Turpintude

 The fact my laptop now crashes every time I so much as look at iMovie has made editing this video an act of pointilism, and for all the the time it took, it clearly needed more, but once I'd imagined the haves of Metropolis confronted with Ben Turpin in A Clever Dummy, I knew I had to see it. So at least now that's done. And let's face it, for all his singing, George Seurat wasn't so hot at painting hats either. Speaking of a Sunday on La Grande Jatte, here's some people meeting today in groups of no more than six...

 

The Mist in Close-Up

  It's lovely seeing light through a blanket of mist, someone once tweeted, although not all light makes it through, of course; that's what makes mist look misty. I know this. And I know what mist is, of course: it's where we get the word "mister" from. Not the honorific, the spray. So I don't understand why I was so surprised by what the flash on my phone picked up:

 Specks. As if I'd taken a photo of dust, the flash had picked up specks. Tiny illuminated bits, not hanging in the air – which if I think about it for a second, is obvious – but flurrying around my face like snow. Not a blanket of snow though. Not remotely blankety, but busy. Nor particularly "over there", which is I suppose another quality I unconsciously associate with mist, but here was the mist in close up, like standing too close to a Seurat. Why do I find the business of mist so surprising?

 

Again, not snow.

Showing My Face

 Something about the light on Hackney Marshes reminds me of Seurat. I'd walked here from Camden, invited to a picnic, and for the first time in four months spoke with strangers. There were teachers and doctors and musicians, one of whom pointed out to me that I wasn't wearing walking shoes, which is something to consider. It was midnight by the time I got home.

  Before I headed home though, I took a detour up the Lea, past the filter beds, to visit what I think must have been the marsh office described by Ken Campbell in The Furtive Nudist. Here he'd sit beneath a fishing umbrella, pockets stuffed with stationery, and await "a commission".  The last time I came here was in 2016 just after the first recording of Time Spanner, possibly also awaiting a commission.

 Happily this detour also took me past a friend, Mischa from shunt who was standing at the bend in the river. I wasn't expecting to bump into him, or anyone. It's nice out, I suppose is the moral, but I know nothing's changed. I wore a mask. But also I showed my face.