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Confessing Deadly Sins

Perhaps it's not the time, so I'll hold off a while longer...

Just had to listen to 15 minutes of sport news on the BBC. I despair. They predict the awful final tomorrow will be the 'show' with the highest viewing figures in the UK ever. Orwell was so right about everything. And all this nonsense can be beamed direct into your living-room via the telescreen.


Lunch today with A, B, K, M and L. In a venue that does not have large TVs dotted around its premises. Still 5 days of school left, but think there will be very little cover. We'll have to see. Will still go in on Monday to get the mirror plates attached to the meditation on the Bacon (not a phrase I expected to use there).


This image stems from a short story about a youth who writes poetry and hides it in the carcase of a whale. Weirdness is an important component in art, certainly in mine. I see so much posted on social media now that may be well made, but is about as profound as a blank piece of paper. Some gets away with it by being products of an age when colonialism lent a license to depict naked women in the presence of heavily-clad men, as though it normalised the scenario completely.

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