The Inexplicable World of Outa_Spaceman...

Bee Dilemma.

2012-01-28T11:06:00.001Z

Sat at home yesterday I became aware of a large, buzzing insect-being's futile attempts to smash it's way through the double-glazing to freedom.
At first I'd assumed it to be a bluebottle and, because I associate bluebottles with some of the more unpleasant things in life, was unsympathetic to it's plight.
I opened a window close to where it was bouncing about and left it at that.

This morning, as the sun filled the flat, the buzzing started up again.
I realised I'd have to intervene.
On locating the prisoner I found it was a bee:

Bee (not to scale)

This causes a few problems.
If it had been a bluebottle I wouldn't have had any qualms about capturing it in my flying insect-being beaker, trapping it in the beaker with a postcard depicting John Martin's 'The Great Day of His Wrath', and releasing it back into the wild.
A bee is a different matter.

Today is one of those bright, cold winter days, if I caught the bee and put it outside the cold will undoubtedly kill it or, at least incapacitate it to the point where it may become vulnerable to attack by birds.

Once again my grannie's wisdom comes back to haunt me "y'can't d'right, fer doing wrong".

I wonder what bees eat?

Solar Toys 01

2012-01-27T22:25:00.000Z

I've become fascinated by solar powered toys.
Linda noticed this and bought me a 6 in 1 Solar Toy Set for my birthday.
I built the first example and, when the sun eventually shone, filmed it:

I also like the shadows cast (the B/W bits).

The second example has been built and will be under test just as soon as the sun shines, again.

Mutant Banjo!

2012-01-26T20:35:00.003Z

My banjo, which is essentially a guitar with a banjo body (Guitjo, Bantar?), was due to be sold to raise funds for a good quality tenor ukulele (more about this plan in a later post).

At BeHeld's rehearsal a couple of weeks ago I mentioned my plan and listed the items that were on their way to market.
Mystic Rog expressed disappointment about the sale of the banjo as he'd worked out an arrangement for the song 'When I Was On Horseback' in which he 'heard' a banjo.
I explained how, after over a year of not playing a six-stringed instrument, I found it nearly impossible to play anything with more than four strings.

Another plan suddenly hatched.
Convert the banjo to a four string, in effect turning it into a tenor banjo.
Mystic Rog is a bit of a dab hand at musical instrument repair and offered to have a go at the conversion.

Using the same string spacing as my baritone ukulele seemed like a good idea and I asked if it could be DoGBonE re-entrant strung and entrusted it to Mystic Rog's care.

A week passed and Rog returned with this:

The Mutant Banjo

Rather than set it up as a straight forward four string Rog has done something rather ingenious.
He's grouped the bottom D string with it's octave a-la a 12 string guitar (are you following this?) thus:

Don't get confused by the shadows of the strings!

The sound of this hybrid instrument is amazing.
Primitive I'd call it.

I could add a sound file to demonstrate the noise it makes but, as we all know, a gentleman is someone who can play the banjo, but dosen't.

Thanks Mystic Rog, it's brilliant!

A View From The Scaffold. (Updated)

2012-01-25T16:43:00.004Z

I arrived home to late to climb up and look off the scaffold yesterday.

The ladder was extremely wobbly but I'm a roughy-toughy and know no fear.

Bit draughty up there.
The bad news from the men who did the repair is that the whole roof will have to come off to be fully restored at some point.

(Have I drawn your attention to the PayPal button to the right?)

Update.
In the original post I described the roof's problem as "nail disease".
Turns out it's actually "nail sickness".
Which I personally find slightly more disturbing.

Hyacinth News.

2012-01-24T18:11:00.000Z

Carrying on from the post Some of My Best Friends Are Plants, here's an update on the hyacinth situation.
It now looks like this:

It smells great!
In the next hyacinth post I'll present a full cost/benefit analysis.

An Exciting Development.

2012-01-23T21:05:00.004Z

Our roof has developed nail sickness which caused several slates to fall from the roof narrowly missing a couple of passers by.
There's also a large hole birds had decided was a good place to nest in.

I returned home at lunch-time to find this exciting scaffold attached to the side of the house.
I didn't have time to climb up and look off the top but there's certainly going to be some climbing up and looking off the top done tomorrow.

The 1,000th Post: Video Portrait of OSM by Linda (NWS! Contains Strong Language!)

2012-01-22T17:12:00.003Z

To London & What Happened When We Got There.

2012-01-22T15:56:00.009Z

I had intended to write-up our London trip last night while it was still fresh in my memory but I was so tired, and not a little confused, sleeping felt like the better option.

I booked 2 cheap day returns on the internet the previous evening, packed our rucksacks (my stuff in Linda's and Linda's stuff in mine, trust me it works), located my very old London street map and did a perfunctory investigation into bus services around the capital.

Linda will NOT travel on the underground system.
"It's unnatural".
I am unable to get my head around the bus timetables.

During the train journey I decide to re-jig the itinerary.
On the approach to London I see the future written in the sky:

Scottish Independence is Inevitable

The only reason I want to go to the Science Museum is to look at Difference Engine No. 2 so it seems like a good idea to get that out of the way first.

We arrive at Victoria Station where Linda decides we need coffee.
I never disagree with any suggestion that involves drinking coffee.
I take a picture of a clock:

I know what time it is

We take our coffee and sit in Grosvenor Gardens across the way from the station and I begin to work out a route that will get us to the Science Museum, on foot.
I take a picture of a small building decorated with shells:

We have shells just like that in Bognor Regis!

I scan the buildings around the garden and get the first inkling of what the significant feature of this trip is going to be.

Having plotted a vague diagonal line between us and the museum we set off across Belgravia.
We scrutinise the buildings along the way. Linda focuses in on the shrubbery stood outside the buildings and comes to the conclusion that olive trees are probably the best all round choice for this area.
I see lots of cars parked outside the houses, cars I've only ever seen on Top Gear.
All the houses have the appearance of being made from ice-cream.
Everything seems very clean and well ordered.

After much wandering about I realise we are well off my vague route and we land on Knightsbridge right outside Harvey Nichols, and Linda has spotted it.
We enter Harvey Nichols.
All the staff look like they come from at least 3 rungs higher up the social ladder than Linda and me and there seems to be more of them than there are customers.
Linda managed to get a dab of perfume on her wrist before the counter staff got to her and we were out of there.
I casually mention that Harrods is nearby.
We go to Harrods.

The building is a wonder, the interior is a wonder, that Egyptian bit is a wonder but I still feel the whole place is a bit, well, tacky.
The Diana and Dodie statue only serves to reinforce my opinion.
It starts to rain.

We continue on to the Science Museum.
On entering we both agree we need something to eat and experience one of the highlights of the day, a hot belly pork sandwich with apple sauce and rocket.
From the eating balcony I take a picture of a red steam engine:

Here's where the problem starts

I pour over every part of this vast machine, every nut and bolt and I begin to wonder.
If art is 'useless beauty' is this redundant machine now a piece of art?
We wander though the museum and I become increasingly troubled by this question.
All these cases filled with examples of, to me, inexplicable things that I'm not allowed to touch.
We reach the Babbage bit:

A piece of a long dead human being in a jar.

I couldn't take a picture of Difference Engine No.2 that didn't have a reflection of me taking a picture of Difference Engine No.2 in it so I gave up trying and just looked at this beautifully useless thing in a glass case.
I'm not sure how my experience was 'enhanced' by being able to look at a large part of Babbage's brain in a glass jar.
I took one last picture inside the museum from a balcony:

Lots of stuff.

We left the museum.
Linda noticed the building across the way, "what's that place?"
That place is the V & A.
We enter the V & A.
More useless beauty I'm not allowed to touch housed in glass cases.
Then something caught my attention, an expression I chose to interpret as bewilderment:

"What the..?"

We stepped out into the garden:

Linda contemplates the V&A

Once again I'm enthralled by the exterior of a building.
Back indoors I see something that seems like a metaphor:

This means something.

Time is pushing on so I suggest we try to make it to Tate Britain before it closes.
My plan is to walk towards the river then turn left.
There then follows a very long walk through another interesting built environment called Chelsea.

On turning left at the river, more useless beauty:

Looking at this building fills my heart with joy.

We get to the Tate at around 5 o'clock.
We are both exhausted.
Why are we here?
We are here to look at 'Ophelia' (Lizzy Siddal in a bath) our favourite painting.
"I'm sorry sir, this gallery is closing now".
Linda and I stare through the door's closing gap toward the painting on the opposite wall, the doors close.

On the walk back to Victoria station Linda picks up on the fact that I've become somewhat glum and tries to cheer me up.
I can't deny I'm down in the dumps and it has something to do with what may seem to be an unrelated comment in the birthday card I'd received from my friend Paul.
It's a quote by Don Marquis (1878-1937) it goes like this:
"If you make people think they're thinking, they will love you; but if you really make them think, they'll hate you."
Paul added "You have been warned.."
I haven't made an entirely satisfactory connection between this day, the things in glass cases I'm not allowed to touch, between what is (and what is not) art, and the built environment we wandered through, but I'm working on it, even though I hate it.

Linda suggests we go to McDonalds.
I give in, Big Mac meal, go large with a white coffee please.
Then the day is suddenly saved by a fairy princess, who speaks indecipherable English with a heavy Eastern European accent to no one in particular whilst bashing away at a net-book and who sparkles from head to toe:

Now that's what I call art!

To London.

2012-01-21T22:07:00.000Z

As part of the celebration of my birth Linda and I set out for the great city.
The itinerary was as follows:

01) Tate Britain
02) The National Gallery
03) The R.A.
04) The Science Museum
05) Borough Market

Didn't quite go according to plan to be honest.
This posting isn't going to plan either.
I've just realised it will take me at least 3 hours to condense our adventure so I'm off to bed instead.

Outa_Spaceman Being: 54

2012-01-20T11:32:00.003Z

I half remember a movie quote, I think it was spoken by Paul Newman, and there's a possibility I may have imagined it.
It goes something like this:

A man falls from the top of a 100 story building.
As he passes an open window on the 50th floor he is heard to say, "So far, so good".

Carpet Cleaning As Spectator Sport.

2012-01-19T23:43:00.001Z

The more cynical may have sneered at my suggestion that a picture of a carpet-cleaning machine was as entertaining as a film of the madcap antics of Suicide Pheasants.
Well, let me tell you, today put the cynical laughter in a pipe and smoked it!

I am called to Spice Paradise Tandoori.
To the SupremeClean mobile:

Once the tables had been moved in the restaurant, small square areas of a vivid blue carpet are plainly visible.
I looked at the other bits, the bits the customers had been walking on.
I initially assumed it was actually tarmaced but no, that's punter tracks, 8 months worth of punter tracks.
I break out the EDIC Fivestar Carpet Cleaning Machine with attendant powders, potions and sprays.
I begin my complex preparation routine.

All the time this is happening I am watched intently by the entire staff of the establishment.
Every move I make is scrutinised.
Applying the pre-spray, pouring the solvent/water mixture from a bucket into the machine, adding the de-foamer, plugging the machine in and then cutting the first cleaning row.
The crowd closed in for a closer look.

I had to do the first row four times which involved re-filling the machine 3 times in 10 minutes.
(N.B. I can usually clean an average living room carpet on two re-fills.)

The job took 5 hours and the crowd never got bored once.
Helpfully, they even began to point out bits I'd missed along the way.
(Which turned out to be shadows cast by the table legs.)

On finishing, everybody seemed to agree that was the best carpet clean they'd ever seen.
Not that they'd seen one for a while of course.

The Misty Woods.

2012-01-18T23:15:00.001Z

Still on the look out for Suicide Pheasants, I was mesmerised by the weird light in the woodlands on the access road to the oil field:

I ended up wandering about in there for over an hour and got soaking wet.

A good day!

More Ignorant Ornithology: The Suicide Pheasant.

2012-01-17T21:15:00.005Z

On my happy little morning jaunts over the downs around Goodwood, to clean the Oil Well in the Woods, most of my concentration is focused on avoiding that ornithological curiosity the Suicide Pheasant.
Off in the distance I'll spot 2 or 3 of these birds meandering about in the middle of the road, what on earth they find to do there is as much a mystery to me as why chickens choose to cross roads.
As I approach, and the birds notice me, they begin to dart hither and thither, switching back and forth, run one way, double back, run pell mell down the middle of the road anything, in fact, except fly away.

My plan this morning was to have my camera at the ready to film this crazed behaviour and post the resulting footage here for your delight and amusement.
Sadly I was unable to.
I saw at least 10 mangled pheasant corpses on the road, most of them been eaten by crows or, in one case, an enormous buzzard.
So, by way of compensation, here's a picture of the carpet cleaner I use on a daily basis and is much more fun, but not as tasty, as a Suicide Pheasant:

Another of the fabulous toys I'm allowed to play with at work!

On the whole I get the feeling Linda was happier that I brought the carpet cleaner home and used it on our Indian rug rather than me bringing road-kill home for her to pluck and dress.

Glass Back.

2012-01-16T22:53:00.004Z

I first experienced the excruciating world of pain a 'slipped disc' can bring when I was around 21.

I travelled to my Doctor's, 5 miles away, standing up on an empty bus.

When I got into the surgery I was invited to sit down.

I explained I couldn't sit down because of my back.

Without further questioning or examination my Doctor asked me how long I wanted a sick-note for.

I told him I didn't really want a sick-note I wanted him to do something to stop my back hurting so I could get back to work.

Turns out there was nothing he could, or was willing, to do so I took the sick note and headed home.

Then I remembered that osteopaths did something with backs.

I consulted the first one in the telephone directory, got an appointment straight away and, after a bit of manipulation and £25, I got back to work 2 days later.

This went on for years.

On average I was getting, what I now call 'flare-ups', 2 or 3 times a year.

As I got older the flare-ups became more debilitating, the recovery periods grew longer and the osteopath's bills went up.

The break-point came after a really nasty flare-up.

I had to wait for two days until I was able to walk.

I went to the osteopath before going to get my sick note.

The osteopath told me that I should now think in terms of my back problem as a chronic condition that would need me to visit him on at least a monthly basis for the rest of my miserable pain filled life.

I went to my doctor (a different one to the original) and told her the osteopath's conclusions.

My doctor seemed to explode internally.

She consulted my medical record.

"This has been going on for years!" she said.

I couldn't disagree.

"And nobody did anything?" she asked.

I shook my head, even though the pain it caused nearly brought tears to my eyes.

" Right, you have two choices, you can carry on giving money to that osteopath for the rest of your life of pain or, I can send you on a Back Rehabilitation Course".

The Back Rehab course sounded like the better option.

It was.

A one hour a day, twelve day course that explained the roots of my condition, gave me an armoury of techniques to combat it and lots of really useful advice on how to avoid further flare-ups.

The biggest problem I had was believing that the progressively worsening flare-ups would one day be permanent.

I now know that's not the case.

Let's go through a typical flare-up.

I will be doing something innocuous, like reaching up to replace a lightbulb.

I will feel the vertebra at the bottom of my back 'pop'.

I know then I've got about 24 hours before I'm incapacitated and load myself with the strongest ibuprofen I can lay my hands on and carry on as if nothing has happened.

The following day, when I'm viewed from the front, I'm sort of 'S' shaped, find it very difficult to move at all and am in excruciating pain.

More ibuprofen some light exercises and rest.

The following day, still in excruciating pain, more ibuprofen and, after a series of exercises, I set off on a very, very long walk.

The walk can take up to 5 or 6 hours, the first mile or so can take up to 2 hours to cover, but slowly, slowly my mobility returns.

The third day will be much the same but by the forth day, although I'm still in some considerable pain, I have regained most of my mobility and can usually return to work.

I don't have as many flare-ups as I used to do.

Last year I didn't have any.

The greatest relief is knowing that I won't be permanently crippled, that it's just a matter of time, exercise and ibuprofen before I'm back to, at least, physical normality.

I hope anyone finding themselves in a similar situation finds this post helpful before, in desperation, staggering off toward a charlatan with an eye on their bank account.

I've Got A Plan.

2012-01-15T20:02:00.002Z

"The secret of quiet happiness lies in limiting your aspirations".
I've abandoned guitar playing.
I was only ever, at best, an average strummer and no amount of practice ever changed that fact.
Playing the guitar was, and always has been, just a means to an end.
I needed to accompany myself and the guitar was the most convenient instrument for that purpose.
It's never been my favourite instrument and it always felt like a bit of a dead-end.

I've concentrated on playing baritone ukulele for over a year now and find it a much more rewarding instrument.
I'd really like a good quality tenor ukulele and I need to raise the cash.
£300+ should do the trick.

So, the great sell off begins with my Pignose 7-100 practice amp:

This Little Piggy Gone To eBay

To describe the Pignose as a 'practice amp' is a little unfair.
I know session guitarists who use nothing else in the studio (except for their precious analogue FX pedals) and use it as a pre-amp when playing live.
Truth to tell I haven't used it for months and months and can't imagine using it again anytime soon so bye, bye piggy.

The sell off list will include:
A resonator guitar.
A red Alden triple pickuped, tear-drop shaped electric guitar.
A Roland Cube 30 amp.
A Vox (Korg variant) AC10 (it's got an intermittent fault so I'll unload it on Cash Converters heh, heh.)
A whole raft of FX pedals and dynamic microphones.

I'm tempted to hang on to my tiny P.A. but if it comes between me and a good uke, it may have to go as well.

I can't describe the weight that's been lifted from my shoulders.

The Best £20 I Ever Spent.

2012-01-14T18:51:00.001Z

It's fair to say that Linda is atypical of women of, ahem, her age in that's she's an enthusiastic video 'gamer'.
This isn't some recent development, Linda's been playing video games for years.
The attic is filled with the many and varied consoles and computers that have facilitated her addiction in the past along with the associated floppy discs, cartridges and other paraphernalia (which I am strictly forbidden to dispose of).

Her current platform of choice is a limited edition red Nintendo Wii that I bought her for Xmas 2010.
She's also a fan of the Rayman adventures and has all the different incarnations of the game series.

I was at a complete loss as to what to buy Linda for Xmas until the new Rayman Origins adventure turned up last year.

Since ripping the packaging from the game on Xmas morning, all of Linda's concentration has been focused directly on it (except for when Emmerdale and Corrie' are on of course).

So here's a brief insight into what life has been like in the flat since the 25th of December:

Things in the game are not going well at the moment.

More Ignorant Ornithology.

2012-01-13T21:48:00.000Z

Seen in Bognor Regis's London Road:

A skeletal flying insect being.

BeHeld: Oh, Wait a Moment. (Updated)

2012-01-12T19:19:00.002Z

All the tracks for BeHeld's first E.P., 'Lo', are recorded and mixed, I'm in negotiation with a C.D. manufacturer (reckon about 100 should do it) and the launch gigs are set up. We've even decided on the cover:

What could possibly go wrong?

Mystic Roger, who's not steady on his pins at the best of times, had a bit of a fall and broke a bone in his hand which went undiscovered by medical science until the other day.

Damn.

Update:
Girl-on-Wire just texted Linda to say she'd got herself trapped in a lavatory in Derbyshire.
Looks like BeHeld's going to end up being a duo at this rate.

Health & Safety (Sheesh..)

2012-01-11T23:22:00.000Z

Today was window cleaning day at the pre-school for posh kids.

As the light of morning increased I noticed the wendy-house in the playground:

Then I noticed the signs on the wendy-house:

Please, somebody, tell me this a joke.

My 'Track of the Week": 'Rosie' as played by Don Partridge 'King of the Buskers'.

2012-01-10T23:53:00.000Z

I wish one of the uke jams I attend would pick up on this classic song.

The Oil Well in the Woods.

2012-01-10T23:38:00.001Z

I am brazenly telling anyone who'll listen that I'm currently working on an oil rig.
This, in my mind, makes me sound very masculine, hairy and ruffy-tuffy.
The truth is a little more prosaic.
I spend 2.5 hours a day cleaning the offices, changing rooms and canteen facilities on the rig.

There are 5 wells already producing (and have been doing so for about 15 years) oil. It says something about the price of oil when it's become economically viable to sink another shaft in this quiet part of the south downs.

The bit I clean (the beige bit) is much bigger than it appears in this picture

The rig operators are a German company and everything seems, to me at least, very efficient and alarmingly over-engineered.
They've drilled over a mile down, at time of typing, and still haven't hit the black gold yet.

This is all well (no pun intended) and good but the best bits of the whole site are the nodding donkeys that bring the oil up from the working wells:

Their action is super hypnotic and I daren't look at them in case I become transfixed, mouth wide open catching flies.

Of course I'm completely outraged by this selfish rape of mother earth and the consequent pollution the oil will undoubtedly cause yadda, yadda, but I got to eat baby.

Addendum:

On leaving the site today I saw a mountain biker on a mountain unicycle which seemed to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen in my life. I suppose there's a whole mountain unicycle sub-culture evolved since I was a pioneering mountain biker on this small muddy island.

The Day From Hell.

2012-01-09T23:23:00.000Z

"If some one offers you money to clean 10 years of accumulated grease from a pub kitchen smile politely and walk away".

Is a piece of advice I wish somebody had given me at some point in my life.

Sunday.... Errrr,

2012-01-08T21:59:00.000Z

Today started with all the promise a new day dawning offers the enthusiastic participant in life's rich pageant.

Fixing the new punctures in both wheels on my bike.

A trip to the ukulele jam at Littlehampton (first of the new year).

Another attempt at mixing the 3 tracks for the forthcoming BeHeld C.D.

These were all perfectly reasonably options.

But, what actually happened was:

Steam Cleaning (I'm In Luurve)

2012-01-07T21:48:00.004Z

One of the compensations of my current lowly employment is being able to bring home, and play with, all the fascinating machinery used in contract cleaning.
Top of my list at the moment is the Osprey Steam Cleaner.

Now there's a funny face.

I love it (almost) as much as my Henry Vacuum Cleaner:

My sing-along pal.

We have a condensation problem in the bathroom at the flat which has resulted in unsightly mildew spreading across the ceiling.
Because I favour showering, rather than sitting in a bath full of my own filth, I hadn't actually noticed the extent of the hold it had taken:

Mildew is evil

After a perfunctory risk assessment, I charged my beautiful assistant with applying a bleach solution to the affected area:

Linda gets several more blond streaks in her hair

I then laid in with the steam cleaner, across the ceiling, down the tiled walls, around the sink and bath, and then over the vinyl flooring.
I became lost in time pausing only the refill the machine.
Linda says it took me about 4 hours.
I'm sure it only took me about 4 minutes.

The result is a bathroom that shines so hard I have to wear sunglasses in there:

Shiny, shiny!

I must have a steam cleaner of my own... NOW!

Some Of My Best Friends Are Plants.

2012-01-06T22:42:00.001Z

13ish weeks ago I posted about two of my close friends:
My Friends and Me (Updated)

The Hyacinth was put into darkness for what should have been 10 weeks but I forgot where I put it.
Much to my relief, I found it again today and it now looks like this:

It's put on an amazing amount of root growth and has begun to sprout leaves.
I find this all tremendously exciting.
Of course, under normal circumstances, my hyacinth would be one of the first signs of life renewing it's self in these dark winter days but, up to typing, this winter's been so mild it's not the only thing growing.
Out in the garden our banana plant is still going strong, the nasturtiums are still rambling around in an alarmingly vigorous way and at least one marigold still has flowers on it.

So, where's Jack Frost got himself to?

The cyclamen?
Ungrateful b-tard died.

The Wassail at Tarring.

2012-01-05T22:44:00.001Z

Hey ho to Tarring we go to celebrate the archaic ritual of Wassail in the ancient village of Tarring hosted by The Sompting Village Morris.

So, first off, let's have a torchlit processional dance up and down Tarring High Street:

Then into the orchard for the ceremony:

Details from the back of the song sheet:

"We awaken the apple trees spirits with our chanting and loud music. A virgin is invited to place toast in the branches for the winter robins who will carry off any bad spirits. The Wassail Applecake and a double-handed Wassail Cup of mulled cider is passed freely around as everyone joins in the chant and hullabaloo."

I am eternally grateful to Pansy Cradledew for the loan of the book "Mummers, Maypoles and Milkmaids, A Journey Through the English Ritual Year" by Sara Hannant which brought this wonderful little ritual to my attention.

Linda's over the moon as cider's her drug of choice.

I was hoping Christopher Lee would turn up wearing a frock, but he didn't.

R.T.A.

2012-01-04T13:20:00.002Z

So, having ridden to work I pack my bicycle away, collect the company van and head off to a contract clean.
The Chichester by-pass, and in particular the round-about where the Bognor Road joins it, is an accident waiting to happen.
I avoid it like the plague and drive along the quiet roads that run, more or less, parallel with it. This detour adds about 2 miles to the overall journey but is actually quicker.
I'm 3 cars back from the 'T' junction where I turn right toward the village of Tangmere.
A blue car begins to turn right from the main road on to the road I'm on.
A silver car appears from the Tangmere direction (my right) and impacts the blue car heavily.
The blue car hits the front of a black car stood at the junction waiting to turn left.
Everything stands still.
When I recover from the momentary shock I find myself thinking "that was not supposed to happen".

It's one of those situations where seconds become hours.
The driver of the car in front of me gets out of his car and heads toward the pile of wreckage.
The driver of the car behind me gets out of his car and heads toward the pile of wreckage.
I'm not sure what I should do.
I'm usually good in a crisis, I have some basic first aid skills, am unmoved by the sight of blood and guts and can make a pretty good cup of tea but can't for the life of me think what to do in this situation.
I decide to try and remember as much as I can about what just happened then get out of my vehicle and walk toward the incident filming the scene on my mobile phone:

The man holding the back of his head is the driver of the silver car.
I don't think he should be moving around until he's received medical attention.
I realise that I may seem callous in the extreme wandering around filming so I return to my vehicle and leave.

My admiration goes out to the man in the baseball cap who had the presence of mind to use his mobile phone to call for assistance.

I've spent the rest of the day trying to remember exactly what happened with out trying to interpret it, just remembering the facts.
I'm going to have a cup of tea now as I've stopped shaking enough to drink it without spilling it.
I suspect the police may want to have a word with me at some point.

Adventures In Modern Cycling: Apollo Veho II Update.

2012-01-03T17:58:00.003Z

I bought my current 'winter' bicycle on the 19th of October 2011:
Adventures in Modern Cycling: Off The Peg.

I've ridden it at least four days a week in all weathers covering around 15-20 miles a day.
I tend to ride "eye-balls out" (low gear/high cadence) along the flint strewn dirt tracks to darker places sorry, designated cycle-paths between Felpham and the outskirts of Chichester.
In my original post I swore not to modify the bike in anyway and only replace the bits that broke or dropped off.

So, how's it going then?

N.B. Usual layer of filth removed for picture.

I found after riding for about 20 minutes my arms would become numb and so decided to change the handlebars for a straight, flat set:

It now takes about 30 minutes for my arms to go numb.
I could change the stem to raise my riding position but the truth is this bicycle is to small for me.
I've made more minute adjustments to the saddle than my mind can contemplate yet it's still eye-wateringly uncomfortable.
The seat stem is extended to the full limit (70% of my body length is leg) but it only remains like that for about 5 miles before it begins to sink back into the frame.
I replaced the seat bolt with a quick-release clamp which may seem like a bad idea but it makes it easier to re-set the seat height quickly and puts less stress on the frame than bolting and unbolting the original fastening.

A couple of weeks ago the bike developed a 'clunk'.
I instantly knew exactly what had happened.
The bottom bracket cups have no seals in them thus allowing in gravel and water (the constituent parts of the local cycle-paths) which quickly replaced the imaginary grease through-out the B.B. assembly.
Not good.
One of the bearing cages gave up the ghost, the axle developed an alarming amount of play and the 'clunk'.
Until today I haven't been in a financial position to do anything about it so the situation just got worse.

I set about the repair work this afternoon.
Having removed the clamp ring I found the bearing cup impossible to remove with any spanner I have in my collection and had to resort to my biggest set of grips to get it out.
Needless to say the grips destroyed the threads on the bearing cup and that my diagnosis of the fault was right on the money.
£7 for new cup and bearings.
I've jammed as much water-proof grease into the assembly as I can and will now clean off the bottom bracket area after every ride.
I give it about 6 weeks before I have to do this all again.
I could save up for a one-piece sealed unit but I've got better things to spend my money on, food for instance.

At time of typing I've repaired 10 punctures caused by tiny pieces of flint.
I now understand why many cyclists choose to risk riding on the roads rather than the cycle-path.
A dick-head local councillor wrote a whining letter to the local paper just before Xmas complaining about cyclists who insist on riding on the road when there's a 'perfectly adequate cycle-path'...

I have to stop typing now, a 'red-mist' just made it hard for me to see the screen and I have the two worst swear words in the English language repeating endlessly in my head.

Model Tri-Plane.

2012-01-01T12:10:00.001Z

Linda bought me a press-out & slot-together airplane kit sometime ago.
With nothing especially pressing yesterday I finally got round to building it.

The pack suggests the kit might be suitable for a younger child to construct.
I'd like to meet the child who could, using the supplied instructions, end up with any kind of finished product.

It took me all afternoon to work out how it went together then, having stood back to admire it, deciding to break it down and paint it a jolly purple colour:

The bits that look light-blue are actually silver.

I've been flying it round the flat for hours now.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 365

2011-12-31T11:11:00.000Z

Felpham 31/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 364

2011-12-30T12:11:00.002Z

Aldwick 30/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 363

2011-12-29T12:54:00.000Z

Aldwick 29/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 362

2011-12-28T16:10:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 28/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 361

2011-12-27T11:57:00.000Z

The Trundle 27/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 360

2011-12-26T16:37:00.003Z

Hotham Park Duck Pond, Bognor Regis 26/12/11:

Wigging.

2011-12-25T21:32:00.003Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 359

2011-12-25T13:10:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 25/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 358

2011-12-24T14:44:00.000Z

Felpham 24/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 357

2011-12-23T12:59:00.000Z

Singleton 23/12/11:

The Hooting Yard Christmas Special

2011-12-22T19:32:00.000Z

A complete recording of An Evening Of Lugubrious Music & Lopsided Prose, featuring Mr Key and Outa_Spaceman and Pansy Cradledew, is now available as a podcast from ResonanceFM. Might I suggest that, on Christmas Day, you lock the family in a cupboard pull your chair upto the fireside and listen, rapt and awestruck?

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 356

2011-12-22T15:22:00.000Z

Felpham 22/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 355

2011-12-21T13:42:00.000Z

North Bersted 21/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 354

2011-12-20T15:40:00.000Z

Felpham/Bognor Regis Border 20/12/11:

An Evening of Lugubrious Music and Lopsided Prose: To London.

2011-12-19T22:36:00.008Z

To London.

I enjoy train travel.

Possibly because I travel off-peak.

Front-facing window seat with a table and I'm a happy man.

As soon as the train starts moving, instead of gurning out of the window at the peasant filled fields, I pull out my current note-book and start writing out all the song lyrics, again.

My concentration broken only once as the train stops at Gatwick Airport and subsumed by what appear to be angry lobster people continually shouting abuse at one another whist juggling suitcases and screaming off-spring.

After many more hilarious ups & downs the train eventually pulls into Waterloo Station.

I filch some sugar cubes from the unattended refreshment trolly and, on reaching the front of the train, give them to the pulling horse.

I'd always assumed the Bognor Regis to Waterloo train was pulled by a pair and this may in fact be the case, one of the pair could have been unhitched at Clapham Junction and either rested or put on other duties.

I'm slightly nervous as I've been informed that I am to be met from the train my Mr. Key himself.

I make sure the chin-strap on my helmet is extra tight this time.

Senses at full volume, I cross the barrier and crouch low, embracing the margins.

I light the Blotzmannscope and make a tentative sweep.

Locked!

Christopher Plummer?

No, my mistake, it's Mr. Key himself.

The Christopher Plummer moment is understandable when I explain that Mr. Key is wearing a smart Tyrolean Jacket, a jaunty Tyroean hat and clutching an alpenstock.

Piled around him are hundreds of brown leather suit-cases and wooden trunks.

He is accompanied by a crowd of children, more urchins really, wearing clothes made from old curtain material and, stood alongside him, the most ferocious nun I've ever seen.

I was about to break cover when the nun's gaze fixed on me and suddenly I found it quite impossible to move.

She crossed the concourse in a menacing and deliberate manner, straight to my hiding place in the glass horse trough..

She stood over me and I watched her face ripple above the surface of the water.

She grabbed me by the throat, hauled me out and dropped me on the floor where I coughed and spluttered for several minutes before regaining my composure.

"TAKE THIS!" she said bendind over me shoving something toward my face, "Mr. Key, in the unlikely event that he may have something to communicate to you, will contact you using this device."

"Under no circumstances are you to approach within 2 metres of Mr. Key unless Mr. Key's life is threatened you will then be expected to throw yourself between Mr. Key and the assailant."

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?".

I nodded, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the urchins.

I looked at the device I'd been given, it was a Metal Tapping Machine!

TrueIy I had arrived in the big city.

I emptied the horse trough water out of my ukulele.

One of the urchins ran over and handed me a grubby piece of paper. In nail-scratch font, it read:

At the sound of the Horror Horn you will join the rear of Mr. Key's entourage and be escorted to the limousine fleet.
You will join the last vehicle in the line for the journey to your destiny.

The Horror Horn sounded loud and long.

Urchins leapt each to a suit case or trunk and hoisted them on to their backs. Mr. Key turned and began walking toward the exit, the nun fell in behind him and the urchins began to lumber in their wake.

When the station seemed more or less deserted I guessed it was my turn to follow on.

Outside the station I noticed the iMaxio cinema was showing 'Key! The Movie".

I walked along the row of highly polished red limos and, at the end of the line, got into the back of an old white Transit-van-Morrison.

I peered through a hole in the van roof as we proceeded at a stately pace toward…..

And there it was!

Gleaming!

Twinkling!

A beacon.

A sword of golden light thrust into the clouds,

Haemoglobin Towers!

2 hours later, after undergoing the various scanings, probings and interrogations that regular visitors to Haemoglobin Towers seem to take as a matter of course, I am shoved, in non-to gentle a manner, into a lift.

The lift attendant turns to me and says, "To which level do you wish to proceed?".

"I dunno" I replied.

The attendant's face clouds over, "Is that problematical?" I ask.

"No, is not pro-blem-atical" he says, stretching out the word problematical in a pantomimic way.

"I know what level I now proceed you to".

That didn't sound good.

I watch the electronic level indicator. It's scale impossible for the lay-man to decipher, the needle flicking back and forth, this way and that, lights flashing, bells ringing, steam escaping.

The lift stops with a jolt and my head hits the ceiling before my knees hit the floor.

The lift attendant laughs and laughs and laughs.

"Your name's on the list, pal" I think to myself.

I step out of the lift into luxury as I have never seen.

The exciting control hubs, the gleaming surfaces, the pods.

A pod tree to be more precise. I reach up an pluck a blue iLeonard from it's branches.

From her reclining position, on a golden chaise-long in the shape of a pig on it's back, a be-turbaned flapper giggles and shouts over to a figure sat at an escritoire in the shadows, "Tonight's "offering" for the ceremony has arrived", she fluted.

The figure rose from the escritoire and started to walk toward me. As the shadows fell away I knew it was him, Mr. Key.

I was ready, all the training, all the sacrifice, focused onto this moment.

Let him get close, let him get close, so close that there will be no mistake this time.

Mr. Key, hands behind his back, stalks across the marble tiles, I met his gaze head-on, he suspects nothing and suddenly we are face to face.

Now is the moment.

In one deft move I duck down, open my ruck-sack, whip out my cape and throw it round my shoulders,

"Key!" I bellow, whist extending a potential hearty hand-shake.

Mr. Key reels back like a man who's seen his own ghost, the flapper, Pansy Cradledew no less, shrieks and drops several stitches from the alpaca vest she's knitting.

I reach into the folds of my cape and turn it up to full power. It billows pleasingly though there is no wind on which to do so.

"Spaceman!" they chime in unison.

"It is I" my lofty reply.

"We thought you had abandoned us" said Mr. Key, furiously pumping my proffered hand.

"All is well, all is well, Hooting Yard, Hooting Yard, Ha Ha and Gazebo!" trilled Ms. Cradledew as she did a frighteningly elaborate skippy dance around the room.

Mr. Key fixed me with the steely gaze that has been known to kill the smaller members of the rodent family and said "time is short, we have a helicopter waiting. There may just be enough time to get to the venue before some poor sod has his entrails ripped out by wailing Yardistas! "

We entered an altogether more pleasant lift, still the same attendant as before though.

The moment the etched crystal glass doors closed it revolved through 180 degrees to appear on the outside of the tower and shot toward the roof.

"I'll brief you in the chopper" Mr. Key shouted as we ducked under it's spinning blades.

"Give me a moment" I said, "I have some unfinished business with your lift attendant."

"You've got one minute and we're gone!"

I drew out my sharpest ukulele and headed back to the lift.

To find out what happens next tune into Resonance 104.4 (in the London area) or pick up the mp3 feed from the site at 6 p.m. on Thursday 22nd of December.

(The winter solstice y'know, oh, yes)

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 353

2011-12-19T17:24:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 19/12/11:

Pod-Test.

2011-12-18T22:42:00.000Z

errr,
Hello,
just testing

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 352

2011-12-18T14:17:00.000Z

Comet Corner, Middleton 18/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 351

2011-12-17T14:02:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 17/12/11:

Annoying

2011-12-16T22:19:00.000Z

Thanks to experimental film maker Ned Ouwell for permission to use her "Blue Eye" movie clip.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 350

2011-12-16T19:44:00.000Z

Chichester 16/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 349

2011-12-15T14:21:00.002Z

Marine Park Gardens Aldwick 15/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 348

2011-12-14T12:46:00.000Z

Charlton Down 14/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 347

2011-12-13T16:51:00.002Z

Oving 13/12/11:

Ignorant Ornithology and Sudden Enthusiasms. (a poem in words and pictures by OSM)

2011-12-12T22:20:00.003Z

Letter to Mr. G. Webster of The Pavilion of Innocent Pastimes:

(reads)

Dear Sir,

Please find enclosed an rough sketch of an ferocious creature that swooped to attack me this evening as I changed my bandage.

Would it be possible for you to confirm that this creature is, in fact, an eagle?

O.S.M. B:nn

An Eagle?

Mr. Webster replies:

"That's a bewinged potato, you're not catching me out that easily!"

And so Linda made Pease Pottage:

Not to scale

I think I need a holiday.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 346

2011-12-12T17:27:00.000Z

North Bersted 12/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 345

2011-12-11T14:08:00.002Z

Bognor Regis 11/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 344

2011-12-10T15:20:00.001Z

Felpham 10/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 343

2011-12-09T17:38:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 09/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 342

2011-12-08T15:38:00.000Z

Felpham 08/12/11:

Dance Me to the End of Love (L. Cohen) Single Mic Demo/Guide version: 01 Performed by BeHeld.

2011-12-07T23:09:00.001Z

Dance Me to the End of Love (L. Cohen)

Performed by BeHeld.

Recorded Friday 02/12/11

Single Mic Demo/Guide Track.

Jane: Vocals

Mick: Violin

Roger: Guitar/Vocals

David: Baritone Ukulele/Vocals

Linda: Dancing

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 341

2011-12-07T15:36:00.000Z

Aldwick 07/12/11:

Thanks. That Helps No End.

2011-12-07T13:44:00.003Z

I watched the BBC's local news programme (South Today) on the television last night.
I watch it every night for the weather forecast.
I need a vague idea of what the weather will bring the following day so I can make sure I dress correctly for the conditions.
Wind speed/direction are my preferred indicators as these have the most influence on my cycle ride to and from work.
(I prefer riding into the wind on the way to work then letting the wind blow me home on the ride back.)

Last night a report on local government spending cuts caught my attention.
The format usually focuses on an individual's personal experience of proposed cuts and tends to play heavily on the 'human-story' with much weeping, wailing and hand-wringing.
Last night featured a report on cuts to public transport services in rural areas and the knock-on effect it will have on the, mostly, elderly people who rely on buses to get them from their isolated bucolic hovels to anywhere that might have a shop/doctor/post office.
The piffling amount of money the county council will save by cutting this budget was contrasted with the MILLIONS of pounds they have ear-marked to restore the Chichester Festival Theatre.

But that's not what got my goat.

After the report the discussion continued in the studio.
Much was said about the level of social deprivation that's all to evident in the towns along the south coast and the seeming incongruity between the cuts to services and the funding for the restoration.

But that's not what got my goat either.

What really buttered my necktie was, as an illustrative example of this appalling social deprivation, they used footage of the main shopping area in Bognor Regis!

To be fair the BBC didn't actually identify Bognor but it annoyed me just the same.

So, If you want to experience social deprivation at first hand, why not visit Bognor Regis?
(And bring your wallet).

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 340

2011-12-06T14:41:00.000Z

Tangmere 06/12/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 339

2011-12-05T14:59:00.000Z

Felpham 05/12/11:

Standing

2011-12-04T18:24:00.000Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 338

2011-12-04T13:25:00.003Z

Fontwell 04/12/11:

This intervention is dedicated to Ned Ouwell who donated her home-made cardboard inner-sole for inclusion in it's construction.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 337

2011-12-03T15:33:00.000Z

Felpham 03/12/11:

Dancing (Updated)

2011-12-02T22:41:00.002Z

At the insistence of The Midnight Car Park Ramblers, the original sound-track, The Big Wha Hoo (Live) has been restored to the footage of The League of Outa-Space Formation Dance Team's Performance.

Many apologies for any distress caused by this oversight.

O.S.M. B:nn

Plucking

2011-12-02T20:54:00.002Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 336

2011-12-02T17:24:00.000Z

Chichester 02/12/11:

BigMetalTower Parts 01 02 03

2011-12-01T23:31:00.002Z

Swimming

2011-12-01T21:42:00.002Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 335

2011-12-01T15:16:00.000Z

Maudlin 01/12/11:

Shining

2011-11-30T21:49:00.003Z

Surprise!

2011-11-30T21:06:00.002Z

I suddenly realised I'd neglected, for the first time in many years, to buy myself an advent calendar.
I've been busy.

But, right now, waving the branch of a tree at me,
Linda wants to know where the white paint is.
Linda wants a paint brush.
Linda tells me I have to stay out of the front room for at least 20 minutes.

I am called into the front room,

Linda has made me my very own advent stick!

Walking

2011-11-30T19:04:00.001Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 334

2011-11-30T17:13:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 30/11/11:

Dreaming

2011-11-29T23:51:00.000Z

Revolving

2011-11-29T22:04:00.004Z

Zooming

2011-11-29T13:16:00.003Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 333

2011-11-29T12:36:00.000Z

West Meads 29/11/11:

Tinkling

2011-11-29T11:58:00.000Z

(feat: Mr. Beresford "Berry" Greene)

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 332

2011-11-28T12:31:00.000Z

North Bersted 28/11/11:

Watching.

2011-11-27T23:26:00.002Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 331

2011-11-27T16:08:00.002Z

Aldwick 27/11/11:

Horse!

2011-11-26T23:23:00.001Z

Intrepid independent film maker Ned Ouwell has a close encounter with a heavily soiled horse called Oprah.
("stupid name for a horse" N. Owell.)

Sundry Mortifications No.19 : Some Things I Write.

2011-11-26T22:21:00.000Z

"Then it fell off.

I trimmed the ends up that time, and woodlice, had compromised.

Then I left it somewhere and forgot about it."

Good 'eavens.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 330

2011-11-26T16:39:00.000Z

Glenwood Est. Bognor Regis 26/11/11:

Ducky Pegs.

2011-11-26T11:17:00.004Z

CRI's & music aside, I haven't made anything for awhile. Which makes me itch.

I've had an piece of interesting driftwood nailed to the front of my shed for years.

Blue Pointer Indicates Area Under Discussion

Then it fell off.
I trimmed the ends up that time, and woodlice, had compromised.
Then I left it somewhere and forgot about it.

This week I was having a root-around in one of the many drawers-of-interesting-things in the flat and found a coat-hanger shaped like a duck's head.
It seemed so 'naff'.
Then I remembered seeing another one exactly like it, but couldn't remember where I'd seen it.
It took me two days to find it. It was screwed to the back of the door in the back room.

Dressing gowns are a nuisance.
When they're not being worn they just lay about on the bed doing nothing all day.
Well, nothing except being untidy I s'pose.
What they need is a peg to hang on so they can be ready at a moments notice.

I held a duck peg up to the wall and it just looked a bit 'sad' really.
Like when people have a really slick kitchen fitted but screw a cup hook into the front of one of the doors to hang a tea-towel on.
(Prefer Aga's m'self. Tea towels look good hanging on the front of an Aga.)

Now the dim bulb starts to glow.
What's needed is a 'something' to mount the duck pegs on which can then be screwed to the wall.
So, that's that problem solved.

Some days pass.
I am obsessively re-arranging various items in my attic hide-away.
I find the piece of driftwood.
Then this happens:

The Parts Come Together

Four screws later I have something that can be fitted to a wall.
Which is a complex process involving:

A No.8 Wood Bit
A No.8 Masonry Bit
An Ancient Black & Decker Drill
An Electrical Extension
Two Screws
Two Wall Plugs
A Screwdriver
A Spirt Level
My Reading Glasses

I called on the wisdom of my ancestors, various things happened and the end result looked like this:

Result of Process

As the new facility has a nautical aspect (ish) I added some appropriate decoration:

"Giant Duck Peg Off the Port Bow C'pn!"

I tested it's intended purpose:

A Success.

Flushed with my achievement, I hung the diving lady up over the mirror:

Bombs Away!

London: City of the Future

2011-11-25T21:17:00.004Z

I took this picture on my return journey from Haemoglobin Towers to Waterloo Railway Station.

I really happy with it.
Mr. Glyn Webster also likes it and you can see how he utilised it here:
Sudden Enthusiasm: London 2011 A.D.

Mr. Webster is, without doubt, a member of The League of Outa_Space.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 329

2011-11-25T17:16:00.000Z

Aldwick 25/11/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 328

2011-11-24T18:37:00.000Z

Felpham 24/11/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 327

2011-11-23T17:57:00.000Z

Chichester 23/11/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 326

2011-11-22T15:49:00.000Z

Drayton 22/11/11:

An Evening of Lugubrious Music and Lopsided Prose: Prep.

2011-11-21T23:53:00.002Z

I seem to have done nothing for the last 6-8 weeks except practice the songs I set to music from the Hooting Yard Song Book.
I actually 'collected' 9 originals but, due to pressure of time, had to cut it back to 6 for performance.
I began by sitting with the words up on a screen in front of me and my large ukulele in my hand.
Through a process of strumming, plunking and mumbling, I get a rough form to work on.
I may abandon this 'original' form if something better turns up later on.
Which happened 3 times whilst working on these songs.
Then it's all about practice/record/review/practice/record/review/practice/record/review/practice/record/review/practice/record/review/practice/record/review.

I have a bit of a bee in my bonnet about learning the words to any song I intend to perform but, non of these songs were going into my set so, I probably could get away with not learning them by heart.
I learnt 'em by heart all the same.

I wasn't conscious of any 'pressure' about the gig but pushed myself to practice everyday for at least 2 hours.
I had demo versions of the songs on my iPod, on repeat.
I think Linda stopped speaking to me for 3 days before she forbade me from playing 'The Tiny-Headed Boy' in her earshot again. (she really meant it!)

I had intended for the gig to be the premier of the songs but I really needed to play them in front of people to get some feed-back.
I chose a folk session in the downs frequented by people of the 'Morris'.
I explained, as much as one can explain, the context of the songs and how they related to Hooting Yard and Mr. Key.
I, more or less, 'fluffed' all of the songs I played and gave up after 4.
The response was surprisingly positive.
Then a drunk man at the bar insisted we all play 'The Wild Rover' before he went home.
So, swings and round-a-bouts on that adventure.

Intensify the Training!
'The Tiny-Headed Boy' and 'On The Bonny, Bonny Banks' become so firmly embedded in my consciousness I cannot block them out during waking hours.
Linda forbids me from playing 'On The Bonny, Bonny Banks' within her ear-shot.

During this period I was also considering the small matter of amplification.
Did I need it?
If I did need it, how much?
I won't go into detail, suffice to say I came up with a mind-numbing list of options before deciding to forget them all and play acoustically.
Which is what I like doing.

During this period I was also considering the small matter of what to wear.
I chose my cape & a cherrie smile.

Thursday 17th of November, the day before the gig.
I leave work at lunch-time and return home to run through & record the 6 songs as many times as I can.
It takes around 14 minutes to play through all the songs.
I don't keep the recordings.
I just play/record, listen back, and trash. (Using QT Pro:7)
Linda went out.

Next Post: To London, Ah, Mr. Key I presume, Haemoglobin Towers and, possibly, An Evening of Lugubrious Music and Lopsided Prose.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 325

2011-11-21T17:11:00.000Z

Felpham 21/11/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 324

2011-11-20T16:02:00.000Z

Bognor Regis 20/11/11:

Bobbing

2011-11-20T15:01:00.002Z

Kinder Music No. 4 performed by The League of Outa_Space Toy Piano Orchestra.

Waving.

2011-11-19T23:27:00.002Z

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: 323

2011-11-19T16:29:00.002Z

Tower Bridge London 19/11/11:

This intervention is dedicated to Pansy, Evrah, Frank, Woolfson, Tay and all the Yardista.