Wood You Have the Time on You?

Last week I posted the link to Rob Heard's beautiful bough houses. Now I can bring you the perfect accessory to compliment his sculptures: Valerii Danevych's wooden watches.
No, I haven't gone mad, he really does make working watches out of wood. Each part is carefully carved out of different woods and assembled into watches that are accurate to within five minutes in a day. They're gorgeous, but I'd be far too afraid to wear one. To start with, I'd probably spill my coffee on it, or break it when I crashed into a door frame or wall (as I'm wont to do), but furthermore, I'd get nothing done because I'd spend the whole day admiring it.
The Mail's link has some good photographs, but for a better view of his work, take a look at Valerii's own site.

Welcome Home

Ah, the romance of a honeymoon, the sun-kissed beaches, the cocktails, strolls along the shore as the sun sets, the return home to find your brother has painted your house pink and yellow.

That's precisely what Steve and Hayley O'Rourke found when they got home from their honeymoon. Steve's brother, Russell, had painted their house bright pink with yellow spots in revenge for Steve bricking up his drive when he got married some years before. They demonstrate an impressive commitment to pranking. Most people settle for confetti and silly string.

Apparently the newly-wed couple's neighbours are generally pretty pleased with the new paint job, saying it brightens the street. However, the new Mrs O'Rourke has indicated it will be restored to normal as soon as they have time. I suppose that'll be the most obvious sign that the honeymoon is really over.

A Road Safety Rant

I apologise now, this one isn't funny. But as the wife of a man who cycles to work, and who hears of the abuse he is subjected to on an almost daily basis, this is an issue close to my heart.
Back in the days when we had a motorhome, we loaded up our bikes and set off on a tour of the Netherlands for one of the best holidays of our lives. Firstly the Dutch are lovely people and made us feel very welcome. Secondly, cycling over there is a joy. In many places the cyclist has their own separate road. Where they don't, they are treated with enormous respect and care by other road users. It was a revelation.
In utter contrast is the story that broke today of a young woman who tweeted rather gleefully that she had knocked a cyclist off his bike and that he had no right to be on the road because he doesn't pay road tax. It's an attitude that is depressingly common in the UK.
Of course she's obviously wrong, in more ways than one. To begin with, nobody pays road tax. There is no such thing. What she refers to is actually Vehicle Excise Duty, which is levied against a vehicle for the amount of pollution it creates. A cycle creates no pollution, therefore no VED is levied against it, while a car or truck pollutes quite heavily, therefore they are charged accordingly. That money isn't used for road maintenance. Instead, anybody who pays council tax, whether or not they own a car, truck, cycle or carthorse, is paying for the upkeep of our roads. And everyone is entitled to use the road.
Furthermore, and far more troublingly, she and the rest of the "#Bloodycyclist" brigade seem to forget that cyclists are flesh and blood, human beings, people, husbands, wives, sons and daughters. Would that foolish young woman be so proud of herself if she had seriously injured the cyclist, or worse?
Rant over, normal service resumes in the next post.

New Story

There's a new story on the QT website today. It's only a short one, inspired in part by a recent news story concerning the M6 toll road. 'The Road' is the story of the difficulty of selling a road to an already overtaxed motorist.
Hope you enjoy it.

Bear Watch

According to the Telegraph there's another 'cool' job on offer to the right candidate at the moment. This one is that of 'polar bear spotter', working on the Svalbard archipelago. Accompanying research scientists as they go about prodding sticks in the snow and inspecting ice, the successful applicant will be required to keep watch for charging polar bears. The Telegraph suggests a knack for concentration will be key.
Well, that rules me out then. I can get distracted by a shadow, or piece of fluff, or a pretty pencil shaving, or .... aaaaagh! Bear! (In place of pencil shavings, which are unlikely to be found on Svalbard, it's probably safe to assume my attention could be fatefully drawn by an interesting snowflake. My concentration is absolutely appal .... ooh, blue fluff ... ling.)

A Different Kind of Tree House

Help! I need some 'Drink Me' potion, urgently. I need to shrink. No, no, this isn't about the bikini I optimistically purchased for our holiday! I need to be far smaller than that. I suspect getting down to about three inches would suffice, then I could truly explore the sculptures featured in the article on the Mail's site today.

I refer to the 'Bough Houses' created by Rob Heard. Working from boughs of wood, Rob adds turret houses, intricate stairways and beautiful bridges. They are whimsical, ornate, stunning, and I want one! In fact, I'd like him to teach me how to make one. And I definitely want to write stories about the tiny people who live in them.

It's the secret Lilliputian in me. I need to go and have a lie down now with my notepad and pencil. I feel an irresistible urge to write a fairy tale.

Barmy Block Busters

You may have to forgive me any little errors in this post. Intrigued by the news that Dan Brown beats writer's block by hanging upside down, I am endeavouring to write this whilst standing on my head. The problem is, my keyboard keeps slipping and crashing into my nose. I'm not finding that especially conducive to the creative process.
According to an article on the Guardian's website, many famous authors have peculiar methods for keeping the ideas flowing. Apparently Victor Hugo wrote in the nude.         Erm, no. I don't think so. I can only just about tolerate showering in the nude, working in the buff is the sort of thing that only happens in my dreams - very bad dreams. Besides, my screen is of the glossy ultra-reflective variety and the image bouncing back at me sans clothes would probably only inspire me to go on a drastic diet and sign up for military style fitness training. Though there may be a story in that, I suppose.
I like the idea of sealing up the ethernet port (aka Jonathan Franzen). After all, I'm supposed to be starting a new story for the third anthology, but I've allowed myself to get distracted reading about how other writers avoid getting distracted. And it turns out, standing on my head gives me a headache, not to mention the damage it's doing to my nose.