On Being 'Creative'

Amongst the myriad words that have been corrupted over the past four or more decades is the adjective creative, which once described people with an ability to create something of worth or value. In those days creative people did not always trouble themselves to look like artists, or what they thought artists looked like or should look like or might look like. These days the word seems to describe anyone without any dress sense and a taste for the tastelessly eclectic, and usually without any ability to create anything of worth or value, which is my way of describing those who acquire and arrange the sort of tat that might cause one to blanch in shame were one compelled, by force of circumstance, to send to the church jumble sale.

Plus ça change ... , or not, since things have not stayed the same but declined considerably.

Something For Estranged Fathers to do with Their Sons

These are the sort of skills that fathers should be passing on to their stake in the future in these uncertain times.

Purely as an aside: Should batty Hattie, and those of her ilk, ever decide that they need a facelift, the method demonstrated above might be thought ideal.

Gruff thanks to Grumpy Old Twat for a link that provided a link to the video.

A Message To You Rudi

Late, I know, but better late than never:

Tower Crane Assembly with Climber

Aalborg Fantasy: CPU

The same tune with a more interesting video:

Another Happy Chappy

A Happy Chappy

That still is quite clearly made from recycled steel, and it's probably wood fired, making the fuel source naturally sustainable. The animals seem to be happy, which is an important consideration when planning an industrial activity. I give the fellow ten out of ten for environmental sensitivity and wildlife conservation.

As Good As It Gets?

There but for the grace of God is an odd thing for an atheist to think.

Alf Hagon On A Rudge

Hagon JAP Sprinter - Number 2

Brough Superior SS 100 Pendine Racer

Lip Service

Through the magic of BBC iPlayer I see that I can watch a series titled Lip Service. I'll readily concede that I may be providing final proof of a very low forehead but I couldn't resist an ironic chuckle at the programme blurb:

'Drama series following the interwoven love lives of three gay women in Glasgow ... '

Lip service indeed, and no pun intended, honestly.

It's All Right For Some

The Mrs Gruff has just told me of a woman with whom she is acquainted (it's probably for the best to describe her that way). She is a pensioner drawing a state pension yet she receives a full final salary pension worth possibly thirty thousand pounds per annum and is paid two hundred and fifty pounds per day, for five days per week, working, more or less permanently, in a freelance capacity for her former employer. I'm not questioning her right to her earnings but I do question her right to a full state retirement pension and all the benefits that go with it. The Mrs Gruff says she pays no council tax, which, if true, is grossly unjust, and extremely annoying, as her income, if at its assumed maximum, is approaching five times that of TMG.

Robotic Indian Call Centre Agents

I've just had yet another bloody annoying exchange with an Indian call centre agent. They all speak in that irritating, harshly metallic, robotic drone, and as usual the call ended abruptly because the robot attempted to take control of it by cutting in as I was speaking and then talking over me in the loud and insistent manner they adopt when they realise they aren't going to get their way.

Having refused to accept my payment and hung up on me he has at least given me the moral high ground and I can now wait until 'collections' write to me, which they will have to do at some point as I never give out any personal information on inbound calls and representatives of financial institutions cannot proceed with a call unless I do.

I could save myself a great deal of trouble by setting up a standing order but I never seem to remember to do so. I think I shall make it a priority as I'm no longer prepared to deal with Indians.

Charles Trenét

A Pedestrian Again

I've had to scrap my car, an almost embarrassingly unexciting Rover 214 that I bought three and a half years ago only because I needed a vehicle and it was available to me at a reduced price of three hundred quid and had eleven months' MOT. It cost me one hundred and twenty five pounds to get it through the next test and two hundred and thirty five for the one following. This year I had to fork out four hundred and forty to keep it legal and another eighty for a battery. It urgently needs a new tyre, and probably two more very soon; the radiator leaks; the water pump is wobbly, if it hasn't packed up altogether; the engine management system malfunctions when the engine is hot, due I think to a cooked sensor, caused by losing most of the coolant through a radiator leak; the alternator shows every indication of dying quite soon; the steering is distinctly quirky, caused, I'm sure, by whomever replaced the relevant bushes for the MOT in February, and, perhaps most importantly, I've never derived any satisfaction, of any kind, from owning or driving it, and the tax expires at the end of the month. In view of all that, and if the trend shown by the previous years' figures is continued, I can expect to have to pay about eight hundred next February. The car simply isn't worth it.

Last night the engine died after only about three miles. I let it cool for three quarters of an hour or so and then managed to restart it, resigned to being carless for a while.

Form Needn't Always Follow Function

This is nice:

I like the way in which the wave form runs up and over. One could form a nice book lined passageway by continuing the shelves down to the floor in the same way. I'm sure that's been done already since it isn't often that anyone has a genuinely novel idea and I'm unlikely to be the first to have thought of doing so.

The picture reminds me of the bedroom in Berwick, which I painted Morris Green, from Fired Earth, a colour long since discontinued. Everything was Morris Green: walls, ceiling, doors, door frames, architrave, skirting, the pipes and radiators and the box sash frames, which had been stained a rather harsh reddish orange brown. I found, as I painted the room, that the woodstain was transformed into a very pleasant shade that went well with the dark green so I left the sashes and the battens that retained them.

I like dark, earthy colours and they work well when rooms are painted throughout in a monotonous monochrome scheme.

Gruff thanks to Design Milk for the photograph.

Arthur Brown

Burt Blanca

An unlikely name for a rock 'n' roll superstar but he was Belgian and it isn't difficult to be big in Belgium.