Jack Vettriano Dancing CoupleJack Vettriano Dancer for MoneyJack Vettriano Dance Me To The End Of Love
dropped.
Mrs Whitlow curtsied.
trays taken up to them all. Daddio.'
Ridcully's gaze continued downwards. He'd never thought of Mrs Whitlow as having legs before. Of course, in theory the woman needed something to move around on, but . . . well . . .
But there were two pudgy knees protruding from the huge mushroom of skirts. Further down there were white socks.
'Your hair–’he began, hoarsely.
'Is there something wrong?' said Mrs Whitlow.
'Nothing, nothing,' said Ponder. 'Thank you very much.''Good morning, hyour grace,' she said.Her ponytail bobbed. There was a rustle of starched petticoats.Ridcully's jaw rose again, but only so that he could say: 'What have you done to your–’'Excuse me, Mrs Whitlow,’ said Ponder quickly, 'but have you served breakfast to any of the faculty this morning?''That's right, Mr Stibbons,’ said Mrs Whitlow. Her ample and mysterious bosom shifted under its sweater. 'None of the gentlemen came down, so I got
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Jack Vettriano The Party's Over
Jack Vettriano The Party's OverJack Vettriano The Parlour of TemptationJack Vettriano The Opening Gambit
'Razor, sir,' said the corporal helpfully. 'He just keeps on saying things like IT'S NOT HAPPENING YET.' 'Have you tried burying him up to the neck in the sand? That usually works.'
'It's a bit . . . um . .Susan . . . it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which means 'oops, we wanted a boy'. But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances and could reliably look after other people's children.
It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere.
And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, . thing . . . nasty to people . . . had it a moment ago . . .' The corporal snapped his fingers. 'Thing. Cruel. That's it. We don't give people . . . the Pit . . . these days.''This is the . . .' the sergeant glanced at the palm of his left hand, where there were several lines of writing, 'the Foreign Legion.''Yessir. All right, sir. He's weird. He just sits there all the time. We call him Beau Nidle, sir.'The sergeant peered bemusedly at the mirror.'It's your face, sir,' said the corporal.Susan stared at herself critically.
'Razor, sir,' said the corporal helpfully. 'He just keeps on saying things like IT'S NOT HAPPENING YET.' 'Have you tried burying him up to the neck in the sand? That usually works.'
'It's a bit . . . um . .Susan . . . it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which means 'oops, we wanted a boy'. But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances and could reliably look after other people's children.
It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere.
And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, . thing . . . nasty to people . . . had it a moment ago . . .' The corporal snapped his fingers. 'Thing. Cruel. That's it. We don't give people . . . the Pit . . . these days.''This is the . . .' the sergeant glanced at the palm of his left hand, where there were several lines of writing, 'the Foreign Legion.''Yessir. All right, sir. He's weird. He just sits there all the time. We call him Beau Nidle, sir.'The sergeant peered bemusedly at the mirror.'It's your face, sir,' said the corporal.Susan stared at herself critically.
Friday, 8 May 2009
Vincent van Gogh The Yellow House
Vincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the RocksLeonardo da Vinci St John the Baptist
mingling with the drops.
Gods like people likethey seemed a bit embarrassed about raising the subject.
Sometimes, some teachers had trouble seeing her. This was fine. She'd generally take a book into the classroom and read it peacefully, while all around her The Principal Exports of Klatch happened to other people.
It was, undoubtedly, a beautiful harp. Very rarely a craftsman gets something so right that it is impossible to imagine an improvement. He hadn't bothered with ornamentation. That would have been some kind of sacrilege. this.It is said that whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. In fact, whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first hand the equivalent of a stick with a fizzing fuse and Acme Dynamite Company written on the side. It's more interesting, and doesn't take so long.Susan mooched along the disinfectant‑smelling corridors. She wasn't particularly worried about what Miss Butts was going to think. She didn't usually worry about what anyone thought. She didn't know why people forgot about her when she wanted them to, but afterwards
mingling with the drops.
Gods like people likethey seemed a bit embarrassed about raising the subject.
Sometimes, some teachers had trouble seeing her. This was fine. She'd generally take a book into the classroom and read it peacefully, while all around her The Principal Exports of Klatch happened to other people.
It was, undoubtedly, a beautiful harp. Very rarely a craftsman gets something so right that it is impossible to imagine an improvement. He hadn't bothered with ornamentation. That would have been some kind of sacrilege. this.It is said that whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad. In fact, whosoever the gods wish to destroy, they first hand the equivalent of a stick with a fizzing fuse and Acme Dynamite Company written on the side. It's more interesting, and doesn't take so long.Susan mooched along the disinfectant‑smelling corridors. She wasn't particularly worried about what Miss Butts was going to think. She didn't usually worry about what anyone thought. She didn't know why people forgot about her when she wanted them to, but afterwards
Wednesday, 6 May 2009
Paul Cezanne Still Life with Fruit Pitcher and Fruit-Vase
Paul Cezanne Still Life with Fruit Pitcher and Fruit-VasePaul Cezanne Poplar TreesPaul Cezanne Leda with SwanPaul Cezanne House and Trees
'Detritus is certainly clubbing 'em into line,' said Colon. After ten minutes they're putty in his hands. Mind you,' he added, 'after ten minutes anything's putty in them hands. Reminds me of the drill sergeant we had when I was first in the army.'
'Tough, mind telling you . . .' The dogs watched Colon wipe away the suspicion of a tear.
'. . . Me and Tonker Jackson and Hoggy Spuds waited for him in the alley and beat seven kinds of hell out of him, it took three days for my knuckles to heal.' Colon blew his nose. 'Happy days . . . Fancy a boiled sweet, Nobby?'
'Don't mind if I do, Fred.'
'Give one to the little dog,' said Gaspode. Colon did, and then wondered why.was he?' said Nobby, lighting a cigarette.'Tough? Tough? Blimey! Thirteen weeks of pure misery, that was! Ten-mile run every morning, up tc our necks in muck half the time, and him yelling a blue streak and cussin' us every living moment! One time he made me stay up all night cleaning the lawies with a toothbrush! He'd hit us with a spiky stick to get us out of bed! We had to jump through hoops for that man, we hated his damn guts, we'd have stuck one on him if any of us had the nerve but, of course, none of us did. He put us through three months of living death. But . . . y'know . . . after the passing-out parade . . . us looking at ourselves all in our new uniforms an' all, real soldiers at last, seein' what we'd become . . . well, we saw him in the bar and, well . . . I don't
'Detritus is certainly clubbing 'em into line,' said Colon. After ten minutes they're putty in his hands. Mind you,' he added, 'after ten minutes anything's putty in them hands. Reminds me of the drill sergeant we had when I was first in the army.'
'Tough, mind telling you . . .' The dogs watched Colon wipe away the suspicion of a tear.
'. . . Me and Tonker Jackson and Hoggy Spuds waited for him in the alley and beat seven kinds of hell out of him, it took three days for my knuckles to heal.' Colon blew his nose. 'Happy days . . . Fancy a boiled sweet, Nobby?'
'Don't mind if I do, Fred.'
'Give one to the little dog,' said Gaspode. Colon did, and then wondered why.was he?' said Nobby, lighting a cigarette.'Tough? Tough? Blimey! Thirteen weeks of pure misery, that was! Ten-mile run every morning, up tc our necks in muck half the time, and him yelling a blue streak and cussin' us every living moment! One time he made me stay up all night cleaning the lawies with a toothbrush! He'd hit us with a spiky stick to get us out of bed! We had to jump through hoops for that man, we hated his damn guts, we'd have stuck one on him if any of us had the nerve but, of course, none of us did. He put us through three months of living death. But . . . y'know . . . after the passing-out parade . . . us looking at ourselves all in our new uniforms an' all, real soldiers at last, seein' what we'd become . . . well, we saw him in the bar and, well . . . I don't
Paul Cezanne The Railway Cutting
Paul Cezanne The Railway CuttingPaul Cezanne The Hanged Man's HousePaul Cezanne Table CornerPaul Cezanne Still Life with Soup Tureen
your name, mister?'
'SILAS! CUMBERBATCH!'
'Didn't you used to be town crier?'
'THAT'S RIGHT!'
'Right. Give him his shilling. Acting-Constable Cuddy? One for your squad.'
'WHO'S ACTING-. 'You could have a field-marshal's bottom in your napkin any day now. AAAAaabbbb-wut tn! Hut, hut, hut—'
'Fifth volunteer so far,' said Colon to Corporal Nobbs, as Cuddy and his new recruit pounded off into the darkness. 'Even the Dean at the University tried to join. Amazing.'
Angua looked at Gaspode, who shrugged.CONSTABLE CUDDY?' said Cumberbatch.'Down here, mister.'The man looked down.'BUT YOU'RE! A DWARF! I NEVER—''Stand to attention when you're talking to a super-ierierior officer!' Cuddy bellowed.Ain't no dwarfs or trolls or humans in the Watch, see,' said Colon. 'Just Watchmen, see? That's what Corporal Carrot says. Of course, if you'd like to be in Acting-Constable Detritus' squad—''I LIKE DWARFS,' said Cumberbatch, hurriedly. 'ALWAYS HAVE. NOT THAT THERE ARE ANY IN THE WATCH, MIND,' he added, after barely a second's thought.'You learn quick. You'll go a long way in this man's army,' said Cuddy
your name, mister?'
'SILAS! CUMBERBATCH!'
'Didn't you used to be town crier?'
'THAT'S RIGHT!'
'Right. Give him his shilling. Acting-Constable Cuddy? One for your squad.'
'WHO'S ACTING-. 'You could have a field-marshal's bottom in your napkin any day now. AAAAaabbbb-wut tn! Hut, hut, hut—'
'Fifth volunteer so far,' said Colon to Corporal Nobbs, as Cuddy and his new recruit pounded off into the darkness. 'Even the Dean at the University tried to join. Amazing.'
Angua looked at Gaspode, who shrugged.CONSTABLE CUDDY?' said Cumberbatch.'Down here, mister.'The man looked down.'BUT YOU'RE! A DWARF! I NEVER—''Stand to attention when you're talking to a super-ierierior officer!' Cuddy bellowed.Ain't no dwarfs or trolls or humans in the Watch, see,' said Colon. 'Just Watchmen, see? That's what Corporal Carrot says. Of course, if you'd like to be in Acting-Constable Detritus' squad—''I LIKE DWARFS,' said Cumberbatch, hurriedly. 'ALWAYS HAVE. NOT THAT THERE ARE ANY IN THE WATCH, MIND,' he added, after barely a second's thought.'You learn quick. You'll go a long way in this man's army,' said Cuddy
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Andy Warhol dollar sign black and yellow on red
Andy Warhol dollar sign black and yellow on redAndy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes Lilac Blue GreenAndy Warhol Daisy Double PinkAndy Warhol Buttons
a little white circle, high above.
'Where the hell are we, partner?' said Cuddy.
'Cave.'
'No caves under Ankh-Morpork. It's on loam.'
Cuddy had fallen about thirty feet but had cushioned the fall because he landed on Detritus' head. The troll had been sitting, surrounded by rotting woodwork, in . . . well . . . a cave. Or, Cuddy thought, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, a stone-lined tunnel.
'I didn't do 'Yes?'
'No-one ever say there tunnels under the city. No-one know about them.'
'So . . .?'
'So there no way out. Because way out is way in, too, and if no-onnothing,' said Detritus, 'I just stood there, next minute, everything going past upwards.'Cuddy reached down into the mud underfoot and brought up a piece of wood. It was very thick. It was also very rotten.'We fell through something into something,' he said.He ran his hand over the curved tunnel wall. 'And this is good masonry. Very good.''How we get out?'There was no way to climb back. The tunnel roof was much higher than Detritus.'We walk out, I think,' said Cuddy.He sniffed the air, which was dank. Dwarfs have a very good sense of direction underground.'This way,' he added, setting off.'Cuddy?'
a little white circle, high above.
'Where the hell are we, partner?' said Cuddy.
'Cave.'
'No caves under Ankh-Morpork. It's on loam.'
Cuddy had fallen about thirty feet but had cushioned the fall because he landed on Detritus' head. The troll had been sitting, surrounded by rotting woodwork, in . . . well . . . a cave. Or, Cuddy thought, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, a stone-lined tunnel.
'I didn't do 'Yes?'
'No-one ever say there tunnels under the city. No-one know about them.'
'So . . .?'
'So there no way out. Because way out is way in, too, and if no-onnothing,' said Detritus, 'I just stood there, next minute, everything going past upwards.'Cuddy reached down into the mud underfoot and brought up a piece of wood. It was very thick. It was also very rotten.'We fell through something into something,' he said.He ran his hand over the curved tunnel wall. 'And this is good masonry. Very good.''How we get out?'There was no way to climb back. The tunnel roof was much higher than Detritus.'We walk out, I think,' said Cuddy.He sniffed the air, which was dank. Dwarfs have a very good sense of direction underground.'This way,' he added, setting off.'Cuddy?'
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Winslow Homer Kissing the Moon
Winslow Homer Kissing the MoonWinslow Homer Gloucester HarborEdward Hopper Second Story SunlightEdward Hopper Route 6 Eastham
You loony bastard, what you make of this?' he said.
Sendivoge stared from Detritus to the paper. Cuddy was struggling to get around the troll, who was almost completely blocking the doorway.
'What'd you go and call him that for?'
'Sergeant Colon, he saidsideways.
'Suicide squad, is he?' said the alchemist.
'He'll come round in a minute,' said Cuddy. 'It's the saluting. It's too much for him. You know trolls.'
Sendivoge shrugged and stared at the writing.
'Looks . . . familiar,' he said. 'Seen it somewhere before. Here . . . you're a dwarf, aren't you?'
'It's the nose, isn't it?' said Cuddy. 'It always gives—''I could make a hat out of it,' said Sendivoge, 'or a string of dollies, if I could get some scissors—''What my . . . colleague means, sir, is can you help us in our inquiries in re the writing on this alleged piece of paper here?' said Cuddy. 'That bloody hurt!'Sendivoge peered at him.'Are you Watchmen?' he said.'I'm Lance-Constable Cuddy and this,' said Cuddy, gesturing upwards, 'is Lance-trying-to-be-Constable Detritus – don't salu-oh . . .'There was a thump, and Detritus slumped
You loony bastard, what you make of this?' he said.
Sendivoge stared from Detritus to the paper. Cuddy was struggling to get around the troll, who was almost completely blocking the doorway.
'What'd you go and call him that for?'
'Sergeant Colon, he saidsideways.
'Suicide squad, is he?' said the alchemist.
'He'll come round in a minute,' said Cuddy. 'It's the saluting. It's too much for him. You know trolls.'
Sendivoge shrugged and stared at the writing.
'Looks . . . familiar,' he said. 'Seen it somewhere before. Here . . . you're a dwarf, aren't you?'
'It's the nose, isn't it?' said Cuddy. 'It always gives—''I could make a hat out of it,' said Sendivoge, 'or a string of dollies, if I could get some scissors—''What my . . . colleague means, sir, is can you help us in our inquiries in re the writing on this alleged piece of paper here?' said Cuddy. 'That bloody hurt!'Sendivoge peered at him.'Are you Watchmen?' he said.'I'm Lance-Constable Cuddy and this,' said Cuddy, gesturing upwards, 'is Lance-trying-to-be-Constable Detritus – don't salu-oh . . .'There was a thump, and Detritus slumped
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