There's been snippets...

in the news that wild boars are once again roaming the land, eating sheep and stealing small children, at night, from their beds, using hankies to muffle the tiny cries.

In reply a boar spokesboar (pictured) said "Darling, none of this is true. We're dealing with a witch-hunt here, pure and simple."

In Sussex and Kent gin sodden huntsmen, coats as red as their faces and veins as blue as their politics were seen saddling up for the chase. A boar spokesboar (pictured) said "Darling, these people are savages."

Someone speaking for the Department of the Environment Farming and Rural Affairs (Defra) said, "Only guns and a tremendous amount of bloodshed will sort this problem out."

A boar spokesboar (pictured) said "Darling, I am fucking right off."

Here's some views...

from the Headland across Hartlepool Bay in the North East of England. The view looks south towards the steel works at Redcar. Hartlepool Bay must be four or five miles across and is dominated by steel, oil and chemical production plus a nuclear power station to drive the whole affair. The bayside therefore is one huge factory.

At sea tankers and container ships queue to enter Teesport. I've always thought of Hartlepool Bay as both majestic and bleak.

Me and my mate Sean...

have been transforming my little yard. It has rained so much today that we didn't manage to complete it. I'm seeking that Babylon look, sort of abundance without the ostentation. Ha ha. The photo was taken by me hanging out of the bathroom window.

The Da Vinci Code...

has upset the Catholic Church. Astonishingly they are complaining the film is not an accurate representation of history. Now, I've seen Da Vinci's The Last Supper (TLS) and apart from the goat it seems a fair representation of that fateful night. At Christ's feet lie a pair of samsonite suitcases (to symbolise leaving) leaning against the wall some ladders (to symbolise upwards) and finally there's a man with a hammer (to symbolise hammering). Christ is reaching for another drink, a taxi is idling outside and Peter is arguing with John over who ordered the creme brulee. Early drafts of TLS, now lost in time showed the work to be populated with not 12 apostles but 26 plus local boy band 'The Huge Dumplings'. Indeed more than once over the evening an intoxicated Jesus remarks on how much the drummer reminds him of his dog Herod. A fight is only averted when Jesus apologises for observing rather too loudly that both Herod and the hapless percussionist seem to share the same grin. Police are called but leave when reassured he intended no insult.

As the door closed Jesus was heard to mutter, 'He's the fucking spit of Herod, I'm telling you." A comment it was fortunate for history the officer ignored.

It is a little known Galilean fact that around the time of Jesus's death it became fashionable amongst young musicians to replace their teeth with canine dentures. In public health terms this led to a decrease in rabies infections not because the carriers could no longer bite their victims but rather because dogs with no teeth whistle and this became a warning to everyone that trouble was near. Sadly there was also a concomitant increase in the shooting of delivery people.

At this juncture I must mention the body of Caleb slumped just behind Jesus and whose unconscious hand is pointing at Judas. The symbolism here may seem straightforward, a drunk, someone who might aptly be described as poisoned with excess has fallen to the ground and fatefully points a finger of responsibility. Judas can be seen recoiling as if struck. Unfortunately for conspiracy theorists Caleb was a notorious drinker who suffered a significant childhood trauma that froze his hand into an accusing posture. What we really see therefore is simply a consequence of the way he fell. Incidentally, the childhood trauma from which he never recovered happened when as a three year old he was set upon by an early whistling dog.

One final point about TLS that is worth remembering when listening to the attacks made by the Catholic Church on 'The Da Vinci Code'. Sporting an engagement ring and beaming smile the person sitting in Jesus's lap is Mary Magdalene.

Multi-storey...

car park on a sunny day in Manchester. 

Only recently I've discovered...

fire pits . Prior to this I'd blithely assumed that if folk wanted a fire in the open air they dug a hole or pit. I am just sooooooo last century. Like, uh, get with the programme Dan, yah! To cut a long story short I have a friend who enjoys setting fire to stuff and it was her birthday party this weekend. So my mate Sean, he of the decorating bent suggested as a present we purchase a fire pit. Oddly, over the past weeks fire pits were mentioned somewhere in the press then suddenly here was Sean talking about the very same item. Spooky or what? The article I read stated that on many camp sites in the UK if folk wanted a fire they were now expected to bring their own pit. Whatever happened to bringing your own spade? Now a person is expected to bring their own hole, how can this be? The Net is a funny place and whilst looking for fire pit links I stumbled across a Guide to Wilderness Sanitation that went on about managing pooh in't country. It suggests the model ramblers might follow to keep the wilderness sanitised is that of the cat. To quote, "Cats are very particular and clean creatures, especially with regards to their toilet practices. With the small trowel you now carry it is easy to copy the cat and dig a small scrape for your toilet. Choose a secluded spot..." Model of good fucking behaviour? The bastard cats who live around here (and seem unable to crap anywhere but my yard) are not discreet, or neat, or leave no mark. Oh no. In my alleyway the cats are dangerous, untidy, have scarring and names like Potted Meat, Septic Cleaver, Exposed Bone. Nor do the bastards believe in replacing that which they have moved. Dig hole, shit, leave shit AND hole. Cheeky gets. I've bought a sonic cat scarer and disposer. Apparently it works using one of those Passive Infra Red (PIR) sensors. Any cat exposed to its remit is impaled on an enormous barbed spike that springs forward and then hauls the twitching corpse into the machine through a bloodied door. At the same time as with cuckoo clocks a plastic man leans from an upper window shouting "Turn the gas up Mabel there's meat for't bairns tonight." I think it's manufactured in Berne.

Mention of 'scraping' in the wilderness guide above has given me the idea of a yearly 'cat scrape', maybe in the form of a festival where cats can be scraped off things. I see prizes being awarded for the most imaginative feature from which a cat might be scraped, for instance wheel arches, paving, truck radiator grills, the elderly. Or the most imaginative tool by which a cat might be scraped, a pressure spray for instance, pneumatic drill, spoon, lathe.

One more thing. Whilst looking for info on fire pits I came across this site that declared King Tutankhamen had no willy . One possible explanation for its absence is that in the poor light tomb raiders mistook it for a panatella. Believe me stranger things have happened.

Cherry blossom...

on dandelions.

Haiku

Cherry blossom joy
Pink petals one spring morn fall
Like flecks of heaven




Spring is well and truly underway. Rhododendron, tulips, and wonderful white and pink cherry blossom. Manchester has the look of Japan about it. Not that I've ever been to Japan but I understand Japanese folk love cherry blossom, and so do I.

Another pic of

the exhibition with some added friends.





God! With this groovy new camera I can take loads of pics. However I need to get a copy of fotoshop so I can produce loverly pictures. At moment am stuck with Nikon's Picture Project which fairly basic. Yada yada yada yada, yawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwnnnnnn, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.



















Just think what it's gonna be like once I get the proper software!

Been to Liverpool...

today and took these photos of Anthony Gormley's incredible exhibition titled 'Another Place' on Formby beach.








There are 100 of these lifesize figures stretching 3K up the beach.


















And 1k out into the surf. It's an astonishing sculpture that changes as the tides ebb and flow and as the seasons alter.







The weather was crap.

It seems the Pope...

was due to attend a gathering in the Vatican Square this week. He planned to tell catholics they could now use condoms as a means of contraception however at the last minute he changed his mind and pulled out.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...

That was my mate Sean's joke.

I am not much of a...

painter. This is a bit of my yard wall painted on Saturday. Sean, who did most of the other bits was frustrated by my inability to keep it neat. The blame for this lies with a catholic education that (when I were a lad) believed the only way to develop a child's practical skills was via the lash. Result? I learned nothing except to fear paint and going over lines. In adulthood I've overcome that fear and now paint over lines just because I can. In fact it has become a principle, see a line paint over it, see another line step over it.

In metalwork there were T squares (?) which we used to establish 90 degree angles. I was bloody rubbish at that, could manage 89 degrees and even a wavy line but never ever in 5 years of high school a single 90 degree angle, no siree not one. The only exciting thing I ever remember from those lessons was some boy with an oxy/acetyline torch turning round and sweeping it across chest of innocent boy standing behind. The smell of that burning pullover/flesh combo has remained with me to this very day. I'm almost sure I was thrashed for that as well, but wait, could that boy with the blue flame have been me? Hang on, a mist is lifting, OHMIGOD IT WAS ME! AND WHAT'S THAT THERE, SMOULDERING IN THE YARD, BY THE BIN? IT LOOKS LIKE OLD RAGS. OHMIGOD!!!!! WHERE'S SEAN?