THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHS.

 

Tottie.

I’ll freely admit it was me who suggested that Tom go through all his old cloths. He hasn’t worn most of them for years now and with those extra kilos they no longer fit. I didn’t however suggest that he throw practically all of them in the bin. There were T-shirts dating from the 1980’s and as you would expect the necklines were somewhat fragile, hardly museum items, more like polishing rags. There were three chest of drawers full; tattered pair of 30 inch waist jeans (friends said he was skinny), socks that needed darning, (if one could be bothered), shirts with almost non-existent collars, and underwear, well we won’t go there. He had to admit that most of it he hadn’t worn in years. I gave him two bin liners for the stuff to chuck, and a large yellow and green bag for what he wanted to keep. It only took him ten minutes, and when the two black bags went into the bin he had to admit he felt better for it. Out in the studio he filled the bottom draw of the store cupboard with what he would need for everyday stuff and left the other bag in the hall presumably to put back in the bedroom. I thought nothing of it when the bag disappeared, at least not until he asked me where I’d put it.

“I haven’t touched it, they’re your cloths”.

“Well you must have done because it’s not there now”.

I was just about to give it both barrels when a strange look came over his face, like a sudden revelation that there is a God after all. He rushed outside and round to the bins and then came back looking very dejected.

“Don’t tell me, you put the other bag in the bin as well”.

“Yep, and bin collection was last Tuesday”.

Now of course it’s all my fault for suggesting the clearing out in the first place, and he’s gone into one of his silent modes. According to his brother he used to do that regularly as a child, or as he put it going off in a huff. Well I wish he would just go off. I’m sure there’s still plenty of rose petals out there. This all happened before he was due to go down to London for the opening of his show, and he was just about to add it to the list of reasons as to why he couldn’t attend the opening night. I stopped him right there. “You have a perfectly good tweed suit of your fathers in the wardrobe”. “Yes, but no shirt”, he snivelled. “Well buy a bloody shirt for God sake!”

Tom.

It’s that time of the month, or in Totties case 6 months, and I’m due for another implant. I do wonder if I should bother, the bossy cow’s been giving me such grief recently. I’m thinking seriously of evicting her, she’s become a real pain in the arse. I’m sure it was her who dumped my bag of good cloths on one of her tidying up sprees. It’s a wonder I can find anything these days, but thankfully my workshop has remained out of bounds and any case the disorder is so total that she wouldn’t know where to start.

So, what would happen if I did get rid of her? Would my life return to normal and would I as they say grow a pair. Foregoing those interminable hot flushes, and losing some of her soft covering would be a real bonus. I could actually fit into my clothes again, well that is I could if she hadn’t chucked them all out. I hate this fat faced pudgy look, and everyone saying I look so well. I want to look and feel like me and me alone. Tom, skinny again, complete with wrinkles and creases.

It is indeed fortunate that I have my studio and my work to keep me from walking of the nearest cliff. The end of year exhibition at An Lanntair is increasingly on my mind as summer is over and I’m sure we’ll race through autumn and those ever decreasing daylight hours. I have six doll’s houses to put on show plus three boxed dioramas, and yet still I haven’t come up with a title. Since they will be lit internally and people will have to peer in through the windows, I had thought of calling it Peeping Tom, which drew a shriek of horror from Tottie. The tree house is nearing completion and I’ve been wondering for days just how I’m going to get it out of the workshop. So, today I removed all additional branches and got it as far as the door and no further. Unscrewing one of the limbs allowed me to get it part way through but stuck. I could just imagine Tottie turning up at that point with some useless advice. There was no way back and a good tug saw it finally outside. Getting it into the studio was via the large sliding door, but there still remains the issue of transporting to Stornoway.

 I’ve added a small tin woodshed shack at the base of the tree, and there is still some vegetation to complete the picture. Attention to detail is all important but so is knowing when to stop. Lighting and photography will be a crucial, but I’m looking forward to seeing what the An Lanntair outworkers, Jo and Moira will be doing with the school children over the next three months, as that will be the all-important other half of the show.

GONE PICKING ROSE PETALS.

 

I don’t suppose I’m the only one who finds there are times when I just need to get away; a change of scene, just up sticks and go. I’d been promising myself just that for the past couple of months, and suddenly it seemed like summer might slip by yet again without me taking advantage of living in such a beautiful place. Tottie had been getting on my nerves more than usual, and so I packed food, bedding and art materials into the van, leaving a note on the front door, “Gone picking rose petals”. I had been due to fly down to London for the opening of my exhibition, but had chickened out finding the thought of London simply too terrifying. Exactly where, or for how long I was to be away was anyone’s guess, but that Saturday morning I had indeed been invited to help a friend pick wild rose petals to make jelly. Over on the west coast it started out dull and damp at Bragar, not ideal conditions for the plucking of petals, but by late morning it had already begun to brighten up. After the gathering I headed on up to the Port of Nis to see if I could make sense of its complexities in preparation for another of my piers ports and jetties. I was away for five days in total, and managed to get a mass of information on piers down the west coast of Lewis as well as the South Lochs or Pairc area, and on the final day I headed down to Scalpay. A night spent out beyond Aird Uig at Gallan Head was wonderful. Very few of the communications building remain, but I could well see why they chose such a place. It’s not the most westerly point of the Hebrides, but one certainly gets the feeling of being at the end of somewhere, yet another Finisterre or Penn ar bed.

I kept my phone switched off since I had no charger in the van and would need to conserve the energy for photos. By the end of the five days I had a head, sketchbook and phone full of information, and really did need to get back in order to sort it all out. That evening a friend called round to check I was OK, and it turned out several people had been worried since gone picking rose petals didn’t seem sufficient. Fortunately Tottie kept her cool and didn’t contact the police to report me as missing. Gone AWOL perhaps, but when the need takes me I go, and I might well do it again before the months out. I have to admit the first night was hell. I found a beautiful spot to camp, but the back seat of the van was decidedly uncomfortable. The following evening I added a self-inflating carry mat and that made all the difference. Next time I will take a little longer to prepare my departure and yes I will give a little more in the way of explanation as to where I going and for how long. The preview opening evening was set for Thursday the 7^th and they had done me proud with an excellent on line catalogue. I was delighted to discover they had also sold four pieces before the night.

Tottie. Tom had been impossible over the past fortnight, and when he simply up sticks without a word there was part of me that was quite relieved, even though the ridiculous message stuffed into the front door letter box saying he’d gone picking rose petals did make me wonder if he’d finally tipped over the edge. On the fifth day, without any sign of life, I have to admit I was beginning to get concerned. Just a short text would have sufficed, but during my trip to Western Australia Charley had told me, when Tom took the Landrover he could be gone for weeks before news would filter back from friends that he’d stayed a couple of nights and was now heading further east to Cape Arid. He would eventually return with stories of his adventures and sketchbooks full. And so, when he did eventually return to New Tolsta he was changed, for the better thankfully. He’s plunged back into his stitching, while I’ve had to try and get on top of the garden. The big gale left the veg patch rather flat, and some of the greens that had already suffered with the cabbage root fly, were now almost ripped out of the ground. The trees took a pounding, and the tops are now ragged with a lot less leaves, while a couple of the spruces lost their growing leader completely. However, now with all the fruit picked I have the freezer full, and we certainly won’t need to be buying any jam.