Wednesday, April 29, 2009

John William Godward Dolce far niente

John William Godward Dolce far nienteJohn William Waterhouse Miranda - The TempestJohn William Waterhouse My Sweet Rose
hi' to rea', e'en if I st' on y'shoulders,' mumbled Cuddy, slumping down further.
'Ah, but my plan involves throwing something through them to attract help,' said Detritus.
'Wha' pla'?'
'I have in fact eventuated twenty-three but this one has a ninety-seven per cent chance of success,' said Detritus, beaming.
'Ha'nt got the possession of other people had always seemed to Throat to be against the proper natural order of things.
Dwarfs were easy enough to cater for. Rat-on-a-stick was simple enough, although it meant a general improvement in Dibbler's normal catering standards.
On the other hand, trolls were basically, when an'ting t'throw,' said Cuddy.'I have,' said Detritus, scooping him up. 'Do not worry. I can compute your trajectory with astonishing precision. And then all you will need to do is fetch Captain Vimes or Carrot or someone.'Cuddy's feeble protests described an arc through the freezing air and vanished along with the window glass.Detritus sat down again. Life was so simple, when you really thought about it. And he was really thinking.He was seventy-six per cent sure he was going to get at least seven degrees colder. Mr Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler, Purveyor, Merchant Venturer and all-round salesman, had thought long and hard about going into ethnic foodstuffs. But it was a natural career procession. The old sausage-in-a-bun trade had been falling off lately, while there were all these trolls and dwarfs around with money in their pockets or wherever it was trolls kept their money, and money in

James Jacques Joseph Tissot Too Early

James Jacques Joseph Tissot Too EarlyJames Jacques Joseph Tissot Hide and SeekMartin Johnson Heade Orchids and Hummingbird
have no concept of the delicate balance of the dry. I'll tell you one more time. This business with the Assassins and the dwarf and this clown . . . you are to cease involving yourself.'
'No, sir. I can't.'
'Give me your badge.'
Vimes looked Why not?'
'Um. Because it's my badge.'
'But you're resigning anyway when you get married.'
Their eyes met.down at his badge.He never really thought about it. It was just something he'd always had. It didn't mean anything very much . . . really . . . one way or the other. It was just something he'd always had.'My badge?''And your sword.'Slowly, with fingers that suddenly felt like bananas, and bananas that didn't belong to him at that, Vimes undid his sword belt.'And your badge.''Um. Not my badge.'

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Unknown Artist Grand Canal scene

Unknown Artist Grand Canal sceneCarl Fredrik Aagard Lodge on Lake ComoCarl Fredrik Aagard Amalfi dia CappucciniSalvador Dali The Enigma of Desire
Vimes examined the grape minutely. What he wanted to say was: Of course they fight. They're trolls. Of course they bash one another with'Definitely,' he said. 'In my view, the godless bastards should be rounded up and marched out of the city at spearpoint.'
There was a moment's silence.
'It's no more than they deserve,' Vimes added.
'Exactly! They're barely more than animals,' said Lady Omnius. Vimes suspected her first name was Sara.
'Have you noticed how massive their heads are?' said Vimes. 'That's really just rock. Very small brains.'
'And morally, of course . . .' said Lord Eorle. clubs – trollish is basically body language and, well, they like to shout. In fact, the only one who ever gives anyone any real trouble is that bastard Chrysoprase, and that's only because he apes humans and is a quick learner. As tor religion, troll'gods were hitting one another with clubs ten thousand years before we'd even stopped trying to eat rocks.But the memory of the dead dwarf stirred something perverse in his soul.He put the grape back on his plate.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Thomas Kinkade London

Thomas Kinkade LondonThomas Kinkade Light of FreedomThomas Kinkade GracelandThomas Kinkade Deer Creek Cottage
Gripe,' said Lady Ramkin. 'Hope we've got it in time—'
The dragon ripped its way out of the sack and looked around for something to incinerate. Everyone tried to get out of the way.
Then its eyes crossed, and it hiccuped.
The limestone tablet pinged off the opposite wall.
'Everybody down!'chemical factory one step from disaster. One quite small step.
It has been speculated that its habit edged with lace and pearls, but Lady Ramkin was so rich she could afford to stomp around the place in rubber boots and a tweed skirt that had belonged to her mother. She was so rich she could afford to live on biscuits and cheese sandwiches. She was so rich she lived in three rooms in a thirty-four-roomed mansion; the rest of them were full of very expensive and very old furniture, covered in dust sheets.
The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned

Thomas Kinkade Victorian Autumn

Thomas Kinkade Victorian AutumnThomas Kinkade The Night Before ChristmasThomas Kinkade The Good LifeThomas Kinkade Stairway to ParadiseThomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDER
'So if you could get young Carrot and that nice Corporal Nobbs to keep an eye out for—'
'No problem.'
For some reason Lady Sybil, keen of eye in every other respect, persisted in thinking of Corporal Nobbs as a cheeky, lovable rascal. It had always puzzled Sam Vimes. It must be the attraction of opposites. The Ram-kins were more highly bred than a hilltop bakery, whereas Corporal Nobbs had been disqualified from the human race for shoving.
As he walked down the street in his cheap cigar out of his pocket. Swamp dragons were becoming a minor nuisance in the city. Lady Ramkin got very angry about it.
People would buy them when they were six inches long and a cute way of lighting fires and then, when they were burning the furniture and leaving corrosive holes in the carpet, the floor and the cellar ceiling underneath it, they'd be shoved out to fend for themselves.
'We rescued him from a blacksmith in,' said Lady Ramkin. 'You'll enjoy it. It's time you met the Right People. You know that.'
He nodded mournfully.
'We shall expect you up at the house at eight o'clock, then,' she said. 'And don't look like that. It'll help you tremendously. You're far too good a man to spend his nights traipsing around dark wet streets. It's time you got on in the world.'
Vimes wanted to say that

Friday, April 24, 2009

Cao Yong Red Umbrella

Cao Yong Red UmbrellaCao Yong ParadiseCao Yong MY BALCONY
Esme was right. Wonder where she is? Oh, well. Come on.”
“Where’re we going?” said the dwarf.
“Down to my cottage.”
“Ah!”do,” said Casanunda.
“Oh, you will,” said Nanny Ogg, “if you knows where to look.”
The elves had been into Nanny Ogg’s cottage, too. There weren’t two pieces of furniture left whole.
Terry Pratchett“To get my broomstick,” said Nanny Ogg firmly. “I ain’t having the Queen of the Fairies ruling my children. So we’d better get some help. This has gone too far.”“We could go up into the mountains,” said Casanunda, as they crept down the stairs. “There’s thousands of dwarfs up there.”“No,” said Nanny Ogg. “Esme won’t thank me for this, but I’m the one who has to wave the bag o’ sweets when she overreaches herself . . . and I’m thinking about someone who really hates the Queen.”“You won’t find anyone who hates her worse than dwarfs


They’re out there!” said Carter.
“And we ain’t got any weapons,” said Tinker.
A set of heavy brass bells hit him in the chest.
I.OR08 ft/YO LftQIEQ
“Shut up,” said Jason, “and put your bells on. Carter?”
“They’re waiting for us!”
“I’ll say this just once,” said Jason. “After tonight no one’s ever to talk about the Stick and Bucket dance ever again. All rightSix heavy ash sticks clashed in mid-air.
“... one, two, forward, one, back, spin ...”
Slowly, as the leaky strains of Mrs. Widgery’s Lodger wound around the mist, the dancers leapt and squelched their way slowly through the night. ..
“... two, back, jump ...”
The sticks clashed again.
“They’re watching us!” panted Tailor, as he bounced past Jason, “I can see ‘em!”
“... one . . . two . . . they won’t do nothing ‘til the music stops! . . . back, two, spin . . . they l?”The Lancre Morris Men faced one another, rain plastering their clothes to their bodies.Carter, tears of terror mingling with make-up and therain, squeezed the accordion. There was the long-drawn-outchord that by law must precede all folk music to givebystanders time to get awayJason held up his hand and counted his fingers.“One, two ...” His forehead wrinkled. “One, two, three ...”“... four ...” hissed Tinker.“... four,” said Jason. “Dance, lads!”oves music! . . . forward, hop, turn ... one and six, beetle crushers! . .. hop, back, spin ...”

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Vincent van Gogh Vase with Twelve Sunflowers

Vincent van Gogh Vase with Twelve SunflowersVincent van Gogh Vase with Daisies and AnemonesVincent van Gogh The Starry Night 2Vincent van Gogh The Church in Auvers all those decades ago. And she seemed to have her usual skill at Borrowing. But herself—if she didn’t leave little notes for herself, she’d be totally at sea. Being a witch meant knowing exactly who you were and where you were, and she was los-ing the giving it a fresh coat of gold paint right now.”
“But we’re going to be married here,” said Magrat. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”
“The king said perhaps you could both ride around a bit. Maybe as far as Bad Ass, he said. With Shawn Ogg as a mili-tary escort. So people can wave and shout hooray. And then come back here.”
Magrat put on her dressing gown and crossed to the tower window. She could see down over the ability to know both. Last night she’d found herself setting the table for two people. She’d tried to walk into a room she didn’t have. And soon she’d have to fight an elf.If you fought an elf and lost. . . then, if you were lucky, you would die.Magrat was brought breakfast in bed by a giggling MillieChillum.“Guests are arriving already, ma’am. And there’s flags and everything down in the square! And Shawn has found the coronation coach!”“How can you lose a coach?” said Magrat.“It was locked up in one of the old stables, ma’am. He’s

Monday, April 20, 2009

Mark Spain Flamenco II

Mark Spain Flamenco IIMark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal FlameMark Spain Encore
was a jar of boiled sweets by her bed, and a thick glass bottle of the clear fluid from her complicated still out behind the woodshed. It wasn’t exactly whiskey, and it wasn’t exactly gin, but it was exactly 90° proof, and a great comfort duringyears, so a sweet at bedtime wasn’t going to worry it much.
After a few seconds a sense of pressure on her feet indi-
cated that the cat Greebo had taken up his accustomed
place on the end of the bed. Greebo always slept on Nanny’s
bed; the way he’d affectionately try to claw your eyeballs out
in the morning was as good as an alarm clock. But she
108 those worrying moments that sometimes occurred around 3 A.M. when you woke up and forgot who you were. After a glass of the clear liquid you still didn’t remember who you were, but that was all right now because you were someone else anyway.She plumped up the four pillows, kicked her fluffy slip-pers into the comer, and pulled the blankets over her head, creating a small, warm, and slightly rank cave. She sucked a boiled sweet; Nanny had only one tooth left, and that had taken all she could throw at it for many

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Thomas Kinkade Perseverance

Thomas Kinkade PerseveranceJohn Collier A Devonshire OrchardCao Yong Red Umbrella
Terry Pratchett
course these things do happen and my grandfather always
swore by a mixture of honey and horse manure, he rubbed it
on every day—“
“I’m not going bald!”
A tic started to dance across the Bursar’s face. The words started to come out by themselves, without the appar-ent intervention of his brain.
“—and then he.
“The old dried frog pills, right?”
“Left-hand pocket?”
“OK . .. right. . . swallow ...” got this device with a glass rod and, and,and you rubbed it with a silk cloth and—““I mean it’s ridiculous! My family have never gone bald, except for one of my aunts!”“—and, and, and then he’d collect morning dew andwash his head, and, and, and—“Ridcully subsided. He was not an unkind man.“What’re you taking for it at the moment?” he murmured.“Dried, dried, dried, dried,” stuttered the Bursar

Friday, April 17, 2009

Pop art art on fire

Pop art art on firePop art another lazy afternoonPop art trane in blue
third pair he was out of breath, but he did his best.
“Meeeyisss . . . Magraaaaa . . . Garrrrrli-ick ... His Majesteeeyyaa the Ki—Oh, bugger, now where’s he gone?”
The throne room a grave and solemn approach to life and a grim determination never to laugh at anything ever again, especially in the presence of custard.
In the role of ruler, then, he had started with the advan-tage of ignorance. No one had ever told him how to be a king, so he had to find out for himself. He’d sent off for books on the subject. Verence was a great believer in the usefulness of knowledge derived from books.
He had formed the unusual opinion that the job of a king is to make the kingdom was empty.They eventually found Verence II, King of Lancre, in the stable yard.Some people are born to kingship. Some achieve king-ship, or at least Arch-Generalissimo-Father-of-His-Countryship. But Verence had kingship thrust upon him. He hadn’t been raised to it, and had only arrived at the throne by way of one of those complicated mix-ups of fraternity and parentage that are all too common in royal families.He had in fact been raised to be a Fool, a man whose job it was to caper and tell jokes and have custard poured down his trousers. This had naturally given him

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Joseph Mallord William Turner Heidelberg

Joseph Mallord William Turner HeidelbergTheodore Robinson Willows and WildflowersMary Cassatt Woman With A Pearl Necklace In A Loge
doors start moving." He fum­bled under his robe and produced something that looked, to Fergmen's eye, very much like a torture instrument. This must have communicated itself to Urn, who said very slowly and kindly: "This is an ad-just-ab-ble span-ner."
"It's for . He was even in favor of the end of the world, if he could get the concession to sell religious statues, cut-price icons, rancid sweetmeats, ferment­ing dates, and putrescent olives on a stick to any watching crowds.
Subsequently, this was his testament. There never was a Book of the Prophet Brutha, but an enterprising scribe, during what came to be called the Renovation, did assemble some notes, and Dhblah had this to say:
"I. I was standing right by the statue of Ossory, right, when I noticed Brutha just beside me. Everyone was twisting nuts off."Fergmen nodded miserably."Yes?" he said."And this is a bottle of penetrating oil.""Oh, good.""Just give me a leg up, will you? It'll take time to unhook the linkage to the valve, so we might as well make a start." Urn heaved himself into the ancient machinery while, above, the ceremony droned on. Cut-Me-Own-Hand-Off Dhblah was all for new prophets

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Rene Magritte The Voice of the Winds

Rene Magritte The Voice of the WindsRene Magritte The Sea of FlamesRene Magritte The Ignorant Fairy
right. Make it thirty. And then I'll . . .
"Ah, Brutha. Let us go."
Brutha swallowed his heart again, and turned slowly.
"I did not hear you, lord," he managed.
"I walk softly."
"Is there a watchman?"
"Not now. Come help me with the bolts."
A small wicket gate was set into the main gate. Brutha, his mind numb with hatred, shoved the bolts aside with the heel of small army . . .
It had taken months. A third of the men had died, of heat and dehydration and wild animals and worse things, the worse things that the desert held . . .
You had to have a mind like Vorbis's to plan it.
And plan it early. Men were already dying in the desert before Brother Murduck went to preach; there was already a beaten track when the Omnian fleet burned in the bay before Ephebe.
You had to have a mind like Vorbis's to plan your retaliation before your attack.

his hand. The door opened with barely a creak.Outside there was the occasional light of a distant farm, and crowding darkness.Then the darkness poured in. Hierarchy, Vorbis said later. The Ephebians didn't think in terms of hierarchies.No army could cross the desert. But maybe a small army could get a quarter of the way, and leave a cache of water. And do that several times. And another small army could use part of that cache to go further, maybe reach halfway, and leave a cache. And another
It was over in less than an hour. The fundame

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Thomas Kinkade Deer Creek Cottage

Thomas Kinkade Deer Creek CottageThomas Kinkade Cobblestone Bridge
anything about that. Not when you were . . . bigger. You don't want people to be kind to animals because they're animals, you just want people to be kind to animals because one of them might be you."
"That's not a bad idea!"
"Besides, he's been kind to me. He didn't have to be.
"You know that you can't truly be Om. The God would not talk like that about His chosen ones."
Thomas Kinkade Clearing StormsThomas Kinkade Bridge of FaithThomas Kinkade Autumn Lane
think that? Is that what you think? Have you looked at the man's mind?""Of course I haven't! I don't know how to!""You don't?""No! Humans can't do-”Brutha paused. Vorbis seemed to do it. He only had to look at someone to know what wicked thoughts they harbored. And grandmother had been the same."Humans can't do it, I'm sure," he said. "We can't read minds.""I don't mean reading them, I mean looking at them," said Om. "Just seeing the shape of them. You can't read a mind. You might as well try and read a river. But seeing the shape's easy. Witches can do it, no trouble."" `The way of the witch shall be as a path strewn with thorns,' " said Brutha."Ossory?" said Om."Yes. But of course you'd know," said Brutha."Never heard it before in my life," said the tortoise bitterly. "It was what you might call an educated guess.""Whatever you say," said Brutha, "I still

Monday, April 13, 2009

Andy Warhol Neuschwanstein

Andy Warhol NeuschwansteinAndy Warhol Knives black and whiteAndy Warhol Guns
'But it has great power.'
'Er. You can hold things up with it. If you had another one, you’d have a brick.' Rincewind spoke slowly. He was ?’ said Coin.
Rincewind stared into Coin's golden eyes, and then at his sock. He had pulled it on and off several times a year for years. It had darns he'd grown to know and lo-well, know. Some of them had whole families of darns of their own. There were a number of descriptions that could be applied to the sock, but slayer-of-cities wasn't among them.
'Not really,' he said at last. 'It sort of kills people but leaves buildings standing.'
Rincewind's mind was operating at the speed of conti­nental drift. Parts of it were telling him assimilating the situation by a kind of awful osmosis, and watching the staff turn ominously in the boy's hand.'So. It is a brick of ordinariness, within a sock. The whole becoming a weapon.''Um. Yes.''How does it work?''Um. You swing it, and then you. Hit something with it. Or sometimes the back of your hand, sometimes.''And then perhaps it destroys a whole city

Friday, April 10, 2009

Juan Gris Fantomas Pipe and Newspaper

Juan Gris Fantomas Pipe and NewspaperGeorge Bellows The PicnicGeorge Bellows The Circus
name with an 'X', which he usually spelled wrong. On the other hand, he gravitated rapidly to anything with money in it. then.'
Nijel squared his, for want of a better word, shoul­ders, and waved his sword again.
'You four had better just jolly well watch out,' he said, 'or ... hold on a moment.' He took the book from Rince­wind and riffled through the pages until he found what he was looking for, and continued, 'Yes, or "the chill winds of fate will blow through your bleached skel­etonsRincewind looked again at the illustration, and then at Nijel.'Seven days?''Well, I'm a slow reader.''Ah,' said Rincewind.'And I didn't bother with chapter six, because I prom­ised my mother I'd stick with just the looting and pil­laging, until I find the right girl.''And this book teaches you how to be a hero?''Oh, yes. It's very good.' Nijel gave him a worried glance. 'That's all right, isn't it? It cost a lot of money.''Well, er. I suppose you’d better get on with it,

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Leroy Neiman Ryder Cup

Leroy Neiman Ryder CupUnknown Artist Mary Magdalene in the DesertLeroy Neiman World Class Skier
I had the city centre converted into a Wilderness. So much better for the mental flow. One does one's best. May I read trolley and
choice of Thou,
Singing beside me in the Wilderness,
And Wilderness is-’

He paused, and picked up his pen thoughtfully.
'Maybe cow isn't such a good idea,' he said. 'Now that I come to look you my latest oeuvre?''Egg?' said Rincewind, who wasn't following this.Creosote thrust out one pudgy hand and declaimed as follows: 'A summer palace underneath the bough,A flask of wine, a loaf of bread, some lamb couscouswith courgettes, roast peacock tongues, kebabs, icedsherbet, selection of sweets from the

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Fabian Perez Flamenco Dancer

Fabian Perez Flamenco DancerJohannes Vermeer Girl with a Red HatDiane Romanello Windsong
took his mother,' said Ipslore. It was a flat statement, without apparent rancour. In the valley behind the cliffs Ipslore's homestead was a smoking ruin, the rising wind already spreading the fragile ashes across the hissing dunes. WHERE EVEN MAGIC MAY NOT GO.
'And now you have come for the child?'
'Ah.' The wizard stood up, carefully laid the sleeping baby down on the thin grass, and picked up a long staff that had been lying there. It was made of a black metal, with a meshwork of silver and gold carvings that gave it a rich and sinister tastelessness

Gustav Klimt Schubert at the Piano

Gustav Klimt Schubert at the PianoGustav Klimt Malcesine on Lake GardaDaniel Ridgway Knight Waiting
that’s a bit heartless, Esme.”
“Heartless it may be, but headless it ain’t. I’ve never claimed to be nice, just to be sensible. No need to look like that. Now, are you coming or are you going to stand there with your mouth open all day?”
Nanny closed her mouth, and then opened it again to say:
“What’re you going to do?”
“Well, do you know how to cure her?”
“Me? No!”
“Right! Me neither. But I know someone mum.”
“Oh, hello. Mum. Hello, Mistress Weatherwax.”
“Let us in, there’s a good boy.”
“Friend or Foe?”
“It’s what I’ve got to say, Mumetiquette.
The king had to sit at the head of the table. That was obvious. But if she sat on one side of him it made them both uneasy, because they had to keep turning to talk to each other. Opposite ends and shouting was the only way.
Then there was the logistics

Monday, April 6, 2009

Marc Chagall The Birthday

Marc Chagall The BirthdayMarc Chagall RainMarc Chagall Blue Lovers
you must be out of your mind, Archchancellor!’ said the Senior Wrangler. He lowered his voice. ‘Anyway, he’s an undead. I don’t see how you can save undeads. It’s a sort of contradiction in terms.’ ‘A dichotomy, ‘ said the Bursar helpfully.
‘Oh, I don’t think surgery is involved.’
‘Anyway, Bursar.’They make these big, big jars of special pickles and then they bury them in the ground for months to ferment and they get this lovely piquant -‘ ‘Tell me,’ Ludmilla whispered to Ridcully, ‘is this how wizards usually behave?’
‘The Senior Wrangler is an amazingly fine example,’ said Ridcully. ‘Got the same urgent grasp of reality as a cardboard cut-out. Proud to have him on the team.’ He rubbed his hands together.’OK, lads. Volunteers?’ ‘Yo! Hut!’ said the Dean, who was in an entirely different world now.
‘I would be remiss in my duty if I failed to help a brother,’ said Reg Shoe.
‘Oook.’didn’t we bury him?’ said the Lecturer in Recent Runes. ‘And now we dig him up again,’ said the Archchancellor. ‘It’s probably a miracle of existence.’‘Like pickles,’ said the Bursar, happily.Even the Fresh Starters went blank.‘They do that in parts of Howondaland,’ said the

Friday, April 3, 2009

Gustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I)

Gustav Klimt The Fulfillment (detail I)Gustav Klimt The Embrace (detail_ square)Gustav Klimt Schloss Kammer Am Attersee II
‘Exactly.’ Simnel hesitated.’What was it you were wanting?’
The tall figure ran a disconsolate finger over the oily mechanism.
‘Mr Door?’
He strode out of the forge and returned almost immediately with something wrapped in silk. He unwrapped it carefully. He’d made a new handle for the blade - not a straight one, such as ?these? used in the mountains, but the heavy doublecurved handle of the plains.
‘You Simnel sucked his finger.
‘Funny,’ he said, ‘I could have sworn I didn’t touch it. My hand was inches away. Well, it’s sharp, anyway.’
He swished it through the air.
‘Yes. Pretty sharp
He paused, stuck his little finger in his ear and swivelled it around a bit.want it beaten out? A new grass nail? Metalwork replacing?’Bill Door shook his head.I WANT IT KILLED.‘Killed?’YES. TOTALLY. EVERY BIT DESTROYED. SO THAT IT IS ABSOLUTELY DEAD.‘Nice scythe,’ said Simnel. ‘Seems a shame. You’ve kept a good edge on it -‘DON’T TOUCH IT!

Thursday, April 2, 2009

John Constable Flatford Mill

John Constable Flatford MillJohn William Waterhouse The Magic CircleJohn William Waterhouse Pandora
Mrs Cake stood up, brushed the plaster dust off her apron, and said:
‘They shouted! They shouted! All at once!’
Modo the University gardener was weeding a rose bed when the ancient, velvet lawn beside him heaved and sprouted a ?’
‘About five hundred years, I think.’
‘Gosh, I am sorry. I was aiming for the cellars, but I seem to have lost my bearings.’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Mr Poons,’ said the dwarf cheerfully.’Everything’s growing like crazy anyway. I’ll hardy perennial Windle Poons, who blinked in the light.‘Is that you, Modo?’‘That’s right, Mr Poons,’ said the dwarf. ‘Shall I give you a hand up?’‘I think I can manage, thank you.’‘I’ve got a shovel in the shed, if you like.’‘No, it’s perfectly all right.’ Windle pulled himself out of the grass and brushed the soil off the remains of his robe.’Sorry about your lawn,’ he added, looking down at the hole.‘Don’t mention it, Mr Poons.’‘Did it take long to get it looking like that

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

Gustave Caillebotte Oarsmen

Gustave Caillebotte OarsmenLorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St CatherineLorenzo Lotto Angel AnnunciatingCamille Pissarro The Harvest 1882Camille Pissarro The garden at Pontoise 1877
The Morris dance is common to all inhabited worlds in the multiverse. It is danced under blue skies to celebrate the quickening of the soil and under bare stars because it’s springtime and with any luck the carbon dioxide will unfreeze again. The imperative is felt by deep-sea beings who have never seen the sun and urban humans whose roast afterwards, and it’s generally considered a nice day out for all the family.
But that isn’t the secret.
The secret is the other dance.
And that won’t happen for a while yet.
There is a ticking, such as might be made by a only connection with the cycles of nature is that their Volvo once ran over a sheep. It is danced innocently by raggedy-bearded young mathematicians to an inexpert accordion rendering of “Mrs Widgery’s Lodger” and ruthlessly by such as the Ninja Morris Men of New Ankh, who can do strange and terrible things with a simple handkerchief and a bell. And it is never danced properly. Except on the Discworld, which is flat and supported on the backs of four elephants which travel through space on the shell of Great A’Tuin, the world turtle. And even there, only in one place have they got it right. It’s a small village high in the Ramtop Mountains, where the big and simple secret is handed down across the generations.There, the men dance on the first day of spring, backwards and forwards, bells tied under their knees, white shirts flapping. People come and watch. There’s an ox