Confessions Of A Modern Cloakroom Attendant.

The Photograph.

I was attending to the duties todays Modern Cloak-Room Attendant has to attend to when providing Premier Cloak-Room Attendant Services to, let's say, a charity ball (in aid of something or other).

I was buffing up the Cloak-Room counter top, having given it a good blast of Mr. Sheen (now with added something or other).

Hmmm...  Shiny, also silky smoooooth.

I was interrupted in my shiny counter stroking reverie by a photographer.
The photographer was there to take pictures of the guests.
He had the works with him.
Tin-foil umbrella with a flash bulb in it.
A special backdrop for the subject to stand in front of.
He had some fancy dress clothing for the guests wear  there by adding an element of amusement to the finished photo.
He would then have to sell them the photo.

I set up a 4' table for him and coved it with a green baize cloth.
He put his printer on it.
Here we see him examining his whopping great camera:

All well and good, but back to his interruption of my joy.

"Could you just stand in front of the screen while I just check everything's set up right?"

"No problem, sir".  

I stand in front of the screen, he aims the camera at me, and the flash goes.

The photographer examines the camera's view screen.

"Just one more, please".

"Happy to oblige."

All over.

I continued preparing my work area.

I gave the shiny counter another stroke.

The photographer came up to the Cloak-Room window and handed me a framed photograph:

It came as a bit of a shock I can tell you.
That's naked that is.

Have you noticed how you can look at your self in a mirror, but still never see yourself.

Photographs are different.

It reminded me of my first school picture:

There's, give or take a month or three, 50 years between these two pictures.

I tried to think about what on earth I could proffer in the way of advice to that happy little lad.

I'm still trying.

There, That Fixed That.

Urururur, 'ow's about that then boys and gals?

Tumbling Into Darkness*.

Hey, I've been around (does one eyebrow lift, looks straight down lens, and gives knowing wink to imaginary audience).
I'm a man of the world (well, I've got to the age where I could, if I so choose, sing that Fleetwood Mac song with some amount of genuine feeling.)
It'd take a lot to shock me I can tell you (actually, that's true!)
I've lived in the fast lane (but have since moved over to a more pedestrian lane).
I've taken more of everything than anyone and walked home afterwards (do not ask me about specific examples as most of it is a bit of a jumble nowadays).

I opened a tumblr microblog some time ago.
I don't (or can't) remember why.
Like many things, like so many many things, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Oh, hang on, I do remember why I opened it.
I wanted a home for odd bits and bobs that didn't seem to fit in the general scheme of this blog.
Still, I haven't really bothered with it.
I found the layout clunky and all the posts I made were just duplications of posts on this blog or pics from my Flickr site.
A couple of weeks ago I decided to try and get a handle on the place and find out if it was worth continuing with.
I changed the layout format which made it more entertaining to look at.
I followed a few links from people who had 'liked' or 'reblogged' some of the (very few) posts I'd made.

I minded here to re-use the Milton quote from the Robert Hughes posting:
"And in the lowest depth, a lower depth"
Could have been written about Tumblr.

Now here's my problem.
Having waded through the various mires I encountered I found I wasn't really shocked by any of it, just an overwhelming sensation of boredom.
There seems to be a great many posts by, what I assume are, teenaged females who are obsessed by pictures of each others pants, cutting themselves, kittens, and venerating the Columbine shootists.
I did see a short video that could be described as "octopus abuse" but I don't really want to think to much about that.
I suppose I'm disappointed by, octopuses excepted, the lack of imagination, the background noise of p0rn, the endless repeating gifs of gory deaths culled from horror movies.
Banal, banal, banal.

On the plus side I've seen some beautiful art and this is just a preliminary report.
Maybe in the lowest depth there might be something that glistens.

*I notice, since spending 15.5 hours in a cloak-room, I've become a little depressed and pessimistic so this post should be read against that background.

Stand Up.

It's that time of year when every stand-up "comedian" abandons Oxbridge and heads Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

Fortunately we still have a healthy supply of humorous chaps willing to entertain, and educate, the public:

Thanks to jec0066

My Track of the Week: "I'm Okay!" performed by Andrew.

Thanks to AK1994er

The Pin Head Toy (OSM Ind. Product Ref: 0003)

My first stab at a toy.

Pin Head Toy (OSM Ind. Prod Ref 0003)

When the red button is pressed the Pin Head flashes red and the whole assembly vibrates engendering squeals of delight from the button presser.

Back To Square -1

Had another of those restless wide awake imagineering nights last night.
I can usually build very complex imaginary constructions during those long watches of the night but last night was all about de-construction.
Guess what I was de-constucting?

There, that's better.

Once the engine was removed I was alarmed at the amount of damage it had inflicted on the down-tube which now looks as if it's been given several hefty thumps with a lump hammer.

I've changed my mind about this bicycle so many times I can't remember if I like it or not.

On the evidence of the ride along the prom to the pier I think I'm in a 'liking' phase at the moment and shall change my allegiance from the Motorized (sic)Bicycle Forum to the RatRod Forum which deals with all things hastily-cobbled-together-bicycle.

Riding it is a gentle 'hello sky, hello birds, hello sea' pleasure.

It's not fast, it still can't be ridden 'look, no hands' but that's not what's required on a sunny day in Bognor Regis.

A side issue of this deconstruction/re-imagining is what to do with the 5 litres of 2 stroke mix I now have in a plastic container (N.B. not a 'jerry' can).

I won't be asking any politician for advice though.

I've just remembered something from a long time ago!

I'd be about 10 years old, helping out in my father's garage.

We were decanting 5 gallons of petrol from a proper jerry-can into the underground petrol storage tank via a large funnel.

A customer stood watching us.

He asked my father if he didn't consider this practice somewhat dangerous.

'No' said my father removing the cigarette from his mouth and extinguishing it in a small puddle of petrol that had spilt on the garage floor.

His point being that it's the vapour that's (in)flammable not the liquid.

By the way the customer walked (and the smell) as he left I think he'd just shit his pants.

Oh, how we laughed in those far off days.

Scratching The Itch.

What with unemployment, recording, rehearsals, gigs, eBay and a thousand and one other things, I realised I hadn't 'made' anything in recent months.
Whist rootling about in the attic for more eBay fodder, I came across an old cigar box that I can't remember what I'd planned to do with.
Unsurprisingly, on opening the box, I found it was full of arms and legs.
Brace and bit and 4 holes later:

It's a start I suppose.

During the drilling phase I found myself wondering if I could, through studio wizardry, make a kazoo sound like a Crum Horn.
I recorded a basic beat, by tapping lightly on an old dynamic microphone, did a bit of kazoo buzzing then topped it off with a bit of penny-whistle noodling and dropped the whole lot in a vat of reverb:

Which reminded me of a picture I'd taken at the Science Museum:

Click picture to see the source

 I have the sneaking suspicion I may be developing a touch of 'cabin-fever'.

Health & Safety (Sheesh..)

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.

Times is 'ard Guv...

The house(s) of Outa_Spaceman & Linda have fallen on hard times so I'm reluctantly having to sell one of the children:

My beloved Aria FA 50e.
The auction can be found here:
Aria FA 50e Jazz Guitar

Post Card Kerfuffles.

When I showed Linda my re-imagined Greetings From Bognor Regis postcard,
(Linda has some very vibrant 'views' on Bognor Regis) she asked where my 'Greetings From (Expletive deleted) Felpham' might be.
I immediately dashed out into the twilight with the list, compiled by Linda, of places I should photograph.

upload, edit, composite, save and:

Linda doesn't like it.
I explain that it only looks gloomy because of the lighting and not because Felpham truly is akin to a sinister grave-yard.

Today I waited for the sun to get to the, for most of the sites, right place.
I used one effect on the way out and another effect on the way back.
On the way out:

And on the way back:

Awaiting Linda's verdict.

Found Art.

I was leafing though a book in a local charity shop when I discovered this drawing tucked between the pages:

O.K. children are rubbish at drawing yet they always capture something that people who call themselves artists would give their souls away for.
I'm going to frame this masterpiece and hang it in my shed.

Fail....

My childhood diet of worms never did me any harm...
Kids are just soft nowadays...

O.S.M. Ind: Clockwork Toy...

Taking a break form my musical endevours, I constructed a clockwork toy:

Now I need to find an infant to test it on...

Infants In Peril No. 3

I was outraged to see these poor mites being openly traded at a local market...
I remonstrated with the female proprietor of this disgusting enterprise...
"F&%k off nutter!" was her succinct reply...

Infants in Peril No. 2

Infant In Peril No. 2
Gordon ran toward Betty with the sissors and, in his haste, failed to notice the tripwire...

Infants In Peril No. 1

Here we see a poor mite in peril.
Oh! woe. Can nothing be done?