YesBut we're high and dry - Part 3

Continued from yesterday.

For YesBut’s Image posted on 12th June 2007 David McMahon suggested the caption: -

“Up the creek without a puddle”.


The photo suggested to me the following story, (continued from yesterday):

I tell you thank goodness for Pete’s quick thinking, he responded in a flash, “Annual inspection”. That seemed to satisfy the cops, but we still had the problem of re-floating the boat and returning it to its owner.

Pete thought Dave’s suggestion of digging a big hole around the boat wouldn’t work. He suggested getting a rope and a pulley. Tying the pulley to a tree on the other bank, then use the rope to pull the boat to the water.

Barry thought the pulley idea was good, but to use it to lift up the boat, rather than pull it. Though he had difficulty in coming up with a solution on what to hang the pulley. After a long discussion I said we couldn’t waste more time, we had to decide now. I went along with Dave’s plan.

So Dave and me went off to look for some shovels, while Barry and Pete decided to conserve their energies and go back on the boat for a kip. Dave and I set off to look for a building site to “borrow four shovels”. Then I had a flash of inspiration - if we were to dig a big hole we’d better first get a good full English Breakfast.

We soon came upon an old fashion “greasy spoon” café, catering mainly for workers. Big steaming mug of sweet tea, plate full of: bacon, two eggs, fried bread and tomatoes, mushrooms and a big dollop of baked beans. One word to describe the feast - mighty. We got to talk to some Irish lads, they said they knew where they could get hold of some shovels for us. They suggest, we should also take a pickaxe because the river bed could be hard. So off we went to collect the stuff.

They were a grand bunch of lads on the building site, they even lent us a wheelbarrow to transport the tools. Why do wheelbarrows have squeaky wheels?

When we got back to the river, we couldn’t believe our eyes. Who had stolen the water had been more successful in returning it, than we had in returning the boat. Now coming to think about it, we might not have been all that careful in tying up the boat, for there it was floating in midstream. Unfortunately moored next to it was the police launch. We couldn’t see whether Pete and Barry were still onboard.

I looked at my watch and told Dave, “if we are quick we could get these tools back to the lads, go home for a shower and shave; and still be not too late for work”. He agreed.

YesBut we're high and dry - Part 2

Continued from yesterday.

For YesBut’s Image posted on 12th June 2007 David McMahon suggested the caption: -

“Up the creek without a puddle”.


The photo suggested to me the following story, (continued from yesterday):

I remember opening my eyes, and not recognizing where I was. It certainly wasn’t my bedroom; the only familiar things were the comatose bodies of my mates. I wish I had had a camera to photograph Pete sucking his thumb as he slept; Barry was snoring like an old bull on heat while Dave was slumped on the floor.

It took a few moments to recall - all be it very vaguely the events of the previous night. Shit! We had stolen a boat. There was only one thing to do, get it back before anyone noticed it was missing. Despite my thumping head I managed to get up and go out on deck. Now I’m not stupid, I knew there was something wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it immediately. Then I realized the wharf was a lot taller than the one we had tied alongside the night before. Last night we had just stepped off the boat onto the wharf, but now the wharf was up in the sky. Looking over the side I realized someone had stolen the river, it was gone leaving us and the boat high and dry.

They might have been my mates, but they are a cantankerous lot in the morning. Finally I got them to recognize we had to take action, and pretty darn quick. We threw a rope over the side and Dave and me climbed down. Things were looking bad, even though the pointy end of the boat was in the water, even that was touching the bottom. We had to get more brain power to tackle the problem.

When we were joined by Pete and Barry we agreed it was “un-gentlemanly” to do a runner, we had to get the boat back to its owner. Dave being the most practical said it was obvious, all we had to do is to dig a big hole around the boat, the water would flow in and “Bob’s your uncle Fanny’s your aunt” we could float the boat.

Just then a police launch passed. “Ahoy there what’s up?”. Can you believe it that people still say “ahoy there”?

To be continued tomorrow - Bookmark this page.

YesBut we're high and dry - Part 1

For YesBut’s Image posted on 12th June 2007 David McMahon suggested the caption: -

“Up the creek without a puddle”.


The photo suggested to me the following story:

I don’t normally go out for a drink mid week, but it was Pete’s birthday, so a couple of us lads went out for a few pints. You know how it goes; start slowly, then someone buys a round of shorts and before you know it, all semblance of common sense is urinated out at a visit to the toilet.

Can’t remember now who made the suggestion we should go for a swim. But the next thing I remember is being down by the river. I rate myself quite a good swimmer so I challenged the others to a race to the boat moored in the middle. With ten pints and a few whiskies in your belly doesn’t make climbing aboard after a swimming race. But somehow there we all were onboard a tourist boat in the middle of the Thames.

Snooping around we found the bar, but the cupboards were empty. Dave went up to the bridge to do his Captain Pugwash act. Meanwhile Barry was down in the engine room doing his “I’m a motor mechanic” thing.

A puff of exhaust smoke, let go forward let go aft and there we were like little boys playing Pirates of the Caribbean. It was more of a gentle drift down stream, soon we were passing the Houses of Parliament. I must admit, Dave isn’t all mouth, he steered that boat sweetly through the centre arches of Westminster and Hungerford bridges. I think it was as we were passing under Waterloo bridge, Pete woke up and suggested we should finish the night off at a nightclub.

OK, coming alongside Gabriel’s Wharf wasn’t the most perfect of operations, and we might have scraped some paint off the side of the boat. But we were careful in tying up the boat.

Can’t remember much about being in the nightclub, or even finding our way back to the boat. The only thing I recall is waking up with a thumping headache and feeling like “spewing my guts up” (pardon the expression).

To be continued tomorrow - Bookmark this page.

YesBut the price is right - Part 5

Continued from yesterday

For YesBut’s Image posted on 23rd July 2007, David McMahon suggested the caption -

“Triple art bypass”

While Doug suggested -

"Cindy's art class were so low on funds that the sidewalk was their only canvas. That is until the rains came."

The photo suggested the following story to me, (continued from yesterday): -

Was there a clue in the painting itself? She didn’t have to look at the painting, she had an image of it seared in her brain. It was a painting of two Frenchmen, Jean de Winterville and Georges de Selve, standing either side of shelves which display a number of objects, the most intriguing, but at first not the most noticable feature, is a long whitish elongated object in the forefront of the painting. Viewed from the side the distorted perspective corrects itself and is seen to be a skull - a sign of mortality. Was the skull the reason for the commission?

In February she phoned him to say the painting was finished. His secretary informed her he was in the USA and he would contact her on his return.

She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t informed the other members of the artist group of the commission, and now that the painting was finished she wanted to show it to them, but felt embarrassed that she hadn’t told them about the painting; and especially who had commissioned it. So she said nothing.

Two months later he came to view the work, he was pleased with the finished painting and immediately wrote a cheque for £10,000 and arranged for the painting to be collected the next day. She banked the money, and was relieved by the sense of security it provided.

She didn’t think about the painting. She continued to try and find and develop her own painting style, but all in vain. The summer would again be spent on the South Bank, painting a copy of an “Old Masters” work, and collecting money from tourists.

One evening she was in the flat of the artist who had introduced her to the Artist Group, the other members of the group were there sharing a couple of bottles of red wine. One of them got up and walked over to the TV,

“Do you mind if I put on the box, there’s a review on of the Damien Hirst’ retrospective exhibition”.

She turned towards the screen, and involuntarily blurted out “That’s my . . .”.


Her words were drowned by cries and hoots of laughter, as the artists heard the art critic justify the price tag of £7.5 million for Damien Hirst’s copy of Holbein’s “The Ambassadors” mounted in a diamond studded platinum frame.

YesBut the price is right - Part 4

Continued from yesterday

For YesBut’s Image posted on 23rd July 2007, David McMahon suggested the caption -

“Triple art bypass”

While Doug suggested -

"Cindy's art class were so low on funds that the sidewalk was their only canvas. That is until the rains came."

The photo suggested the following story to me, (continued from yesterday): -

Seeing her looking at him, he approached her.

“I’ve been looking at your work, I’d like to commission you to paint a copy of Holbein’s ‘The Ambassadors‘, exhibited in the National Gallery.”
“I don’t know, I’m committed to working here for the summer, and I was planning to spend the winter working on my own work”.
“I’ll make it worth your while”.
“What did you have in mind?”
“£20,000”.
“Twenty thousand pounds, when do I start!”. They both laughed.

The next day he was back with a contract for her to sign. She undertook to complete the painting by 31st March, and to relinquish all intellectual or copyrights for the work. In return she got a down payment of £10,000, the balance to be paid on completion. She was more than happy to sign.

She started copying the painting in early November, she made frequent visits to the National Gallery to check on details of the painting, and to ensure she was matching the colours. But as she worked, she had the nagging thought at the back of her mind, why had he chosen her to do the painting, why this particular painting and most puzzling of all what possible reason did he have to want a copy of the painting?

To be continued tomorrow - Bookmark this page

YesBut the price is right - Part 3

Continued from yesterday

For YesBut’s Image posted on 23rd July 2007, David McMahon suggested the caption -

“Triple art bypass”

Doug suggested -

"Cindy's art class were so low on funds that the sidewalk was their only canvas. That is until the rains came."

The photo suggested the following story to me, (continued from yesterday): -

At his studio he unrolled onto the floor a number of large canvasses, each a copy of an “Old Master” painting. There was Leonardo Ad Vinci’s “Last Supper”, Monticello’s “The Birth of Venus” and Goya’s “The Execution of the 3rd of May 1808”.

He explained there were a group of artists who to assist each other use the paintings to collect money which is shared amongst the group. He said if she joined the group he would lend one of the paintings to her while she painted her own. She was delighted as this would allow her to collect money from tourists visiting London in the summer, and she could then devote the winter to her own work.

Within days she had found a suitable pitch on London’s South Bank. Each day she taped the borrowed painting on the pavement, and set up a new canvas to paint a copy of Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch”.

She was so happy to be able to give up working at the hamburger joint, and to be earning good money each day, in addition it allowed her to do what she wanted to. Also the tourists were so nice, they stopped to take her photo and talk to her. There was one person she saw on several occasions, he appeared to be taking a great deal of interest in her work, but made no effort to speak to her. After a few weeks she realised the man wasn’t merely showing a passing interest, he quite obviously had an ulterior motive, but what? The next time he passed she took particular notice, then she realised who he was. She was shocked, why should he, of all people, have an interest in her work?

To be continued tomorrow - bookmark this page.

YesBut the price is right - Part 2

Continued from yesterday

For YesBut’s Image posted on 23rd July 2007, David McMahon suggested the caption -

“Triple art bypass”

While Doug suggested -

"Cindy's art class were so low on funds that the sidewalk was their only canvas. That is until the rains came."

The photo suggested the following story to me, (continued from yesterday): -

At work late one night, she became annoyed with a young man who just sat at the corner table, nursing an empty coffee mug. She wanted to go home, but she couldn’t finish until she had cleaned all the tables. She got hold of a wet mop and started washing the floor getting closer and closer to the corner table, suddenly he looked up.

“I’m sorry, I’m keeping you . .”.

When he turned to speak to her she recognised him. She had seen him at the Atlantis art material store.

“No problem, its just I need to close up”.
“Haven’t I seen you at Atlantis?”.
“Yes, I only work here part-time . . .”
“Ah a fellow artist, what gallery are you with”?
“I’m not”.

“No it’s not easy at the start”. “Look let me get out of your way, and perhaps after you’ve finished you could meet me at the pub opposite”.
“OK, see you in half an hour”.

That chance meeting was to change the direction of her life.

They met at the pub, taking their drinks to a quiet corner table they settled down for a long talk. She felt such a relief to be able to talk to someone who would understand her problems, and perhaps provide some advice.

She told him about her lifelong desire to become an artist, and the difficulty she was experiencing creating original work. He explained he had had the same problem, but had found a solution.

“Look I’m not promising anything until I see your work, but I might have a solution.”

He arranged to visit her studio the next day to look at her work.

“You’re certainly a talented painter, given time I’m sure you’ll develop your own style.”
“Yes but in the mean time I have to live, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life cleaning tables at a hamburger joint”.
“Don’t worry you will not”.
“Let’s go across to my studio and I’ll show you the solution.”

This sounded to her like a “come up and see my etchings type invitation!”. Should she trust him?

To be continued tomorrow - Bookmark this page.

YesBut the price is right - Part 1

For YesBut’s Image posted on 23rd July 2007, David McMahon suggested the caption -

“Triple art bypass”

While Doug suggested -

"Cindy's art class were so low on funds that the sidewalk was their only canvas. That is until the rains came."

The photo suggested the following story to me: -

Even before she could talk she felt a need to express herself through art. She would sit on her fathers knee as he worked at his desk, and with a crayon draw on scraps of paper. She would draw her father’s face, the view from the window, or even still-life. She was puzzled why her father didn’t recognise her images, he would say such stupid things, “Whose a clever girl, is that a picture of mammy?”, it was obviously a drawing of her pet cat.

As she progressed through the school system her love of art intensified. It was a consuming passion, not for her toys or books; she was contented with a box of water colour paint. When she entered Art College she felt she was in heaven. Unfortunately while she was excited by all the new techniques she was being taught, her tutors were not so impressed by her. Undoubtedly she possessed artistic skills, but unfortunately she was devoid of a creative imagination - necessary to be a success in the contemporary art world. At the end of her course she was advised to seek employment as a commercial artist at an advertising agency. She was devastated by the suggestion, she knew she had been born to create great works of art, not draw breakfast cereal boxes. She ignored the advice.

With a loan she obtained from her parents she set-up her studio in East London. It wasn’t through the lack of effort, but alone in her studio facing a blank white canvas she didn’t know what to paint. She visited exhibitions in an endeavour to obtain inspiration, but in vain. She could copy the works but couldn’t think of anything original to paint. She was running out of money, she didn’t want to ask for more from her parents so she took a part-time job in a hamburger joint.

To be continued tomorrow - Bookmark this page.

YesBut I’m all alone.

David MacMahon suggested the caption -

"Landlord to tardy tenant: `You're behind on your Wren cheques again’'

for YesBut’s Image on 23rd June 2007.

But the photograph suggest the following story to me: -

By all recognised measures she was successful. Governments sought her advice. Multinational Companies invited her to become a non-executive member of their board of directors. She was the first woman to become the Chief Executive of a multinational oil company. Yet as she looked down on the City from her penthouse flat inwardly she felt a failure.

She was too old now to become a mother, even if she had a partner, which she did not. She realised that while she commanded respect, there wasn’t a single person in the whole world who loved, even cared for her as herself. They merely respected the posts and positions she held. Her father had died when she was seventeen, she thought he might have loved her, but he was an aloof person who never showed his emotions. Her mother had died three years ago; she had been proud of her success, but when they met, it felt like meeting an acquaintance on a train. She truly regretted, she had been an only child, if only she had a young brother to love or an older sister to confide in. But she was alone, all alone.

She walked to the window clutching a cut glass tumbler half full of whisky in her hand. She had noticed over the last year, she was more and more seeking solace in a glass of whisky. The sound of the tinkling ice was reassuring. She looked down at the ants scurrying across the bridge on their way home. Home to what? Would there be a wife, husband or lover waiting for them? Would they quietly climb the stairs and peep through the half open door at their children sleeping? Or like her would they be returning to a lonely box, with the only comfort found going to the fridge getting the ingredients of a snack and a drink. Out there beyond the double glazed window was life, inside there was deathly ear shattering silence. She walked over to the TV and switched it on, not caring what channel it was tuned to, she just wanted the presence of another person in the room, even if it was only an electronic image on a plasma screen.

Returning to the window she saw the train leaving the station, on its way to suburbia and normality. She shuddered at the thought of normality: 2.4 children, a mortgage, sex on Sunday mornings, car in the drive, clean sparkling kitchen and bathroom. She knew she didn’t want, never had wanted normality. What did she want? She wanted people to see her as a person who wanted affection. Who wanted people to talk to her as a person and not as a Chief Executive.

What was it all about? Not the money, she scoffed she didn’t even take a holiday - there was nobody to go with, she didn’t want to be pitied as a lonely spinster. Was it for the prestige? How many of those ants crossing the bridge would recognise her? Probably none. The power? Yes, it was nice to make decisions which would have long term consequences. But is that what life is all about? How you earned your livelihood! She was frightened. She realised there was only one way to step off the tread mill - to empty the Aspirin tablets into her whisky, sit in her favourite armchair drink the contents of the tumbler and wait for oblivion.