Bignjuicy

Those lovely people at the Van Gogh Museum have kindly published a set of behind the scenes photos of their restoration work on Mr Vincent’s The Bedroom. This is one of my favourite paintings and I first saw it nearly thirty years ago and have been back several times since. The first version of The Bedroom was painted, like the others in Arles in 1888. Vincent got all excited by the impending arrival of Paul Gaugin and was, I understand, working hard to finish the canvass before Gaugin arrived. In a letter to Theo Van Gogh, Vincent beautifully describes the painting:

“This time it’s simply my bedroom, but the colour has to do the job here, and through its being simplified by giving a grander style to things, to be suggestive here of rest or of sleep in general. In short, looking at the painting should rest the mind, or rather, the imagination
The walls are of a pale violet. The floor — is of red tiles.
The bedstead and the chairs are fresh butter yellow.
The sheet and the pillows very bright lemon green.
The bedspread scarlet red.
The window green.
The dressing table orange, the basin blue.
The doors lilac.
And that’s all — nothing in this bedroom, with its shutters closed.

The term is now much overused but ‘iconic’ this painting was for Vincent and for the viewer it perhaps evokes the comfort and simple enjoyment we get from our most private space, our bedroom. A place of solace and escape where we are surrounded by things we love and can spend time away from the world to become refreshed and renewed.

He made three versions of the painting. The first (pictured above) is now being restored at its home in Amsterdam. The second version now lives at the Art Institute of Chicago. It is larger than the other two and I saw this about ten years ago. The third, which now lives at the Musee d’Orsay, I first saw when it lived at the old Jeu de Paume gallery one sultry August day when, in the searing heat of that naturally ventilated Salon, it was easy to experience the climatic conditions in which the canvass was painted.  How astonished would Vincent be to know where his three ‘Bedrooms’ have ended up. How lucky am I to have seen all three and love them still. What I wouldn’t give to have a push of that trolley.

Note to self
Do not keep six week old 90% empty bottles of wine in the fridge. More importantly, do not keep freshly opened bottles alongside them.

Note to self
“The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.”
Stephen Covey

Finally, a use for the most redundant feature in most cars; the cigarette lighter. How many of them are actually now used to light actual cigarettes? Like a bizarre hangover from a bygone, nicotine stained age, there are millions of these completely unused, expensively specified and manufactured mini-fag cookers riding around our highways. What could be more helpful than a handy plug-in convertor so that you can recharge your mobile phone or USB enabled sex toy whilst on the move? Remedial design at its superficial best; nearly, but not quite, as out-there as those stick on vinyl wheelie bin covers. Buy yours here.

“We are not here to enjoy the trappings of power, we are here to uphold the highest standards of public life.”
© T.Blair 1997

“I have tried to write a book* which describes the human as much as the political dimensions of life as prime minister,”
© T.Blair 2010

* Tony Blair: The Journey, will be published by Random House Group imprint Hutchinson, priced at £25 in September. Estimated sales 500,000+ . Blair is reputed to have received an advance of up to £5m.

No trappings there then Tone.

Kew bulb watch.

Since finally admitting to myself that I could no longer read 8 point print with the youthful ease formally taken for granted, I have begun to experience a phenomenon new to me. Every few days or so, bizarre concepts enter my brain after reading text without my reading glasses. Or rather, that should be misreading text without my reading glasses. I am embracing, what might otherwise be a sign of advancing decrepitude, as a source of potential creative inspiration. Unfortunately, thus far, none of these has turned out to be marketable; I remain hopeful of future riches founded on failure to see.
Recent presbyopisms
“The richness of egg, the sensuality of spices and musk” [Aftershave blurb - egg should be 'fig'].
“A curlew in Chile’s second city, Concepcion, is extended..” [Giant bird in Chile? - curlew = curfew]

The times they are a’changin.

Back in August I acquired a more detailed understanding of my neighbours’ effluence. There was a rather more disgusting element of that story which I did not document at the time. Namely the fact that the effluence of the neighbours had caused a Blockage. For some reason, as yet unknown to me, I decided that this was something that I would have to tackle alone, unaided by man, beast or Dynorod. After what turned out to be four of the worst hours of my life – I kid you not. I had removed around 25lbs of what appeared to be the remnants of a giant disposable nappy from the main sewer serving my East Wing. I later, in conversation with Bignjuicy Borough Council’s King of Drains, learned that this material is highly likely to have been compacted nappy liners. Apparently these things are the single biggest cause of blocked drains known to mankind. Now who, we might wonder, would put half a ton of nappy liners down the drain? Certainly not I or Mrs D or Junior D or Hamster D – no I am reasonably certain (ie 100 bleedin percent) that it is da Neighbours – who just  happen to have a big bouncing ever-screaming baby. Yes, the fact that in all my years of living here I have never ever had any problems of the sewage kind and yet, within 6 months of Mr and Mrs Nappy Liner moving in next door we have our own cess pit where there didn’t oughta be one – convinces me that it was Their Bleedin Fault. You might be wondering why I’ve chosen 28th February to write this one up. You might be thinking I’m clearing a backlog (that would be kind of appropriate I grant ye). Well, the reason is that this morning one of my Facilities of the Flushing Kind has started to behave a little unusually. The same kind of unusualness that the preceded August’s little Gangesfest. I am preparing for the worst. I have drafted a letter to their landlord; I have taken legal advice, I have consulted again the King of Drains. This time the Forces of Hell (© Alistair Darling) will be unleashed. This time the s**t really will hit the fan. After it has been removed from where it is currently languishing of course.

Then why not not serve them! Yes, why not replace most of  your staff with poorly designed machines that don’t work properly. Reduce the size of your branches so that your victims customers have to queue cheek by jowl to use your crappy machines. Install two badly paid, badly dressed assistants to hover around the victims customers as they battle against the electric emporium, making them feel like they’re incompetent for taking too much time. Why not design your machines so that they reject any deposit which does not consist of mint condition bank notes or perfectly aligned cheques with paying-in slips. When the machine fails for the tenth time to accept the tenner with a minute crease in the left hand corner curtly, send your victim upstairs to another queue so they can pay in the defective money to a human been. When they reach the front of that queue, throw a form at them to be filled in and tell them to step aside whilst they ’serve’ another victim. Make your victims feel about as welcome as a flatulent episode in a tight space suit. On no account actually serve them.
HSBC – First Direct’s weakest link.

A load of old *****
Can you imagine walking into a pharmacy and asking for this? Or placing it on the conveyor belt at the supermarket. Some products should never be made or,.  at most, should only spoken about in Circles. Certainly not plastered all over the interweb.