KieltySaur

Upsetting as it is to admit, there are times when papers fail. Amid current speculation about the future of news in print, there is little promise of a long life if every paper is blaring the same headline and that headline is "Mrs Blair Might Have Said Something Nasty About Mr Brown."

The root of these stories is a comment reportedly overheard by journalist Caroline Lotter, who claims Mrs Blair said "Well, that's a lie" after the chancellor spoke about how proud he was to have worked with the PM. Not an unbelievable story given the track record Cherie's run up over the years, (conveyed to the public through the media of course). My question is whether this comment was worth reporting on.

Looking to the papers to provide accessible updates on the route their country's politics are following, members of the British public are being handed a report wrapped in a soap opera. If there is anything to be drawn from this fact it is that journalists feel the only way to get someone to pick up that paper is to spoon feed them. Is the assumption then that people have to be given something easy to digest? Lure them into the article with some gossip, only to hide the real news underneath. Like a parent sneaking vegetables inside a hamburger.

What’s this? A shop, that says it sells wool and sewing materials and does just that? Huzzah! A sign in the window reads ‘Audrey’s’. In case there was any doubt about the store’s wares, a quick glance through the window will suffice as bags of balls of wool of every colour make and size spill forth from the far left corner of the room in a wave that laps up against the windows at the front. Barely visible in a chasm between the mountain of wool and the counter is the proprietor- Audrey.

The wool shop is something from a time since passed, where purchases are calculated by hand on paper and only Audrey can navigate the fluffy terrain to find anything. When asked how many years she’d been there, there was a pause before she said, grinning, “Put over twenty five.”
Audrey punching in an order.

Yes, ‘Audrey’s’ was the first shop she owned . It had been an established business, a wool shop and haberdashery (“Spell it? H-a-b and then I’m lost,”) that she bought into as an investment.
“I just needed something to do,” she says, explaining that once she married and had children there was no way she could work like she’d been used to. For eleven years Audrey was employed by Rushton’s making children’s garments on the third floor of a building on Castle Gate. Unable to return to the factory, the shop was somewhere she could bring Hilary, who was six months old and the youngest.

Yes, people are still interested in wool. Though many firms have closed big names like Wendys are still going and patterns are released continually for contemporary knitted accessories. The most recent success was skinny scarves, drawing in fashionistas of all ages who realised a £2 ball of wool was cheaper than a £10 scarf.

Yes, she orders all her own stock. By internet? Audrey’s face suddenly contorts in feigned horror. “I haven’t got internet,” she confesses, “I make a phone call.” Doing business the same way for something “over twenty five” years, ‘Audrey’s’ has passed the test of time.
*Audrey’s wool shop is listed in the Nottingham Phone Book.

I had never heard of this artist. I had no prior knowledge of her work or what I was likely to find as I climbed up the stairs toward Angel Row Gallery, clutching coupons for my two complimentary drinks in one hand and the rail in the other.

No wonder then that I didn't think to look up when I saw the first projector. A solitary overhead projector, situated in the middle of the first room. The surface was covered in some kind of mess, bits and pieces of glass arranged in piles. What on earth is this? After roughly ten minutes of staring, stumped, my eyes followed a pool of light seeping over from the wall.


Cave Painting, 2003
Aha. So that's what it is.

A boat-shaped projection just visible against a pale blue waterscape, creating a lagoon in 8 square feet of two-dimensional space. Beautiful, subtle colors reminiscent of nothing so much as water. The water is a primary source of inspiration for Maurer who currently lives on her boat.
More recent work pushes beyond the likes of Cave Painting not only projecting the image but incorporating it into the space. Mirrors create new shapes as light bounces off them and suddenly the viewer finds themself in the piece. Sidetables painted white break up the surface under the image, model boats resting here and there. In the words of the statement, "Rather than miniature objects projected to create life-size versions of themselves, the projections now spill over onto physical structures and real objects making them part of the created landscapes." In the arrangement of the objects and the projected images, the model boats are proportionate to the image around them.

Easily one of the most refreshing concepts on view now. Running 16 Sep-28 Oct, a free must-see.

When a film can plunge into the darkest corners of human nature and only seconds later have the audience rolling with laughter, you know you've found something special. Writer/Director Pedro Almodovar returns with a beautiful piece that finds time to focus as much on the intricities of female relationships as it does on Penelope Cruz's behind.

Carmen Maura is hilarious as the mother returned from the dead to care for her dysfunctional family. Cruz is the estranged daughter now living with a daughter of her own, Paula, played by the stunning young talent Yohanna Cobo. Paula and her mother have more in common than meets the eye and the story's biggest twist centres around their relationship past and present.

While the setting is in contemporary Spain, the events are absurd. When Irene (Maura) returns to her daughters in Madrid, there is a period of disbelief- yet when she returns to the village in which she lived no one questions the fact that of course, Aunt Irene's spirit has returned, these things happen. Catergory? Fantastic realism.

Despite the female focus, this is no chick flick, simply an excellent story with all female actors. There's death, reunion, regret- and lots of loud cheek kissing. An uplifting darkly themed take on life.

Anyone who missed the Robin Hood Marathon today can see the wreckage the 13,000 participants left in their wake.

No ticker tape, no bodies of the gloriously fallen.

Just piles a empty water bottles lining the course.

Hunter S. Thompson has followed me.

Initially he was handed to me. Something said in passing about wanting to do journalism had sent my host at the house dashing off, rummaging around, returning with a chunky yellow volume entitled The Great Shark Hunt.

Thumbing through, I could see how such a man could lend inspiration to a young writer. Words like "...I've always considered writing the most hateful kind of work. I suspect it's a bit like fucking, which is only fun for amateurs. Old whores don't do much giggling."

Inspirational or not, this old whore didn't know when to leave me. Weeks went by, people everywhere had seen the movie and yabbered on about it. In fact hearing them talk stirred memories of overheard conversations about cannons and ashes and Johnny Depp, I had known about this all along. But I hadn't seen or read Fear and Loathing...

In a teasing manner the dvd was to be had in the local rental place- but as the girl behind the counter explained it was on the side of the shop reserved for one night rentals rather than weekly, making it three times the price. Costly and only available overnight? I left the strumpet in disgust.

Later Sightings, completely unintentional:
*John Bird article where the Big Issue editor discusses his acquaintence with Ralph Steadman, Thompson's illustrator after the Kentucky Derby story.
*A story on the Exquisite Corpse website that I found via an article by Chip Scanlan.
*The Gonzo Tour
*

This is really despicable.

Fretting away at the keyboard in the Mocha Cafe patisserie, I was more concerned about the fact that I'd spent £1.40 on a cup of tea I didn't need than the fact that a guy was telling everyone to clear the building. It was only once I'd made it out of the cordoned off area and into the park in the centre of Leicester Square that it suddenly occured to me- shit, that was a story there.

By the time I'd thought of this I'd been out of the area for a good 10 minutes. I could go back... I hadn't taken down the time the warning had been issued. I didn't know what street the cafe was on. I hadn't asked anyone what was happening, just bowed my head and scuttled off obediently. Hindsight is 20/20.

2:25 I took down the time- I'd been writing out by hand what'd happened. The guy had asked everyone to clear the building and then a copper had announced in that IIIIIIIIII AM THE VOICE OF AUTHORITY AT THIS TIME AND THAT IS WHY I AM SPEAKING THIS LOUD tone that a suspect package had been identified just across the way. He went on to say we could either go down into the cellar of the cafe or make our way out of the area.

Police were every few metres along the street and were directing people with bored motions reminiscent of flight attendents on the preflight safety demo. In fact no one seemed bothered. While people were leaving the owner of the cafe managed to say 'pay before you go'. At least someone managed to stay collected enough to prioritize.

2:31 From my seat in the Square I was still bumbling as to what to do. Sirens in the distance- but that could be for anything in the city, I reasoned. Got off my arse and started back to the area, Charing Cross Road I noted this time. There was police ribbon left on one of the lamp posts I passed, torn off obviously the area was safe again. Even if I'd missed witnessing the conclusion at least the space was deemed safe to enter now.

2:51 Standing outside the cafe there was no sign anything had even taken place. I asked one of the girls behind the counter what'd happened. She said a package had been found but nothing happened. I didn't quote her here because I can't remember her exact words and I'd rather paraphrase than tread the lines of reporting ethics. Although if this is my personal account, am I bound to reporting strict truth? Given what I'm trying to relate I think it's best that I remain as factual as I can.

Made it towards the nearest other internet cafe to stay as close to the time as possible. Didn't ask to use the Mocha Cafe's facilities as I needed a loo and they said theirs was blocked. From getting out of the area (without asking questions) to meandering through ethical debate (rather than writing first) to following the demands of my bowel, the entire sorry mess has been one long passage of self-preservation.

Learn from mistakes, carpe diem, always carry a camera.