The Grand Tour Began like this...

So. It all began with another meeting at the Anonymous Patron's Club, The Stag on the Moor.
Again I found the gentleman seated, cloaked in impenetrable shadows, apart from his elegantly clad feet. These were elongated in exotic slippers of bright yellow satin and were quite distracting.
Until he spoke.
His deep voice drew my attention up towards his shadowy visage.

'I believe you should take The Grand Tour' he said

'Ah' I replied.
The Grand Tour. I imagined myself in Vienna, in Rome, Florence, in Paris. I grew quite dizzy.

'However' he said 'I think you should begin in Greece'

I saw myself crowned with olive branches upon a pebbled shore, dancing, Byronic.
I nodded.

'And you will need a Bear-Leader' he said.
I must have looked flummoxed

'A tutor, a chaperon, some one to guide and guard you' he said

'Do I really need...I mean after all' I said

'No I insist. It must be so. You will find a suitable Bear-Leader within three days. It is mandatory.' I blinked.

'You may go' said he.

Fumbling, nodding, clearing my throat I was shown to the exit.

Poseidon, Hieronymous and Norma Jean

Where have I been? Where have I been?

Well may you ask and indeed my silence has been long and profound.

Dear Friends, too much time has passed for a cursory reckoning of my doings.
Let me begin with the most notable news.

Having performed the office of Best Man to Xavier and his lovely bride Ariadne, I now find myself in an even more serious role. That of God Parent! Yes it's true, I am God Father to a delightful small fellow they have named Poseidon (of course).

This personage is small of stature, boomingly loud and large of appetite, he fills our vision from horizon to horizon's edge and beyond, we are all his subjects and he is our small Imperial Majesty and we adore him.


During his gestation I was out of the country on an adventure which was, in part, the reason for my long silence.

I have been in spheres Celestial and only heard of Xavier's impending fatherhood mere days before Poseidon appeared.

It all began with the Anonymous Patron sending me on another art junket. What was to have been a short story, became however, an epic tale and one which I shall divulge in due course.

Of note too in my absence, that crow, that partridge, that porcupine Hugo (Seneschal to the Anonymous Patron) has begun to romance Norma Jean with, of all things buttons, leaving little packets of them on her doorstep with fragranced notes of his appalling poetry, and she seems to like it! Still Hieronymous (her Axolotyl companion) and I are back now. But this brings me to the beginning of my travels, and why Hieronymous was with me and where we went...

Wedding Part 1

The Wedding, The Wedding, The Wedding.
As a little aperitif I submit Ariadne's triumphant procession to the altar. Xavier appears and then so do I (they are both a little put out by my appearance)

The Aura, The Axolotyl and the Astroscan

Well as I described, Norma Jean and I had been busying ourselves with Ariadne's dress. Samples were sewn, drawings were coloured, maquettes were constructed and tinsel liberally applied. Finally Ariadne was summoned for a fitting. We did try so hard to fulfill her declaration that her dress should forever stretch the boundary between the idea of a dress and the great beyond.
Sadly however she was crushingly, devastatingly, vocally, (shall I say hysterically? Yes I shall) hysterically disappointed. She wailed, she threw fabric samples across the room, she flourished her hankie and thoroughly upset poor Hieronymous, and I will admit rather discomposed us too.
So after she was pacified with tea and another goodie from Marguerite Patten, Ginger Prune Crunch (which Norma Jean remarked later might also help dislodge any unwelcome 'humours'), she went home and we were left dispirited.
All our labours and inspiration for naught. How could our collective creative sensibilities have gone so astray? Norma Jean said perhaps we should not have asked Hieronymous to choose the colours, but I said no, he was an excellent judge of hue. The fault must lie with our interpretation of her Idea. (I actually believe that having eschewed a traditional dress Ariadne now regrets this hasty rebellion and wishes to be 'beautiful'.)
So downcast were we, we could not face a new beginning (even despite the enlivening effects of the Ginger Prune Crunch). Norma Jean, ever resourceful being that she is, declared,
“Found dear man we must have some distraction” and produced a leaflet entitled 'Mind Body Spirit Festival Guide'.
So to this munificent gathering of all things eccentric, earnest and eternally hopeful we ventured. Hieronymous showed signs of great animation in his small 'carry tank' (made for Norma Jean by Hugo it resembles a little pink handbag with glass sides front and back.)
The aisles were crowded and the stalls closely packed. The haunting melody of pan pipes could be heard from a distant stage and the queue for Psychic Readings was disconcertingly long. Norma Jean pulled me past it saying
“We have Marguerite Patten and Constance Spry and we need no others.”
Norma Jean found a stall with gloriously chromatic clothes and was quite charmed by the proprietress who greeted her with the welcome words
“In my range you are a size small” which are not words I gather she hears often.
As she basked in this phenomenon I wandered past a stall selling majestic chunks of crystal and glittering racks of gemstone necklaces. I gravitated into Aura Photography. The price was high, too high for me really, but the temptation to view my own halo was too great. I sat before the mystical camera and placed my hand on a metal plate. I swear I felt the tingle of otherworldly presences pass through my mortal flesh as I sat there. I was pleased to discover myself aglow with a greenish haze leading to yellow flashes and what appeared to be a purple firework fountaining from the top of my head. The vendor handed me the photo rather reverently and I swear the other patrons seemed put out.
“They just have Aura Envy” said Norma Jean loudly as she shuffled me out, now gloriously robed in fuchsia pink.
We sipped on Pomegranate juice and nibbled Buddah cakes. We were discoursed on Enlightenment and the Way. We were assessed by spiritual advisors and Reiki masters, we were dosed with wheatgrass and ritually purified with sage smoke (this last seemed to distress Hieronymous. “It's the karma don't you know” said Norma Jean cryptically.)
Finally we finished with full spectrum light therapy, which cheered us up no end (a yellow light was shone onto our upturned faces and we felt like sunflowers). I was sorely tempted by the flashing electro 1970's inspired panel that was the Astroscan but the spruiker scared Hieronymous by tapping on his carry tank and declaring “This old boy needs a scan” and blowing a puff of cigar smoke at his glass. We decided it was time to go.
So we went back to Norma Jean's, only to find Ariadne waiting on the doorstep, flowers in hand and full of chagrin.
"I was wrong, so wrong my dear friends" she said, whereupon Norma Jean enveloped her in a fuchsia pink embrace and said "Now now dear heart, let's us go in and make you Beautiful". And so we did, as you shall see when I report on the wedding.

An Axolotyl's Dream

The Anonymous Patron has summoned me to his lair at the Gentleman's Club 'Stag on the Moor'. I must admit a certain degree of trepidation. I have not as yet furnished him with a proposal for another film, though I do have a vision.
All thoughts of film making must stand aside for the spectacle, the undertaking, the broo ha ha that is the wedding of my friend Xavier to his bride Ariadne. I am to be Xavier's best man, I am proud to say, and am also assisting Ariadne in her quest for the perfect costume statement. Well her recent comment will give some idea what this latter task involves,
“Found dear friend, this is not merely a dress, or rather, the notion of 'dress' is to be pushed into territory so new and exciting as to stretch the parameters of that word to their limits, where 'dress' dissolves into something else and offers the viewer a farther vista, a new Universe forever changed. For it is not just a dress, it is a moment, a gift, an offering to my sweet Xavier of all that he is and is to me...”
Well, the farther vista, the vast Universe, the archetypal statement are our themes and Ariadne is our canvas. Norma Jean and I have been spending some time together armed with pin cushions and sturdy sewing scissors, pattern making paper and colour charts. We find ourselves wondering whether papier mache can be fashioned finely enough? Do we need an expert on beading? What are the mathematical equations that govern the flow of waterfalls? Where can one find inexpensive aquamarine sequins? How to transpose the exact dimensions of Philip Astley's famous Circus, whether the original 62 foot or the later 42 foot?
Through it all Hieronymous is our faithful watch Axolotyl. He seems preternaturally engaged in the whole procedure, watching us from his tank as we work at Norma Jean's friendly kitchen table. When I remarked as much Norma Jean replied,
“Oh yes, Hieronymous reincarnated from the 18th Century and was in fact a milliner, so he takes quite an interest in my sewing” whereupon I replied that he was rather fortunate to be living with a person whose interests so mirrored his own.
“Indeed” said Norma Jean “although you know these things are rarely accidental”
Later as I prepared myself for sleep in my rooms, I found myself pondering whether life as an Axolotyl in Norma Jean's kitchen represented a karmic back or forward step and decided she is such a dear woman it could only be the latter.

A Dress for the Bride

You may recall before my sojourn in the bush, Xavier had given Ariadne an extraordinary ring for their betrothal. It seems my disappearance had a dampening effect on Xavier (who experience teaches us is a mercurial fellow). Now that I have returned his spirits are again buoyant. He says the merfolk of his watery psyche have lifted him from the ocean deeps, where his only companions were eyeless phosphorescent eels, back to balmy shallows teeming with coral and Picasso fish. He and Ariadne are feverishly planning their wedding. On my suggestion Ariadne has turned to Norma Jean for haute couture.
Together we made our way to Norma Jean's place, where she fed us tea with blueberry scones and whipped cream. Magazines were flipped through and red carpet dresses were examined from gala do's the world over. Now Ariadne is such a slender reed of a girl, one could justifiably call her 'stick thin', that a lovely elegant sweep of silk seemed to be gaining favour. Ariadne was positive at first but as page after page was turned her mood changed. She lapsed into quiet contemplation, the pictures strewn across the table before her.
Norma-Jean busied herself with the oven and I watched her pet Axolotyl, Hieronymous, eating a little piece of raw fish (he loves sushi Norma Jean tells me). We intended to give Ariadne a moment to collect herself. Suddenly she swept all the magazines onto the floor and declared
"This is NOT for me". With the intensity of her small frame and the quivering form of her Jack Russell Matilda by her side she commanded our attention.
“ My friends” she declared “I am not such a one as these” she indicated celebrity flesh, “nor these” with a sweep of her hand towards the bridal magazines. “I have an idea...” and grabbing pencil and paper she sketched for us a vision so astonishing we were left speechless. Even Hieronymous seemed surprised.
After another pot of tea conversation resumed and the practical particulars were broached.
Xavier is not happy at being excluded from the surprise but as he plans something no doubt equally startling is keeping quiet about it under his Admiral's plume. I do hope he leaves his Trident at home on the wedding day. Which my friends, is planned for May the 13th.

New Elements

In keeping with my new found enthusiasm I have revived my collecting, or rather it has revivified within me. As you may notice there are two new elements to my page, these being Joker of the Day and Hotel/Motel of the Day. They are fairly self explanatory- I am collecting Jokers and postcards of hotels and motels. I would rather like to stay at the Skyline, it looks charming.

Home Comforts

It is so good to be home!!! I love my rooms (which I have reoccupied), I love the city, I love the autumn chilly air, I love strong coffee, I love goat's cheese souffle, I love the nightly screeching of the flying foxes as they feast on seasonal figs in the trees outside my windows, I love my friends, I love random radio wisdom and music.
My bearded Druid self, that wise and solitary being with a surprising affinity for trees, is reacquiring an urban patina and rediscovering the delights of the city.

I visited with Norma Jean yesterday. Of all my friends she remained strangely aloof when I returned. Thinking perhaps my unkempt state was offensive to her haute couture sensibilities I made an appointment with her. She, you may remember, is my hair replacement specialist, bespoke tailor and psychic advisor.
I arrived at her door with a small posy of forget-me-nots which finally made her smile and she ushered me into her kitchen, a place of home comforts, where we sat at the table and shared a pot of tea and a plate of delightful cakes. In reply to my compliment on their highly edible qualities she regained all her old animation and sprang to the sideboard from whence she retrieved a plastic box. This she set before me and declared
“My loyalties to Constance Spry are not shaken, dear friend, but I have found a most excellent extension to my mystical tool basket.”
This object I was then invited to examine and I found it to contain “Marguerite Patten's Recipe Cards”, a remarkable collection and she promised to give me a reading soon.
“But not today” she said, “today we must recivilize you”. Which is exactly what she did using various clippers, snippers and pluckers.

So I am feeling dapper again, I am putting on my winter fat thanks to cakes (as pictured above, Norma Jean claims I need fattening up after my bush diet) and Norma Jean has forgiven my disappearance, ah life is sweet again...

My Friends!

I have returned.

After so long an absence you may have thought I had dissolved into my component parts and taken the path from found to lost again. But no it is not so and the explanation is this. I have had amnesia!

In a nutshell, on my travels with Norma Jean and Xavier (undertaken as a road trip after Xmas you may remember), I went bush walking by myself in the very early hours of a glorious summer's day and was chased by a wild pig, between whom and her den of piglets I had inadvertently strayed.

This is where all becomes hazy and my miasma began. I gather I crashed blindly through the scrub, heart pounding, with the squeals and shrieking of the monstrous porcine beast at my heels until I flew headlong into a tree and was left senseless on the ground. This apparently was sufficient to satisfy the pig as I woke some time later, unmolested, but totally blank in every aspect as to who I was and where. Having in my panic strayed from the worn track, I was wandering through the bush for the entirety of that day, in a childlike but somewhat bewildered state.

Hunger and thirst soon became strong imperatives and luckily in the cool of the day I came upon a stream and was able to drink from it. Shadows stole across the waterway and the loneliness of my situation began to weigh heavily upon me as I sat upon a rock contemplating the water. That night the tinkle of the stream was my company as I nestled at the feet of a stand of Casurina Pines upon the bed of needles they had so generously provided. It was in this sad state that I awoke the next morning, conscious that I had lost...something...but truly not able to grasp it.
So began my sojourn in the bush, and a tale of remarkable survival they tell me it is too. I will carry forever in me the murmurings and rhythms of that patch of the earth and perhaps it is more home to me now than anywhere before or after. Between the struggle to survive and the growing intimacy with that place, memory, fleeting at first and more insistent later, returned to me, until one day I awoke, myself and aware again, most pressingly of the angst my sudden disappearance would have caused my friends.

And so I emerged from the bush onto the road, a rather startling sight perhaps as you can see, and was rescued by a kind family of Finnish tourists, who I think rather had the impression that this sort of thing happens all the time down under. Needless to say my reappearance caused something of a sensation and Xavier has been persuaded only with much effort on my part not to hunt down the pig and spear it with his Trident (which I report he is still very much attached to) And so I say again, Hello Friends! I am pictured here on my road trip, and after my time in the bush.

Hi Ho the Merry Oh.....

Ho Ho Ho Friends. Happy Festive Season to all.

As you can see I find myself surrounded by mellow light and festive cheer.

I have had to move out of my old lodgings. Just on the cusp of year's end I was informed I would have to vacate my rooms, albeit temporarily. You see my lodgings, whilst comfortable, come with the proviso that the owner, an acquaintance of a friend, may descend at short notice and demand my temporary removal. This somewhat unsatisfactory situation had not yet come to pass until two weeks previous to this very day.

So I have had to vacate, and take my things with me. Well anyone who knows me will know I am something of a collector and I have collected rather a lot of things! So my mad dilemma began. Where to store things until my erstwhile landlord allowed me to return?

Frantic packing of boxes ensued, mooning over bargains past as I went. Horror at a spider midden found behind a seemingly innocuous figurine collection. Piles of books I have been meaning to get to, fabrics trailing clouds of dust and cupboards excavated like ancient barrows. Xavier has let me store some things, as has Norma Jean.

The dark hours before dawn found me dusting and washing and sorting and cleaning. I left the place in reasonable state and carrying my little pack, found the gypsy in my nimble feet and the road unravelling before me.

I have enjoyed a quite sumptuous Christmas with stuffing sausages and turkey, glazed ham and pudding alight. I am staying at the lovely country home of a friend of my other great benefactor (apart from the Anonymous Patron), being The One Who Made Me, consequently the closest thing I have to a family. I was given two books on seamanship, which recent history tells us I clearly need.

Tomorrow I set out on a road trip with Xavier and Norma Jean. Ariadne is busy with the dogs. They put on a rather splendid New Year Show which we shall certainly be back for. Xavier offered to help but was told rather firmly that he is no longer welcome as a member of the troupe. Sadly it seems he cannot resolve jealousies with Ariadne's dogs and she has decided a clear division must be maintained. In truth he is rather relieved.

So a road trip. He and Norma Jean are driving down from town tomorrow and picking me up on the way through. I rather fancy doing a little panning for gold and drawing some artichokes...

Ariadne's Ring

Here a photo of Ariadne's hand complete with engagement ring. I am now informed by Xavier that it is still a prototype and that Rupert the ring designer has commissioned a Finnish sculptress named Ulpu to complete the final piece.

Meanwhile Ariadne continues to sport this top heavy object. She even maintains her dog training schedule. When I inquired as to the stylistic influences on the ring Xavier says he has moved from his Classical Antiquity phase to his Viking phase.

Yesterday we visited the end of year degree exhibition at the College of Fine Arts. Xavier insisted on sporting his Trident, claiming that of all people, the incumbents of said institution should understand. Personally I think said inhabitants just as likely as anyone to be put out when poked in the foot by a small person wielding an oversized pitchfork (as evidenced by the reaction of the Head of School who had the misfortune to share an elevator with us). Xavier added insult to injury by then treating the Head of School to a rather damning (and in my view undeserved) critique of the show, it's lack of vision and maritime themes. Suffice it to say our visit did not pass unnoticed.

The Anonymous Patron

I arrived at the appointed place (an old fashioned Gentleman's Club called 'Stag on the Moor' on the top floor of an old fashioned building in the centre of the city) at the appointed time, 11.45 am precisely.
A distinguished grey beard met me at the front door of the club. I must admit I was a little put out by the somewhat disparaging look he gave my coat. I could hardly explain that it was a couturier piece designed and sewed especially for me by Norma Jean.
He led me through a wood panelled hall, red velvet drapes and clouds of cigar smoke to a large and dimly lit sitting room. In one corner there were two Japanese men in well tailored suits sipping on large snifters of brandy. The room was otherwise empty. Or so I thought. I was led to a plush arm chair in the far corner of the room. As I settled myself my eye was caught by a distracting to and fro movement. I glanced at the seat opposite, which I had thought was unoccupied. But as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I realised that distracting motion came from the to and fro of one supremely elegantly shod foot. A brogue of dark tan leather. The rest of the figure was lost in utter darkness. Suddenly I saw that the room, far from being randomly gloomy, was in fact a masterpiece of ingenious lighting. For this one corner seat, from its rough shape I gathered, an armchair, was in total darkness.
A puff of heavy smoke issued from the darkness.
"Welcome my friend" in a rasping whisper.
I must admit, though I am usually quite socially able, this Dickensian presence was rather overwhelming.
"H..h..hello Sir" I managed.
I was in the presence of the Anonymous Patron. A rather uncomfortable silence ensued whilst he inspected me. I finally remembered my man bag and the small gift I had brought. I fumbled about and produced the little shell key ring souvenir I had brought him. I had thought it was quite charming when I bought it.
"For you Sir...A small token of my gratitude..."
"Yes yes. Quite unnecessary. Just put it on the table" he whispered
A little deflated (and I will admit, trembling slightly) I did so. The gaudy little object shone like neon against that antique glow.
"So" he said
I was startled as a waiter leaned down next to my ear "A drink Sir?"
"Oh, um yes I would like..."
"No no Reginald. My guest won't be staying" Amazing how forceful a raspy whisper can be.
"Of course Sir" replied the waiter, melting away.
"So. I have seen the video"
"Yes Sir" I replied
"It has some merit"
I was somewhat relieved until...
"BUT"
"Yes Sir?"
"Well. Production values, I don't need to tell you, were appalling. I could barely make out the figures in the background, which was a shame as I rather liked them when I realised they were references to Gauguin paintings. Also for the next piece it would be best to avoid singing."
"Yes Sir" I said, feeling rather crushed.
We sat in silence as I waited for him to go on.
"That is all. You may submit your next proposal to me through Hugo as before."
"Oh. Yes. I see."
"Goodbye" he said, issuing another puff of smoke in my direction.
Fumblingly I gathered myself up and extricated myself from the rather voluminous chair. My legs got a little tangled and I made a strange little half twist-stumble-bow before scurrying away. I could swear I heard a little chuckle as I was leaving but I dared not look back.
It wasn't until I reached the street that I realised he had offered to consider another proposal from me, and to feel a little happy about that, despite his somewhat stinging remarks. Xavier had kindly accompanied me and was waiting in our favourite down town book shop, which has a cafe attached. I ate a Ploughman's lunch, a malt milkshake, two pieces of carrot cake and had a cup of tea before I felt I could talk about my ordeal.
I was dismayed when Xavier laughed as I related the comment on my singing....he could have told me before!

Home Again, Home Again Jiggedy Jig

Ah the comforts of home. Well worn slippers, well worn paths to familiar cafes, book shops and parks, old friends. Xavier was most solicitous upon my return. He very kindly looked after Bruno, the Roly Poly Chime Ball, for me and said there was a flurry of jingling approximately at the moment of my travails at sea. Xavier credits my survival to his particular relationship with the Sea God and says I should be grateful that I am his friend and thus protected.
There has been little progress on the wedding planning but Ariadne is now sporting a most unwieldy object on her engagement finger and keeping a brave face about it. Rupert the ring designer and Xavier have concocted really a most extraordinary object for her and I am sure she will have to set it aside at some point but for now she is wearing it much of the time. She says she sees herself as a moving art work (a sentiment I am sympathetic to).
Hugo arrived at my front door yesterday with an elaborate invitation to take Tea with the Anonymous Patron tomorrow. I am a little trepidatious as I suppose he will critique my video piece. We shall see.

Gauguin's Storm

The storm swept towards me and even in my dismay I was transfixed by the watercolour wash of golden light behind sheeting rain, bruised thunderheads and open ocean. But soon the horizon was lost to me and all about were heaving mounds of water and it grew very cold very quickly. The rain reached me and I wrapped myself in a sea stiff and rather fishy piece of sail cloth from the fore of my little vessel.
I am quite partial to a storm when I am sitting up in bed, beneath a tin roof, nursing a cup of hot milk and honey. It is quite another thing entirely when one is consumed by its elemental fury. I felt every lightning lash and thunder rumble in my blood, and bones and stuffing. Darkness was a moving beast. I experienced a moment of communion with all those poor souls who have foundered since humanity first lashed some logs together with vines and set tentatively out onto water. After that I became almost peaceful, and though it's hard to believe, I slept, and it was as if my sleep soothed the Sea God's savage temper and I woke to dawn breaking on a flat horizon.
That red and gold glowing green enamelled sky was the great awakener. For suddenly I knew why I was there and why I had to suffer the storm, be humbled by it and live through it. Gauguin was present. I did not see his regal nose, nor read that wild and barbarous look in his eyes, but I know he was there. The colours revealed him and he them and all the great raw symbolic possibilities surged through me, riotous, as I realised I had survived. I floated in this beatific chromatic state for some time when the skiff scraped against something and I became conscious of the slip of land towards which I had been, trance like, moving for some time.
Practical considerations took hold. I braved some rather treacherous footing and managed to push my coracle over a little reef and into a clear lagoon.
The atoll curved around the lagoon, a sandy strip leading to a fringe of palms. I stumbled up the beach. Coconuts were strewn around, Poseidon's apology perhaps. I managed to break one open and feast on it's sweet milk and white flesh.
It wasn't long before the rescue party, mounted by Mrs Piko, found me. Though it seemed impossible, I had not floated far from civilisation, yet I have travelled far and seen much.
The rest of my trip was a dream. I was able to harness new energies and produce this video which was the pretext for my journey. My thanks of course to Mrs Piko and to the Anonymous Patron. I have tried to capture the moment when one comes through the storm to calm waters. It is my homage to Gauguin, to the sun, to beauty and to the turn of the seasons which is life.

Return

Hello Friends!

A long hiatus I know and to those few who know me I do apologise. My Art Junket turned into quite the adventure. As you know I was bound for places tropical with the spirit of Gaugin filling my sails and escape from the city on my mind. And escape I did into the sweet tropical airs. I sat beneath swaying palms, I sipped on cocktails, I wore my hibiscus shirt (kindly stitched by dear Norma Jean). The water was an aquamarine revelation, the greens archetypal, the sunsets led the way to heaven and the moon my guardian as I slept in a hammock, kissed by gentle breezes (and somewhat prey to mosquitoes). I shall never forget, on the evening of my arrival, wandering down to the beach and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the overwhelming sense of vitality as I looked upon the sand, the plash of the waves, the ubiquitous palms, the green hills, dark and full of life.

Not long into my trip I decided to hire a small dinghy and tootle around the bay. The sky was blue and the sea unruffled. I took a small hamper, packed for me by Mrs Piko, the hotelier, and ventured across the glassy inlet. The chicken and sweet pickle sandwiches (of which there were rather a lot and I admit I gobbled them all) conspired with the sweet pineapple juice, the flask of tea, the excellent fruit cake and boiled lollies to induce something of a soporific lull in the late afternoon and I dozed beneath the brim of my straw hat.

ALAS!

Somehow my barque had discovered the one small channel between the reef and the open ocean and I awoke beneath glowering skies, a fresh wind, the island a dwindling speck and no sign of other vessels nearby! Tomorrow I shall continue, but I am still weak and must rest...

Art Junket

My artistic engine is running very much on dross and fumes. I am sputtering along in my current milieu, devoid of inspiration, filled with ennui, dull in all my faculties, glassy eyed and pushing through life as through treacle. This seems to me terribly wasteful and I think I should go on an artistic junket. I feel the lure of all things tropical, palm trees and coconut fibre, sand and salty sea. So I went to Norma Jeans for a fitting (she is making me another coat), with this lure hooked firmly in my heart, which being the intuitive entity she is she was able to see straight away. A large and seemingly insurmountable obstacle to this junket being the conspicuous lack of pecuniary freedom. It was time to approach her Oracle once again, that marvellous tome, The Constance Spry Cookery Book. (For new readers I should note that Norma Jean practices an eccentric form of divination whereby, in trance state, she consults said tome for guidance).
So the lights were dimmed, the curtains drawn, the candle spread it's ancient glimmer, incense filled the air and Norma Jeans attractively shadowed lids began to droop over her dreamy eyes, lips parted and she began to flip the pages of Constance Spry's excellent volume. Did I see the candle flicker? Did a chill mist the air? Was there a little thrill up my spine as her hands stilled over a page and her lashes swept upwards? Yes, yes and yes again.
'This is the sign' she announced. Under the auspicious title Sea Fish, the recipe Filets De Sole Sylvette was revealed. A delicious sounding dish of fish in a creamy sauce. This Norma Jean said is proof positive that my yearning for tropical climes should be followed. The Pacific she thinks, and to be more specific, the French Pacific. Immediately I thought of Gaugin, that old reprobate, and his time in Tahiti. 'Tahiti. Oh yes' said Norma Jean, the last vestiges of trance upon her. 'Yes Tahiti is is'. The issue of funds remained unresolved but her parting words to me as I left were 'Remember, this is a very rich sauce'.
I went about my business, which that particular day included a yoga class led by Hugo. I am improving in the strict discipline that is Iyengar yoga and finding it very healthful. As I lay in a half shoulder stand my thoughts wandered back to the issue of funding my journey. And the answer came to me so forcefully I almost fell over. A rich sauce, a rich source... Of course! The Anonymous Patron.
So after the class I approached Hugo, the Anonymous Patron's seneschal. I mentioned the Patron had commissioned another video work from me and that I would like to undertake it in Gaugins wake, on Tahiti. After some days Hugo contacted me and the answer Amazingly was Yes! It shows great faith in my efforts and I am more pleased than I can say. There is a little tension with Xavier who seems to feel he should have been included in this whole venture but I explained this was really something I felt I needed to do by myself and that really he did have enough to be going on with himself. So I am in the full flight of preparing for my journey and Norma Jean is obligingly making me an appropriate wardrobe.

Cucumber Sandwiches with Maude

Well I consider the matter closed. It is unanimous. My nose stays. Though there were only two votes, they were unequivocal. So I take myself and my peculiar proboscis on a nice balmy holiday somewhere. The weekend High Tea with Rupert the ring designer was quite a volatile occaision in the end. The designs are highly impractical and try as I might to explain to Xavier that the poor girl will want to actually wear the ring, he would have none of it. Finally he ordered me to take my cucumber sandwiches and GO! It's a good thing Xavier and I are able to weather these little storms. He rang me barely an hour later to further discuss his choice of design (which description would only do injustice to. It has to be seen to be believed and seen it shall be as this unprecedented medium will allow for a photo of said creation when it is ready). He of course ignored the whole 'take you cucumber sandwiches and Go!' incident and I had to bring it up with the complaint that I really did look a little odd carrying a three tiered plate of cucmber sandwiches on the train and was lucky in my seating companion, an elderly Lady called Maude, with a lovely blue rinse do, who was happy to share the sandwiches and have a lovely chat about cultivating Tulips. Hence I still had a High Tea of sorts and Maude and I became fast friends. Xavier was chagrined as Xavier always is.

To Nose or not to Nose?

So, pertinent to yesterday's engagement ring related saga, Xavier tells me he has commissioned an old art school chum of his, one Rupert, to design it. We have an appointment to take High Tea with Rupert tomorrow and see some initial sketches. Meanwhile I went for a hair appointment with Norma Jean and she advises I do take that holiday I mentioned earlier and I think she is right. I am still a little heart sore after my failed romance with Ernestine and a tropical holiday would do me good. Norma Jean suggests I resolve the issue of my nose before I go. I am still undecided and I do encourage visitors to Vote in my nose poll. I have posted two clear photos of the state of my proboscis as it is. Should I undertake plastic surgery or not?
In other news the Anonymous Patron has commissioned another video work from me.

Engaged in a Search for the Ring

Xavier says I have been lapse in my posting with all the tweaking and experimentation I have been doing on my Blog. He has a point. This as we went to find a ring for Ariadne. Xavier spurned the large (and suspect) jewellery franchise shops. He was very particular about what sort of ring he wanted and consequently we spent the whole day going from one antique jewellery shop to the next like worker bees gathering crystal nectar for the Queen. He adopted a fatalistic approach to engagement ring purchase saying 'I'll know it when I see it.' Of course Xavier persisted on looking outside his budget and I kept having to provide a note of caution. One such was a confection in white gold with a rose diamond and border of tiny sapphires. Xavier alarmed the shop assistant, a sweet lass called Molly, by bursting into floods of tears when he saw it and saying 'This is it, this is it'. She then gained the impression that I was buying a ring for Xavier, which notion was difficult to dislodge as he clung to my arm weeping and saying 'I must have it! I must have it!'
Finally, exasperated and demoralised we sat in a city cafe as the crowds rushed by. Before he could become too maudlin I suggested he have a ring designed and made just for Ariadne. Well this idea was a big hit and he rose from his chair, inflated, saying 'I know just who to ask' and promptly exited the cafe! I was then obliged to pay for our two Vienna coffees and chocolate mud cake (yes we did binge a little, jewellery shopping is very depleting you know). He was a distant figure way down the street, Admiral's plume waving above the crowd (he insists on wearing his nautical hat everywhere, hence the somewhat dubious attitude of several jewellery merchants). In short, I made my way home alone and still have not heard the outcome, nor who this mysterious would-be ring designer might be.

Drawing Grid

Here is my drawing grid done in response to other's fabulous grids from 'The Drawing Club'.

In other news I have decided to go on a little holiday. Somewhere tropical I think. Somewhere warm and balmy. I need fresh inspiration. Bruno, the Roly Poly Chime Ball, gave me a little ring to indicate he thinks it's a good idea. Xavier has been very preoccupied with Ariadne of late, which I suppose is all well and good. In fact I rather think there are some 'plans' of significance afoot as he has demanded my presence on a jewellery buying outing tomorrow and he was dropping all kinds of heavy handed hints that he may be about to propose! Actually I think it's a wonderful idea. Ariadne (featured above as part of the grid) is a lovely lady and very good for Xavier. I do rather miss him though. Ah well, life is change.