FRIDAY, 28 SEPTEMBER 2012
Miasmerised
Back in the day, people used to think disease was spread by miasma. By 'back in the day' I mean before Louis Pasteur discovered germs in the like 1860s, and by 'miasma' I mean the idea that disease particles were spread by bad air, which smelt bad.
So okay I can see where they're coming from. There is, in general, probably a correlation between the whereabouts of bad smells and a high death rate, but this theory must've been so goddamn impractical. Every time you walk past dog crap you'd think you were going to die. Like, you'd have to hold your breath all the time. What if someone burnt a cake? Do you get typhoid from the smell of burnt cake? I mean, what exactly constitutes a 'bad smell'? I don't like the smell of that repulsive Lynx Africa body spray, but evidently someone must swoon over it because otherwise chavvy teenage boys wouldn't bother to douse themselves in it. Does that mean I'm going to die of cholera whilst the people (with bad taste) who enjoy the smell won't?
Perhaps I'm being too critical. Perhaps I underestimate the population of early industrial Britain, I suppose they knew the difference between 'dirty' and 'clean'. But on the subject of body-sprays, they must've all stunk of B.O. for most of the time, so would they have believed that to make them ill? I guess not, if they all smelled of it all the time.
But jheez, the paranoia every time you smelt something bad.
#Pointlessthoughts
Back in the day, people used to think disease was spread by miasma. By 'back in the day' I mean before Louis Pasteur discovered germs in the like 1860s, and by 'miasma' I mean the idea that disease particles were spread by bad air, which smelt bad.
So okay I can see where they're coming from. There is, in general, probably a correlation between the whereabouts of bad smells and a high death rate, but this theory must've been so goddamn impractical. Every time you walk past dog crap you'd think you were going to die. Like, you'd have to hold your breath all the time. What if someone burnt a cake? Do you get typhoid from the smell of burnt cake? I mean, what exactly constitutes a 'bad smell'? I don't like the smell of that repulsive Lynx Africa body spray, but evidently someone must swoon over it because otherwise chavvy teenage boys wouldn't bother to douse themselves in it. Does that mean I'm going to die of cholera whilst the people (with bad taste) who enjoy the smell won't?
Perhaps I'm being too critical. Perhaps I underestimate the population of early industrial Britain, I suppose they knew the difference between 'dirty' and 'clean'. But on the subject of body-sprays, they must've all stunk of B.O. for most of the time, so would they have believed that to make them ill? I guess not, if they all smelled of it all the time.
But jheez, the paranoia every time you smelt something bad.
#Pointlessthoughts
So okay I can see where they're coming from. There is, in general, probably a correlation between the whereabouts of bad smells and a high death rate, but this theory must've been so goddamn impractical. Every time you walk past dog crap you'd think you were going to die. Like, you'd have to hold your breath all the time. What if someone burnt a cake? Do you get typhoid from the smell of burnt cake? I mean, what exactly constitutes a 'bad smell'? I don't like the smell of that repulsive Lynx Africa body spray, but evidently someone must swoon over it because otherwise chavvy teenage boys wouldn't bother to douse themselves in it. Does that mean I'm going to die of cholera whilst the people (with bad taste) who enjoy the smell won't?
Perhaps I'm being too critical. Perhaps I underestimate the population of early industrial Britain, I suppose they knew the difference between 'dirty' and 'clean'. But on the subject of body-sprays, they must've all stunk of B.O. for most of the time, so would they have believed that to make them ill? I guess not, if they all smelled of it all the time.
But jheez, the paranoia every time you smelt something bad.
#Pointlessthoughts
WEDNESDAY, 5 SEPTEMBER 2012
A well-heeled fellow
When you think about it, high heels are a bit pointless really aren't they.
I mean, it's a shoe with a platform on it.
And a painful one at that.
At which point on our human evolution did placing a large object under the heel of your foot become a sign of beauty? I suppose it could be something to do with being higher than your peers as a status symbol, but then why aren't tall people in charge of everything and considered particularly beautiful or important?
They improve posture, making you, presumably, more appealing to the eye. But then so do like crocs and other ugly hippy shoes, and those aren't considered a sign of beauty or any form of status symbol. Is it something to do with how difficult they are to walk in? Does it imply that a female will somehow make a better mating partner and produce superior offspring if she is willing to put herself through pain? Is it something to do with the attraction of bravery, someone willing to risk breaking their ankle just to conform to societies prejudices of beauty? (oooh, deep Katie)
So why do we wear them? Why is getting your first pair of high heels almost like a coming-of-age ceremony?
So many un-answered questions, I need to ask Google.
It turns out that high-heeled shoes were first worn in ancient Egypt by butchers, to raise them out of the blood of dead animals that they had, presumably, been butchering. There is also pictorial evidence from around 3500BC that upper-class Egyptians wore shoes in the shape of an ankh - the symbol of life. Since the commoners wandered about bare-foot, I'm going to presume this was to keep them out of the dirt and separate them from the lower-classes. The choice of shape is interesting though; did they somehow believe this would preserve their lives?
Zip along to Ancient Greece, where actors wore platform shoes called 'buskins' to demonstrate the social status of their character, then to Ancient Rome where they were worn primarily by prostitutes as a form of identification (AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA oh the things people will never know). Skipping to the middle ages, platforms were strapped onto the soles of shoes to keep them out of the mud - items such as shoes were held in a somewhat higher esteem that a £3 pair of Primark plimsolls - and heels were worn to keep horse rider's feet in stirrups. Fair enough, at least at some point heels had purpose rather than just being vanity.
In the 15th Century, 'chopines' were invented in Turkey; platform shoes which were worn by the fashionable throughout Europe and were up to 30" high. Holy smokes. Imagine running in those. Imagine walking in those. In fact, imagine standing still in those. They must've looked so daft! But I suppose they didn't, because they were well cool.
At some point someone decided to split the toe and heel of shes into two pieces, so everyone stopped walking like penguins and the 'high heel' as we now know it came about. They were worn by upper-class men and women alike, it was around this time that someone coined the phrase 'well-heeled', implying that the higher your shoe was the richer you were (damn language is so interesting). Then in 1533 Queen Catherine de' Medici wore them on her wedding day in Paris purely to make herself taller and everyone else suddenly needed them. As per usual with celebrities.
That's pretty much it, as far as I can gather. Heels were worn to show status, to keep you on a horse, to keep your feet out of the crap and because someone famous wore them. Seeing as we don't walk around in the mud or all ride horses anymore, it kinda highlights how trivial they are. Interesting though isn't it?
But of course, trivial or not, I'll still wear them. I've been conditioned to see them as desirable as well. But next time you see someone in a pair of heels, please, consider the absurdity of the status-boost a block of wood wedged under the ball of your foot brings.
Ciao mans
When you think about it, high heels are a bit pointless really aren't they.
I mean, it's a shoe with a platform on it.
And a painful one at that.
At which point on our human evolution did placing a large object under the heel of your foot become a sign of beauty? I suppose it could be something to do with being higher than your peers as a status symbol, but then why aren't tall people in charge of everything and considered particularly beautiful or important?
They improve posture, making you, presumably, more appealing to the eye. But then so do like crocs and other ugly hippy shoes, and those aren't considered a sign of beauty or any form of status symbol. Is it something to do with how difficult they are to walk in? Does it imply that a female will somehow make a better mating partner and produce superior offspring if she is willing to put herself through pain? Is it something to do with the attraction of bravery, someone willing to risk breaking their ankle just to conform to societies prejudices of beauty? (oooh, deep Katie)
So why do we wear them? Why is getting your first pair of high heels almost like a coming-of-age ceremony?
So many un-answered questions, I need to ask Google.
It turns out that high-heeled shoes were first worn in ancient Egypt by butchers, to raise them out of the blood of dead animals that they had, presumably, been butchering. There is also pictorial evidence from around 3500BC that upper-class Egyptians wore shoes in the shape of an ankh - the symbol of life. Since the commoners wandered about bare-foot, I'm going to presume this was to keep them out of the dirt and separate them from the lower-classes. The choice of shape is interesting though; did they somehow believe this would preserve their lives?
Zip along to Ancient Greece, where actors wore platform shoes called 'buskins' to demonstrate the social status of their character, then to Ancient Rome where they were worn primarily by prostitutes as a form of identification (AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA oh the things people will never know). Skipping to the middle ages, platforms were strapped onto the soles of shoes to keep them out of the mud - items such as shoes were held in a somewhat higher esteem that a £3 pair of Primark plimsolls - and heels were worn to keep horse rider's feet in stirrups. Fair enough, at least at some point heels had purpose rather than just being vanity.
In the 15th Century, 'chopines' were invented in Turkey; platform shoes which were worn by the fashionable throughout Europe and were up to 30" high. Holy smokes. Imagine running in those. Imagine walking in those. In fact, imagine standing still in those. They must've looked so daft! But I suppose they didn't, because they were well cool.
At some point someone decided to split the toe and heel of shes into two pieces, so everyone stopped walking like penguins and the 'high heel' as we now know it came about. They were worn by upper-class men and women alike, it was around this time that someone coined the phrase 'well-heeled', implying that the higher your shoe was the richer you were (damn language is so interesting). Then in 1533 Queen Catherine de' Medici wore them on her wedding day in Paris purely to make herself taller and everyone else suddenly needed them. As per usual with celebrities.
That's pretty much it, as far as I can gather. Heels were worn to show status, to keep you on a horse, to keep your feet out of the crap and because someone famous wore them. Seeing as we don't walk around in the mud or all ride horses anymore, it kinda highlights how trivial they are. Interesting though isn't it?
But of course, trivial or not, I'll still wear them. I've been conditioned to see them as desirable as well. But next time you see someone in a pair of heels, please, consider the absurdity of the status-boost a block of wood wedged under the ball of your foot brings.
Ciao mans
I mean, it's a shoe with a platform on it.
And a painful one at that.
At which point on our human evolution did placing a large object under the heel of your foot become a sign of beauty? I suppose it could be something to do with being higher than your peers as a status symbol, but then why aren't tall people in charge of everything and considered particularly beautiful or important?
They improve posture, making you, presumably, more appealing to the eye. But then so do like crocs and other ugly hippy shoes, and those aren't considered a sign of beauty or any form of status symbol. Is it something to do with how difficult they are to walk in? Does it imply that a female will somehow make a better mating partner and produce superior offspring if she is willing to put herself through pain? Is it something to do with the attraction of bravery, someone willing to risk breaking their ankle just to conform to societies prejudices of beauty? (oooh, deep Katie)
So why do we wear them? Why is getting your first pair of high heels almost like a coming-of-age ceremony?
So many un-answered questions, I need to ask Google.
It turns out that high-heeled shoes were first worn in ancient Egypt by butchers, to raise them out of the blood of dead animals that they had, presumably, been butchering. There is also pictorial evidence from around 3500BC that upper-class Egyptians wore shoes in the shape of an ankh - the symbol of life. Since the commoners wandered about bare-foot, I'm going to presume this was to keep them out of the dirt and separate them from the lower-classes. The choice of shape is interesting though; did they somehow believe this would preserve their lives?
Zip along to Ancient Greece, where actors wore platform shoes called 'buskins' to demonstrate the social status of their character, then to Ancient Rome where they were worn primarily by prostitutes as a form of identification (AHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA oh the things people will never know). Skipping to the middle ages, platforms were strapped onto the soles of shoes to keep them out of the mud - items such as shoes were held in a somewhat higher esteem that a £3 pair of Primark plimsolls - and heels were worn to keep horse rider's feet in stirrups. Fair enough, at least at some point heels had purpose rather than just being vanity.
In the 15th Century, 'chopines' were invented in Turkey; platform shoes which were worn by the fashionable throughout Europe and were up to 30" high. Holy smokes. Imagine running in those. Imagine walking in those. In fact, imagine standing still in those. They must've looked so daft! But I suppose they didn't, because they were well cool.
At some point someone decided to split the toe and heel of shes into two pieces, so everyone stopped walking like penguins and the 'high heel' as we now know it came about. They were worn by upper-class men and women alike, it was around this time that someone coined the phrase 'well-heeled', implying that the higher your shoe was the richer you were (damn language is so interesting). Then in 1533 Queen Catherine de' Medici wore them on her wedding day in Paris purely to make herself taller and everyone else suddenly needed them. As per usual with celebrities.
That's pretty much it, as far as I can gather. Heels were worn to show status, to keep you on a horse, to keep your feet out of the crap and because someone famous wore them. Seeing as we don't walk around in the mud or all ride horses anymore, it kinda highlights how trivial they are. Interesting though isn't it?
But of course, trivial or not, I'll still wear them. I've been conditioned to see them as desirable as well. But next time you see someone in a pair of heels, please, consider the absurdity of the status-boost a block of wood wedged under the ball of your foot brings.
Ciao mans
TUESDAY, 14 AUGUST 2012
Cornwall
Back from Rock, Cornwall and all is sunny-sunny. Which makes a pleasant change because it wasn't sunny much while we were away. I feel as though I should review the places we went, and me being judgmental and pessimistic this will probably make it all sound horrible, it was in fact all very agreeable.
Firstly on the way there we stopped at Bristol to look at the University, it was lovely and leafy, in a beautiful town and ohmygoshIwantotgothereeventhoughIwanttogotoalotofotherplacesaswell. We saw the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which I found very exciting but I don't suppose anyone else will. It was designed and partially built by the engineer called Brunel in the early 1800s, but then he died. Boo. They kept building but decided to take the sphinxes he'd designed off the top. Sphinxes. Yep.
'The old bugger's popped his clogs, finally we can get rid of those hideous cats'
Actually in Cornwall we went to Tintagel castle, which I was WELL excited about because I like history and all of that like. It's where king Arthur and the knights of the round table and Merlin and that lot are meant to have chilled, but in reality it was never really anything special. Lovely views etc, but there were SO many people. Like, you couldn't take a photo without some fat bloke getting in the way. It'd be good to go on a day when the waves were all crashing and the weather was all dramatic, because you have to climb an enormous amount of steps and presumably some of the tourists would be blown off into the surf. It's an unavoidable loss, I'm sure the national trust factor it into their budget.
Next to bike to Padstow, where there are pasties and even more fat tourists. However apparently they're building a skate park so I'll give them some appreciation.
Exciting rock formations in the slate, pretty sunsets over Rock Bay and crashing waves at Trebarwith Strand. I also acquired a wetsuit and discovered I can't surf. Thomas can, but he's bigger than me. Cry.
Then Boscastle, which is the cutest, most adorable and most perfect little town. Plus I had a very nice salad and there were fewer fat tourists. They also had exciting rocks and IT'S WHERE THOMAS HARDY AND EMMA USED TO GO. Here's me getting excited about things no one else cares about again. Emma was from around here and they used to take walks and stuff, I bought a book on it because I was interested, I can't help it okay.
We went to a big house. I can't remember what it was called. But it was also very nice, and it rained on us. All nicely-nicely set out like country houses (in my opinion) should be, complete with old ladies in period dress to tell you how they used the bedpans and the such. OH it was called Lanhydrock. Yeah, you should go there.
Then finally there's the over-priced extravaganza that is the Eden project. I'm sorry but it's a garden. On reflection, as I was being bused in, shunted around the paths and out via the gift shop I realize I had no free will at all. I was sort of lulled into a sense of security and gently encouraged to spend money. Now Katie stop it, it was nice really. It was all very pretty and the kids activities looked good and the food was nice. However oh my gosh, the food place is the most badly designed thing in the world. After fighting along the buffet in the sweltering heat, you have to queue for half a century to pay. Then your queue crosses over another queue, and another queue, until you end up in a kind of confused knot of people carrying overflowing trays and not entirely sure where you're going. The food was okay though, and I suppose it's a day out. I still prefer Kew.
After two weeks we're home via Exeter Uni (Ohcan'tIgotheretooitwasallsogreenandlovely) and a few days later here I am. I suppose that wasn't too slating a review, and I hope you enjoyed all my holiday snaps har har.
Beam me up Scotty
Back from Rock, Cornwall and all is sunny-sunny. Which makes a pleasant change because it wasn't sunny much while we were away. I feel as though I should review the places we went, and me being judgmental and pessimistic this will probably make it all sound horrible, it was in fact all very agreeable.
Firstly on the way there we stopped at Bristol to look at the University, it was lovely and leafy, in a beautiful town and ohmygoshIwantotgothereeventhoughIwanttogotoalotofotherplacesaswell. We saw the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which I found very exciting but I don't suppose anyone else will. It was designed and partially built by the engineer called Brunel in the early 1800s, but then he died. Boo. They kept building but decided to take the sphinxes he'd designed off the top. Sphinxes. Yep.
'The old bugger's popped his clogs, finally we can get rid of those hideous cats'
Actually in Cornwall we went to Tintagel castle, which I was WELL excited about because I like history and all of that like. It's where king Arthur and the knights of the round table and Merlin and that lot are meant to have chilled, but in reality it was never really anything special. Lovely views etc, but there were SO many people. Like, you couldn't take a photo without some fat bloke getting in the way. It'd be good to go on a day when the waves were all crashing and the weather was all dramatic, because you have to climb an enormous amount of steps and presumably some of the tourists would be blown off into the surf. It's an unavoidable loss, I'm sure the national trust factor it into their budget.
Next to bike to Padstow, where there are pasties and even more fat tourists. However apparently they're building a skate park so I'll give them some appreciation.
Exciting rock formations in the slate, pretty sunsets over Rock Bay and crashing waves at Trebarwith Strand. I also acquired a wetsuit and discovered I can't surf. Thomas can, but he's bigger than me. Cry.
Then Boscastle, which is the cutest, most adorable and most perfect little town. Plus I had a very nice salad and there were fewer fat tourists. They also had exciting rocks and IT'S WHERE THOMAS HARDY AND EMMA USED TO GO. Here's me getting excited about things no one else cares about again. Emma was from around here and they used to take walks and stuff, I bought a book on it because I was interested, I can't help it okay.
We went to a big house. I can't remember what it was called. But it was also very nice, and it rained on us. All nicely-nicely set out like country houses (in my opinion) should be, complete with old ladies in period dress to tell you how they used the bedpans and the such. OH it was called Lanhydrock. Yeah, you should go there.
Then finally there's the over-priced extravaganza that is the Eden project. I'm sorry but it's a garden. On reflection, as I was being bused in, shunted around the paths and out via the gift shop I realize I had no free will at all. I was sort of lulled into a sense of security and gently encouraged to spend money. Now Katie stop it, it was nice really. It was all very pretty and the kids activities looked good and the food was nice. However oh my gosh, the food place is the most badly designed thing in the world. After fighting along the buffet in the sweltering heat, you have to queue for half a century to pay. Then your queue crosses over another queue, and another queue, until you end up in a kind of confused knot of people carrying overflowing trays and not entirely sure where you're going. The food was okay though, and I suppose it's a day out. I still prefer Kew.
After two weeks we're home via Exeter Uni (Ohcan'tIgotheretooitwasallsogreenandlovely) and a few days later here I am. I suppose that wasn't too slating a review, and I hope you enjoyed all my holiday snaps har har.
Beam me up Scotty
Firstly on the way there we stopped at Bristol to look at the University, it was lovely and leafy, in a beautiful town and ohmygoshIwantotgothereeventhoughIwanttogotoalotofotherplacesaswell. We saw the Clifton Suspension Bridge, which I found very exciting but I don't suppose anyone else will. It was designed and partially built by the engineer called Brunel in the early 1800s, but then he died. Boo. They kept building but decided to take the sphinxes he'd designed off the top. Sphinxes. Yep.
'The old bugger's popped his clogs, finally we can get rid of those hideous cats'
Actually in Cornwall we went to Tintagel castle, which I was WELL excited about because I like history and all of that like. It's where king Arthur and the knights of the round table and Merlin and that lot are meant to have chilled, but in reality it was never really anything special. Lovely views etc, but there were SO many people. Like, you couldn't take a photo without some fat bloke getting in the way. It'd be good to go on a day when the waves were all crashing and the weather was all dramatic, because you have to climb an enormous amount of steps and presumably some of the tourists would be blown off into the surf. It's an unavoidable loss, I'm sure the national trust factor it into their budget.
Next to bike to Padstow, where there are pasties and even more fat tourists. However apparently they're building a skate park so I'll give them some appreciation.
Exciting rock formations in the slate, pretty sunsets over Rock Bay and crashing waves at Trebarwith Strand. I also acquired a wetsuit and discovered I can't surf. Thomas can, but he's bigger than me. Cry.
Then Boscastle, which is the cutest, most adorable and most perfect little town. Plus I had a very nice salad and there were fewer fat tourists. They also had exciting rocks and IT'S WHERE THOMAS HARDY AND EMMA USED TO GO. Here's me getting excited about things no one else cares about again. Emma was from around here and they used to take walks and stuff, I bought a book on it because I was interested, I can't help it okay.
We went to a big house. I can't remember what it was called. But it was also very nice, and it rained on us. All nicely-nicely set out like country houses (in my opinion) should be, complete with old ladies in period dress to tell you how they used the bedpans and the such. OH it was called Lanhydrock. Yeah, you should go there.
Then finally there's the over-priced extravaganza that is the Eden project. I'm sorry but it's a garden. On reflection, as I was being bused in, shunted around the paths and out via the gift shop I realize I had no free will at all. I was sort of lulled into a sense of security and gently encouraged to spend money. Now Katie stop it, it was nice really. It was all very pretty and the kids activities looked good and the food was nice. However oh my gosh, the food place is the most badly designed thing in the world. After fighting along the buffet in the sweltering heat, you have to queue for half a century to pay. Then your queue crosses over another queue, and another queue, until you end up in a kind of confused knot of people carrying overflowing trays and not entirely sure where you're going. The food was okay though, and I suppose it's a day out. I still prefer Kew.
After two weeks we're home via Exeter Uni (Ohcan'tIgotheretooitwasallsogreenandlovely) and a few days later here I am. I suppose that wasn't too slating a review, and I hope you enjoyed all my holiday snaps har har.
Beam me up Scotty
SUNDAY, 22 JULY 2012
Hello
Well I can't say I'm a particularly sociable person, and I can't say I'm particularly good at first impressions. But since I don't know who you are (probably no one, or if not, myself at a later date) I don't feel it's really possible for me to mess this up.
Or if it is possible to mess this up, I don't feel I could've given a much worse impression of myself than I just did.
But such is life; not brilliant.
Moving swiftly on before I give you a worse impression by being pessimistic, I'll tell you why I'm here.
I have started this blog because I was recommended to do so by my Art teacher.
Now Mr.U was not any art teacher, he was one of those... he was great at... he... well...
He was utterly insane.
Plus, he had the effortless ability to infect other people with this insanity until we all went similarly insane.
Although this sounds to be negative, he was inspirational, encouraging and without him quite frankly we would not have done half so well in our AS levels.
After a batch of particularly fierce female art teachers (depressive, fishnets, lesbian haircut) it was pleasant to be able to walk into the art rooms and not fear for your life. To use paintbrushes freely, without feeling that there was some snide or bitchy comment about to come your way and set your year 9 knees a-knocking.
So we're all happy-happy high-gradey high-gradey, and what do the school do? End his contract. Of all the people they could've sacked, of all the useless teenagers that barely attempt to provide us with an education, why him?
I have no idea why. As Vicky put it 'He was the best bloody thing to happen to this school' and I think that summed it up pretty goddamn nicely.
So it was he who told me to blog. My former drug-pushing, 80s DJ art teacher with a passionate interest in transvestites. Telling me to do this was a well good thing, because I've been meaning to get around to it and yet again he's inspired me to get on with it. Telling me to do this was more than most of my teachers ever did for me.
And now he's gone.
The education system eh, there's no explaining it.
Exit, pursued by bear
Or if it is possible to mess this up, I don't feel I could've given a much worse impression of myself than I just did.
But such is life; not brilliant.
Moving swiftly on before I give you a worse impression by being pessimistic, I'll tell you why I'm here.
I have started this blog because I was recommended to do so by my Art teacher.
Now Mr.U was not any art teacher, he was one of those... he was great at... he... well...
He was utterly insane.
Plus, he had the effortless ability to infect other people with this insanity until we all went similarly insane.
Although this sounds to be negative, he was inspirational, encouraging and without him quite frankly we would not have done half so well in our AS levels.
After a batch of particularly fierce female art teachers (depressive, fishnets, lesbian haircut) it was pleasant to be able to walk into the art rooms and not fear for your life. To use paintbrushes freely, without feeling that there was some snide or bitchy comment about to come your way and set your year 9 knees a-knocking.
So we're all happy-happy high-gradey high-gradey, and what do the school do? End his contract. Of all the people they could've sacked, of all the useless teenagers that barely attempt to provide us with an education, why him?
I have no idea why. As Vicky put it 'He was the best bloody thing to happen to this school' and I think that summed it up pretty goddamn nicely.
So it was he who told me to blog. My former drug-pushing, 80s DJ art teacher with a passionate interest in transvestites. Telling me to do this was a well good thing, because I've been meaning to get around to it and yet again he's inspired me to get on with it. Telling me to do this was more than most of my teachers ever did for me.
And now he's gone.
The education system eh, there's no explaining it.
Exit, pursued by bear
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