Ye Olde Linoleum Shoppe

Tuesday, 21 February 2012

ENCHANTED POTTERY POWDER

If an excavation is a crisp salad surely it is no exaggeration to say that pottery represents the croutons sprinkled handsomely across it's lettucey firmament (or some sort of patronising bullshit like that.) So, with this in mind I wish to guide you through the dainty balancing act which brings pottery from the earthy finds hut to the bejeweled seed tray of the ceramic specialists in their gilded cages of unavailing knowledge (no doubt swinging on their budgie-like perches whistling 'The Wheels on the Bus.')


Fig. 1 above details the masterly process of cleaning the pottery after it has been exhumed from it's silty entombment. These ceramic maculas (deftly crafted by long lamented potters) are the very treasures of the nation and as such should be treated with the upmost respect. Nothing more abrasive than an Oral-b soft bristle toothbrush should be used to lovingly remove the accretions on the pot sherd's surface and the water used should be no more tepid than a cup of milky tea left outside for precisely fifteen minutes on a Autumn afternoon. Once the sherd has been immaculately cleansed it is time to move on to the drying of said artefact.


Fig. 2 The two litre blowtorch has speeded the pottery processing task up immeasurably. Finds hut staff have waved 'farewell' to downtempo drying racks and 'hello' to butane assisted speed as excavation budgets have been squeezed tighter than Dick's hatband. A few seconds of scorching flame scours the moisture (-and decoration -and glaze) off even the most absorbent of sherd fabric, leaving a blackened toothsome nugget behind. The blowtorch has also proved to be a winner when cleaning one's teeth - see Fig. 3 below.




This line of text is merely present to separate Fig.3 (above) and Fig.4 (below,) and as such, it works admirably. Well done everyone!


Fig. 4 As archaeologists we have a God given right to tame the past. We must hunt it, capture it, subjugate it and then standardize into a format which bores normal people to tears. Therefore the next stage in the jolly pottery-o-rama is to reduce all sherds sized in excess of a thumbnail to a uniform scale. Short shrift should be shown to these deviant ceramic scabs with a four pound lump hammer.


Fig. 5 Once standardization had been achieved it's time to drop all of your pottery (along with a fistful of ball bearings) into a industrial strength blender and reduce it to fine powder. The powder is then respectfully packaged and sent to . . . 


Fig. 6 THE POTTERY SPECIALIST. HOORAY!! The pot-head then inhales the powder and in a ceramo-narcotized state uses previous reports and the digital magic of 'cut and paste' to collage their new report together (which thankfully, barring the conclusions, NOBODY will ever read.) They then tumble onto a moist bathroom floor and dream of all the zeros they will have on their invoice - (VAT not inclusive.)


Incidentally I believe there is a particularly jiggy buzz off 'E' ware.


And to finish, I would just like to include a drawing of a large tawny coloured cat that lives in prides - because I simply have to draw the lion somewhere.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME - PLEASE HAVE SOME OF MINE. IT'S IN A SHOE BESIDE THE CORNFLAKES.

6 comments:

  1. are you sleeping with a pot specialist by any chance?

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  2. No, but I think she must be on narcotics to have considered me a suitable partner.

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  3. Amazing blog! It brightens my day reading your stuff. Now I know why the pot-heads have that glazed look about them. (Couldn't resist that one).

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  4. Glad you like it. Probably have to do one about osteoarchaeology soon.

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  5. Only last summer, in my presence, a behatted TV-featured archaeologist was musing on how much longer Amy Winehouse would have lived, if only she'd been snorting ground-up Samian instead of Columbia's finest GoFaster.

    Truth is stranger than fiction. Although not by much, it would appear.

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  6. I think Samian might have killed her sooner, but as with most speculation in archaeology, I suppose we shall never know.
    Not too hard to guess who you're talking about . . . certainly not Indiana Jones anyway.

    ReplyDelete

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Ireland
I am a descended from a long line of conga dancers. I occasionally wear shoes. I gave up going to the toilet twenty years ago - it's a filthy habit. I have a pet bunny called Mucky - he's a filthy rabbit.

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