Ye Olde Linoleum Shoppe

Monday 6 June 2011


Once again welcome to a further installment of this thrilling tale of cheese mining driven archaeology. The above image is of course well understood by all those who comprehend (in however limited a fashion) my arcane methods of site survey. Keep it secret chums, let not the infidel be party to our esoteric ways or I might just show up on your doorstep with a sock full of spanners (and I won't be servicing your washing machine with them!)

The second week kicked off delightfully with the raw earth purging itself of bottletops, shoe horns and narndle bolts. All of it shooting forth into the air and landing into our waiting finds receptacles. Ahh! Such a lovely spot it was to dig in. The historic fabric of the city peeps lustily through the teutonic styled IKEA modern buildings. This is a hopeless scrawled attempt at catching a bit of true Georgian beauty sandwiched between two slices of wholemeal bauhaus pastiche (and nary a bit of mayonaise about to make more palatable.)

Now I'm partial to a tasty morsel of lunch when the tea bell resonates. Thankfully the bins in our tea hut provided lavish amounts of sustenance for myself and the sturdy team of diggers. Fights did sometimes break out over the occasional lump of salted gristle but we always kissed and made up afterwards.

If my eyes don't deceive me I think I'm looking at Peter 'The Chairman' Kerins and Ian 'Jivebunny' O Leary. Peter gained his epithet from the days of his radical youth when he was a member of the notorious LEGION OF MARY (his facebook page claims he put the 'e' into novena.) Ian is quite the caution too, he's so postmodern and ironic and chic and hip most people doubt he exists. The blue hard hat was his trademark at mealtimes, he claimed food tasted better when it was on his head, for a lark he sometimes drank his own sweat out of it.

I know what you're thinking, something along the lines of 'Why, this is no more than an askance view of the Meeting House Square projection box, with a bit of handrailing in the foreground, and there, just behind the railing, is another one of those dreadful bins. Is this artist obsessed with bins?' Well you'd be wrong there, it's not a bin, it's Herr Uberrooter Hayden's new work vehicle. He sold the old jeep and bought this low maintenance piece of autocandy. Every morning he arrived in being pushed by his brother Herr Unterrooter Brian Hayden. Oh how we all laughed! Brian proved the trickiest of all to catch in ink but I did manage to nail him once or twice - tune in later to see the results.

Oh goodness! More bins, promise not to tell my psychiatrist. At least I've taken the heat off the wheelies by adding some air-conditioning units and suchlike. There's even a blackbird on one of the bins, how quaint - and he was delicious in the sandwich I had afterwards.

That's all for now folks.

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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.