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Showing posts from February, 2012

The Artist in Me

A while ago I reported that a piece of  art called "When it starts dripping from the ceiling" had been inadvertently destroyed by a cleaner who thought that the exhibit in a German museum was just a big mess. Today, I have even more depressing news - a Tracey Emin piece entitled "How I wish I slept" was broken by a teenage girl who, during a party at a gallery at which the piece was on display, got over-excited and knocked it to the floor.

Unluckily, only the plinth and glass surround was broken.

Anyway, the good news is that Tracey took it really well and said it was just an "accident". In fact Tracey said: “It's not like my tent which was burned to the ground along with other priceless works of art which was something to get upset about."

The tent was entitled "Everyone I ever slept with 1963-1995" and was a 10 x12 tent on which Tracy had sewn all the names of the people she had slept with.

It took her sixth months to complete.

Wow, that&#…

Who's a Naughty Girl?

One day, a few years after my father died, my mother told me something that I never knew as a child. It quite shocked me for a while. However, as the years have passed I've come to see it as rather amusing.

Now that something was that all those years ago when my parents went off to the annual parents evening when I was between the ages of eleven and eighteen my father never actually went into the school. Instead, he sat outside in the car smoking his pipe whilst my mother faced the music alone.
And to think there I was sweating it out at home every year waiting for my father's brutal feedback! I say "brutal" not because father was physically brutal but because a thorough verbal whipping would have been well deserved. Now as far I remember, my mother would usually come in the door with a drawn look and say something like "Mr Gibson/Miller/Collins/Smith/Davies says you need to stop messing around and do some work and "Mrs Ticehurst says you've got to stop…

What A Balls Up - Adele at the Brits

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Oh my goodness - did you watch the Brit Awards, The UK music industry awards, last night?

Absolutely hilarious. I cannot believe they cut Adele off at the beginning of her acceptance speech for Best Album to cut to pop/rock group Blur. Adele is the biggest thing in the music business at the moment - I'd hate to think of how much money our government has creamed off her in taxes - and the producers can't even give her five minutes of well deserved glory!

The irony of it is how many times I've listened to long winded, cringingly embarrassing acceptance speeches and Adele looked like she was just going to give what I would call just a " wholesome one."In other words - a speech where I don't have to do one of the following:

1.) Peep through my fingers as I do when I watch a horror movie when I am both appalled and yet strangely compelled to watch the gruesome events playing out in front of me.

2) Hide behind the sofa.

3) Throw up in a sick bucket.

4) Stick cotton…

Bored, bored, bored

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I'm bored. Can you tell? Well, what does one do in the early hours when everyone else is asleep and you don't want to do the ironing and your brain is kaput - but fiddle around with the template on one's blog.

Excellent therapy. Alcohol would be good therapy too but unfortunately I have to drive first thing tomorrow morning. Humph.

I'm not one for self pity (oh all right I am) but blimey the last couple of weeks have been some of my worst ever. Far too tedious to go into details - but let's just say I was contemplating throwing myself out of the window until I remembered we don't live in a high rise flat. Knowing my luck, if I had thrown myself out I'd have ended up being even more pissed off having to hobble around on crutches - cos that's the kind of thing that happens when you chuck yourself out the window in an impetuous fit and find yourself embedded two foot below the windowsill in the pot plants.

So when you're feeling down it's always go…

Skools ain't what they used to be

Generally, I like to write stuff on my blog that is light hearted with the occasional something else thrown in for a little variety. It keeps me entertained and hopefully keeps a few others entertained. Then, of course, there are the times I have to write because I am MAD. Like today.

MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD!

And not the funny mad I mean the mad "If I had a cruise missile it wouldn't be in safe hands" mad.

This is because last night was parents evening. That day of the year when I turn from a mild mannered jovial woman into a raving lunatic ready to spear any passing teacher.

Now Young Sam is 20 now so I would say that for the last 13 years I have been consistently disappointed by the feedback I get at parent's evenings. Last night was no exception.

So first things first. On arrival at school I look through Master Ben's books to see how he is doing - as well as to see if his teachers can be bothered to mark them. How well the teachers mark his books usually dicta…

Writing Frustrations

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Writing is such a frustrating process. Of course, whatever one writes it is not going to be liked by everyone - it standards to reason - we don't all like Brussels sprouts or Parmesan cheese so why should fiction be any different? When I do a book review for The View From Here it is, as any valuation is, a personal opinion given at one moment in time.

You know, I think I might actually be better suited to being a a restaurant critic. I'd probably be really unpopular as I'd have a lot to say about any dish containing Parmesan cheese but, on the other hand, I could handle being known as a food bitch in exchange for all the free meals. Not to mention those lovely little after dinner mints you get with your coffee. Hmm.. maybe chefs would solicit a good review from me by sending me lots of lovely little mints....and champagne... and a year's supply of their ready made sauces...

I'm open to offers! Email me if you know any good openings....

So anyway, my latest review f…

An Interview, a Review and a Very Unusual Competition

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Sometimes I am a bad, bad, lazy girl. Last year, Mike French, my editor at The View From Here, had his first novelThe Ascent of Isaac Stewardpublished and I've hardly given it a mention. Now, I could come up with a million excuses (I'm good at the sort of thing as you may of noticed) but instead I've conducted an interview with Mike to try and make amends. So please take the time to read through the following interview and find all about Mike and his novel and all sorts of other madcap stuff. There's also a competition to win a signed copy of The Ascent of Isaac Steward- and as my competitions can be a little challenging you'll get the gist of what's required as an answer in the body of the interview.



Jane: Mike,I've heard there’s a literary casting couch. Is this true and can you explain why it took six years to get The Ascent of Isaac Steward published? (Evil chuckles....)


MikeSorry can you hear somebody laughing? A kind of evil chuckle? No? O well oka…

A Peculiar English Tradition

I haven't fallen down a pothole. I'm still alive - albeit in rather rotund form. Although to be fair to myself I have actually started my traditional New Year diet. Only this year to make it even more of a challenge I decided to start on February 1st rather than January 1st. Ambitious eh?

 So the challenge is whether or not I can get into a bikini by August.

Anybody out there related to Houdini? I could do with some advice....

Okay, okay I'm teasing- I don't really wear bikinis. I'm English! I wear Laura Ashley smocks and Wellington boots and a pinafore. Even on the beach. Do you know how cold it is on an English beach? An afternoon on a English beach is like being whipped with an ice laden tea towel whilst standing stark naked in a force ten gale.  Painful.  And anyone who doesn't wear (at the very least) a smock, thermals, an insulated coat, woolly hat, gloves, scarf and three pairs of socks to an English beach is destined to have recurrent chilblains for the…