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Thursday, 12 June 2014

In which One requires 2 quarts of camomile lotion…



One has been industrious in the extreme this week, Dear Reader.

In fact, so intense was the concentration that One failed to notice the sun beating down upon One whilst One sat, painting up a frenzy, wearing only One’s polka-dot baby dolls.

One has just awoken smarting rather badly all across One’s ample bosom and chubby shoulders.  In fact in the moonlight, One resembles a rather attractive Gloucester Old Spot that’s been left in the field for too long on a summer’s day.

Any road up, One feels smug regarding One’s work output and shall therefore spend today smoothing vast quantities of Almond Oil all over One’s scorched terrain.


One was presented with a dilemma in the form of being required to actually make a decision…

And the quandary was thus…

1. A bite to eat and visit the gallery for drinkies and more nibbles!

2. A bite to eat followed by a quiet drink in a pub and perhaps more nibbles!

3. A bite to eat, followed by … (One can’t recall the rest)

Anyway, whatever it was, One went for option three (and for once One won’t be changing One’s mind, Dear Reader.)


Please Note:  All you boring little drones out there going about your business on Friday 13th at 10.00am that One will be interviewing the Wood Nymph on 10 Radio  (and One is under pain of death not to mention his Lordship)  Who, incidentally smoked a fag whilst sitting in one of One’s garden chairs!  (There’s a blue plaque on it)

10Radio transmits on 105.3FM from a hill-top near our Studios in the small Somerset town of Wiveliscombe.

or online

1 comment:

Michael said...

As an unwashed, uncouth, ignorant and simple member of the public, I would just like to say: I like your work. It amazes me how evocative it is of reality while not being heavily naturalistic (?) in any way. I want to say that it reminds me of children's books of the 60s; I hope you don't find that insulting.

They're like memories: they seem to convey only the light things of a place; like the fondness you have for a village you visited on vacation. You forget the rude man outside the cafe but remember the enchanting way the light spilled over the town in the afternoon.