Rummage

Who knew I still had the capacity to post twice within the space of 24 hours? Must still be riding the runner's high.

Went to the markets this morning and bought some records. VERY cross about a supposed mint condition Copperhead Road by Steve Earle that jumps all over the place. Usually I check records before buying them but I have bought a lot from this guy before and I trusted him - won't do that again. Also got some JJ Cale and Bryan Ferry at his finest in 'Let's Stick Together'. 

Lay in the sun, smelt the violets and ate oysters again. Haven't been reading much - a bit of ee cummings and dipping into the Paul Kelly autobiography - he is an incredible wordsmith but doesn't place any demands on you to read it in any kind of order, I like that. Hope you are well this balmy Sunday evening. xx

Think I had my first experience of runner's euphoria this afternoon. I was listening to Blondie, the crazy whippet loping along beside me when suddenly in the middle of 'In the Flesh' I was belting out the chorus- raucous and undoubtedly off key at the top of my voice. All good except for the pack of cyclists who chose that moment to appear from behind me in the midst of my improv. Blondie moment. 

They cycled past and I thought - dammit I'll sing as loudly and as badly as I like - smirking cyclists or not. And so I did, until I swallowed some kind of moth and then I decided to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the run. 

The point is though, I think I'm starting to get this running thing and that endorphin rush, Blondie or no Blondie, is worth running into a few cement pylons for.

This week was  bit shit frankly, Friday was great though. I had the day off and hung out with some good people, mooched at my favourite cafe with the sun on my back listening to bluegrass. Drank a few beers with some hipsters. Today I spoke to some people I love on the phone, listened to Tom up there and swallowed an insect. Hope you are well. xx

I lived in London for a while in my early 20's - to say it was a turbulent period would be putting it mildly. There was one thing in particular that got me through - the National Gallery wasn't far from where I was working and I used to go and sit somewhere away from as many people as I could and fall into a painting.

I had my favourites, particularly from Picasso's Blue Period and I knew if I sat in front of one of these for long enough my troubles would ebb away and and I'd be in that Blue and the pain couldn't touch me. For a while anyway. 

I had that experience again yesterday in front of Nolan's Ned Kelly series in its new purpose-built gallery at the NGA. I didn't just fall into one - it was the entire series. "Quilting the Armour' in which Ned's sister is lovingly quilting a sky-blue silk inside the armour is my favourite. And again, I forgot to feel that thing that tears at me. For a while anyway.

My parents have been here this weekend so the soundtrack has been hardcore blues and a bit of soul. We ate oysters and some of us drank beer, the French took me out to see 'Johnny Guitar' at the Arc. Joan Crawford was a force to be reckoned with. Now I want to see American Graffitti - if you haven't visited the Arc you should make some time in your calendar for it. Hope the week rises up to meet you. xxx

Nursing a bit of a hangover today. Not one of those wicked hangovers where you lose the will to live, this one was a slow lazy burn in the background making everything a bit hazy in a good way. Made a slow-cook curry listening to old John Cougar Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen albums. Hung out with one of my favourite people, my 95 year old neighbour, shooting the breeze.

Ran the crazy whippet and listened to a mixtape that's tearing me up inside.

The big girl asked for those chisels up there for her birthday. She has barely had them out of her hand since she got them. Maybe it's a blood thing - her grandmother's a sculptor.

The violets are coming out in the garden. I was going to photograph them for you but I decided to lie in the sun beside them instead. Maybe tomorrow when the background buzz in my head subsides.

Love to you and all the beautiful people in your life. 

The big girl turned 9 this week. She is an awesome human being with a Phar Lap heart that's sometimes too big for her chest. I watched her sleeping the night before her birthday and I could see shifting across her face the baby she was and the beautiful girl she's become. It made me think of an old film called 'Smoke' based on a script by Paul Auster. Do you remember it? It's one of those films where nothing and everything happens - Harvey Keitel owns a corner tobacconist in New York with a motley crew of customers. He takes a photograph at exactly the same time every day from the doorway of his shop - if I remember rightly it's in the early evening when the light is just so. There's a scene where Keitel is showing William Hurt some of his old photo albums and they come across a photo of Hurt's dead wife walking in front of the tobacconist.

I found this scene incredibly moving and I have always wanted to do a similar series of the girls in bed - just one shot each night -long exposure + tripod -  the little one sleeping with her bum in the air, one arm strangling her dolly. The big one sucking her finger surrounded by Enid Blyton books and secret flashlight.

The soundtrack this weekend has been Angus and Julia Stone's 'A Book Like This' but particularly 'Wasted' which is speaking strongly to me right now. Down below is a scarf the girls made for me - so at least someone is the family is using the sewing machine.

The whippet's not talking to me because I left my runners at work. Have a beautiful week. xxxxx