Wednesday 24th March 2010: The Van Gogh Exhibition

Went to see the exhibition of Van Gogh pictures and letters to his brother Theo on show at the Royal Academy, London, and I felt so sorry for him. All that artwork, so full of  verve and colour and excitement, and poor old Vincent only ever sold one canvas during his ten years of painting. It's so unfair. The tragic man could have had no idea that people would be thronging to see his work and that collectors would pay millions for just one piece when, in the depths of despair, he lopped off an earlobe then, later shot himself. All the poor bloke wanted was recognition and a buyer or two. It's so very depressing.

It was a magnificent exhibition marred, for me, by one thing - in fact many things, the 'things' in question being the gallery walls. In one of Vincent's letters to his bruv he extols the virtues of the yellow house in Arle with its whitewashed walls which show off his pictures so brightly. And what do the organisers of the exhibition do? Why, they paint the walls of each gallery in different strong colours, yellow, green, deep wine, blue, etc. As a painter myself I know that the colours used as one creates a picture are greatly affected by subsequent colours used and also by the colours of mounts, frames and walls around the finished item. To me, it appeared that the coloured walls in the various rooms displaying Van Gogh's pictures, deadened their vibrancy. Well, that's got that off my chest so I'll go up to my studio to dollop some paint around.

But, before doing that, just to say that today, Tuesday 30th March, I was on steward duty for the morning at our local art exhibition where the walls were bright white, the pictures sang out, and I was content!

Sunday 21st March 2010, people lining up for the one o'clock Sports Relief run

I went with my daughter and family to Brighton where some of the one mile sponsored runs that were taking place all over the country were being run in aid of Sports Relief.

I had toyed with the idea of tottering round the circular course myself, even though I hadn't registered, but by the time I'd tottered down to the far side of the pier from the station my hips, legs etc., were in dire need of a rest so I left it to the crazily dressed-up people, the hoolahoopers, the families, the youngsters, the people walking backwards, the dogs, and all the rest of the hoards who were helping to raise millions, and I sat on a concrete block and ate an icecream in the sun.

Wonderful that all the fun, happiness and excitement was raising so much money to help the vulnerable and poor.

This bag holding Rummicub tiles has been used every day for nigh on 8 years by Mr A and myself as we play our nightly game. We shake it up then dip our hands in to get out the tiles, but now, as you see, the bag has become transparent and cannot be used. So we are in a quandary, for no other bag can be found that offers the right depth, the right feel, plus two little rope handles. We're making do with a small metal wine cooler that chaffs our wrists as we dip our hands in and, before very long, we'll be bleeding all over the carpet.

I'm not usually a competitive person - if a rival beats me at some sort of game it pleases me to see them so happy: But Rummicubs with Mr A is different. I have to try to beat him. And he has to beat me. So night after night we play on regardless of the danger. So, if Hennessy or anyone else has the right kind of bag please let me know and our nightly battle will continue with undamaged wrists. As it is, there is a danger that if we lose too much blood we'll pass out and the people who find us will believe we've slashed our wrists and been party to a joint suicide pact!!

New gas mains

The view from our porch as new gas pipes were installed was not a pretty sight, as you can see from the picture.

For over a week the gas men have been toiling, pneumatic drills screaming, diggers crunching, compression units whining, beaters thumping. But in all the noisy chaos that engulfs our small cul-de-sac and the streets beyond, the smiles and patient endeavour of the men working so hard in the freezing weather have made us grateful. And their wonderfully uplifting bright red and yellow working clothes - the yellow perfectly matching the colour of the new plastic gas pipes being installed - pleases my artistic soul.

No matter that my deafness is now worse on account of the noise. No matter that my chilblains are worse because we were without heating for one day. No matter that the daffodils in the front lawn are the worse for wear having been dug up and then replaced. No matter that our beautiful tree may find it hard to blossom, its fine roots having been severed to get at old pipes. Our house has new gas pipes safely installed and the red and yellow men still brighten up our streets with their efficiency, hard work, smiles and radiant colour!