Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No.5

05.01/11: Bognor Regis.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No.4

04/01/11 Bognor Regis:

Boffin On The Beach.

Much to my annoyance Linda insists on turning the television on at breakfast time.
Linda is obsessed by weather prediction and, despite having listened to the shipping forecast and radio weather reports, she has to see it on a computer generated map on the television.
This morning, just before the weather report, there was a short piece about a partial eclipse.
Some BBC iCandy and a Boffin were discussing the eclipse live from the beach just outside our flat.
I went down to investigate.
The iCandy had disappeared into the BBC van (in case her hair went frizzy in the drizzle no doubt) the boffin and a tele-bod remained.
'You'll be lucky to see anything this morning' was my cheery remark.
The boffin assured me his luck was very good.
I looked at the space where the blank grey sky met the blank grey sea and suggested it would have to be.
The boffin then started talking about refractive indices and I moved away slowly.

The boffin is the one in the wide brimmed hat

So, once again I failed to get myself on the tele.

Toy Piano and Glockenspiel.

   Toy Piano and Glockenspiel by Outa_Spaceman
Short piece created using Reason with a set of toy piano and glockenspiel samples.
The midi file it's built from came via a collection of guitar midi strum files.
There's also a 'mechanical' sound thrown in as a sound bed to lend a touch of musical box 'authenticity'.

I Like To Press Wild Flowers.

Sometime ago, so long now that I can't remember when, I found a flower press in a bin.
I brought it home because it had 4 bolts c/w wingnuts on it and I thought the two bits of wood might come in handy as well.

On 'dead-heading' the flowers in the front garden one afternoon I thought 'hang on, I could try to press some of these'.
So I did.

This afternoon I was tidying the lab and found the flower press.
It worked!
So I put the squashed bloom in a frame:

Yes.... it's a pansy.

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No.3

Felpham Fisherman's Garden 03/01/11:

Cardboard Reality Interventions 2011: No. 1 & 2

01/01/11 On Felpham Prom:

02/01/11 At Goodwood Racecourse:

My 'Track Of The Week' : "I Can't Control Myself: (As Performed By Pascal Comelade).

Many thanks to Mr. Frank Key of Hooting Yard for bringing this to my attention and for publishing the book 'Impugned By A Peasant' that has held me spellbound for several days.

Happy What Ever You Celebrate At This Time Of Year!

Poppy the kitten enjoyed watching the fairy having a tree shoved up her arse.

Happy New Year.

Happy new year indeed.
I decided to spend New Year's Day in the garden with my friends.

Resolutions?
Oh yes...
  Finger Rhumba by Outa_Spaceman

My 'Track Of The Week' : Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 11 "Alla Turca" (As Performed By Eiko Sudou At The Toy Piano).

Fun With Cardboard.

A cardboard hand:

A new sign:

How To Do A Silly Thing No 01: Madonna's Hand.

I have collected quite a few odds and ends in my charity-shop-wheelie-bin-diving.
And I do mean 'odds' and 'ends'.
Very rarely do I end up with a complete set of anything.

Today I found a plastic imitation severed forearm/ hand that pulled several odds and ends into a whole new odd end.
I added a black lace glove, two rings and a plastic spiked bracelet.

 

I have decided to call this creation 'The Hand Of Madonna' (circ 1984)

I found a suitable town centre spot...

 

..where I 'dropped' the counterfeit limb.

Hee, hee! I love doing stupid stuff then running away!!!

My 'Track Of The Week' : El Paso (as Performed by Lolita).

Gesplunde!

Get Thee Behind Me Satan.

It may be noticed that I haven't been posting much to my blog recently.
The reason?
I've stopped smoking.

I've been an on/off smoker most of my life.
Periods of desolute self indulgence tempered by periods of sickening self-righteous abstinence.

I didn't suddenly decide that I must stop smoking.
It, sort of, happened by accident.

I had a dental appointment and not wishing to offend my (attractive) dentist with ash-tray breath I slapped a nicotine patch on.
After my appointment I wondered how long I could go without a cigarette on one nicotine patch.
That was three weeks ago.

The only time I noticed being 'bothered' by not smoking was when I sat at my computer and every cell in my body shouted 'CIGARETTE!!'
So I've avoided using the computer for the last three weeks.

I hate to be smug but I didn't find stopping smoking particularly difficult.
Time will tell.

(Yes I have taken the nicotine patch off.)

Idiot Culture.

The way things connect in the world of the interweb fascinates me.
Some one in Seattle sees an image I made illustrating a posting on Hooting Yard:
Putty Putti
They contact me to ask if I'm will to allow it to be used for an album cover:
 I say 'yes',  some adjustments are made and voilà:

Here's the information about the album:

Please check out the band IDIOT CULTURE.  The band is led by guitarist Byron Duff.  Some of you may remember him from his days with The Spectarors, Dive or Moth.  He has a new album out on my 'dadastic! sounds' label.  Feel free to download and share the 'KINGPIN' from the album.

Byron is both an incredible musician and one of the nicest guys around.  He deserves some long-overdue recognition.

 

Here are some links:

Profile Page Link

Songs 

Dadastic! Sounds (The record company)

I've heard some tracks from the album and, though not what I'd usually listen to nowadays, I quite like them.
Which is a bit of a bonus.
I wish you well Idiot Culture.

Oh! Look Over There.

See now, here's the problem.
If you live in any one place for any length of time that place will slowly become invisible to you.
The aspects of the location that first caught your attention will become prosaic and meaningless.
Although you still have the gift of sight you are blind.

It's time to venture out and find the next level.

Beheld 'lite' (feat: Mystic Roger & Dolittle) Play 'Beheld'

An impromptu performance of 'Beheld'.
Girl on Wire wanted me to hear the glockenspiel part she had come up with.
We are ably assisted by Mystic Roger on guitar and Dolittle on backing vocal.
We suffer from the absence of St. Anley's Concertina and my getting the words to my own song wrong.

Linda's (Beheld's official film maker) film style is getting better but I do miss her 'cut away to shoes'.

My 'Track Of The Week': Purple Haze (as performed by Svetlyo Zhilev)

'scuse while eye kiz dis guy....

My 'Band Of The Week' : Hatebeak.

A death metal band with an African Grey Parrot on vocals?
What's not to like?
Go here for more: Hatebeak

All I Want For The 'C' Word.

Mr. Key has announced the launch of his new collection of stories under the snappy title
"Inpugned By A Peasant And Other Stories".

So, my Christmas 'get' list now reads:

• Leatherman Squirt ES4 (a multi-tool)
• HexBug Crab (a small novelty robot thing)
• 12v Rechargeable Battery (a large rechargeable battery)
• Inpugned By A Peasant And Other Stories (the new book by Frank Key)

Modest or what?

Linda tells me she wants a Nintendo Wii (something she will interact with between watching Emmerdale and Corrrie)

Another Cardboard Sign.

I haven't 'dropped' one of my cardboard signs for sometime now and feel it's about time I intervened in other people's reality again.
Here's my latest effort:

I gave it to The Girl On Wire and told her to place it in a strategic position in the town of Petworth.

So Long To "Big Fish".

Big Fish has been ill for about three days.
This morning he/she/it succumbed to the trumpet call and turned belly up.

This means that Little Fish gains promotion to the position of Big Fish.
Linda has been dispatched to the aquarium centre to recruit a candidate for the vacant position of Little Fish (it will probably be a shabumpkin.)

Last week we bought a couple of 'sucky' type fish in the hope that they might keep the tank a little cleaner but as soon as they were introduced into the tank they disappeared behind the filter and we haven't seen them since.

Beheld's First Attempt At Playing 'You And Me'.

I wrote 'You And Me' some time ago (couple of years I think).
I've performed it many times in different places and it always gets a reaction.
Usually questioning the gender perspective.
"It's not really a 'man' song is it?"
Why not I wonder?
Aren't men supposed to have the kind of sentiments expressed in the song?
At face value it describes that awkward period in a relationship where both parties know it's all over but neither can bring themselves to admit it.
I have a different take on what the song's actually about.

The Girl On A Wire asked if she could have a go at singing it and, in my opinion, she's made it her own.

This is a recording of the first time we've played it as an ensemble which accounts for Prof Dogsbody's somewhat tentative concertina. If I was a fair man I'd have let him know what the key and chords were before I turned on the recording equipment:
  You And Me. by Outa_Spaceman

From Earth To The Moon And A Trip Around It. Pt.V

At that moment, at six o'clock, the lunar pole appeared.  The disc only presented to the travellers' gaze one half brilliantly lit up, whilst the other disappeared in the darkness.  Suddenly the projectile passed the line of demarcation between intense light and absolute darkness, and was plunged in profound night !

For three hundred and fifty-four hours and a half, nearly fifteen days, the three adventurers were doomed to ride through the wilderness of interplanetary space in pitch darkness, although, fortunately, they were able to light up their cabin artificially.  The face of the moon above which they were now floating was never visible from the earth.

Why hadn't the Columbiad been drawn by the gravitational pull of the moon down on to it's surface?  That was the puzzle that teased Barbicane's scientific mind.  No more than twenty-five miles had separated it from the lunar disc, so it must have come strongly within the moon's influence.

It its speed had been enormous, he could have understood that the fall would not have taken place; but, with a relatively moderate speed, that resistance to the moon's attraction could not be explained.  Was the projectile under some foreign influence ?  Did some kind of body retain it in the ether ?  It was quite evident that it could never reach any point of the moon.  Whither was it going?  Was it going farther from, or nearing the disc ?  Was it being borne in that profound darkness through the infinity of space ?  How could they learn, how calculate, in the midst of this night ?  All these questions made Barbicane uneasy, but he could not solve them.

Certainly, the invisible orb was there, perhaps only some few miles off; but neither he nor his companions could not see it.  If there was any noise on its surface, they could not hear it.  Air, that medium of sound, was wanting to transmit the groanings of that moon which the Arabic legends call "a man already half granite, and still breathing."

One must allow that that was enough to aggravate the most patient observers.  It was just that unknown hemisphere which was stealing from their sight.  That face which fifteen days sooner, or fifteen days later, had been, or would be, splendidly illuminated by the solar rays, was being lost in utter darkness. In fifteen days where would the projectile be ?  Who could say ?  Where would the chances of conflicting attractions have drawn it to ?  The disappointment of the travellers in the midst of this utter darkness may be imagined.  All observation of the lunar disc was impossible.  The splendour of the starry world drew them to the windows of their moving ship.

Long did the travellers stand mute, watching the constellated firmament, upon which the moon, like a vast screen, made an enormous black hole.  But at length a painful sensation drew them from their watchings.  This was intense cold, which soon covered the inside of the glass of the scuttles with a thick coating of ice.  The sun was no longer warming the projectile with its direct rays,  and thus it was losing the heat stored up in its walls by degrees.  This heat was rapidly evaporating into space by radiation, and a considerably lower temperature was the result.  The humidity of the interior was changed into ice upon contact with the glass, preventing all observations.

"Well !" observed Michel, "we cannot reasonably complain of the monotony of our journey !  What variety we have had, at least in temperature.  Now we are blinded with light and saturated with heat, like the Indians of the Pampas !  now plunged into profound darkness, amidst the cold like the Esquimaux of the north pole.  No, indeed !  we have no right to complain;  nature does wonders in our honour."

Experimenting  and note-taking with all the calmness of men who foresaw a future safe landing on their parent Earth, Barbicane, Nicholl and Ardan sailed on round the moon without power to guide or alter the course of their spaceship, which was at the mercy of elements they could not account for, let alone control.

The vast disc of the moon hung below them at an unknown distance "like an enormous black screen upon the firmament."  Barbicane and Nicholl both agreed that whether the Columbiad was following a parabola or a hyperbola, it was certainly following an "open curve" into infinite space, and that it  "would never again meet either the earth of the moon."

What it did meet very soon, however, was a meteor, and this gave them some of the most terrible moments of suspense that they had experienced since being launched on their hazardous journey into unknown space.

Suddenly, in the midst of the ether, in the profound darkness an enormous mass appeared.  It was like a moon, but an incandescent moon, whose brilliancy was all the more intolerable as it cut sharply on the frightful darkness of space.  This mass, of a circular form, threw a light that filled the projectile.  The forms of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Arden, bathed in its white sheets, assumed that livid spectral appearance which physicians produce with the fictitious light of alcohol impregnated with salt.

"By Jove !" cried Michel Arden.  "We are hideous. What is that ill-conditioned moon ?"
"A meteor," replied Barbicane.
"A meteor burning in space?"
"Yes."
This shooting globe, suddenly appearing in shadow at a distance of at most 200 miles, ought, according to Barbicane, to have a diameter of 2,000 yards.  It advanced at a speed of about one mile and a half per second.  It cut the projectile's path, and must reach it in some minutes.  As it approached it grew to enormous proportions.

Imagine, if possible, the situation of the travellers !  It is impossible to describe it.  In spite of their courage, their sang-froid, their carelessness of danger, they were mute, motionless with stiffened limbs, a prey to frightful terror.  Their projectile, the course of which they could not alter, was rushing straight on this ignited mass, more intense than the open mouth of an oven.  It seemed as though they were being precipitated towards an abyss of fire.

Barbicane had seized the hands of his two companions, and all three looked through their half-open eyelids upon that asteroid heated to a white heat.  If thought was not destroyed within them, if their brains still worked amidst all this awe, they must have given themselves up for lost.

Hooting Yard: The Fan Art Movie.

I took a couple of Mr. Frank Key's drawings and, via a process involving witchcraft, coffee, cigarettes and swearing, made them into this animation.

I created the title sequence based around the Hooting Yard 'Implausible' logo.
The component parts were finished in January but I've only just joined all the bits together today as I'm hoping to have the film included in Resonance 104.4 F.M.'s 'ResOvision' project.
If all goes well it will also be included in the Frieze art Fair but I don't know much about that as I'm not an 'artist' I'm  *"just a bloke that does stupid stuff on a computer".

(* quote used with kind permission.)

Beheld: Our First Gig. Wukulele Festival 2010.

So, our first gig then.
Filmed by Linda (who hasn't quite got the hang of her phone camera yet) featuring brief extracts from:

• Disabled toilets and unsightly trousers.
• In The Smoke.
• This Small Stone.
• Poor Wayfaring Stranger.
• A nice bow tie.

I'll go into a bit more detail in a future posting.
Suffice to say that it all went well and nobody had to die.

This Small Stone (Demo Version).

I wrote This Small Stone in July and haven't really been happy with the demo versions I've recorded until this one featuring St. Anley on his concertina.
The concertina adds just the right amount of melancholy to what is essentially a song about causality.

  This Small Stone by Outa_Spaceman

The overall sound takes me back to my childhood when I had to 'look after' my father's garage.
Late Sunday evenings I would sit by the petrol pump on the off chance that someone might want fuel listening to 'Sing Something Simple' on the radio.  Radio One stopped broadcasting at around 6 o'clock and Radio 2 took over to see out the weekend in the most soporific way possible.
It obviously had a deeply profound effect on me.
The only other music I remember from those endless Sundays was by Wildman Fischer played on the Alexis Corner Show.

Jimmy Pritchard. A Man You Don't Meet Everyday.

Post rehearsal I went for a wander into Bognor.
I was walking down the London Road precinct when this wonderful bloke hove into view:

I asked him his name and if he would allow me to take his picture.

This is Mr. Jimmy Pritchard.
He rummaged about in his pockets and gave me an A4 piece of paper with a photocopy of an article from the local newspaper that, more or less, detailed his whole life as a song and dance man.

We discussed the great comics of days gone by. Tommy Cooper, Eric Morecambe and Ronnie Barker.
He told me about working in 'Stars In Battledress' with the likes of Harry Secombe (a really nice bloke) and Spike Milligan (mad as a hat).
People who made us laugh before the university boys took over.

I said 'It's been a pleasure to meet your sir'.
'Why do you call me sir?' he replied.
'Because anybody who can walk through Bognor Regis wearing a pink stetson deserves the greatest of respect.' I told him.
'Call me Jimmy' he said.

Beheld. The Song.

Here's a hastily written song to celebrate the naming of our band.
I'm also trying to impress St. Anley with the speed and efficiency by which a song can be written, recorded and delivered into the public domain.
  Beheld by Outa_Spaceman
So there you have it.
An hour from concept to delivery. An hour that included a trip to the bank, letting St. Anley into the flat, making him a cup of coffee and explaining in tedious detail all the ins and out of the process.

(St. Anley tells me he's impressed. Job done.)

So, Beheld It Is Then.

Anyone whose ever had anything to do with musical collectives will tell you that one of the biggest stumbling blocks in the 'getting the act together' process is finding and agreeing on the name. I've known potentially exciting combos that never got out of the rehearsal room because they couldn't agree on what to call themselves. Looking back across my involvement in music I've always been reasonably happy with the chosen titles (the ones in bold are my own efforts):

Dr. Syn: The village band I was a part of during my teenage years. Playing covers of popular hits during the time of Glam.

Wet Licks: A band I was recruited into from the nearby town of Harrogate. Playing Dr. Feelgood type R&B tunes.

625 Lines: The punk band I formed after seeing the Anarchy In The U.K. tour.

Neural Circus: The post punk electronic band I formed after the demise of 625 Lines.

The Mighty Red Fish: Four guitarists and a drum machine. I'm told we sounded similar to the 3 Johns (whoever they were).

Moo: The last 'serious' band I was in. Playing complicated Jazz Fusion type tunes around York while I shouted in tune over the top of them.
The rest of the band wanted to be The Meters. I wanted to be The Pop Group but we ended up being compared to Talking Heads mainly because I insisted on wearing a big suit I think.

The Interceptors: A Rock n' Roll revival band that stopped me writing my own songs for two years and ended up falling apart in acrimony.

I still use both 625 Lines and Neural Circus for various sonic experiments.
Which brings me to the new ensemble I've helped create.

Beheld: A vehicle for my most recent songs and The Girl On A Wire's love of Alt. Country songs by the likes of William Oldham (she may want me to adjust that description but it's the best I can come up with).
St. Anley is a died-in-the-wool fokie and a little confused about what's going on at the moment which doesn't matter in the slightest as the contribution he makes with his concertina sets the backdrop for The Girl On A Wire and myself perfectly.

After the Wukulele Festival has passed I hope to put together an E.P.
This will come as a surprise to The Girl On A Wire and St. Anley as I haven't told them yet but the most important thing is we're all happy with the name.

(Should I add the definite article I wonder?)

The Shoe Shop.

For one reason and another I've been feeling a bit glum today.
I've cheered myself up no end by watching this:


I would have liked to include the "Two Soups" sketch but all the YouTube versions I can find have had the pay off censored which sort of spoils it for me.

I feel much better now.
I really do.

Wukulele Festival 2010.

I am officially excited!
The Wukulele Festival now only 9 days away.

My newly formed ensemble, me (Uke & Vocals), St. Anley (English Concertina) & The Girl On A Wire (Vocals & Bowed Psaltery), will be opening the fringe gig at the Wheatsheaf pub then I'll be M.C.ing the rest of the gig.
I've had to part with my beloved baritone uke for a couple of days while it has a pickup fitted.
When it comes back I've promised myself I'm going to hook it up to my P.A. and knock out a couple of Ramones hits (which won't be in our set list for the festival) to entertain the neighbours

Due to some petty bureaucratic nonsense, which means only two musicians can play at the same time, we've had to compromise a little.
So, St. Anley will accompany me as I sing and play then I'll accompany The Girl On A Wire as she sings.

The whole festival looks like being a winner and I can't wait.
So, my advice is be there because there's nothing else on this tiny island worth doing instead.

Meanwhile here's a pictorial representation of our band:

Halnaker Windmill Revisited.

Linda and I set out for a drive to nowhere.
Errrr,
That's not strictly true.
We went out to find suitable pieces of wood for winter fuel and the woodlands along the top of the Goodwood Estate are littered with conveniently sized logs i.e. they fit easily into the back of our car.
We figured that because the Goodwood Revival is on at the moment no one would notice a shifty couple of ne'er-do-wells up to no good in the woods.
But, as happens with many of our schemes, we got distracted.

We saw the footpath sign to Halnaker Windmill and decided it would be more fun to walk up and take a look round.
I visited the windmill last year with my bicycle but, to be honest, I prefer the company of Linda.

The path takes us though a tunnel of trees:

We meet some donkeys:

On arriving at the windmill Linda does her "Tales of the Unexpected" dance while I play the jaw-harp:

I placed 7 white plastic cats along one of the beams in the windmill:

Then came the treat.
The Battle of Britain flight (Hurricane, Spitfire & Lancaster Bomber) began to circle around us while they waited to do a fly past over Goodwood. Sadly I got into a bit of a 'tizzy' with my phone's camera and only managed to get a picture of them receding into the distance:

Linda did one last pose for the camera:

Then we put on our disguises and went off to raid the woods for errr, wood.
Now that's what I call a grand day out.

Ukulele Right Of Passage.

In the U.K. if you pull out a uke some card will adopt a nasal whine and warble 'whennnn I'mmm cleanin' widoooooowwws'.
It's happened to me on so many occasions I thought 'well, alright then' and set about learning 'When I'm Cleaning Windows' by the late George Formby.
I can't say I'm a Formby fan but during the process of beating this song into my head I've developed a great respect for him.
I've still some work to do but, for the moment, this is as good as I can get it:
  When I'm Cleaning Windows by Outa_Spaceman
I have another reason for wanting to play and sing this kind of song.
Some musicians I know have been getting gigs in old folks homes.  The material they choose is, usually, completely inappropriate for the audience they are attempting to entertain so I decided to put a set of sing-a-long songs from the 30's and 40's together that they might enjoy.

I'm all heart (and empty wallet).

Here's the masters version:


Now, where's that Tiny Tim album...

The Bluebell Railway Visited.

Many, many years ago my parents returned from a short stay with relatives in Beckenham Kent.
They brought back two items that fascinated me as they seemed unbelievably exotic.
A pressed brass tray with featuring a depiction of a railway engine and a small, blue ornamental jug with the words "Bluebell Railway" printed on the side.
From that moment I knew my life would never be complete until I to had visited this mysterious Bluebell Railway.

Linda and I visited the railway last week.

I found the engine shown on the brass plate:

At the time my parents visited this was the only engine the railway owned. It was used to pull the two carriages the line had then.
Things have changed and the engine shed is crammed full of engines in various states of repair.

I decided to lash out on first class tickets for our journey so Linda would be impressed by my largess and we wouldn't have to mix with the riff raff in the second class carriages.
It was a worthwhile expenditure as the first class carriage was beautifully appointed and had lights which Linda obsessively turned on and off throughout the journey (I was content to obsessively raise and lower the compartment window blinds).
The first class carriage had a corridor which Linda marched up and down when she got bored of turning the compartment lights on and off:

Then, ignoring the verbose warning signs, we hung out of the windows and took pictures of one another: 

I'd hoped to get a picture of the drivers of the engine which, I think were twins, and most definitely female.

So, that's it then.
Another life ambition ticked off the list.
I'd hoped to make this an exciting post but,  for some reason, I can't.
Ho hum.

Oh, I forgot.
I saw this sign and thought of Wartime Housewife:

I should also mention that the Bluebell Railway is in West Sussex and not Kent.

Test Recording My Baritone Ukulele.

Since coming out as a uke player I've decided to start recording all my songs with the instrument.
But first I have to perform a few experimental tracks this being the first.

Recorded with 'Garageband' using a stock drum beat I added three over-dubs  via the built in mic on my computer:

  Uke Test 01 by Outa_Spaceman

That went well.
Now I have to get the serious microphone out and experiment with that.

The Village Fete.

August Bank Holiday Monday arrived last week.
Linda became animated and insisted we visit the Wisbrough Green Village Fete.
I'm never keen on these events as they always seem to be a pale imitation of the village fetes I went to as a child.

On arriving at Wisbrough Green we are directed to a large field where we are to park the car.
The field is under the control of an overworked Venture Scout who seems to be buckling under the responsibility and the onslaught of 4 wheel-drive vehicles. My heart goes out to him.

Linda and I wander down to the village green where the action is.
The first thing that greets us is the 'entertainment':

To be fair the lad's doing his best to provide musical entertainment and is only the warm up act for the brass band.
He had one neat trick.
By moving one of his legs, or elbows I couldn't tell which, the top of his hat lifts up and a teddy bear pops out.

I buy a terrible cup of tea for £1 from a tent run by the Girl Guides and go to look at what must be my favourite type of exhibit, inexplicable pieces of machinery:

In truth I do know what most of these machines were intended for as my father used to repair them.

The Red Arrows Display team flew over on their way to some air show and a 30 something woman looked up to the sky then shouted at her children "Look! look! Spitfires".

I enjoy another piece of redundant farm machinery:

Linda and I decide that the bales in this machine were, given the amount of moss growing on them, probably the last ones it ever made.
Restored/preserved Fergusons and Fordsons are all very well but I grew up with them and find them prosaic now.
I would love to see/climb about on one of the really big combine harvesters that I see in the fields nowadays or even one of the monster tractors that clog up the roads here about.


Restored cars:

A thing of beauty perhaps but I spent a good deal of my childhood 'helping' my father (i.e. being used as slave labour) restore these type of vehicles.
The M.G. in particular is a disturbing reminder of my lost childhood.  To my memory I've 'helped' restore seven of them.
The resto' jobs on these two are first class in my opinion but bear in mind that a Nissan Micra could out accelerate and out brake these relics and should you want to start them on a cold morning well, best of luck.

The 'Fun' Dog Show:

This was essentially a beauty pageant for dogs.
Linda, having been raised by dogs, knows what to look for in a 'good' dog and fumed at the choices made by the judges.
This picture was taken just before a loud cheer went up and a English Bulldog pup had a rosette pinned to it (I blame the Churchill Insurance ad, Oh, yes.)
Linda nearly exploded.  She has very strong views about the breed points that define these dogs.
(It was very cute though.) 

The child racing was announced (one of the few announcements I understood from the rubbish P.A. system).
I would have had a bet but there didn't seem to be any bookmakers at the fete.
The sack race was hilarious and, had I been able to film it without getting beaten to a pulp as a suspected paedo',  I'd have cleaned up on 'You've Been Framed'.

So, sad to say, I prefer my memories of the village fete rather than today's reality.
Mind you, I didn't go into the flower and veg marquee.
That could changed the whole experience.

Lastly, here's a picture of a street name that should give Mr. Old Fool a bit of a chuckle:

My New Toy errr, Tool.

It's my plan for next year to build myself a new shed.
Given that I'm hopeless at sawing straight measures had to be taken.
£39.99's worth of measures in the form of a Mitre Saw.
The first product of this wonder power tool can be seen in the picture.

I ran excitedly to Linda to show her what I'd achieved.
"What is it?" she asked, "It's a square" I replied.
"Oh, that's nice" she said.

From Earth To The Moon And A Trip Around It. Pt.IV

At midnight the moon was full.
At that precise moment the travellers should have alighted upon it, it the mischievous meteor had not diverted their course.  The orb was exactly in the position determined by the Cambridge Observatory.  It was mathematically at its perigee, and at the zenith of the twenty-eighth parallel.  An observer placed at the bottom of the enormous Columbiad, pointed perpendicularly to the horizon, would have framed the moon in the mouth of the gun.  A straight line drawn through the axis of the piece would have passed through the centre of the orb of night. it is needless to say that during the night of the 5th-6th of December, the travellers took not an instant's rest.  Could they close their eyes when so near this new world?  No!  All their feelings were concentrated in one single thought:- See!  Representatives of the earth, of humanity, past and present, all centred in them!  It is through their eyes that the human race look at these lunar regions, and penetrate the secrets of their satellite!  A strange emotion filled their hearts as they went from one window to the other.

Their observations, reproduced by Barbicane, were rigidly determined.  To take them, they had glasses; to correct them, maps.

As regards the optical instruments at their disposal, they had excellent marine glasses specially constructed for this journey.  They possessed magnifying powers of 100.  They would thus have brought the moon to within a distance (apparent) of less than 2,000 leagues from the earth.  But then, at a distance which for three hours in the morning did not exceed sixty-five miles, and in a medium free from all atmospheric disturbances, these instruments could reduce the lunar surface to within less than 1,500 yards!

Among the equipment in the Columbiad were maps of the moon, drawn by astronomers from observations made through giant telescopes.  These the travellers had before them as they circled the moon and studied its mountains, craters and plains.  No clear sign of life did they observe among the lunar landscapes, but suddenly Michel Ardan exclaimed:  "Look there!  cultivated fields!"  "Cultivated fields!" replied Nicholl, shrugging his shoulders.  "Ploughed, at all events," retorted Michel Ardan;  "but what labourers those Selenites must be, and what giant oxen they must harness to their plough to cut such furrows!"
"They are not furrows," said Barbicane; "they are rifts."

The Frenchman was always fanciful, whereas Barbicane and Nicholl were never anything but strictly, seriously scientific.  Barbicane insisted that the lunar rifts were natural, although anyone more imaginative might have believed them to be fortifications thrown up by the inhabitants of the moon.  He would not even accept Michel Ardan's suggestion that the reason for the disappearance of the rifts from earthly view at certain seasons was that the dark lines were rows of trees, which lost their leaves with the coming of winter and consequently became invisible.
"There are no seasons on the moon's surface," was Barbicane's conclusive argument.

Floating in the void, with no atmosphere to obscure their view, the three space-travellers were beholding the surface of the moon as not even the most powerful telescope on earth had been able to present it to the human eye.  They were four hundred miles distant from it, but their glasses brought its physical features to within four miles.  Eagerly they searched the lunar landscape for signs of man's handiwork, but "not a work betrayed the hand of man; not a ruin marked his course; not a group of animals was to be seen indicating life, even in an inferior degree.  In no part was there life, in no part was there an appearance of vegetation."

"Ah, indeed!" said Michel Ardan, a little out of countenance; "then you see no one?"
"No," answered Nicholl; "up to this time not a man, not an animal, not a tree!  After all, whether the atmosphere has taken refuge at the bottom of cavities, in the midst of the circles, or even on the opposite face of the moon, we cannot decide."
"Besides," added Barbicane, "even to the most piercing eye a man cannot be distinguished farther than three mile and a half off; so that, if there are any Selenites, they can see our projectile, but we cannot see them."
The absence of atmosphere on the moon brought strange and novel experiences to the men from earth.  There was no gradual fading of daylight into dusk and dusk into night.  The change from light to darkness came with the suddenness of and electric light switched off.  Nor did the heat give place to cold in stages.  The temperature fell "in an instant from boiling point to the cold of space."

Another consequence of this want of air is that absolute darkness reigns where the sun's rays do no penetrate.  That which on earth is called diffusion of light, that luminous matter which the air holds in suspension, which creates the twilight and the daybreak. . . does not exist on the moon.  Hence the harshness of contrasts, which only admit of two colours, black and white.  If a Selenite were to shade his eyes from the sun's rays, the sky would seem absolutely black, and the stars would shine as on the darkest night.  Judge of the impression produced on Barbicane and his two friends by this strange scene!
At five o'clock in the morning, the explorers passed only twenty-five miles from the top of the mountains of the moon.

It seemed as if the moon might be touched by the hand!  It seemed impossible that before long the projectile would strike her, if only at the north pole, the brilliant arch of which was so distinctly visible on the black sky.

Michel Ardan wanted to open one of the scuttles and throw himself on to the moon's surface!  A very useless attempt; for if the projectile could not attain any point whatever of the satellite, Michel, carried along by it's motion, could not attain it either.

So Long To "The Professor".

Laurent Fignon:  12 August 1960 – 31 August 2010
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http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurent_Fignon