Intermission

I've thought that I ought to make a formal effort to detail the starts and ends of the books I read. At risk of starting on an unending stack of starts without ends, here goes.

Started and Finished Send in the Idiots by Kamran Nazeer

Started And Now on Radio 4 by Simon Elmes

Daughter is quite taken with Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds after hearing a live recording of it on the radio the other day. We were able to find the book to go with it but I think she found it a bit wordy though I was hoping it might provide a gentle introduction to 19th century novels.

However, it did get me thinking about the various solutions to the Martian Invasion as put forward by the various characters. The initial response is the standard fight fire with fire and of course this means the deployment of soldiers who respond to The Martians' first shots. The Martians easily defeat anything that mankind can throw at them and rapidly take over the country. After the destruction of the Ironclad Thunderchild, the narrator encounters the mad curate who is certain that The Martians are devils and aims to exorcise them. Finally, the narrator comes across an artilleryman who he met earlier, who insists that mankind can rebuild secretly under the feet of The Martians but who in the end turns out to be fickle (with a hint of the future dictator about him I thought) and they separate. The downfall of the Martians is brought about by the bacteria of earth, to which the invaders have no immunity - an ending that is inevitable as soon as the first Cylinder is opened to the atmosphere.

Not only did HG Wells get a lot of the science entirely correct, he managed to identify the path of enlightened ignorance as well, something which might well apply to a few modern-day issues. I don't want to suggest that we should sit back and do nothing, relying on the whatever-will-be-will-be solution but the general plans suggested in most cases do not always have the best outcomes. Small moves every time.

Todays article is Charlie Brooker's Column from the guardian. I have rapidly gone off Damien Hirst. I can appreciate that his stuff is art and all that clinical precision appeals to me a lot but the man himself is an oaf. It all makes me want to stick jpegs of all his work over this blog. I know of course that he would not be bothered with me just for that but how much can he possibly lose by allowing a few humorous collages of his stuff when most of that is already lifted from other sources and produced Koons-like by outsourced talents immeasurably superior to his own?

Here he is - pickled in a way I suppose.



This is a piece extracted from a larger work depicting a whole fantasy art gallery. This Pickled Shark and Tracey Emin's bed are at The Walker Art Gallery in Liverpool which we visited on Saturday. The newly discovered jewel of this visit for me, is a painting called Intermission by the Scottish artist James Cowie but unfortunately I cannot find the picture anywhere on the web so you will have to make do with something else by him.

A Portrait Group by James Cowie - from The National Gallery.