This morning, making coffee and listening to an obscure piano album by musician Dave Palmer (that I randomly found on the internet and decided to buy), Ding and I were discussing the latest issue of Wire.
He’s dressed for his cycle ride in those very tight, nappy arsed, strapped leggings that makes you think Marcel Marceau after a big scare.
He is getting ready for this summer’s L’Etape Du Tour. The lazy fat bastard.
Our youngest child is up the wall, in what seems to be a perpetual state of Hand Stand. I have renamed her Sheila.
Go on…he says, describe one of the featured artists. Do me the blurb.
These are the kinds of games we like to play…that and our favourite ‘Face Making’.
Face making is serious business…smiley mouth – total dead eye, or, perplexed-you-got-me-there, but look!… and can take many long minutes to hone and rearrange until we are satisfied with the result.
Anyhow, I don’t know that I am up to the task this morning… but give it a go as our marriage is very important to us.
Grievous Climb.
Daefus Clag hails from Splott, the son of a Catalonian knife grinder.
A graduate of the Sorbonne, he studied alternative knee bending, and drinking beverages at extreme temperature.
This latest work, influenced by light dimmers and the perpendicular, was recorded in service lifts, between the fifth and sixteenth floors only.
I don’t think they will be open to me at Wire.
They will not be calling me Poly-Stylistic.
They should. It’s a good call.
Letters Home 