hole in the social security budget of the most affluent of Governments. And, let me tell you, the shopping bag is alive and well and holidaying in Seaton. I have no doubt that it contained pilchard sandwiches on white, a packet of cheese and onion and a fondant fancy, since most of the little rotund darlings appeared to be suffering from Prada Willi syndrome. Google it - it isn't a designer Dick!
Anyhow, I digress, as usual...
We parked in the most enormous car park I have ever seen, which was one of many in the little seaside town, none of which were even halfway full. 'Quelle surprise!' I hear you squeal. Such a divine setting and no visitors!
After being fleeced of the best part of twenty quid we joined a rag tag queue of po faced tramsters and stood for twenty minutes in Hurricaine Herbert force gales and that West Country rain that soaks one through in a mist of sea spit.
Being hardy types, well Bloke is, we sat on the uncovered top deck. We hurtled along through bog lands heaving under the weight of one or two scraggy looking birds and were entertained by a police helicopter, three vans, a car and several fourteen year old officers, shouting into radio devices, since one of the local elderly gentlemen had thought it a good idea to wade out into the bog and stand there starkers for the entertainment of all and sundry.
One of the Special Needs old ladies had a stroke - the others couldn't reach.

Thursday, 2 September 2010

In which I find a willing mechanic to do my bidding...

Well darlings, disaster seemingly averted today...
Yesterday I was utterly quivering with fear . Me Chloe tea dress was flapping about like a butterfly in a tumble drier. The Bugatti started making a horrendous banging noise as I was driving to the gallery. The cavalry arrived in the shape of gallery owner's cast-off husband and the little dear followed me to the garage and delivered me back to my easel before you could say 'Lenkeiwicz's are overpriced'.
Stupid garage men huffed about all day just mending one ridiculous headlight and informed me that said banging noise could only be dealt with by a 'main dealer' whatever the hell that is. Any road up - on my way to collect fusion cuisine for supper (fish and chips with curry sauce) the annoying banging appeared to have ceased. Oh joy methinks, having to return AP to Lutonistan after work on Saturday. I simply cannot comprehend another day of her 'holiday' with me and Bloke, who incidentally are barely exchanging a civil word due to the stress of our house guest being omnipresent.
Local garage man took pity on Lovely One when banging returned today and fixed car for free. What a darling grubby mechanic!
Now I can spend a delightful day in the Barbican gallery tomorrow and yet another in the Elburton one on Saturday before driving for six bleedin' hours to return the extremely high maintenance OAP that is Mama to Lovely One, to her homestead.
I shall then put all my efforts into cosseting Bloke who is smarting from the unwanted spiteful attentions of Mrs Bloke number two. Even Vile Husband and Lovely One managed to part company in a more civilised way than that thin haired, overbiting jawed harridan intends to conduct proceedings. Poor darling Bloke isn't the first husband she's tried to destroy and no doubt won't be the last. I really do hope she gets hers...