It appears that it is Wednesday, meaning it is time for me to post something. Unfortunately I have been very, very, very, very busy. This is what I have to show for my busy-ness…. I have been working on this for the past month….
I know, stunning… one of my best pieces… WHERE DOES THE TIME GO?????
I asked one of my lovely Flourish Forum friends, and she sent me this:-
Erm… yes, this does all feel rather familiar…. So from this day onwards I am going to start writing lists and ticking things off, I feel that this is the only cure… so… I am away… to write a list… at the top of the list it will say: Write a post for next Wednesday…
Ihave a minor confession to declare…. there were actually two pictures tampered with in the previous post *looks sheepish*. I was so entranced by the sea photos that I forgot that I’d played with the contrast on the signpost pic. Silly me. The photograph with enhanced colour was… drum roll… More Waves. So, in the interests of fairness the winners are:-
There is only one thing to do when the weather is foul and that’s to pack your bags and go to where it’s sunny and warm….
Yes, I have been away. I am back now in rainy North Devon. Even when the weather forecast is poor for Cornwall it never seems to materialise and it’s always glorious… I have tampered with the colour in only one of these pictures. Anyhow, it is competition time!!!!! Your mission, should you choose to accept, is to pick out the photo that I’ve enhanced. The prize is a calligraphed envelope with your address and some Wonky Words of your very own to keep…. what could be more lovely??? Other than a cream tea and a Cornish Pasty. Meanwhile, please bear with me whilst I upload 322 more photographs of the Atlantic Ocean.
The evenings of my youth smelt of Jazz aftershave and tasted of Jack Daniels poured over chinkles of ice. Nothing much mattered except good lipstick, mascara, big hair and reciprocated urges. Thursdays officially marked the beginning of the weekend, when my friend Gina and I would see if we could club solidly for three nights in a row. I always think of Gina as my sophisticated side-kick – she really could suck the crème from an egg without smearing her lipstick. She always looked stunning in Miss Selfridge black lycra mini dresses and six-inch stilettos, whereas I preferred tight belted baggy trousers from Top Shop and ballerina pumps; she liked to pose, and I liked to dance. We were a good team, she could immediately attract and I would do the chatting. We never used to eat before going out, perhaps we’d share extra strong mints and a squirt of Goldspot spray in the back of the cab before we arrived at the club, but we’d usually be too hyped to eat food.
Anyhow, one night Gina had been force-fed a curry before coming out and she said that her stomach felt a bit grumbly but reckoned she’d feel better after a drink… so she drank… half a bottle of Piper Heidsieck Champagne, four glasses of house white, and two Crème de menthes [looks like washing up liquid, but pretty with a pink cocktail umbrella]. We left the club at about 2am and there were no cabs left, but I never minded walking home, I liked to burn off the buzz. Half way home and Gina began to complain that she needed the loo really badly. She was desperate. Busting. So although it meant taking a short-cut through a really dodgy estate, I said we could probably use the loos on the platform at the railway station. By the time we got there I also wanted to go, and being faster on foot than she, I dashed into the only working cubicle. Big mistake. When I came out something terrible had happened. On platform 2 of the railway station there was a perfectly round cow-pat. Still steaming. Very odd because we were in town. And Gina must have been knocked over by the cow because she was crouching on the floor staggering to get up….
Oh happy days. No CCTV back then. Only the station manager to contend with.
Iwas asleep at my desk, my head cushioned by my keyboard, when Harold flounced into my light and airy studio snapping a pair of castanets for no good reason other than he believed he was a flamenco dancer.
‘Why you do this, Madam Scarlet? Why you let stupid girl abuse pens? Is not right.’
I lifted my head from the keyboard leaving a thread of spittle connecting the s and the k.
‘Oh Harold, I’m tired of all this nonsense, you are a plumber from Southend-on-Sea; wearing a frilly crimplene blouson and a tight pair of lycra bell bottoms is not going to make you anything other.’
Harold snapped his castanets and pouted.
‘So, what’s the problem? What’s Charmaine done now?’
‘She is writing the modern calligraphy, she make letters look like spider ‘aving epileptic fit on paper. I come ‘ere with belief that Madam Scarlet teach traditional calligraphy.’
I glared at Harold. My head felt fuzzy.
‘Are you doing a French or Spanish accent today?’ I asked, wishing he’d just talk like a plumber.
‘You are mad woman. On first day ‘ere you say we must learn proper letter form and now you let stupid girl do what she like. What will ‘appen to the wonderful craft of calligraphy if no-one learn it proper? It will die out and no-one will know ‘ow to use pen; we will ‘ave nothing left of our calligraphy heritage other than childish scribble.’
Harold was looking puffed up and red in the face, so I glared at Harold some more, but with added swagger.
‘So what?’ I said, controversially, with a dash of evil in my eye.
As expected, my reply was like a red flag to a bull. Harold exploded in a Fandango, there was much fancy footwork, an enviable castanet technique featuring numerous redoble rolls, and an eye-watering misplacement of a maraca, which was unpredictable and belonged to an entirely different culture.
After reassembling the wooden floor, I dismissed Harold, dabbed the spittle from my keyboard, and pondered my latest calligraphy request – I had been asked to recreate an ancient village document with Gothic lettering and gold illumination. I smiled to myself, silly Harold, as if the wonderful craft of calligraphy would ever die out!! To be fair this request was probably beyond my remit, but thankfully I knew plenty of calligraphers [this highly talented one in particular] who would rise to the challenge. Horses for courses as they say.
I pushed my laptop to the side of my desk, it was time to get on with some occasional calligraphy of my own….
Well, we all knew it was going to happen, it is Wednesday – my regular posting day – and I have nothing to say…. blah, blah, blah. Can’t be bothered to take pictures of calligraphy… can’t be bothered to do the uploading pictures thing, so I am just sitting here caressing the keyboard in an indiscriminate manner, which is nice.
On Sunday I did some light gardening, and found a live electricity cable only two inches beneath the lawn, I also found a well by the backdoor. I think it’s a groundwater well, it seems to be about 13ft deep, which might come in handy if I ever have anything large to hide.
Other significant news….
I am letting my hair go grey. This is not technically correct, what I mean is that I have not had my hair coloured since late February, and I am still having regular cuts, so at the sides my hair looks like grey pencil shading whilst the top is still colourful-ish. I look like some old rag-tailed ginger mog, but it seems to suit…?! And I can’t say I’ve missed sitting in the salon with foils all over my bonce, reading Hello! magazine. I am not sure how far I will go with this, but feel that if I don’t like it, it will be easy to dye blonde. I am not brave enough to show you pictures. It feels mildly rebellious to go grey. I have been studying women of my age and pondering whether the grey ones really do look any older than the ones that still colour. Sometimes hair colour can look very harsh, unflattering, and ageing. I like the idea of having grey hair and red lipstick, but I’m not sure if I’m sophisticated enough to pull off this look.
And this is why I usually plot and plan my posts, the world is going to hell in a handbag, and I am musing over the colour of my hair. I have deleted the paragraph about nail varnish, I will save it for another time. It feels strange to post without a photograph, so I have added one. Thank goodness for the photoshop app on my iPad – so much cheaper than botox!! And yes one of my ears is higher than the other, hence my glasses are always wonky, and yes I do have a lazy eye, and yes I am going boss eyed…
'Nobody is interested in broad edge calligraphy, Aunt Scarlet’, said Charmaine with a whine in her voice.
She had somehow escaped from the attic and was slumped in the doorway of my light and airy studio.
‘What do you mean, you silly girl, why do you come out with such piffle?’ I said as I balanced precariously on a sixteen foot ladder trying to dust my chandelier.
I glanced down at her. The girl had gone an unattractive shade of puce, and I made a mental note to take her out in the afternoon for some fresh air and a brisk trot around the paddock.
‘I’ve been looking at your blog stats, only 0.256 people read your recent post about the dimple nib reservoir on the Mitchell nib. Nobody cares, Aunt Scarlet, your arse is way more popular than stupid broad edge stuff.’
I smiled to myself, my rear end had always been popular with my readers, but I knew where Charmaine was going with this conversation, it was obvious to me that she was desperate to get her mitts on my pointed nibs. I intended to stand firm and resolute, I wanted her to have a good grounding with broad edged calligraphy before she progressed further, after all she was my protégé; I had hopes of her becoming the calligrapher I never could be; there was nothing she could say to temper my resolve.
‘It’s no good, Aunt Scarlet, if you want this blog of yours to be popular then you’re gonna have to get your tits out next week.’
I felt the ladder sway and wobble as I let her words sink in. The girl probably had a point, but it was not the one I had been thinking of.