Sinister: gallivanting, Paddington Bear, and older women

[Gordon]

It's Mother's Day today in Britain... generally a time of washing more
dishes than normal and uprooted flora, fancily packaged cocoa bean
derivatives and thick paper, folded in half, with pictorial references
to afforementioned blooms on one side and inky squiggles intimating
loving respect for one's *mater* and eternal gratitude for washing
dishes every other day of the year etc. etc. on the other.

It occurs to me that Honey is our list mommy. So happy Honeyday! Mwah!
Mwah!

Perhaps some Glaswegians can help me out, here. In particular, those who
frequent the Cumbernauld Road in the vicinity of Stepps (not the S-Club
7'ooohh TINA you are so gorgeous' rivals btw Miss Cyberglam) . Somewhere
along it are traffic lights (as is roads' wont). Going northeast,
looking to one's left is a house. In the front bay window of this house
used to stand Paddington Bear. If it wasn't the real Paddington it sure
looked like him.
[further reading #1 http://www.paddingtonbear.co.uk/ ]
Anyways, this bear stood looking out at the traffic every day, year in,
year out. In the winter he wore the standard duffel coat and in the what
we wistfully aspire to being the summer months, something more
seasonally appropriate. Probably a sou'wester.
Sometime in the mid 1990's, a fancy new road was built: straight like a
racetrack with big, empty lanes and an absurdly low speed limit, but I
digress. Evidently, around this time, said bear was no longer to be seen
looking out at the traffic. Perhaps he got bored when all the commuter
action left for the big road with the low speed limit: drivers, no
longer stuck at the traffic lights; no longer there to smile or wave at
him. There were letters to the paper about it. I'm sure I remember there
were letters to the paper about it. Does anyone know what happened? Has
anyone, perchance, come across a slightly furry personage wearing a hat
and smelling faintly of marmalade?

Dreams
For a small person (or probably because of it), I have an absurdly large
ego. Which might explain yesterday morning's dream.
Its denoument involved me ripping the superstructure off the hull of a
scale model luxury yacht and hurling it at the feet of Tom Cruise, no
less; me yelling 'What the h*** do you call this sh**e?'. At the time,
Mr.Cruise is the director, co-producer and star of the latest Bond
movie, I am the set designer and we are both standing on the upper lawn
of my parents' back garden.
The route of the problem, see, is that I've come up with this idea for a
fight scene on the etched-glass roof of a yacht which has an *entirely
glass superstructure* and a pool below which divides the main deck clean
in two and continues out the front like a cross between a large fishtank
and a bowsprit (I have drawn sketches of it, btw). However, behind my
back, Tom has been browbeaten into opting for a conventional yacht by
the fat, cigar-smoking, illiterate bully of a man who is the principal
co-producer. I rant, rage, rant at Mr.Cruise screaming words like
'integrity' 'critical visual idea(l)' and 'Fellini' at which point Tom
turns into a talking sunflower, but without the stalk. And the sunflower
is violet, not yellow, but it does have his face surrounded by petals.
He says his hands are tied. I threaten to walk off the set. I'm so angry
I wake up.
I spend the next half hour curled up in my pyjamas on the floor with a
sketchpad, a biro, and a blue highlighter pen for the watery bits.
Sorted.

If any of you *do* wish to hire a yacht, try this ref:
http://www.cnconnect.com/cgi-bin/load.cgi?lnk=http://www.cnconnect.com/charter.html

One of them comes complete with resident violinist, which would be nice
at breakfast time somewhere in the Med. A little Pagannini with one's
cornflakes and orange juice.

Running to catch the bus that is the midnight hour I think

'erk!'

content: ah, soundtracks... lurvely. My big brother took me to see
'Welcome to the Dollhouse' at the Curzon Mayfair, which is a nice
cinema. We were both in London at the time, so it seemed a feasible
thing to do, as indeed it was. A good time was had. Mr.Solondz is
clearly a remarkable fellow. The dreamy boy/girl theme of that movie,
shot in lovely colours... I see why he chose both Belle and Sebastian to
provide the soundtrack for his new excursion. Good Good.

There's a movie called *Gallivant* by Andrew Kotting that some of you
might like. It's a road-trip movie around the coast of Britain featuring
the director, his granny, and his daughter, who has something called
Jouberts Syndrome, which means she can only communicate using her own
kind of sign language.
Kinda kooky kotting, you might say. Out on video (British Film
Institute).

gold medal: you had the good sense to skip this post
silver medal: you managed to scroll all the way to here
bronze medal: you read my post. I love you. You're right up there with
my mother.
x

Gordon




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