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When a Rat takes over your twitter account




“A Rat sits on my  keyboard, twitching his nose as I work my fingers around his legs, in and out, sliding over his tail, trying to write this, occasionally he shifts grudgingly if I type the same word over and over again again again again again again again again again again again again, there, he’s done it again.”


I wrote these lines five years ago…about a rat on my keyboard tapping and scratching across the keys, producing a work of such rarity. The rat morphed into Harold and Harold, surprise surprise, had a personality.

He became a vehicle for the things I won’t normally allow myself to say, or couldn’t be bothered saying, or if I did, they would sound plain wrong. But for Harold to say them, then that made a crazy kind of sense.

Most people don’t like rats, me included, but yet Walt Disney conceived of a mouse called Mickey, another rodent, distant cousin of Harold. Or so he claims. So maybe they are not all that bad.

Either way, its seems Harold is here to stay. He has taken up residence in a cosy spot in my brain. Warm, but not too warm, close to my hypothalamus  you know how rats are. He has opened a runway to my heart and from this domain he exerts a certain control. I could close him off, indeed smother him with a good wallop of daytime T.V or a steady drip feed of stupid cat videos from YouTube, but to what purpose would that serve? Another life, gone?

He’s quick, versatile with a steady stream of good humored quotes so what’s not to like. He says he’ll behave himself and won’t do anything untoward unless I deserve it.

As I write this, I can already see myself lying face up on the psychiatrist’s couch. The good doctor chews his pen and then breaks the silence

“So tell me about this..hmm…this person called Harold?”

At that point I would sit bolt upright, correct him about Harold being a person (he’s a rat Doctor, important difference) and tell him the exact same thing as I’m telling you -

Go to twitter and follow him there if you want to know about him. I probably won’t be able to supply the doctor a link (unless its in one of those funky films where my finger becomes a whiteboard marker)

But I can to you…here it is ..check it out – Harold on twitter


When a clockwork orange finally chimes

a clockwork orange


Reading Anthony Burgess – ‘A Clockwork Orange’ and yes, it is disturbing. Half way through I’ve finally got used to the garbled lingua of the main protagonist.

I read it sitting in my car in a vacant parking lot, a few stolen moments each lunch time.

Schoolboys, linger on concrete steps nearby, smoking and laughing in the early spring sunshine.

I’m pulled from the drama between the covers to a scuffle that has broken out. Raised voices and loud guffaws.

Two boys in green school uniforms are sparing, at first playfully, while the others, one fat guy in particular shouts encouragement.

A few blows are thrown and the playfulness soon drains from their confrontation. They lock arms and wrestle, finally pushing each other away. One throws a wild kick which connects with a dull thud, and a new degree of violence descends. The others boys sensing blood, now howl their advice, urging them on.

To my alarm I then notice that my only exit is to drive pass them, and they’ve looped into an ever widening arc. A makeshift swaying ring of bodies that has no concern for my car, or even my presence.

I start the engine and manage to inch past them. None look my way, so consumed they are in the unfolding action.

Back safely at work, I think of what has happened. The two kids fighting, a lanky tall dark skinned guy and his smaller, stumpy opponent. They aren’t anything like the guys in a clockwork orange, but I was shocked by the suddenness of the hostility.
I did find it amusing later in the snug safe environment of the office that it was almost a case of life imitating art. If I had not being reading the book I might just have shrugged off the enveloping conflict between the youths as a minor nuisance. The reading had definitely informed my reaction. It gave me a new appreciation of the arbitrary nature of violence, in whatever form it presents itself, and how quickly it can escalate.

Picasso said that art should be an ‘act of war’ and not something to merely decorate living room walls. He was, I think, referencing his painting of Guernica, which ironically does decorate a lot of living room walls. A little knowledge goes a long way, which is why it’s always good to know the story behind what you choose to hang on your wall.

If nothing else it deepens your appreciation and leaves an aftertaste when you take leave from the painting.

It what I try to do here, tell you the story behind my paintings, to give you not just an appreciation of the actual physical painting, but what informed it, so that it may go on and inform your greater existence.

It’s a grand, large sounding enterprise, but we do it every day in simple ways. This way is mine.


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