Tag Archives: sunday

Frog Porn

“Me and Mummy have got frogporn.”

“Really? Is it good.?”

“Yes, and we’ve got a crocodile.”

“A crocodile?’ Wow!”

“Where does one get frogporn and a crocodile?”

“Out of your garden, Nanny.”

Well, fancy that!  I never knew I was a purveyer of frog porn and crocodiles.

The frogporn and crocodile, duly named Isaac,  have been taken to live in the fish tank at Lashes house where they’ll stay till the porn turns into frogs and then they’ll come back to their rightful home in our pond.

Up bright and early this morning,  I’ve just been out to hang out the washing  it’s a lovely, still and quiet morning, the only sounds are of the birds singing and the water dripping in the pond,  the air is sweet and clean and it was a pleasant five minutes I spent wandering round enjoying the stillness and peacefulness of it all.

The grass was looking pretty with the dew so of course I had to grab the camera and get a few shots.

dew on grass


morning sun on grass
contra jour sticks
dew drops and bokeh

if ever there was….

…an evening crying out for people to be sat outside enjoying the warm sunshine, sipping wine and enjoying each others company it’s tonight.

You should see it. The weather is nicer than it’s been for weeks, the sun is slowly baking the slabs, a few little puffy fair weather cumulus clouds are drifting lazily across the sky in the almost complete absence of wind. It’s gorgeous. We’ve had guests for dinner on both Friday and Saturday this weekend and been confined to indoors  on both nights as it’s been perishing cold, as it was this morning when me and Boofuls opened up the studio to the denizens of Lancashire  for the disastrous fundraising open day planned by Scotty of the snack bar – but more about that later.  Now, when I’m all on my tod and catching up on the work I couldn’t do earlier in the week it’s gorgeous. Is there no justice?

Boofuls has taken off in a southerly direction till tomorrow night for his regular bi monthly meeting with a few boring old farts, a couple of puffed up self important, power crazed fools and a brace of dedicated and hard working people who do far more than could be reasonably asked of them  – without looking for glory or reward.  Anyway, he’s gone, I’m here, the sun’s shining and I’m fed up. Sigh.

So, the fundraiser. Dear oh dear.  Apart from the fact that it had been scheduled to start at the ludicrously early hour of 9.00 a.m. on a Sunday it turned out to have been a very last minute decision to do it and the only punters seemed to be their own family and friends. The snack bar was turned into a junk shop for the day and while they attempted to offload all of their kids knackered old clothes in the name of charity.  They’d obviously drafted in their staff for the day and not to pleased about they looked, I can tell you.

We opened up the studio as planned, Scotty of the snack bar gave us some balloons with which to festoon the frontage. That was fine except the wind kept blowing them into the wall where they promptly burst with a sound not unlike gunfire.  I dived to the ground covering my head with my arms and screaming, “get down! GET DOWN!!!” more than once. It’s just not decorous, I think I’ll give the balloons a miss next time they’re offered.

A few people came and had a look round the studio, including one chap who charmed us with his smell of urine and unwashed clothes, the drool hanging from his lips, the sweaty face and  unintelligible speech.

That was swiftly followed up by two dim looking girls of about 11 who arrived at the door.

“What’s this?”

“Go on, have a wild guess,”I prompted.

Yes, I know, I know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but there were photographs all over the walls ffs.  Yes, I also know these may be my future clients (God help us).

“Er… forters? Is it wedding forters?

“Yes we do do wedding forters, I mean photos, among other things.”

Can I have a balloon?”

“No, bugger off.”

We did get a few people in who were genuinely interested but all in all it was a waste of a Sunday – or was it? We may get a ton of work from it and then it’ll be a different story, won’t it?

Ok, whinging over, I’m going to get on with some more work.