Photos of Text

This was taken when I was undertaking work experience as a sub editor at a magazine publishers near where I live. The Editor and I were sat at desks facing into the office, and every now and again he would reach into his desk drawer and take out a small, stubby, yet fearsome looking knife. He would look at me, grinning, while he removed the knife from its sheath. After a moment or two, he would silently replace the knife in the drawer and continue to work. I hated him. 
The photo is of some transcription I was doing of an interview The Editor had conducted with an animator from Pixar. For the record, I absolutely love transcribing. Anyhow, this portion of the interview concerned animation of animals, and the methods used to make them seem lifelike in movement and appearance. Microsoft Word 2004 helpfully suggested I change the phrase ‘more ratty’ to ‘more rattier’. Need I say more.

This was taken when I was undertaking work experience as a sub editor at a magazine publishers near where I live. The Editor and I were sat at desks facing into the office, and every now and again he would reach into his desk drawer and take out a small, stubby, yet fearsome looking knife. He would look at me, grinning, while he removed the knife from its sheath. After a moment or two, he would silently replace the knife in the drawer and continue to work. I hated him. 

The photo is of some transcription I was doing of an interview The Editor had conducted with an animator from Pixar. For the record, I absolutely love transcribing. Anyhow, this portion of the interview concerned animation of animals, and the methods used to make them seem lifelike in movement and appearance. Microsoft Word 2004 helpfully suggested I change the phrase ‘more ratty’ to ‘more rattier’. Need I say more.

Surprise Peas
Surprise! It’s some…peas.
New Handy Packs (Woo, jazz hands.)
24 x EXTRA LARGE
This was a box of crap at my friends house. What a box.

Surprise Peas

Surprise! It’s some…peas.

New Handy Packs (Woo, jazz hands.)

24 x EXTRA LARGE

This was a box of crap at my friends house. What a box.

In August of 2009, the postbox at the bottom of the hill I live on got taken away. It was said that (some of) the locals had been using it as a sharps bin. The rest of us were rather sad, so (some of the other) locals posted poems and affixed lights and these garlands of flowers as a last love letter to the box.

Poems and notes transcribed from the top, down.

And none will hear the postman’s knock,
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

-W.H. Auden

please attach your love letter to the post box below

Rest In Peace - A Last Post Ode

Bye Bye Boxy Bye Bye
How sad it is that you must cease,
To be a pillar box.
I hope you find a place of peace,
Far from the vandal’s knocks.
I hope you find a sweet release
You deserve it - Heaven knows
There’ll be less boxes to police
When they’ve parcelled up your woes
A Shame that they should end your lease,
But that’s just how life goes.

A Benediction For A Box
Although we may feel madness,
Let’s let this box depart.
Let letters of our sadness
Be posted on its heart.

Dear Post Box,
Please don’t go!
If you do, it means that the
IDIOTS will have won and
we lose another service.
Don’t let the IDIOTS win!

PUBLIC NOTICE
THIS BOX WILL BE REMOVED DUE TO VANDALISM AND THEFT
NEAREST BOX IS IN DALBY AVENUE

Royal Mail
Bristol
BS99 7AW 

Somehow or another, I have ended up with my Gran’s old tin of thread. It’s fairly ordinary, a square Crosse and Blackwell Christmas Pudding tin. Most of the threads are pretty standard, maybe ten or so years old, but there are a few on wooden spools, like some of these below. Sylko branded, the colours have sometimes beautiful, often funny names. My favourite nine are pictured here.
J Dewhurst & Sons, Sylko fast dye mercerised cotton, Made in Great Britain.Chinese GreenDark LovebirdGay YellowGeraniumAlmond GreenDark ClaretMid Blue SlateResedaLight Seal Brown 

Somehow or another, I have ended up with my Gran’s old tin of thread. It’s fairly ordinary, a square Crosse and Blackwell Christmas Pudding tin. Most of the threads are pretty standard, maybe ten or so years old, but there are a few on wooden spools, like some of these below. Sylko branded, the colours have sometimes beautiful, often funny names. My favourite nine are pictured here.

J Dewhurst & Sons, Sylko fast dye mercerised cotton, Made in Great Britain.
Chinese Green
Dark Lovebird
Gay Yellow
Geranium
Almond Green
Dark Claret
Mid Blue Slate
Reseda
Light Seal Brown 

I found this poem whilst reading The Rattle Bag, a really good anthology compiled by Ted Hughes and Seamus Heaney. I’d never heard of the poet, Keith Douglas, before or since, but this poem stayed with me regardless.
How to Kill
Under the parabola of a ball,a child turning into a man,I looked into the air too long.The ball fell in my hand. It sangin the closed fist: Open OpenBehold a gift designed to kill.
Now in my dial of glass appearsthe soldier who is going to die.He smiles, and moves about in wayshis mother knows, habits of his.The wires touch his face: I cryNOW. Death, like a familiar, hears 
and look, has made a man of dustof a man of flesh. This sorceryI do. Being damned, I am amusedto see the centre of love diffusedand the waves of love travel into vacancy.How easy it is to make a ghost.
The weightless mosquito touchesher tiny shadow on the stone,and with how like, how infinite,a lightness, man and shadow meet.They fuse. A shadow is a manwhen the mosquito death approaches.
 KEITH DOUGLAS

I found this poem whilst reading The Rattle Bag, a really good anthology compiled by Ted Hughes and Seamus Heaney. I’d never heard of the poet, Keith Douglas, before or since, but this poem stayed with me regardless.

How to Kill

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand. It sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears 

and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being damned, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the waves of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.

The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite,
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches.

 KEITH DOUGLAS

This is an irresistibly funny review of Bat for Lashes from The Guardian’s Saturday Guide on 20th June 2009.
Bat For Lashes/Pearl’s Dream/(Parlophone)
I don’t care if she is an anthropomorphic shaman who lives inside a crystal ball, has tears made from tinsel, and sings warbling spell-songs played on instruments built from nothing but moonlight and wicker - this is rubbish. People go nuts over posturing, minimal stuff like this, but all I hear is every Björk song since 1999 performed by someone who probably got a tattoo at Latitude. Bat For Lashes approaches lyrics with a faux wisdom that sounds like it was written by a pompous elf in their first year of an English degree. The only people who’d like this are your aunt who walks to the shops in bare feet and people who work on The Culture Show. Scumbags, basically.

This is an irresistibly funny review of Bat for Lashes from The Guardian’s Saturday Guide on 20th June 2009.

Bat For Lashes/Pearl’s Dream/(Parlophone)

I don’t care if she is an anthropomorphic shaman who lives inside a crystal ball, has tears made from tinsel, and sings warbling spell-songs played on instruments built from nothing but moonlight and wicker - this is rubbish. People go nuts over posturing, minimal stuff like this, but all I hear is every Björk song since 1999 performed by someone who probably got a tattoo at Latitude. Bat For Lashes approaches lyrics with a faux wisdom that sounds like it was written by a pompous elf in their first year of an English degree. The only people who’d like this are your aunt who walks to the shops in bare feet and people who work on The Culture Show. Scumbags, basically.

David Shrigley venn diagram: We Sing/We Dance/We Steal Things
Also has the extra winning feature of being drawn on graph paper.

David Shrigley venn diagram: We Sing/We Dance/We Steal Things

Also has the extra winning feature of being drawn on graph paper.

This was a window of a charity shop in Manchester. My favourite signs read:
"We don’t buy anything off the street" and
"Don’t spit in front of shop or on pavement it is a nasty habit"
That’s you told.

This was a window of a charity shop in Manchester. My favourite signs read:

"We don’t buy anything off the street" and

"Don’t spit in front of shop or on pavement it is a nasty habit"

That’s you told.

Please don’t feed this pony. He is very old and he will choke on apples and carrots. Thank you. 
This was in a field near a long barrow somewhere in Somerset.

Please don’t feed this pony. He is very old and he will choke on apples and carrots. Thank you. 

This was in a field near a long barrow somewhere in Somerset.