Fed by Birds

The best thing on in London at the moment is Exhibition #1 at the Museum of Everything in Primrose Hill, James Brett's collection of "non-traditional art" tucked away in the ramshackle setting of an old dairy. All the work is presented with respect for its own merits, avoiding the usual dangers of an outsider-art freakshow ("Hey! Look at the crazy man's house!") Magnifying glasses hang in the main hall so you can appreciate Guo Fengyi's drawings of beings that seem to be made of swirling hair or Augustin Lesage's tiny dots - incredibly painstaking detail being a common feature. Paintings inspired by religious visions such as those of Sister Gertrude Morgan get their own little chapel, and Henry Darger's pictures of girls rescued from a storm by children with wings and horns are laid out in sequence so you can follow the story. Plus tea and cakes at the end. It's supposed to finish in December so go soon.

Posted by at 1:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My recently bought copy of Tallulah Bankhead's autobiography (which looks as if it's still in print) turns out to be an ideal winter evening read. She describes her notoriously rackety life without remorse: "Let's face it, my dears, I have been tight as a tick! Fried as a mink! Stiff as a goat!" "I've rejoiced in considerable dalliance, and have no regrets... I found no surprises in the Kinsey Report."

It's all done in style - at least in Tallulah's version of events, most of which sounds completely made-up, but probably isn't: "It's true I once pinwheeled along Piccadilly, but I was only answering a taunt of my companion - Prince Nicholas of Roumania. You know those Roumanian princes! Not all of them are on key." At one point, she suffers from some kind of flesh-eating virus that has doctors contemplating cutting off her upper lip to stop the infection reaching her brain, and takes the opportunity to adopt "one of those half-masks which make Moorish and Turkish maidens so provocative".

She had a lion cub called Winston Churchill, and went on the wagon to show solidarity with the British after Dunkirk (although Robert Lewis said she replaced alcohol with 'sniffing odd capsules that her sister Eugenia insisted were used to revive horses that slipped and fell on the ice').

Since she's writing in 1953, some areas are skated over - she never hints at the rumours of her affairs with famous women from Greta Garbo to Billie Holiday, although she does tackle head on the 1920s scandal about her corrupting minors at Eton (perhaps because it pretty obviously wasn't true, in spite of being investigated by MI5).

When she gives evidence against a secretary who's embezzled from her, Time magazine reported that onlookers "fully expected Miss Bankhead to pull out a small, pearl-handed revolver from her handbag and shoot both defendant and her counsel."

She didn't make many films, preferring the stage. Strangely her last role was as a teetotal religious zealot in a Hammer horror film - "the ultimate in stabbing suspense":

Posted by at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

A few sounds from a night excursion into the depths of the wood. There is one track through these woods, which are pitch black at night, miles from anywhere, with nothing around but trees, stars and mysterious rustling creatures.

So you may have to listen on headphones to catch this first one, because the whole point of the Norfolk woods is that they are very quiet, apart from the distant hooting of owls.

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And your own footsteps.

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In the middle of the wood is a single, sinister cottage.

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Admittedly made slightly less sinister here by its occupant, my niece's rabbit Ning.

Posted by at 12:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Fed by Birds is three today! Please don't get too rowdy in your celebrations: think of our neighbours.

For the benefit of new readers, here is a summary of the plot to date:

The sinister truth about bird geniuses and the secret life of priests was revealed.

Long sleeves posed a deadly threat, but the English spirit won through.

Seemingly hopeless quests were resolved.

We were haunted by the sounds of wolves, Cornwall and
Brighton Pier.

Times were hard, but we learnt to forage for luxury, divine the future and automate the creative process.

Plus, we met the Gwolphs of Saturn, listened to the ravings of a robot and finally got our speedle.

Now, read on...

Posted by at 9:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Dreaming = free and fun. Done correctly, it can fill those apparently useless sleeping hours with adventure. For the benefit of mankind, we have tested the following notorious dream-causing foods, to see which has the most spectacular results:

1. Cheese

This is probably the most famously dream-inducing food in popular myth. To test this thoroughly, we ate a large amount of Gorgonzola pizza shortly before bedtime.

Result: Tedious dreams which are mostly administrative - having a lot of visitors turn up without enough beds, people whose invitations I haven't replied to, packing suitcases for a plane that's about to leave, etc.

Conclusion: Quantity, but not quality.

2. Chocolate

Eating chocolate before bed seems to be widely associated with having bad dreams.

Sounds like a myth invented by unscrupulous, tooth-protecting parents. Sceptical, the subject ingested a combination of "double chocolate" mousse, hot chocolate, and a few truffles to be on the safe side.

Result: Surprisingly, that parental threat turns out to be completely true. An almost text-book nightmare follows: a figure suddenly sits up in the next bed, in the style of Whistle and I'll Come to You, and says, "I am The Undertaker." It's all downhill from there.

Conclusion: Listen to your mother.

3. Chilli

Spicy food is often blamed for vivid dreams. We ate at a Sichuan restaurant, where all the food is exceptionally fiery.

Result: A cascade of dreams. I am at a banquet wearing a gaberdine mac which I realise will infuriate the king. I am being chased so turn into a bird, and fly over a pub where I overhear the owners discussing the secret recipe for their special burgers (they use coconut). My fortune is made! And so on.

On the minus side, my fellow guinea pig complains that he's spent the whole night fighting imaginary gatecrashers at a student party.

Conclusion: Impressive, but may require a lie-in afterwards.

4. Lobster

There's a reason why the surrealists loved lobsters: they and other shellfish have long been thought to cause wild dreams.

A recent trip to the French seaside gave us the opportunity to test this out.

Result: A night packed with entertainment and strangeness. Robots made of blue-and-white patterned porcelain; people playing boules on a dark river with candles in paper boats; using a saw like this:

Conclusion: Deluxe dreaming. Highly recommended.

Posted by at 3:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)