Sunday, 3 April 2011

Mothers day letter I found in a Tesco car park

I think it reads:

"Dear mum,
Thank you for all the things you have done (for) me. And I rember when we went to Dulwich park with family, and freindse. You have broken your back for me doing all you can for me. I love you mum ever so much in my intere life. And i hope you love me too. Christmas presents you gave me not all the things. But some things that i wanted. You are the kindest mum in the world.
HAPPY MOTHERS DAY MUM your prsesent is...3 lovely children at your service!
Love from yourse sincerly Asia Blair your daughter xoxoxoxoxoxox"

Tuesday, 22 February 2011

Martin Parr signed my notebook today.

We had a talk from Martin Parr today, he's a funny man. He told us so much but what i remember most is how he isn't someone who just carries a camera around waiting for a photo opportunity, he goes out on very specific missions to collect hundreds of photos of themes and people he is genuinely fascinated by.

Thursday, 10 February 2011

Kingston University Time Capsule

The other day we snuck into the ceremonious opening of a jar buried beneath a plinth since 1952. The time capsule was left by people at the university for people of the future. Within the capsule was a list of staff, two paper clips, a compass and a drawing pin. I think they had unwittingly thought we probably wouldn't be using these tools anymore, and I like the way such tiny objects have kept the University organised and running smoothly for sixty years and more to come.

Thursday, 27 January 2011

John Fuller

Valentine

The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power and see you eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a fete.
I’d like to offer you a flower.

I like the hair upon your shoulders,
Falling like water over boulders.
I like the shoulders, too: they are essential.
Your collar-bones have great potential
(I’d like all your particulars in folders marked Confidential).

I like your cheeks, I like your nose,
I like the way your lips disclose
The neat arrangement of your teeth
(Half above and half beneath) in rows.

I like your eyes, I like their fringes.
The way they focus on me gives me twinges.
Your upper arms drive me berserk.
I like the way your elbows work, on hinges.

I like your wrists, I like your glands,
I like the fingers on your hands.
I’d like to teach them how to count,
And certain things we might exchange,
Something familiar for something strange.
I’d like to give you just the right amount and get some change.

I like it when you tilt your cheek up.
I like the way you nod and hold a teacup. I like your legs when you unwind
them.
Even in trousers I don’t mind them.
I like each softly-moulded kneecap.
I like the little crease behind them.
I’d always know, without a recap, where to find them.

I like the sculpture of your ears.
I like the way your profile disappears
Whenever you decide to turn and face me.
I’d like to cross two hemispheres and have you chase me.
I’d like to smuggle you across frontiers
Or sail with you at night into Tangiers.
I’d like you to embrace me.

I’d like to see you ironing your skirt and cancelling other dates.
I’d like to button up your shirt.
I like the way your chest inflates.
I’d like to soothe you when you’re hurt
Or frightened senseless by invertebrates.

I’d like you even if you were malign
And had a yen for sudden homicide.
I’d let you put insecticide into my wine.
I’d even like you if you were the Bride of Frankenstein
Or something ghoulish out of Mamoulian’s Jekyll and Hyde.
I’d even like you as my Julian of Norwich or Cathleen ni Houlihan
How melodramatic
If you were something muttering in attics
Like Mrs Rochester or a student of boolean mathematics.

You are the end of self-abuse.
You are the eternal feminine.
I’d like to find a good excuse
To call on you and find you in.
I’d like to put my hand beneath your chin. And see you grin.
I’d like to taste your Charlotte Russe,
I’d like to feel my lips upon your skin,
I’d like to make you reproduce.

I’d like you in my confidence.
I’d like to be your second look.
I’d like to let you try the French Defence and mate you with my rook.
I’d like to be your preference and hence
I’d like to be around when you unhook.
I’d like to be your only audience,
The final name in your appointment book, your future tense.