(words, pictures, tunes...) part III

From Lambs Conduit Street to South Kensington and the V&A for the Bowie exhibition. 

Perhaps because of the exhibition, the BBC has been showing various documentaries and films about Bowie over the last few months - and my darling C has often abandoned me to the telly, only occasionally rolling his eyes, as I sit there singing along, slightly starry-eyed. So, let's just say I was primed for this exhibition...

You see, I really used to love David Bowie. Granted, I also really loved David Cassidy, and had numerous other crushes throughout the early 1970s (boy in the butcher shop, where are you now?) but I only ever made a scrapbook for David Bowie. I kept newspaper cuttings and pictures from magazines in a ring binder and it survived, stored along with all my teenage diaries, for many, many years. I wish I'd kept it, just like I wish I'd kept all of the diaries - imagine the material there would have been in there for a dull, slightly less angsty, Scottish Catcher in the Rye! An anodyne version of Trainspotting... Bus-stopping!

'My' years are definitely the Hunky Dory/Ziggy Stardust years. One of the girls in school sat me down one lunchtime, so that she could recite the lyrics of the Ziggy Stardust LP in their entirety to me whilst I checked them on the LP cover - and that seemed like a perfectly legitimate way to spend our lunch break...! In the early 1970s I'd gone to see Genesis (my first concert), snuck in with some friends after school to watch Roxy Music rehearse, pored over Jackie magazine every week, watched Top of the Pops religiously, and listened to Radio Luxembourg in bed on an orange plastic, doughnut-shaped radio, but somehow I didn't get to see Bowie live until sometime between 1978 and 1981.

By then, however, I wasn't a true 'fan' anymore - real life (and real boyfriends) took over, and I had neither the time nor the inclination to learn song lyrics. Still, when he came on stage, we stood up, then stood on the seats, then stood on the arms of the seats, all to get a better view, waving madly if he showed any indication that he knew we even existed. Magical! Crazy!

I'd waited a long time for an exhibition like this, but... just like I grew out of wanting to keep a scrapbook about him, I've realised that my appetite for looking at paintings he did, or bits of paper he scribbled on, or even a tissue he used to wipe off his lipstick, is not what it might have been 40 years ago! Nevertheless, the costumes are interesting - not particularly because Bowie wore them (although they do show just how very thin the Thin White Duke was...) but because of the diversity of styles, fabrics, and finish - from the skintight sparkle of Ziggy Stardust to the immaculate tailoring of later years, or the stylised black and white plastic suit showing little relation to the body underneath, to the gorgeous Alexander McQueen Union Flag coat, all demonstrating just how interestingly stylish Bowie has always been. I smiled at the blown-up note from McQueen, apologising for the lateness of delivery, and assuring Bowie that there would be something in the post soon... We've all  made our excuses at some time or another when a deadline has got the better of us...

However, the best bits for me - proving that, really, it's all about the music, the performance - had to be the video screens everywhere showing him in clips from TOTP or The Old Grey Whistle Test, and the headsets playing his songs. One of the last rooms is filled with giant screens playing video footage of concerts, displays of scale models of stage sets, and mannequins dressed in yet more costumes. The atmosphere there reminded me a little of Brixton Academy, with people milling around, all looking upwards at Bowie 'on stage', scary monster size. So, when my headset failed, I felt momentarily at a loss. I could have gone and looked at the rest of the costumes in more detail, but without the music that seemed slightly... pointless. The problem was fixed, and the music came back on after a few minutes, but it didn't feel quite the same as before. Time to leave. I guess it's good to know that Bowie isn't the only one who has moved on - but he'll always have his own special sparkly place in my heart!

(words, pictures, tunes...) part II

Lunch in the British Museum Library, where one side of the cafe is made up of a huge glass wall shielding shelves of beautiful, old, leather-bound, gold-embossed books. The books and the subtle lighting bring a quiet, studious air to the cafe, even if it is all done out otherwise in sleek white and chrome. It's a great place to meet if you're seeing someone off on a train at King's Cross/St Pancras, and want a little bit of peace and quiet to chat.

After saying goodbye to my niece, we wandered off to Lambs Conduit Street and Persephone Books. I do love the shop - it is very pretty, very small, and crammed with grey-covered books, one of each opened out to show the pattern on its endpapers. I had so far only bought and read one book from it, Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day, which was sweet, and funny and slight - and now a motion picture! Perhaps I should try to rent the dvd and see how it matches up to the book.

It's the kind of space I'd love to have as my own library, with a lamp on a table for reading at, and a comfy chair to plonk down onto, and perhaps doze off in, mid-sentence...

I have all of the ingredients at home - a table, chair, lamp and bookshelves - but I haven't quite got them arranged properly, so my 'library' room isn't quite so stylish, and I don't think I've ever sat in there just to read a book or a magazine.

Actually, it's amazing what a judicious bit of cropping can do...! Considering it's all cheap and cheerful, second hand, or auction stuff, it does look quite inviting. Perhaps I should persuade myself to sit there and read the book I bought on this visit, High Wages by Dorothy Whipple...

(words, pictures, tunes...) part I

To London at the weekend to meet up with one of my sisters-in-law, and one of my nieces. I may not have had a sister, but my brothers certainly delivered on introducing really clever, funny women into the family! We don't see each other very often, but when we do it's always lovely.

The plan was to fit a few cultural bits and bobs in between the tea, cake and conversation, so we met at the British Library to see the Propaganda:Power and Persuasion exhibition.

I'm a bit of a closet fan of the old communist propaganda art from China and Russia - I quite like some of those very stylised images of glowing youth doing noble things, all very pink and perky, and usually with a wide grin showing perfect, white and even teeth. True, sometimes it's just so bad it's good, but I like it all the same. Obviously, I never confuse the reality and the propaganda - I read Mao: The Unknown Story by Jung Chang and Jon Halliday a few years ago, and I was so troubled by what I'd read I immediately put the book into a charity shop, because I just didn't want it in the house any longer. So, I am perfectly capable of 'reading between the lines', right?

Maybe not. I hadn't really thought of Tufty as propaganda - I just thought he was trying to help me cross the road safely. Similarly, beautiful stamps - aren't they just designed to look pretty on the envelope? Perhaps I'm more of a sucker than I think I am.

A film crudely depicting Jewish men, leering self-consciously and unsuspectingly at the camera, as 'disguising' themselves in western clothes to try to 'infiltrate' German society, was disturbing and uncomfortable - but was that only because I now know the horror of what was to come in the death camps? I truly hope not. I like to think of myself as being a bit more savvy and sophisticated than that and not so easily fooled, but who knows what I would have thought in pre-war Germany if I'd been bombarded with these kinds of images and ideas? It's a chilling and sobering thought.

At the same time, I couldn't help but admire the simplicity and effectiveness of this graphic poster, used by American troops travelling through France in 1944 to tell the French that the Nazis had been driven out - would I have admired it as much if it showed a swastika imposed onto the French flag? It would have been just as simple and effective - but the message would have been quite different.

Some items raised a chuckle either deliberately, to convey a message in a humorous way, or unintentionally - such as this leaflet below sent out to 'all UK households in 2005'.

While I stood there, metaphorically scratching my head, and wondering why I couldn't recall ever receiving such an item, a chap next to me laughingly expressed a similar thought to his friend. In a broad Geordie accent he mused that perhaps 'they' weren't so bothered about 'us up north'. Much mockery (which really should be the name of a remote Suffolk village) ensued.

Would I recommend the exhibition? Not sure - we fairly whizzed through it, and there was a lot to see, so it might be better with more time. It blurs the lines between national cheer-leading, international muck-throwing, and the kind of cajoling or persuading that we're used to from advertising campaigns, so it's certainly thought-provoking, and for that it's worth it. Perhaps the whole exhibition in its entirety could be read as a propaganda tool to remind us that it's all still going on - so, wake up, people! As one of my brothers once said, in a different context, 'Be aware.'

Afterwards in the shop I was very taken with the display of Women's Suffrage items for sale, all emblazoned with the slogan Votes for Women. I wasn't so sure about the message being conveyed on a tea towel or frilly pinny - seems slightly to have missed the point! Irony, anyone? I did buy a few things tho', and my sister-in-law snuck a mug she'd bought into my bag at some point during the day! Thank you! x

Mother nature...

When we got home on Sunday we found a dead mouse on the doorstep. This has happened several times before, and it has been suggested by cat owners that it's a gift from a local cat. We do have one particular big, black moggy who comes into the garden regularly, and has even been known to curl up for a snooze on the welcome mat - I shoo him out as best I can, but I have to say he does have serious 'attitude'. I've stood looking up at him lounging on top of the shed, skooshing him with water from a plant spray, admonishing him in proper Gary Larson cartoon style (I know, I know - all he hears is blah, blah, blah) but in a Carl Larsson setting, and getting nothing but insolence and disdain in return. 'Can you climb trees? No? Didn't think so. Then off you pop!' Perhaps the mouse is by way of an apology for his being so rude.

I'm a wee bit fickle. I try to protect the birds from the cat, but also try to save particularly handsome worms from the birds. I feed the birds, and fill water dishes for them, but get irritated by great lumpen pigeons just gobbling everything up and pooping in the water. So I wave the pigeons away, but I'm delighted when I see Mrs Chaffinch at the food dish, and I love watching the blackbirds splashing about, even if it means I'll have to fill up the dish again. I mutter, 'Hey! You! Get off of my thyme!' when the sparrows start tugging away at it, and yet I am thrilled when goldfinches alight on the cornflowers...

and reduce them from this...to this...

I'm glad I only have one garden to worry about...it's exhausting...

Just rosy...

It's sometimes good to stop and smell the roses*...

...it's always better to check there aren't any bees in there who've beaten you to it... Poor C got a bit of a shock!

* It's scientific, you know.

Sonic boom...

This had me nearly jumping out of my crocs and dropping the secateurs...

'Daniel will now set fire to his tractor...'

To a vintage fair on Sunday, chockablock with collections of all sorts of stuff. There were deltiologists, numismatists, tegestologists and phillumenists*, amongst many others, exhibiting their various collections. Strangely, there doesn't seem to be a word for one who collects lawnmowers - other than 'lawnmower collector'. I'm sure, between us, we could come up with something appropriate...

Remember, you can click on the pictures to make them bigger. Particularly useful if you have a thing for... lawnmowers.

Actually, time for a guilty confession - when I was young I had a collection of Compliments slips. Acquired via my brothers mostly, from every job application, letter from the bank manager or whatever, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I finally ditched them not too many years ago, but perhaps I should have held onto them...

It was a grand day for viewing an assemblage of collectors' accumulations. Father and daughter were instantly drawn to a display of vintage motorcycles. We once joked about getting a motorbike and side car for the three of us...! Surely I could manage some crochet as I whizzed along in this...?

 I was more drawn to the display of cars, even though I'm not a driver...

...and the Gorgeous Girl and I had a lovely time choosing our favourites...

There were earnest conversations about engines...

 There were collections displayed on the collection of cars...

How about this (below) for a repair job...?

Look... a truck and a bike, and what looks like a real-life Suffolk cowboy eating ice-cream!

There were collections both big and small (and of big things and small things). 

I wonder what the collective noun for a bunch of buses is...?

 

A lot of things were brought along just to show, but some folk were selling stuff - although I was slightly bewildered by who might make up the market for beaten up old tin cans and the like...

 

There was a fab caravan - titchy, tiny, and occupied by a man who must have been 6'4" and who had to bend himself almost in two to get in and out of it! It had a kitchen and a fold out double bed, for him and his wife...

There were other miscellaneous bits and bobs, and things that didn't seem to fit into

any particular category, but were either lovely to look at...

...or slightly disturbing...

Not an homage to Hugh Hefner, but a demonstration of a water pump...!

As we sat and had lunch we watched a talk about tractors. The compere appeared to know everything there is to know about each and every tractor on show, and it was easy to switch off if it wasn't quite your thing... 'Now that doesn't sound very impressive (pregnant pause) until you have a look at the filtration system!' Actually, because he really knew his stuff, and had a dry wit, bits of it were pretty interesting - the narrowness of some tractors for certain jobs, the differences between tractor wheels, those used by the land girls from WWII, and something else because... 'it's hotter abroad!' I wish I'd heard what that was about!

Daniel starting his tractor after lighting it...

Finally, just before we left, in rolled  the big boys...

But for us, while we'd each enjoyed being a...

...now it was time for...

We even got home before the rain started! Result!

* When I was growing up if I didn't know the meaning of a word I was sent off to look it up in the dictionary - of course, if the definition included a word I didn't understand I had to look for that one, and so on, and so on, and so on. So, off you go.