one hundred and twenty years ago ... Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec Monfa drew this lyrical portrait of Vincent van Gogh

Vincent was born in 1853, so he would have been aged about 34.

Henri was born in 1864, so must have been only about 23.

We sometimes hear that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but I don't think Henri flattered Vincent here, instead i think he brilliantly captured Vincent's delicate agitation, and it is almost as if he used Vincent's palette to do the job ... so I think this pastel is one of the greatest compliments that one great colourist can ever have paid to another.

after the arthroscopy

if you think education is expensive, then try ignorance ...

the loved one and i were talking about paris, which i hardly know ... and i remembered how i once told some jazz-loving friends that i'd been lost one night many years ago, on my first visit to the city, in the seemingly endless curved corridors of the meridien hotel in the north of paris

i was on the wrong floor & instead of finding a lift, took a wrong turn to a balcony looking down in to an atrium where, far below me, an excellent jazz trio were playing to a very well-dressed ( glittering, indeed ) audience ... in a style very like that of oscar peterson ... but i was extremely tired and only watched a couple of numbers before resuming the search for my room

my very sweet & good-natured friends reacted to this remark with stony-faced contempt ...

"you fool, tristan ! that WAS oscar peterson"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TnrmFMnrxAU

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Gn5RIzoVqpY&feature=related

has anyone ever cooked just one sprout ?

http://www.eyegas.com/attackofthesprouts/

http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mostof_sprouts.shtml

the original paper party hat

christmas decorations chez micawber

a frosty day

putney heath ... it's a braw bricht nicht the nicht

seasonally serendipitous

on saturday morning, i spent nearly an hour in malmesbury, the town where i grew up

before travelling on, having whizzed around and been lucky enough to see several old friends, i went to meet the loved one who was bargain hunting in oxfam

as i placed my hand upon the shop door, i caught sight of this book in the window

it was expensive ... but irresistible






































we journeyed on to wales and upon entering my aunt's house that afternoon, found this dvd perched on top of a table besides her new telly
















i explained the co-incidence to her and she replied, "i've just acquired a second copy of it, so you can keep this if you like !"

more weekend stuff

an pilgrimage to the shrine of ... the original kitchen goddess

ellen rose forward ... good with string ...

... and adam ... good with wood

the christmas carousel near hungerford bridge

they're back ... the carousel beneath hungerford bridge

nelson mandela at the royal festival hall

a skip at the back of the royal festival hall

keeping a look-out for the early worm

Fernando Fernán-Gómez RIP

http://film.guardian.co.uk/news/story/0,,2225476,00.html

if you have never seen it, then it is never too late to watch "the spirit of the beehive"

it is said that his favourite tango, caminito, was played at the cremation

http://www.todotango.com/spanish/biblioteca/partituras/partitura.asp?id=599#

Little path that time has erased,

That one day saw us pass by together,

I have come for the last time,

I have come to tell you my woes.

Little path, you were then,

embroidered in clover and flowering reeds,

a shadow you will soon be,

a shadow the same as myself.

Since she left I live in sadness,

little road my friend, I'm leaving also.

Since she left she never returned,

I'll follow her steps, little path, goodbye.

Little path which every afternoon

I happily travelled singing of my love

don't tell her if she passes through again

that my tears watered your tracks.

Little path covered with thistle,

the hand of time erased your tracks.

I would like to fall beside you

and let time kill us both.

maybe it was the wrong kind of leaf