The Pearl Fisher

A shrewish cold galls my throat. Feeling dizzy I was forced to leave my office partway through downloading images from Michael Cousin’s show at g39. I am now writing letters and emails from my bed. So far I have produced: an invoice for Café Artistique; emails to Dan and Owen in Bath (from whom I have not heard much in a while) and a couple of panicky messages to Milika at Cell project space. Despite my worries all seems to have gone to plan and I am looking forward to travelling down to London tomorrow to see the final opening for “Trying to Cope with Things that aren’t Human”. I am even more excited because I have just remembered there is a Vampire story in the publication. Last night my beloved and I watched Peter Cushing in “The Brides of Dracula”. Yet again the heroine survived and the vampire was easily despatched, this time by the shadow of a burning windmill. Mr Cushing was immaculately dressed throughout and inhabited the film with such gentleness and flair that all around him seemed crude caricatures. There was even one moment where he found himself an avuncular sidekick. He was a rotund bumbling doctor, but his name wasn’t Watson. Afterwards discussion turned to a relative who had had to have his boot exorcised after his church was used for a black mass. He was a church warden and it was his car rather than his foot that was in danger. Thinking of Whitstable again I have made a film of a tree growing from the top of a building opposite my lodgings. Unfortunately I had to remove the sound as loud groans and giggling were issuing from my neighbours’ flat.

I am looking forward to the opening of “Trying to Cope with Things that aren’t Human” at Cell Project Space on Friday. Not least because it is one of those galleries that I have tried to visit of many occasions but, largely due to my own failings, have only managed to get into once. That was a marvellous show by David Blandy, absolutely crammed with stuff. I may be arriving at the private view at a run as a last minute change has meant that, as I write, I am burning a new dvd for the show. This and some over vigorous socialising has meant that I have not as yet managed to go to bingo but I feel it will not be long now. I have ordered yet another vampire film “The Brides of Dracula”. Apparently it heralds the return of Peter Cushing the progenitor of my recent obsessions. It should arrive with the early post tomorrow.

My Beloved has continued to send me information about blood suckers, here is part of the latest

“Mosquitoes are also attracted to contrasts, a fact that lies behind one theory that they are attracted more to platinum blondes and redheads who are, it’s proposed, more likely to stand out in a crowd. A variety of other research has suggested that ovulating women, people with smelly feet and those who have garlic on their breath are also preferred targets”

On the 24th we shall be heading to London for the opening of “Trying to Cope with Things that Aren’t Human” at Cell Project Space. I am completely failing to make any work and am in constant dread that someone will ask me that standard private view question: “What are you working on at the moment” I have recently promised to make some drawings for more than one person but so far all I have managed is to collect a lovely gold pen and propelling pencil from my father and place them within a glorious red pencil case (a present) They remind me of Dracula’s ring, blood and cape from “Drink the Blood of Dracula”.

I am returned from Cardiff. My head hurts and further events at work, which I shall not relate here, have confused me. People are shouting outside my window and the Seagulls woke me at dawn. I present here the fragments of my memory.

I got to the station an hour early and passed the time by watching the café workers attempting to hang bunting evenly. As time passed the bunting was cut to progressively shorter lengths until, in the end, only three small pieces were left stretched awkwardly across the smallest of the three windows.

Seated in the silent carriage a phone repeatedly rings, suspicious eyes pop up above the seats and fall on me as I look up vampire moths on google.

Ruth and Meriele said they would be on my train, but there is no sign. I don’t know what they look like and try staring encouragingly at pairs of young women.

Join ‘LinkedIn’ I’m not sure why. Passengers eye me suspiciously as the same phone starts to ring again.

Start to think about bingo

Standing in Cardiff station waiting I send a picture of myself to Ruth

G39 is tall, as is Chris Brown, and the show looks great. My film has a room to itself and is beautifully displayed. Up in the office drinking tea I look out of the window to see the prow of the John Lewis building bearing down on me like a huge black ship and start to worry in earnest about the evening ahead.

Ruth and Meriele jolly me along and take me to my lodgings which is decorated much like the homes in “Drink the Blood of Dracula” – a stag’s head hangs in the breakfast room.

John Plowman talks to me about the power of small men, he is smaller than I imagined. He has a list of words.

Later after frantic eating and chair arranging, we talk of many things, I burble and start sentences which I have no way of ending, John is more relaxed and considered. Luckily one section of the audience take pity on me and decide to take over the conversation, I remember thinking it is a great pity they will not be paid for there efforts.

Drinking Guinness. Richard Higglett produces some Cheshire cheese. I meet Mike Cousins at last but he has become the Ambassador for Welsh Art. At four o’clock in the morning I find myself lying across my bed listening to the seagulls.

My companion has become obsessed with blood sucking creatures, sending me many interesting and disturbing emails. Here is the first.

“Most common is the European flea (Pulex irritans), which prefers a human host. Dr. Hubbard recommends lumber camps, flophouses and seashore resorts as the best bets for collectors. He notes that Pulex irritans prefers young, tender-skinned blondes or red-heads—as well as hogs. From Time magazine”