Saturday 29 August 2009
Peaches,then breakfast...
It has taken over a few days to gradually log a bit of lego writing and a few photos.I have a few pics left of the Tree House Gallery in Regent's Park only two of which will appear here. The real life is thankfully muscling out the immediacy of the memory.
This morning we were greeted by Marie Therese at the door with a large box of peaches. There is enough jam in store, the peaches will have to be bottled in syrup. Forty stones now sit in a bowl. the fruit is contained in three jars being brought to boil in a large saucepan. Another five litre jars to go by a rough estimate,they will wait. First we will have breakfast. Anne-Sophie has preserved our very own baked beans in tomato sauce.
We have coco beans rather than navybeans and the tomatoes are also from home. We are growing more coco beans to bottle but the tomatoes will have to be frozen until the beans are ready to harvest. Fresh eggs, potatoes,fried tomatoes, toast and beans. I will see myself right with a slice of buttered bread and a little "Electric Damson" jam for afters.
This morning we were greeted by Marie Therese at the door with a large box of peaches. There is enough jam in store, the peaches will have to be bottled in syrup. Forty stones now sit in a bowl. the fruit is contained in three jars being brought to boil in a large saucepan. Another five litre jars to go by a rough estimate,they will wait. First we will have breakfast. Anne-Sophie has preserved our very own baked beans in tomato sauce.
We have coco beans rather than navybeans and the tomatoes are also from home. We are growing more coco beans to bottle but the tomatoes will have to be frozen until the beans are ready to harvest. Fresh eggs, potatoes,fried tomatoes, toast and beans. I will see myself right with a slice of buttered bread and a little "Electric Damson" jam for afters.
Friday 28 August 2009
Mirabelles...
Look at these beauties,sweet little darlings. They were brought to the Tree House Gallery in Regent's Park by scrumpers. Tasty plums . They will grow true to type if they get planted. They are happy in a mixed hedgerow. This year I spotted hundreds of these fruit trees on the high banks that run alongside the busy French trunk roads. Five stones of this bowl of fruit will be planted in pots. They will get transplanted to a permanent site on the edge of a small utility woodland when large enough. What did you do with yours?
To the late Toby Izlington...
I pressed the link for the London Underground.net Triplanetary and the other one. Pretty bloody thin stuff when you consider what work needs doing in this troubled world.Frenetic activity amounting to little more than whimsical ephemera. Self promoting vanity at best. Begging for funding, donations and talented volunteers. It doesn't go down well with me son. The work we do here at home will be more of a service than tea and poetry against homelessness. How many of the core members have sustainable economic home lives. The facade as portrayed on the internet may be well meaning, but it is hardly recommendable as a life supporting career opportunity. No solid product, and little to indicate essential service. Clever button pressers ought to realize that the real work is not done on the internet. What eventually will become our charity is being established by real personal effort and sweat. It isn't a just for fun preoccupation. It is about getting people OUT of Shit street, Anytown, not attracting more gullible people to it. I came to see you to dispel if I could my deep felt misgivings about your present activities. I am more concerned now than before I arrived. Perhaps I am a fool for caring. Such waffle as I have heard about Grass Roots cultural movement is self appeasing delusion.Grass Roots need a permanent terrestrial base.
Mud Toby, not overpriced temporary rented accommodation. It needs clean air , oxygen being the vital ingredient in short supply ,the fuel of all positive action and the food of consciousness. Trying to move the world with little more than photographs as a fulcrum and bitten down fingernails as your leverage, is hardly what I call cultural inspiration. The network is vulnerable,fragile son. Prone to breakdown at the weakest points. the stressed up heads. You have been there and done that, so what has been learned that would serve the greater common good, not just the exclusive elite. Mudskool realism is what you need most.I couldn't find anything that even loosely fit the bill at the Tree House Gallery. I have a hole in my shirt caused by a screw protruding from the tree house door. Well my camera and my penknife was stolen. I had to come away with something. I did collect a load of Birch seeds, from the clump of trees near the Tree House site. Thanks to the Royal Park for that. I will patch my shirt and sow the seeds. They are destined to be planted as little trees in our next working location. Home will get bigger over time, no instant results, this is a slow and steady progress. At this moment the jam pot is bubbling on the stove. I write awaiting Anne-Sophie's arrival. The jam needs jars she knows where they are stashed.It is a sunny day, breezy and fresh.I look forward to getting out to do a bit of good. Key board stabbing is the least satisfying of all my activities. Probably a wholly wasted effort. Who's to say?
I hope you turn up here Toby. There is nothing I could do towards your permanent well being in London. We can talk while we work together. If you've a will.
If you don't turn up the work will go on without you . We wont be begging for funding volunteers or "amazing acrobats and musicians". We will gradually form good working associations with others enlightened to practical durable progressive development. News from Nowhere was William Morris's fantasy. The book is as real as it will ever get in London. I am grateful I live somewhere other than in a dead mans imagination.
When I was homeless stray,saying I lived Nowhere was the truth as well as I could articulate it. I didn't call what I was doing Living. Just working to find a way out that didn't compromise what good I hoped to do. I don't call my home Nowhere. Living and working at last have a context where our modest effort and investment can appreciate and mature. Myopic screenside vision of the work is just a past time illusion. You have yet to join the people on the ground son. Wish you were here.
Mud Toby, not overpriced temporary rented accommodation. It needs clean air , oxygen being the vital ingredient in short supply ,the fuel of all positive action and the food of consciousness. Trying to move the world with little more than photographs as a fulcrum and bitten down fingernails as your leverage, is hardly what I call cultural inspiration. The network is vulnerable,fragile son. Prone to breakdown at the weakest points. the stressed up heads. You have been there and done that, so what has been learned that would serve the greater common good, not just the exclusive elite. Mudskool realism is what you need most.I couldn't find anything that even loosely fit the bill at the Tree House Gallery. I have a hole in my shirt caused by a screw protruding from the tree house door. Well my camera and my penknife was stolen. I had to come away with something. I did collect a load of Birch seeds, from the clump of trees near the Tree House site. Thanks to the Royal Park for that. I will patch my shirt and sow the seeds. They are destined to be planted as little trees in our next working location. Home will get bigger over time, no instant results, this is a slow and steady progress. At this moment the jam pot is bubbling on the stove. I write awaiting Anne-Sophie's arrival. The jam needs jars she knows where they are stashed.It is a sunny day, breezy and fresh.I look forward to getting out to do a bit of good. Key board stabbing is the least satisfying of all my activities. Probably a wholly wasted effort. Who's to say?
I hope you turn up here Toby. There is nothing I could do towards your permanent well being in London. We can talk while we work together. If you've a will.
If you don't turn up the work will go on without you . We wont be begging for funding volunteers or "amazing acrobats and musicians". We will gradually form good working associations with others enlightened to practical durable progressive development. News from Nowhere was William Morris's fantasy. The book is as real as it will ever get in London. I am grateful I live somewhere other than in a dead mans imagination.
When I was homeless stray,saying I lived Nowhere was the truth as well as I could articulate it. I didn't call what I was doing Living. Just working to find a way out that didn't compromise what good I hoped to do. I don't call my home Nowhere. Living and working at last have a context where our modest effort and investment can appreciate and mature. Myopic screenside vision of the work is just a past time illusion. You have yet to join the people on the ground son. Wish you were here.
Wednesday 26 August 2009
Tuesday 25 August 2009
The Tree House Gallery, Regent's Park...
I am bound to be critical,I am a carpenter and joiner. It would look it's best through innocent and uninitiated eyes. Form follows function if you don't look too closely. There were plenty of occasions that without intervention children would have been ejected out of the tree house from under the book shelf. Me grumpy grown up iz a professional when it comes to health and safety and accident avoidance. It got the stamp of an architect I am told. He helped to get approval. "The park is insured for squillions of pounds",I heard tell. Insurance policies don't prevent accidents from happening. Personal liability extends to everyone involved in the design and build as well as the use and supervision. Luck was with all who were involved in the project; Best not rely on luck next time if there is one.
Yep I am bound to be critical. No one could deny the intelligence and raw potential talent of the team members on the ground. Top of the pyramid, in principle at least. Even I recognise that and I don't drink. It was regrettable to be confronted by two young people newly arrived from a night on the razzle Supping their breakfast from a quarter bottle of whiskey. Wed an' Ill struggled to retain one line of reason between two. They sounded good to them. In another life or another venue it could have set back carreers or ended them completely. Meks no odds to me lads, but you shouldn't have tried so hard to be influencial. The subject of discussion was personal responsibility to others, they being the vulnerable clientelle, in that instance families with children. One of you want to "do film", you were projecting the wrong images at me. I hope it ends there. Two servings of well worn advice, I have never been too well known for my naive niceness.One,Avoid being used as an apologist for someone elses bad behaviour;and two, never argue with a righteous man. Sober or drunk. Hey chaps I didn't need to listen, what I heard was bad enough. You made an old giffer cross then in denial of your obvious condition and spurrious rationale,you were last witnessed with your arms about each other in mutual soulful counseling;emotional objectivity is something we develop when we are alone.When there is no-one there to tell you you are right. The available publicity barring the sociable network's "are you going?",promoted the groups professional aspirations very well.The impression of a floating pyramid in search of a terrestrial collateral base has stuck with me after many days and much thought. As a whole unit you haven't yet learned to press the buttons of the common working population that would be called upon to support your creatively artistic talents. An overview on the ground is that the group is begging, aching for patronage from above.You be dazzled by each others light. Reckons they'd shine brighter as individuals The little point of common mutual interest of a specialist elite needs more than a subsection of consensus support. Modest success would come by popular acclaim, fame and celebrity can be easily bought by licking the spittle of the masters hand. You all have brave hearts and high principles,but the installation is not a traveling roadshow. It is for sure a grand little place for saying hello and goodbye till next we meet. If ever we do. Singular experience needs room to grow,time to make space for each other.
13 pots of damson jam just got made. It took best part of a day to get those little plums stoned. We can be highly critical but we makes good jam. Tomorrow I will dig up some new blackcurrant bushes to give to a friend. she's not on Facebook but who cares?
Anne-Sophie and I as a unit would welcome you all as individuals for as long as you could stand it. We grow towards the coming need. Firm foundation is not an esoteric mystery
Yep I am bound to be critical. No one could deny the intelligence and raw potential talent of the team members on the ground. Top of the pyramid, in principle at least. Even I recognise that and I don't drink. It was regrettable to be confronted by two young people newly arrived from a night on the razzle Supping their breakfast from a quarter bottle of whiskey. Wed an' Ill struggled to retain one line of reason between two. They sounded good to them. In another life or another venue it could have set back carreers or ended them completely. Meks no odds to me lads, but you shouldn't have tried so hard to be influencial. The subject of discussion was personal responsibility to others, they being the vulnerable clientelle, in that instance families with children. One of you want to "do film", you were projecting the wrong images at me. I hope it ends there. Two servings of well worn advice, I have never been too well known for my naive niceness.One,Avoid being used as an apologist for someone elses bad behaviour;and two, never argue with a righteous man. Sober or drunk. Hey chaps I didn't need to listen, what I heard was bad enough. You made an old giffer cross then in denial of your obvious condition and spurrious rationale,you were last witnessed with your arms about each other in mutual soulful counseling;emotional objectivity is something we develop when we are alone.When there is no-one there to tell you you are right. The available publicity barring the sociable network's "are you going?",promoted the groups professional aspirations very well.The impression of a floating pyramid in search of a terrestrial collateral base has stuck with me after many days and much thought. As a whole unit you haven't yet learned to press the buttons of the common working population that would be called upon to support your creatively artistic talents. An overview on the ground is that the group is begging, aching for patronage from above.You be dazzled by each others light. Reckons they'd shine brighter as individuals The little point of common mutual interest of a specialist elite needs more than a subsection of consensus support. Modest success would come by popular acclaim, fame and celebrity can be easily bought by licking the spittle of the masters hand. You all have brave hearts and high principles,but the installation is not a traveling roadshow. It is for sure a grand little place for saying hello and goodbye till next we meet. If ever we do. Singular experience needs room to grow,time to make space for each other.
13 pots of damson jam just got made. It took best part of a day to get those little plums stoned. We can be highly critical but we makes good jam. Tomorrow I will dig up some new blackcurrant bushes to give to a friend. she's not on Facebook but who cares?
Anne-Sophie and I as a unit would welcome you all as individuals for as long as you could stand it. We grow towards the coming need. Firm foundation is not an esoteric mystery
Impressions from The Tree House Gallery,Chapter one,maybe?
Beguiling wordsmithery will probably obscure meaning. The grumbling giffer sponsored to attend a rendez-vous in the Tree House Gallery. Mizelf and the late lamented Toby Izlington that was. I found him well enough though much constrained by the narrow chest and shoulders of his ill fitting jacket. The thin disguise of bowler hat and stripey socks did nothing to hide his true secret identity, I recognised him immediately. The black and white photo iz almost a true likeness mores to my regret. I saw him smiling more than once , I did a bit of that myself on and off. Between little chats and long ones which somehow I felt I had to retain the thread of, distractions were found amongst the daily visitors. There were occasions when I felt like a target for question marks. The world could do with a few more definitive statements, thinks I. The backyard in the park , would be well to find a permanent location for the gallery tree houses. An inner city adventure playground perhaps.
I had read much of the available publicity on Google, various views from t’other side of the clipboard discussion forums. One eyed camera images . A lot of sponsors links on the web page. The format and style of the electronic medium can look really posh on the screen. I gleaned what information I could . My darling little boy had spoken of “ad hoc group”, “dynamic”,“paradigms”. I didn’t want to go. The weazly jargon conjured images of a small band of influencial networkers pressing other peoples buttons in order to “make something happen”. The back garden summer camp served as a place to meet friends and mingle, perhaps make new ones. Occasional hordes of supervised playgroups stormed the installation looking for action,they were it for me. Stressed up supervisors did their best as did many parents to conceal fears for safety. The adult neurosis frequently transmitted to the children gave many parents the opportunity to perform the role of rescuer putting aside their own anxiety. They invariably didn’t but at least they got a chance to feel brave. I pity the children of the paranoid parents. My playground as a child was a ten mile radius of unsupervised adventure. We made our own treehouses and dens, monkeyed up trees and craggy rock faces, pushing ourselves as far as we could dare. “Dangerous” made playtime exciting. Confidence was gained by not having a worried mother or fathers arms to fall into. Bicycles didn’t have stablisers in my younger day. “ Get out and play, and don’t come running to me for sympathy when you’ve broken both your legs.” My caring father’s words still ring in my ears. An ex soldier and a miner, he was conditioned to face challenge and risk with a brave heart. One write up spoke of ariel walkways, they would have been popular for sure, aiding children to overcome the fear of daring do,may in some small way give the confidence in later life to not need backup or a weapon when out in the big bad world.Ariel walkways were sadly omitted.
The Sound Garden gave the opportunity to give something a damned good thrashing and make a truck load of noise at the same time. I saw a number of dads making the most of their playtime, all kids together big and small, with no one to tell them to be quiet. You wouldn’t have heard them if you did. Whacking modified oxygen cylinders and square sectioned steel “tubular bells” with sticks. Pounding out surprisingly tuneful rythms on a xylophone drum with trainers or flip flops. Amid improvised drums,wheel rims and steel barrels the cacophany of Chaos ruled. My message to the inhibitted parents who just stood at the perimeter and watched,”Put your play clothes on and get stuck in,it is your adventure too”.
An upright piano bore a lot of unrestrained ,many handed violent abuse,as well as scores of “Merrily we roll alongs” and the more ‘advanced’ “Chopsticks”. A piano with only black notes would have been less painfull. May have helped introduce more children to the principle of harmony. The noise was endured in good spirit. Adults visited the suffering instrument to perform their various party pieces. I witnessed a fine opera singer with an acompanist, they made pleasant sense of a balmy evening. A young man performed classical pieces attired in baseball cap baggies and a ringed eyebrow. His people were well proud to hear him play. It was all the more pleasant for the lack of formal dress. Once in a while someone belted out some Boogy or some well worn blues riffs. Avant garde experimentalists composed instant rhapsodies, everyone who wanted to got a chance to strut their stuff and do their thing.
Regents park provided the nearest thing to fresh air that London could afford. My mission was to visit my son and to sponsor my stay by busking. I chanced to play for twenty minutes or so in the underpass by Baker Street station. The monoxide level was too much for me,the brief burst on me flute in my old stamping ground left my head banging in short order. The air was gritty with carbon. Unfit for healthy human habitation sez I. It is much worse now than in my younger day,I won’t be doing that again unless I am accompanied by a canary.
The little fair in the park was a small respite from traffic but did little to distract me from the poor air quality. I live in the country, in a farming region in Brittany. I was homesick for my more humane environment the moment I disembarked from the Eurostar train.
I had become unacustomed to crowds, not meeting more than a handful of folk over a couple of years with whom I could converse. I have been fully engrossed in projects in my home garden, silent for the most part save for the companionship of my wife Anne-Sophie content enough with that. I spent some peaceful times chattering with Paul who had brought his carving tools . Whittling over the two week period that I was there from pieces of green wood many small items of treen, including slingshots a whale and a most impressive aireoplane. His children raced around amusing themselves with benign mischief most happily and tirelessly , visiting mam and dad regularly for refreshments. The charming and most talented family was a good reality check. People visited him at his labour to talk and try their hand at whittling,spoons were a good number to gain some initial practice. I longed to be home making progress on my own workshop space. My own Pocket knife was misplaced borrowed or stolen within two days of my arrival at the event. Someone spent time rummaging through my bags to relieve me of my camera. The few photos that I have were on another memory card. Fool I was to trust. The updating of the website was neglected I thought I might make a small contribution as the “roving squirrel reporters” were evidently out to lunch. Too bad I lost some good pictures there. I had promised a young Brazilian boy Lino and his parents a copy. His folks took photo of their son and I talking. we were to exchange pictures . The memory of the occasion will have to do.
The instalation itself ? I guess I am hypercritical, I voiced my views regularly enough,it would be mean to belabour them further at present. One thing struck me about Pim,a Dutch sculptor’s constructions. Used as shelter for the “office” and cover for the piano. As light faded the form of the two shelters were reminiscent of traveller’s vardas,roll top wagons. I would have prefered to see the real thing pitched peacefully in the park. with perhaps gentle lamplight and a well tended cooking fire. The eyestabbing blue electric torches did nothing to endear me to the modern idiom. It ain’t natural It ain’t pretty and it ain’t healthy.
The reading gallery housing”Ed’s collection” of books was visited by many scores of curious adults and children, the majority of whom appeared more interested in the tree house. Who could blame them. For most children and adults alike books are rainy day stuff or something we do when we have peace alone. Several times I tried to read story out loud a dead loss trying without nailing childrens feet to the floor. Bedtime stories are for bedtime,not for sweltering summer days. A picture gallery would have been more appropriate . Remember Kieran,chocolate eclairs taste much better when you keep your mouth firmly closed whilst eating.
I was told that much of the materials were paid for by the core workers themselves a handsome gesture. Materials also collected from resource centres some from skips. A pile of dome tents were however being canibalised , destroyed to be remade into temporary cover for the large tree house. After two weeks of cutting and sewing little evidence of the proposed work being any where near completion. The tents would have served better if they had been given to people to use for their intended purpose . A longer lasting utility at least.
Having spent some nineteen years out of fiftyeight, homeless,though not idle by any means the sight of good useful equipment being wasted on a temporary vanity I found hard to bear.
I didn’t come to Regents park to run away with the fair I have seen a vast amount of that stuff since 69. The event upstaged my associating with my son Toby William Godden to a great extent.It didn’t escape notice that I wasn’t invited to even see the place he claimed was his present home. I hope the undynamic facade of Izlington wears off soon. The young fellow I fed and cared for would have a more meaningful and satisfying life without the duality. I did enjoy the company of many of the workers there ,admittedly some strong words were occasionally uttered, nothing too serious, I can hold me own against drunken people and social energy vampires. I gave my address and Email to a few good folk, with an invite to stop by if they were ever around my way. No one reciprocated I must be too scary or maybe their permanent addresses are at home with parents who would know. The prospect of Gareth bringing Seven in his van will I hope wait until I have had time to reaquaint with my son. He might chance by here on his own or with a friend in the meantime . I just hope Toby is as good as his word. Enough temporary distraction enough delay, there is permanent work to be done that won’t be achieved by looking at the screen or ligging with the party people.
Well I am gratefully back in my own domain. much neglected work to do in the garden. Weeding and sowing of green manure. There is plenty of good produce to eat for the coming year in store and more yet to be harvested. My good woman is glad to see me back earlier than expected not too worn out from my journey.The few pictures I have prior to my camera disappearing will have to serve there will be no more for some considerable time. Content yourselves one and all with a boring read.
I had read much of the available publicity on Google, various views from t’other side of the clipboard discussion forums. One eyed camera images . A lot of sponsors links on the web page. The format and style of the electronic medium can look really posh on the screen. I gleaned what information I could . My darling little boy had spoken of “ad hoc group”, “dynamic”,“paradigms”. I didn’t want to go. The weazly jargon conjured images of a small band of influencial networkers pressing other peoples buttons in order to “make something happen”. The back garden summer camp served as a place to meet friends and mingle, perhaps make new ones. Occasional hordes of supervised playgroups stormed the installation looking for action,they were it for me. Stressed up supervisors did their best as did many parents to conceal fears for safety. The adult neurosis frequently transmitted to the children gave many parents the opportunity to perform the role of rescuer putting aside their own anxiety. They invariably didn’t but at least they got a chance to feel brave. I pity the children of the paranoid parents. My playground as a child was a ten mile radius of unsupervised adventure. We made our own treehouses and dens, monkeyed up trees and craggy rock faces, pushing ourselves as far as we could dare. “Dangerous” made playtime exciting. Confidence was gained by not having a worried mother or fathers arms to fall into. Bicycles didn’t have stablisers in my younger day. “ Get out and play, and don’t come running to me for sympathy when you’ve broken both your legs.” My caring father’s words still ring in my ears. An ex soldier and a miner, he was conditioned to face challenge and risk with a brave heart. One write up spoke of ariel walkways, they would have been popular for sure, aiding children to overcome the fear of daring do,may in some small way give the confidence in later life to not need backup or a weapon when out in the big bad world.Ariel walkways were sadly omitted.
The Sound Garden gave the opportunity to give something a damned good thrashing and make a truck load of noise at the same time. I saw a number of dads making the most of their playtime, all kids together big and small, with no one to tell them to be quiet. You wouldn’t have heard them if you did. Whacking modified oxygen cylinders and square sectioned steel “tubular bells” with sticks. Pounding out surprisingly tuneful rythms on a xylophone drum with trainers or flip flops. Amid improvised drums,wheel rims and steel barrels the cacophany of Chaos ruled. My message to the inhibitted parents who just stood at the perimeter and watched,”Put your play clothes on and get stuck in,it is your adventure too”.
An upright piano bore a lot of unrestrained ,many handed violent abuse,as well as scores of “Merrily we roll alongs” and the more ‘advanced’ “Chopsticks”. A piano with only black notes would have been less painfull. May have helped introduce more children to the principle of harmony. The noise was endured in good spirit. Adults visited the suffering instrument to perform their various party pieces. I witnessed a fine opera singer with an acompanist, they made pleasant sense of a balmy evening. A young man performed classical pieces attired in baseball cap baggies and a ringed eyebrow. His people were well proud to hear him play. It was all the more pleasant for the lack of formal dress. Once in a while someone belted out some Boogy or some well worn blues riffs. Avant garde experimentalists composed instant rhapsodies, everyone who wanted to got a chance to strut their stuff and do their thing.
Regents park provided the nearest thing to fresh air that London could afford. My mission was to visit my son and to sponsor my stay by busking. I chanced to play for twenty minutes or so in the underpass by Baker Street station. The monoxide level was too much for me,the brief burst on me flute in my old stamping ground left my head banging in short order. The air was gritty with carbon. Unfit for healthy human habitation sez I. It is much worse now than in my younger day,I won’t be doing that again unless I am accompanied by a canary.
The little fair in the park was a small respite from traffic but did little to distract me from the poor air quality. I live in the country, in a farming region in Brittany. I was homesick for my more humane environment the moment I disembarked from the Eurostar train.
I had become unacustomed to crowds, not meeting more than a handful of folk over a couple of years with whom I could converse. I have been fully engrossed in projects in my home garden, silent for the most part save for the companionship of my wife Anne-Sophie content enough with that. I spent some peaceful times chattering with Paul who had brought his carving tools . Whittling over the two week period that I was there from pieces of green wood many small items of treen, including slingshots a whale and a most impressive aireoplane. His children raced around amusing themselves with benign mischief most happily and tirelessly , visiting mam and dad regularly for refreshments. The charming and most talented family was a good reality check. People visited him at his labour to talk and try their hand at whittling,spoons were a good number to gain some initial practice. I longed to be home making progress on my own workshop space. My own Pocket knife was misplaced borrowed or stolen within two days of my arrival at the event. Someone spent time rummaging through my bags to relieve me of my camera. The few photos that I have were on another memory card. Fool I was to trust. The updating of the website was neglected I thought I might make a small contribution as the “roving squirrel reporters” were evidently out to lunch. Too bad I lost some good pictures there. I had promised a young Brazilian boy Lino and his parents a copy. His folks took photo of their son and I talking. we were to exchange pictures . The memory of the occasion will have to do.
The instalation itself ? I guess I am hypercritical, I voiced my views regularly enough,it would be mean to belabour them further at present. One thing struck me about Pim,a Dutch sculptor’s constructions. Used as shelter for the “office” and cover for the piano. As light faded the form of the two shelters were reminiscent of traveller’s vardas,roll top wagons. I would have prefered to see the real thing pitched peacefully in the park. with perhaps gentle lamplight and a well tended cooking fire. The eyestabbing blue electric torches did nothing to endear me to the modern idiom. It ain’t natural It ain’t pretty and it ain’t healthy.
The reading gallery housing”Ed’s collection” of books was visited by many scores of curious adults and children, the majority of whom appeared more interested in the tree house. Who could blame them. For most children and adults alike books are rainy day stuff or something we do when we have peace alone. Several times I tried to read story out loud a dead loss trying without nailing childrens feet to the floor. Bedtime stories are for bedtime,not for sweltering summer days. A picture gallery would have been more appropriate . Remember Kieran,chocolate eclairs taste much better when you keep your mouth firmly closed whilst eating.
I was told that much of the materials were paid for by the core workers themselves a handsome gesture. Materials also collected from resource centres some from skips. A pile of dome tents were however being canibalised , destroyed to be remade into temporary cover for the large tree house. After two weeks of cutting and sewing little evidence of the proposed work being any where near completion. The tents would have served better if they had been given to people to use for their intended purpose . A longer lasting utility at least.
Having spent some nineteen years out of fiftyeight, homeless,though not idle by any means the sight of good useful equipment being wasted on a temporary vanity I found hard to bear.
I didn’t come to Regents park to run away with the fair I have seen a vast amount of that stuff since 69. The event upstaged my associating with my son Toby William Godden to a great extent.It didn’t escape notice that I wasn’t invited to even see the place he claimed was his present home. I hope the undynamic facade of Izlington wears off soon. The young fellow I fed and cared for would have a more meaningful and satisfying life without the duality. I did enjoy the company of many of the workers there ,admittedly some strong words were occasionally uttered, nothing too serious, I can hold me own against drunken people and social energy vampires. I gave my address and Email to a few good folk, with an invite to stop by if they were ever around my way. No one reciprocated I must be too scary or maybe their permanent addresses are at home with parents who would know. The prospect of Gareth bringing Seven in his van will I hope wait until I have had time to reaquaint with my son. He might chance by here on his own or with a friend in the meantime . I just hope Toby is as good as his word. Enough temporary distraction enough delay, there is permanent work to be done that won’t be achieved by looking at the screen or ligging with the party people.
Well I am gratefully back in my own domain. much neglected work to do in the garden. Weeding and sowing of green manure. There is plenty of good produce to eat for the coming year in store and more yet to be harvested. My good woman is glad to see me back earlier than expected not too worn out from my journey.The few pictures I have prior to my camera disappearing will have to serve there will be no more for some considerable time. Content yourselves one and all with a boring read.
Thursday 6 August 2009
The message is the medium,the lesson is the guru,the work is the yoga.
Learn to dance with a hoe beat time to the rhythm of the thirteen moon cycle. Transcend the prison of Gregorian circularity. Return to the meaning of your terrestrial identity. Elemental none vocal,learn to breath again for the first tme. Verbal Literal vocalization is merely poetic Allusion it is not truth.Work silently in willing service manually, manfully. Manu returned to the place of his dominion. Be guided by the light that casts no shadow, The good Earth aches for our caring attention. Eternal Principle endures.Existing in service before the first word was uttered. Existing in service long after our mortal coil is turned to dust.
We may play, eat, laugh and sing together, once each seasons work is done.In returning the Earth to it's former glory,we may earn our Redemption. Grace. Peace. Giving thanks and praise and all honour to the Great Divinity, lest we become immodest.Thus we are returned to the Place of our true Belonging. Walk the Green Track In joyful contrition to the crossroad of our mutual Destiny.
The Earth needs to grow, a context wherein Love may safely dwell,
Home , the place of our neglected duty. The work never ending,
Now and Forever, Life without Fear. Amen.
IZNIBZ WAZIR
We may play, eat, laugh and sing together, once each seasons work is done.In returning the Earth to it's former glory,we may earn our Redemption. Grace. Peace. Giving thanks and praise and all honour to the Great Divinity, lest we become immodest.Thus we are returned to the Place of our true Belonging. Walk the Green Track In joyful contrition to the crossroad of our mutual Destiny.
The Earth needs to grow, a context wherein Love may safely dwell,
Home , the place of our neglected duty. The work never ending,
Now and Forever, Life without Fear. Amen.
IZNIBZ WAZIR
Wednesday 5 August 2009
NO MR. EASE...
Resting after a little portion of digging. The onions have been lifted,not bad . Shallots too. Anne-Sophie has just been cleaning them up for long term storage. I divided the raspberries. One scrawny plant from last year will make eight large plants next year,that's pleasing. We will give a bunch of Black currant to a neighbour. Some red ones too. Not many pictures to ogle you are saturated with one eyed images as it is. Carrots are healthy late crop accelerating well. Aubergine and peppers thrive no copper on the tomatoes,some of them got sick,we rescued many kilos of the fruit but the plants will be burned. I am grateful we didn't see the Colorado beetle this year. The fruit harvest locally has been good. The apricot jam tastes so good, intoxicating. Superfruity. After spreading my toast I counted seven apricot halves(it was an accident honest) Could be classed as an addictive drug,I had better keep it cool. The strawberry jam isn't much better. I am not content with the plum jam it is merely excellent. The continual payoff for all the hard work is most Encouraging. Gimme the organic "Lovin it" every time. There is no such thing as cheap food but with no food miles and no profiteering we get 100% of the value of the work invested,plus a healthy profit that is the life. Growing and eating potatoes doesn't make anyone fat. waiting for the cows to come home does. This years spuds are good. Activity would have been hyperbolic this year but my health couldn't stand the pace. I am getting stronger now . I could do without giving even a small damn about my adult childrens welfare, Poor communication from the Blighted Isle and extremely unsettling intelligence gathered from what there was has lost me three nights sleep in a row. It's not as if I have a choice caring does it on it's own.She left the stabilisers on for too long, then she held on to them in case they fell off. They are all right in the little uns pool but they couldn't hack it at the moment beyond the strand line. They need tuning up. I can see me hitching to U.K. I will keep me hands in my pocket till I am sure if it's a hug that's needed or a thump. I'm sure I am not the only one who has felt this way.
I may have to busk my fare at the port town. Not really up for it but I can do without losing sleep. It is going to take months to recover,I am hardly fit to do a decent days digging as it is,it'll set me back.The roundy house aches for my attention.Patience. Good things take time magic is slower than science. The prospect of going to Britain fills me with dread. me beardy face gets treated as a suspect terrorist every time I visit.
Britons may never never never be slaves but a natural freemans face certainly worries a lot of shavers,both men and women. Seems to be a wave of New Age Xenophobia. Reckons this pandemic of swine flue is a subliminal symptom of Islamaphobia. The media hype designed to make the muslim terrorists feel uncomfortable about going there. London isn't a pleasant prospect from here. If I go it will not be a pleasure trip. Spy city. Cameras everywhere. They would be better serving if they exercise their fat behinds and practiced vigilant exemplary good citizenry on the ground. Bet they wouldn't do that for no wages 24/7. It is sadly observable that everyone and his aunty from the top down in U.K seems to need a scam a fiddle plus expenses. From Royal Houshold through to Big Issue sellers. I know it isn't good to generalise but from over the water it doesn't look good. I will try to be objective about the state of the capital if I go. Ragged Man on manouveurs again. How do you spell that? I just hope I can busk enough up to cover my tickets and my food. Pray God they have their ears on. The tunes have been coming out well of late. I dare say I will have a good rant I will find a platform in the park. The TREE HOUSE GALLERY is it? We will see. I am hard to impress. I noticed that the publicity before opening was begging for snacks and water for the workers,in the fifth richest country in the world plc. on the worldwide web for goodness sake. I was shocked and ashamed. So "Stand by yer beds and get ready for inspection" Don't see why I should feel bad on me own" I'll put Instant Karma a la mode on thhe menu. lets hope I can get them eatng out of me hand . The firewood is cut stacked and dry, enough for more than a year. Many jars of haricots stashed away in jars. We will harvest more hazel nuts ,very sweet.Damson jam next I reckon. The second crop of the year of strawberries. So that is what they are meant to taste like. Folk don't know how badly they're being cheated in Shopping Land. What happens to the nation of shop keepers when the money runs out.. The workers have to get their influential social networks to beg for food on the world wide web.
The pile of seaweed looks well, I might take a photo. Ithas been rained on a couple of times we will leave putting it on the beds until late in the year, first some ble noir and beans which will be turned into the ground before flowering. I won't seek out cow manure. I don't trust it. I have seen too much of the industry over years to risk the family's health. The veggies keep better if they aren't overfed. Don't we all?
Someone gave Anne-Sophie a bottle of Champagne yesterday for being alovely trustworthy and diligent care worker. We drank Buck'sFizz from jam jars as we have no glasses. She had one I had two, by Heck it's strong. I rarely drink. That was enough for us. Happen we'll have the rest tonight. The two drinks if I have to drink on occasion
Bitter shandy and Bucks Fizz will see me right. Seperately mind. I can see them needing to have a charity whip round to buy me a half. I might take them a jar of jam. They could auction it on e-bay and buy some grub. If our kid does'nt measure up I will eat it meself. I doubt I will stay long. the prospect of leaving the garden at this time of year makes me home sick already, I haven't gone yet?Who knows I might not.
What ever happened to jam and Jerusalem Seems like they need celebrity media stars to show them which end to feed, Poor bewildered donkeys. "No the carrot is offered to the front end!" you wonder what makes them reluctant to eat the very best of natures bounty from there own gardens. No garden home forces a man to be a slave for wages.
I'm content with my own patch but I mourn the demise of my former homeland. As I say ," You can't be blamed for caring."
I may have to busk my fare at the port town. Not really up for it but I can do without losing sleep. It is going to take months to recover,I am hardly fit to do a decent days digging as it is,it'll set me back.The roundy house aches for my attention.Patience. Good things take time magic is slower than science. The prospect of going to Britain fills me with dread. me beardy face gets treated as a suspect terrorist every time I visit.
Britons may never never never be slaves but a natural freemans face certainly worries a lot of shavers,both men and women. Seems to be a wave of New Age Xenophobia. Reckons this pandemic of swine flue is a subliminal symptom of Islamaphobia. The media hype designed to make the muslim terrorists feel uncomfortable about going there. London isn't a pleasant prospect from here. If I go it will not be a pleasure trip. Spy city. Cameras everywhere. They would be better serving if they exercise their fat behinds and practiced vigilant exemplary good citizenry on the ground. Bet they wouldn't do that for no wages 24/7. It is sadly observable that everyone and his aunty from the top down in U.K seems to need a scam a fiddle plus expenses. From Royal Houshold through to Big Issue sellers. I know it isn't good to generalise but from over the water it doesn't look good. I will try to be objective about the state of the capital if I go. Ragged Man on manouveurs again. How do you spell that? I just hope I can busk enough up to cover my tickets and my food. Pray God they have their ears on. The tunes have been coming out well of late. I dare say I will have a good rant I will find a platform in the park. The TREE HOUSE GALLERY is it? We will see. I am hard to impress. I noticed that the publicity before opening was begging for snacks and water for the workers,in the fifth richest country in the world plc. on the worldwide web for goodness sake. I was shocked and ashamed. So "Stand by yer beds and get ready for inspection" Don't see why I should feel bad on me own" I'll put Instant Karma a la mode on thhe menu. lets hope I can get them eatng out of me hand . The firewood is cut stacked and dry, enough for more than a year. Many jars of haricots stashed away in jars. We will harvest more hazel nuts ,very sweet.Damson jam next I reckon. The second crop of the year of strawberries. So that is what they are meant to taste like. Folk don't know how badly they're being cheated in Shopping Land. What happens to the nation of shop keepers when the money runs out.. The workers have to get their influential social networks to beg for food on the world wide web.
The pile of seaweed looks well, I might take a photo. Ithas been rained on a couple of times we will leave putting it on the beds until late in the year, first some ble noir and beans which will be turned into the ground before flowering. I won't seek out cow manure. I don't trust it. I have seen too much of the industry over years to risk the family's health. The veggies keep better if they aren't overfed. Don't we all?
Someone gave Anne-Sophie a bottle of Champagne yesterday for being alovely trustworthy and diligent care worker. We drank Buck'sFizz from jam jars as we have no glasses. She had one I had two, by Heck it's strong. I rarely drink. That was enough for us. Happen we'll have the rest tonight. The two drinks if I have to drink on occasion
Bitter shandy and Bucks Fizz will see me right. Seperately mind. I can see them needing to have a charity whip round to buy me a half. I might take them a jar of jam. They could auction it on e-bay and buy some grub. If our kid does'nt measure up I will eat it meself. I doubt I will stay long. the prospect of leaving the garden at this time of year makes me home sick already, I haven't gone yet?Who knows I might not.
What ever happened to jam and Jerusalem Seems like they need celebrity media stars to show them which end to feed, Poor bewildered donkeys. "No the carrot is offered to the front end!" you wonder what makes them reluctant to eat the very best of natures bounty from there own gardens. No garden home forces a man to be a slave for wages.
I'm content with my own patch but I mourn the demise of my former homeland. As I say ," You can't be blamed for caring."
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