#1388 theoldmortuary ponders

Speeding wheels.

The blog I should have written yesterday.  I have been an urban bad person, driving 24mph in a 20mph zone. Unknowingly until a brown letter dropped through my door. £100 fine and either mandatory attendance at a Speed Awareness Course or 2 points on my licence.

I accepted the course either on-line or in person. On-line bookings were not being accepted so I opted to attend a city hotel 5 miles away. The booking that appeared when I clicked Plymouth, was a remote golf club in Launceston, a small Cornish town more than an hour away.

And then the chicken story of yesterday got in the way. The ear worm of The Janner Song became my in car entertainment as I drove through miles of  beautiful Cornish Countryside in glorious sunshine.

West Country accents shift and change as the geography of Devon and Cornwall change.

As I sat in the front of the classroom I could easily pick up the distinctive Plymouth accent from quite a few course attenders who, like me had been relocated ” down Cornwall”

Every time a “Proper Job” Plymothian spoke my head played a few seconds of the Janner Song.

Well, in England’s South West is the

county that’s best,
       
full of rolling green hills and a coast
           
that’s been blessed.
     
And inside of the Sound lie the three
        
Plymouth towns,
     
where everyone’s known as a Janner.



Janners,   Janners,
               
down in Plymouth we’re all known as

Janners.


        
And our own footballteam Plymouth Argyle
 
supreme
             
are the finest this beautiful county has

seen.
     
Every player of every nationality,
                        
when they pull the green they’re all

Janners.



Janners,   Janners,
               
down in Plymouth we’re all known as

Janners.


So, there was our song, we didn’t keep you
    
too long,
              
now you all know just one word of

West-Country slang.
                         
And while there’s meat on me bones, I hope
     
I’ll always be known
    
as a typical Plymouth grown Janner.


Janners,    Janners,
              
down in Plymouth we’re all known as

Janners.


Janners,    Janners,
                
down in Plymouth we’re all known as

Janners.

The Janner Song by the Sensational Baret Brothers.

I blame the chickens.

There was an irony to attending a speed awareness course in deepest Cornwall when, for many of us, our misdeeds took place within Jannerland City Limits.

These were two of the roads I drove down to get home.

Not a chance of reoffending.

Cornwall Road on the South Bank of the Thames, London

#1385 theoldmortuary ponders.

In the Pink.

Easter weekend has been a mish mash of weather. Sometimes very greige other times bright. Storm force winds, heavy rain and other times bitterly cold bright sunshine. As people with no religious bones Easter still has traditions, some linked to Pagan times and others to Christian Traditions. Four days of doing what we fancy really.

A highlight was the sudden blooming of Cherry Trees in the city.

Sun setting through Cherry Trees

Another was some glorious rust and graffiti in bright sunlight.

The closest we got to eating Lamb was to visit a small local harbour called Mutton Cove.

Mutton Cove.

I have no idea when or how it got its name but I think it is safe to assume that Sheep were involved.

The first Ice Cream of the season was enjoyed in the comfort of our car.

Right now we are prepping for an Easter Egg hunt. Like all events this weekend, warm coats will be required.

#1384 theoldmortuary ponders

Natural tulips  never hit a bum note.

Yesterday’s blog featuring a rant about plastic flowers, touched quite an International jangled nerve.

#1383 theoldmortuary ponders

So much tied up in overthinking for those of us who really dislike plastic flowers.

” Am I being snobby”

” They are the things of horrific thoughts”

” If they were put on my grave I would be turning in it for eternity”

I can only really take a deep dive into my own thoughts.

I am almost certainly judgemental and snobby about plastic flowers. While absolutely accepting that in some circumstances artificial plants have their place.

Instagram is responsible for a lot of grim plastic fakery.

My response to plastic flowers is somewhat physical . Seeing them, particularly, if they are faded or dusty gives me the shivers. In the same way chalk squeaked on a blackboard used to.

Love is a beautiful pebble.Dappled with shade.

Putting them on graves seems more disrespectful than nothing at all. A simple beautiful pebble* shows so much more thought.

Natural flowers are not a prickly subject.
  • And just like that another rant is born.  Whoever decided that painting pebbles with Acrylic paint was a sustainable and environmentally acceptable art form, especially for children. Adults should know better. Acrylic paint is plastic, yes it will wear off over time. But that paint has to go somewhere as a microplastic.
Pebble ‘painted’ by dappled shade.

Ranting over, I hope. Although that depends on how many more plastic flower haters there are out there this Easter, or indeed those who loathe a painted pebble.

Happy Easter

Chocolate eggs on the other hand are an entirely acceptable form of fakery. I am both snobby and shallow.

At long last I am active on Substack.

Link below.https://substack.com/profile/181071656-theoldmortuary-ponders/note/c-238477304?r=2zszs8

#1383 theoldmortuary ponders

Tranquility Bay on Good Friday.

As long as I can remember I have been fascinated by religious buildings and religious art. Never really the subject matter but the endeavour and embellishment. The colour palates and at times the curious juxtapositions of immense wealth and poverty just inches apart*. Our Easter Bob at Tranquility Bay was blessed by the greigiest day you could imagine.

Bobbers Bobbing on Good Friday

The conversation though was as colourful and wide ranging as ever. Dog harnesses to Kylie Minogues Nipple covers were touched on in some depth whilst clothes were fumbled on and hot drinks revived chilly women.

The day was certainly greige but the bobbing occasion was not so I borrowed the colours and drama of classical religious paintings to illustrate Tranquility Bay at Easter.

I used a variety of image manipulation Apps and a little bit of analogue Medical Imaging know-how to create our little swimming bay in Easter Colours,when in real life she was in a proper greige sulk.

A line of bobbers stretched out from shore to buoy.

Beyond this point is a rant, please feel free to leave the blog early if a rant might offend.

  • Plastic flowers in churches or indeed on graves are the Devils work. Especially the unnatural colour ones that always fade to a murky mauve colour and attract grubby dust. Nobody ever needs to be remembered by a plastic flower.

There is a point to my plastic flower rant and Tranquility Bay.

Lots of people have their ashes scattered here. Lots of friends and family like to overlook the bay, some like to toss flowers in the water all lovely things to do. But sometimes the Devil does his work in the hands of the foolish. Tossing plastic flowers in the sea is about as stupid as it gets.

Blogging and pondering with the occasional rant are deeply satisfying when I am forced to research. Today I learned the delightful phrase  ‘aesthetic lifespan’. Possibly the only joy a plastic flower has ever bought me.

I cannot wait to use that one in conversation…

My apologies, the inner bitch was out and proud this morning.

The Passion for Tranquility Bay

#1380 theoldmortuary ponders

Ancient statuary and accidental comedy, who knew they could be blogging partners.

We went on an Easter Egg hunt at a favourite National Trust Property. The formal gardens are often the location of themed events for children.

Our granddaughter has a cover-all word for all types of genitals . Mooeee

No matter what we are doing in the gardens she is always amused that Mercury managed to remember his hat but not his trousers. The sculpture is a copy of one in the Uffizzi, Florence.

My accidental trip to a Comedy Club last night featured a twenty minute monologue on the discomfort of a blind man attending an ultrasound examination on his Mooeee.

It was pretty funny for the whole audience, more so for me because I used to do ultrasound examinations on all sorts of Mooeees.  There were points when I laughed too hard, but how freeing to laugh about the absurdities of mooeee scanning without having to behave professionally. And to laugh in a room full of people laughing about the same absurdities was just lovely.

The comedian described the probe used as a small hand held device. It is actually called a small parts probe. Not something any gentleman was ever pleased to hear in a clinic!

What a great coincidence to see Mercury without his pants one day and then experience comedy about his exposed parts the next day.

A classic illustration of Mooeee for the blog.

P.s Mercury also seems to be looking at a microphone. Perhaps he was considering comedy as a career.

#1377 theoldmortuary ponders

The early morning promise of the previous blog came up trumps sunshine wise.

#1376 theoldmortuary ponders.

The temperature and wind however were quite another matter.

An over large and over optimistic deck chair

Normal sized deck chairs acting as windsocks.

Deck chairs had been put out but their only useful function was to act as windsocks.

On reflection and protection from a bitterly cold wind Lola dragged us into a warm cafe.

Lola staring into a cafe mirror.

Now the truth of this blog is that Lola is always a cafe dog. Even on our late night walks she is known for resting her brown nose on the door of any cafe that we have ever visited.

So a bit of very cold, very strong wind was absolutely in her favour. She doesn’t always get her own way. Today she did.

#1375 theoldmortuary ponders.

So much for me being inspired to be creative yesterday. There were good creative intentions but there were some tedious domestic tasks that also needed attention. Somehow they became the focus of my need to be creative. And when I say tedious they were really very dull. Stuff needed to go into the roof space. Other stuff needed to come down. Car detritus from the old car needed sorting and put in the new car or the camper van. Along with daily domestica. However all those dull things achieved gave me  a power burst and I framed some pictures, which is not the creativity I aspired to but is actually creative in its own way.

Two paintings are the illustrations for today. Done on 26th March in years past when my muse did not direct me to domestica. The 27th has not bloomed either, maybe the muse was just teasing me.

#1374 theoldmortuary ponders.

I don’t always know where a blog will take me, in the same way a dog walk can be an entirely different outcome from the one I imagined. So off we go with illustrations that were already chosen but a blog that will wander off a bit.

I chose sunflowers because today’s blog was going to be about thermal underwear. Because the sun is really making a sterling effort to turn up, bright and joyful in the sky. The temperature outside however is bone chillingly cold. Springlike clothes seem appropriate but layering is essential. The Covid years have given me a supply of thermal underwear that will outlast my lifetime.

I chose sunflowers because thermal underwear is not exciting  and because one of my all time favourite photographs turned up on a time hop.

This simple bunch of sunflowers were laid on an altar in Havana 10 years ago. I was attracted to them for many reasons. At first glance they look a little like a sleeping person. Something that was all too obvious in the back streets of Havana, but also because their wrapping was simple newspaper, still bearing the crumpled hand print of whoever had laid them.

 

Sunflowers, although not flowers of Spring, somehow represent creativity to me because they are robust and vivid and Springtime seems to be the time to reset a creative phase. There is nothing fragile or whimsical about a Sunflower.

This one photo never fails to spark my creativity, which is where I go off on a tangent.

While walking the dog in my Springlike clothes with thermal underwear underneath, I met a friend who is a composer. Unlike me she has spent the winter months being creative, writing music and lyrics on a theme of Witches. Spring for her has seen the culmination of her creativity. I was quite put to shame by her productivity. She offered to make me a coffee and then shared two of her compositions. Singing to me as we sat in her light filled room.

I was immediately inspired to come home and get back on the creative borse.

This earlier Green Woman painting was inspired by her Green Man Song Cycle a couple of years ago.

I am now quite excited to discover what her Witch Song Cycle will inspire.

So many lovely thoughts from a sunny dog walk in thermal underwear.

#1372 theoldmortuary ponders.

How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?

I am not someone who habitually says ‘no’ to things that interfere with my goals.

Primarily because I am not hugely rewarded by goals being achieved in a pure and prescribed way.

Of course, goals, targets or intentions need to be achieved most days, But I am a lover of the serendipitous outcome generally being better than a perfectly planned one.

I like to allow chance a chance to improve calculated outcomes. The word ‘no’ may well be useful to hit goals reliably . Predictability is, for many people more than enough. But predictability with the embellishment of just a little jeopardy can bring the most astonishing and interesting results. Always have an open mind.

Getting from A to B with even a tiny detour is so much more interesting. Sometimes a moved goal, caused by serendipity turns out to be a much better goal in the long run. And a missed one can be much the best outcome.