Monthly Archives: March 2018

Who Would be a Mermaid?

Posted on by

My first mermaid painting

At last my first mermaid painting is completed! She was begun perhaps a year ago or longer and has never received great acclaim in her unfinished state.

The greatest compliment she received during her first year came from a gypsy lad of about twelve. The boy had appeared, with his gang of two other boys and a girl of fourteen, at my studio door one summer day when they were out causing a bit of a commotion in Dawlish town. Ah, but they knocked on my door for help, having been threatened by “twenty or thirty sixteen-year-olds”, and they insisted on coming into my studio for refuge. Once inside, their eyes darted about the room and the red-haired boy looked at the mermaid and exclaimed:

“I really like that drowned lady!”

“She’s not drowned,” said the fair, taller boy derisively. “Don’t you see she’s a mermaid?”

My mermaid was relieved that someone knew she wasn’t drowned and later that night Chris’s bicycle went missing.

Since then, my husband has bought a nicer new bike and the mermaid has enjoyed, or rather endured, several phases of development. Changes were made in respect to other comments, especially about her being “too busty” and “in need of a shell bra”. Well that was a bit of a ‘come down’ for my lusty mermaid – quite literally, as I set about  giving her a reduction operation straight away. Yet, still, she stayed unloved except by me (I had a feeling she would blossom into a beauty over time).

By the end of last year I had moved on and started a new mermaid on a larger canvas (5′ x 4′).

Unfinished large mermaid

But when I returned from Australia, ready to finish the larger work, I had a change of heart; my little mermaid’s eyes implored me to give them more character and the painting soon took final shape.

Now I’m thinking about more mermaid pictures – I love the theme. When I see all the beautiful children in my family I can imagine them depicted with mermaid tails. So I’ve been asking them if they would be my mermaid models. Daniel wasn’t too keen, as you will see from some of my recent photographs…

 

The Little Art Connoisseur and the Packet of Crisps

Posted on by

Despite her years (not yet two) Miss Annalise Sanchez has already enjoyed some little fame as an “International art critic” (according to the Reuben Lenkiewicz Art Gallery, Teignmouth) and would be juggler (Mamhead Village Fete 2017). And she’s always been a bit of a food connoisseur as well…

Recently my great little niece has impressed again with her new skill at blowing bubbles…

I expect that you’re wondering if there is no end to her talents… No, there isn’t. Annalise continues to amaze with her brilliant intellect. Now I heard that only two mornings ago, when her parents were still in bed, she had awoken early with a tremendous appetite for crisps. Apparently she went downstairs to the kitchen and found the crisps she had set her heart on.

Have you noticed how hard it is to open goods nowadays? Lord only knows how old ladies manage! Well, the same applies to children, especially tiny tots like Annalise. Try as she might, she did not have the strength to pull open the bag of crisps.

“Oh dear!” she must have thought, “I’ll have to ‘come clean’ and take them up to Mummy and Daddy to open them.”

“Oh no!” said mummy Katie, “You can’t have crisps for breakfast. Have a banana…”

“Or an apple,” chimed in her dad.

“No, these,” pleaded Annalise with her most charming expression and she tried again to pull open the stubborn packet.

Katie took the packet and pulled, not too hard, against the seal.

“Well I can’t open them either,” said Katie with mock exasperation.

“Neither can I,” said her dad as he did the same.

“You’ll just have to settle for a banana,” added her mum.

“I find the scissors!” said Annalise.

 

 

Australian Paintings 2018

Posted on by

Here are three acrylic paintings and one oil painting inspired and created during my recent visit to Australia. 

Dusk on the Darling Downs

Dusk on the Darling Downs, acrylic on small canvas, depicts the pretty wild flowers – Paterson’s Curse (owing to their invasive nature) – that flower on roadsides and fields in the countryside around Toowoomba, Queensland. Whole fields may be a sea of purple  or blue. I love to walk at dusk and enjoy the warm glow of pink and gold that makes everything magical.

Under the Setting Sun

Under the Setting Sun, oil on canvas, represents that amazing time of day when the sky takes precedence over the landscapes “out West”. Nature seems to try to outdo itself every night, one evening a blaze of yellow, the next more red, or pink, or orange. The cows still graze and the dogs come out to stare and wonder…

Beyond the old Gumtree

Beyond the old Gumtree, acrylic on canvas, glories in the silhouette of trees against a red and yellow sunset slowly disappearing into night.

Reflections on the Albert River

Reflections on the Albert River, acrylic on canvas, is a view from the pedestrian bridge at Belivah, near Beenleigh, Queensland. What pleasure on a sunny morning to cycle over the bridge and stop to stare, and reflect on the beauty of my homeland!

 

Posted in Art

“Endeavour to Persevere” With The New 1/3 Diet

Posted on by

“Try it,” I urged my husband (who had just enjoyed a nice big bowl of cereal).

“No thanks,” Chris said pulling a face at the spoonful of my breakfast, which I held out to him.

I guess I had pulled a similar face only a few seconds before so it wasn’t unreasonable to expect a rebuff to my generous offer.

Today is the third day of my juice diet (of my own design). Both on Monday and Tuesday alike I juiced up an old banana, an apple and a pear with a bit of ice and a drop of semi-skimmed milk, then I drank half for breakfast and saved the other half for one other meal replacement, the idea being that I could enjoy one normal full meal either for lunch or dinner and still save calories.

So far it hasn’t been the most fruitful diet, even though it’s been mostly fruit. Because the scales showed no movement at all this morning I thought I’d change tack and juice up a small carrot, a tomato and a third of a cucumber with some ice. This was quite convenient as I had run out of old bananas but it didn’t look very nice…and it tasted even worse.

“Go on, try it Darling,” I urged again.

“No thanks, Sweetheart,” Chris insisted firmly – with a face like King Kong.  

“Please, I’d like you to try it,” I cajoled.

“But I don’t want to. I’ve already had my breakfast,” King Kong was adamant.

“Why should I have to endure this if you won’t even have a taste to see how brave I am?” I saw no other choice than to capitalise on his affection for me.

Kong thought about it and his eyes softened. He took the still proferred spoon and, with great stoicism, swallowed the tiny amount of cold, puce-coloured mush.

“Not quite as bad as I thought,” he said.

“Well you drink it!” I quipped in Chief Dan George style ( from the film The Outlaw Josey Wales, when the carpetbagger offered Chief Dan George a taste of the elixir he was selling).

After pondering for a moment or two Chris came up with a suggestion:

“Listen Darling, (now in caring, thinking cap mode), if you’re allowed a normal-sized meal once a day why don’t you just split it into three and have it for each meal?”

“That’s a good idea,” I said, “but why shouldn’t I have just a third of the normal amount of different foods for each meal?”

So I began my new new regime by taking out a small bowl and having a handful of cereal with a little milk. It was delicious. Of course, I was hungry again by ten o’clock and I had to reach for an apple. I didn’t cut it into three. Well I didn’t want it to go brown – did I?

There is Nothing Like a Romantic Poem….

Posted on by

A lover of romantic poetry

Barry Conelly, the elder son of our old neighbours from Gumdale, keeps in touch now and then with emails. He’s one of those “can do” Australian men who can build homes, fix cars, build boats, design buildings and build engines. Recently he’s been sending me poems – ah sweet! Firstly there was the funny poem about Bluey, The Retired Cattle Dog – he was right, I do love the Banjo Patterson style of humorous Aussie poetry – and then came the romantic poem by Pam Ayres. Of course, it is nothing like a romantic poem… and it’s a shade rude… but not too blue (or true blue, come to that).

 Romantic Poem by Pam Ayres

 

The missus bought a Paperback,
Down Shepton Mallet way,
I had a look inside her bag;
T’was “Fifty Shades of Grey”.

Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…

In her left she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.

Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Ethel hasn’t weathered well;
She’s eighty four next week!!

Watching Ethel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!

She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
“I am a dominator!!”

Now if you knew our Ethel,
You’d see just why I spluttered,
I’d spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I’d uttered.

She stood there nude and naked
Bent forward just a bit,
I went to hold her, sensual like,
And stood on her left tit!

Ethel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My God what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
“Step on the other one!!”

Well readers, I can tell no more;
Of what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of grey.

Legging It

Posted on by

“I’m not so sure that I have the right figure for leggings,” I said to Chris as he handed me a two-pack of leggings from Sainsbury’s.

“You have a lovely figure,” he answered unwavering. (I know, he’s well-trained!)

“But leggings? I don’t think I have anything appropriate to wear with them,” I said, popping them into the trolley.

Actually, all I wanted was a nice soft and stretchy pair of sports trousers that wouldn’t make me feel trussed up, as I did in thick jeans with nasty waistbands and studs; bearing in mind that I’ve not long returned from Australia where I was accustomed to wearing summer tops and shorts. The kind of trousers I had in mind were not to be found in Sainsbury’s or any other store that I had been in that day (maybe everyone else had the same idea) and I was coming around to the notion that leggings would be comfortable and sensible.

After my shower the next morning I spent half an hour or so deciding upon which outfit to wear. The snow had disappeared and the temperature was on the up, maybe eight degrees, so the new half-price dress-length jumper with the roll neck, which I had bought to go with the leggings, would have been far too hot. A similar length summer dress from Australia looked plain daft with the navy blue leggings. A pink jumper of normal length – just over the hips – looked weird. A jerkin over the top looked even more weird! I had a laugh though.

I wished I had bought the next size down – the sixteen to eighteen size had no hold and plenty of growing room which sagged and creased at the joints. At length, I pulled the saggy leggings off my ample legs and replaced them with my old boot-leg cut sports trousers, which suddenly looked a lot better than they had before.

Upon reaching the top of the staircase I found Chris was waiting in anticipation. He eyed me up and down, checking for anything peculiar.

“What was so funny?” he asked.

“Oh, could you hear me?” I laughed.

“Well,” my husband began, “I wondered what on earth could be so hilarious while you were getting dressed.”

“I was trying on my new leggings and… (laughing again) when I caught sight of myself in the mirror I thought I looked like Mr Pickwick!”

And if you don’t have a mental picture of Charles Dickens’ famous character Mr Pickwick, here are some images I collected from the Internet…

 

 

On Yer Plane!

Posted on by

 

It all seems so long ago, the last day of sunshine. But even the penultimate day, when Lorelle came down and Roland brought young Mason over for our fond farewells, the weather in Brisbane had been unsettled. Really it wasn’t until my last day that the rain had stopped with finality, eventually, after about a week (or so it felt), and the sun looked like it was out to stay. Someone said it was going to be thirty-one degrees and we celebrated that, and my imminent departure, by driving out in my brother Bill’s vintage FC Holden,1958 model.

It was perfect. The temperature soared and we wound down all the windows, just like in the old days when we were kids and none of the old cars had air conditioning. The FC’s souped-up engine purred as it idled while waiting at lights and roared as it tore away on green, and loose strands of my long hair lashed my face.

“Is it too much?” I asked Lita who, on account of being smaller, was in the centre on the bench seat at the back (my nephew Michael was on the other side).

“No,” she said, “I love it!” (She had already given up trying to keep her hair in place.)

“Wellington Point?” Bill asked and everyone made sounds of agreement.

All roads lead to Wellington Point if you have a mind to revisit Gumdale along the way. The FC Holden homed in on Molle Road, which is where we spent most of our formative years. Our old road still floods, especially after a week of heavy rain; the  man-made lakes (flood measures) cannot contain the force of nature. Bill, Henry (our younger brother just down from me) and I laughed wryly, recalling our falls and spills, and days off school because we couldn’t get out when there were also floods at Chelsea Road. Dear old Gumdale… it’s full of millionaires now, but they still get floods. Nature doesn’t discriminate.

We all love Wellington Point, not too far away and full of happy memories from our childhood. Our late father used to take us on exciting, but precarious walks, up on the cliff; or out to the island when the tide was out – and you couldn’t be too long or you’d be stranded by the incoming tide. We trusted our dad. If he said, “Jump and I’ll catch you,” you jumped… and he caught you.

Henry jumped out of the way of a couple of vicious magpies that had attacked him on both of his last forays to Wellington Point. He had thought they “had it in” for him but this time, without his glasses on, they didn’t recognise him; and we managed to park alright.

We didn’t stay long as I had to be back in time to pack finally. For a special treat my Aussie family picked up some fresh prawns from Capalaba en route and we ate them under the gazebo in Bill’s garden.

It seems so long ago, so much has happened. There was that Chilean lady at Melbourne Airport, she couldn’t speak any English and I took her under my wing; then I lost her to an official for a short time while I went through security – then I worried that he wasn’t a bona fide official and she might be sold as a sex slave; luckily, she spotted me at Duty Free and we ran all the way to Gate 8, where I deposited her with the right Airline officials (hopefully!). I found I could speak Spanish after all – “Gate Octo!”. Then there was my perfect travelling companion, Evelyn, a lovely lady from Berlin. She said she couldn’t speak English but we understood each other very well…even if the flight attendants couldn’t. In a nearly full flight we were lucky enough to have about the only spare seat available between us so we managed to spread out a little and get some sleep. 

How can it be only nine days since Chris picked me up from Heathrow? Two degrees below zero! The road outside our house was dug up for resurfacing and the queue of traffic was over a mile long, and then we had to park in a road around the corner… We had to drag our cases in the freezing cold… And I cried – twice. Then came the worst snow in thirty years… 

The snow has gone now but while it lasted my heart was warmed by a visit from Lady Penelope and her parents – Bless them! On the day before it snowed they drove down from Brighton and “the rest is history”, as they say.