... an interesting day.23:33 Aug 22 2008
Times Read: 1,321
I had met Anne, one of the project’s volunteers twenty minutes late from the time we had arranged, on Thursday afternoon prior to got to the project. I had been panicking more than a little, as I do so dislike letting a friend down.
So I wandered round Liverpool Central Station. Suddenly, there she was.
A quick hug and off we went, to the FACT Centre.
The FACT Centre is a plush cinema and art gallery and our intended port of call.
The weather was good by then and the walk through town was pleasant.
When we got there Anne led to way to the first of the exhibits she wanted to show me, a series of video installations by a woman, Pipilotti Rist.
Now though I’m not a great one for conceptual art, I’d been stoked by what I’d seen.
One piece ‘Ever Is All Over’, was a looped film of a pretty young woman in a flowing blue dress and red shoes, walking down the street, with a pole, that looked like a large flower head. As she skipped down the street, observed by a policewoman who acknowledged her presence, the smiling brunette had occasionally swung the pole, to smash out one car window, then another.
To the left of this image was a moving soft-focus image of a close-up of grasses and field flower, the same field flower that she was using to smash the car windows with.
As the accompanying brochure says of this: “The act of violence, witnessed by a friendly passing police-woman and a slightly bemused passer-by, holds within it a set of contradictions: the tension between ‘how’ and ‘what’. This, on the service, unacceptable action should rupture the status quo within a socio-political context. But the ‘how’ can outdo the ‘what’. Can violence enacted with a sweet smile be more easily forgiven? As feminist theorist and writer Peggy Phelan has pointed out, the woman in Ever All Over resembles Dorothy with her blue dress and those infamous ruby slippers on her journey to see the Wizard of Oz. Pipilotti Rist strays far enough from reality to explore the fantastical, yet her work remains only a click away from home.” There had been a few other pieces in the room on the ground floor, but none that I had rated as highly as that one.
Then Anne had led me to me upstairs to Gallery two and a wonderful evocation of the artist’s musings, with a journey from an age of innocence, from the age of innocence, through to the birth of civilisation and out to some unknown space, called ‘Gravity Be My Friend.’ To read the brochure, it sounds quite pretentious. But, I had thought it was quite impressive: and ‘got it’.
With our shoes off, we had lain of one of two layers of contoured carpet, resembling inverted lily-pads, looking up at a video film, presented in a room where the walls where shaped with curves, in muted colours.
“Visually evoking classical mythology, religious and romantic symbolism, Gravity Be My Friend is striking in its use of imagery; apples, fruit and bodies with references. The soundtrack – a soothing lullaby of strings and bells – plays alongside visuals that evoke the psychedelic colours of the sixties, an era that is a great inspiration to the artist and in which he sees unbridled utopianism and a sense of promise.”
I was most impressed.
Yet I was bemused by what as noticed as Anne and I moved to the second ‘lily pad’.
A young woman in jeans and top had removed her shoes as we had, then lain there as we had: and, began texting on her mobile.
I had thought initially, that she was taking photographs like I had of the second piece.
But, she hadn’t been. As we left the Gallery, I noticed that my observation was right.
That’s had rendered me incredulous.
“Why on earth go to an art exhibition and just lie there texting?” I’d said a little later, as we drank coffee and Anne ate a piece of some of the richest looking chocolate cake I’ve seen in a while.
(I heartily recommend the café at the FACT Centre, in part for the coffee and cake; the free wireless Internet access; and, the opportunity to people watch, the pretentious and the attractive individuals that frequent it.)
Then we left to go to the project and noticed that just outside the FACT Centre a cage, which had been designed to look like ‘something’ had burst out of the bars.
It had transpired that it was part of the Superlamb banana’s exhibit.
And, I’d read the description on the cage, it had read as though they were real, which had left me in tucks of laughter.
So we had then ambled (a suitable word) through the backstreets of Liverpool toward the church in Toxteth, where we’re based.
The thing was, Anne is as bad for obscure imagery as myself and I had my camera with me. So as we meandered (another suitable word) Anne had pointed out several things, which just had to be photographed. In hindsight I’m not surprised we were late, just that were weren’t more late than we were; there was so much to see.
At the project we had been busy, as usual. I had put an apron over my smart duds, as I’d dressed ready for going out later, much to Rogers amusement: “You never wear the things I got for you to wear.” (Of course not, they were bought for me and looked like the sort of thing a chef in an upper class restaurant would wear.) But as we were cooking, Lily had amused me.
She had begun with a tirade about Russia, in response to a remark I’d made.
Of course I had responded, with a piece about American intervention in other countries, which had just led to the conversation becoming more heated.
Once she had finished her flow, it transpired that we actually agreed with one another.
Anne who was cooking chips had just looked at me and smiled.
Just a short while later, I mentioned Michael Holliday and it transpires that he had lived in the same road in the Dingle as she had when she was a young girl.
She had then gone onto tell me a wonderful little tale, of Holliday visiting his Mother in his convertible and a gaggle of young children gathering round thcar, crying out, “Eh mister, let us sit in your car.”
When I enquired whether he’d let the children sit in his car, Lily had told me he had. It seems that although Holliday had been a local hero made good, he kept his roots.
To me, that’d said so much about a singer whose ‘Story Of My Life’ I adore.
Well, after a busy evening, Anne and I had walked back into to town together to go to the station, to get our respective trains.
On the way I had said, “Lily had amused me.”
“It was like she had something to say and was determined to say it,” Anne had replied in response.
We’d parted company at Central Station; where Anne had used the Northern line, while I had used the Wirral Line. Thankfully, I hadn’t had too long to wait for my train, as I’d made arrangements to meet someone at mine, shortly after 9:00 p.m.
I got home just before nine, then just after I’d begun to make a coffee, a friend of mine from the time I worked on the taxi’s called round, in his pride and joy, one of the new minis.
As we drove to his, he began to talk, ostensibly about talking about writing with his lady, over a bottle of red wine.
Very quickly it turned into something different: and invitation to enjoy his wife.
More than slightly pole-axed, for all of ten seconds, I’d thought of what he’d said, then smiled and said, “Oh.”
It was then he’d expanded on what he’d just said.
The offer had come from her, of course; he had acceded, through interest.
He had got out his mobile and pressed ‘send’ to a text.
Then he smiled at the resultant answer that came back several seconds later.
It seemed she’d been happy with my answer.
One problem, no condoms.
So off we’d gone on a search.
A garage, nothing.
So we took the search to an all-night Tesco, which was quite busy.
Coming out of the shop, the lady leaving the exit sneezed.
I said “Gesundeit.”
Then I said, “That’s about the only German I know.”
She had retorted, “I’m German.”
So I thought a moment, and then said, “Ich heisse Neil.”
She had replied by saying her name as well, which was lost to me as I laughed on the way back to the car.
Finally back at me mates; his curvaceous Mrs. had sat on the sofa, her laptop before her and bid me to sit o her right. She had worn a short blue skirt and tucked one beneath her, exposing the white vee of her panties to my gaze as we spoke.
Well, we had talked, of writing, emotions and when he had left to go to the toilet upstairs, we had kissed.
As our tongues meshed, I had briefly wondered how far the night might take me.
Upon his return, there was no embarrassment; and eventually we had taken ourselves upstairs, where clothes had been lost and I had found more use for my tongue as they kissed and the night passed into morning slowly and very agreeably.
My left hand had its physiotherapy for a year as I used my fingers to pleasure her and I swear down, I’ll savour her fine taste for weeks.
No condom had been used, as I couldn’t.
I know why, so am not concerned about ‘this lack of performance.’
It certainly wasn’t lack of interest. It was just that it was so much, so unannounced and, I like them both as couple.
(Ha! Penile dysfunction ‘due to respect.’ **maniacal laughter sets in**)
Yet, they seemed to enjoy themselves, at least I hope they did.
As it was, me mate had given me a lift home as the sky turned light and I got to bed at about six in the morning.
And, I’m sure I recall saying that ‘Thursday would be an interesting day.’
COMMENTS
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atyourwindow
22:48 Aug 31 2008
on the other hand you have to wonder who is really the one with the mental issue?....the person that was "role playing" and having fun and joking around with positive energy, or the "bully" poking fun at a defensless child?....the child was acting as a child should act....whats this "bullys" excuse?
MyArmyMyMilitaryMyLife
22:54 Aug 31 2008
I agree with window. I think it's the bully with the mental problem, not the other way around.
SouthernFreak
01:26 Sep 01 2008
There will always be bullies. That isn't the problem though. The problem is that the bullies are allowed to do people this way on the site. I don't see it as a problem with a person, but with the system as a whole. Anyone can have a bad day, but if it wasn't allowed, then it would be stopped.