As the grim sogginess of January gives way to the grim sogginess of February I can report with some satisfaction that I am now a “creative practitioner”. This is thanks to Arts Council England who feel that “artist” is a bit too high-falutin and by re-designating them it will make its work more inclusive for everybody, everywhere. I concede that my creative abilities are limited when it comes to art, so it’s perhaps presumptuous to describe myself as an artist. This new designation allows me to bathe with the great unwashed in a turbulent sea of mediocrity, unfettered by any pretence of talent.
I am, however, quite chuffed with my chainsaw skills. Having watched a large dog fox wander across our back lawn this morning and then jump through a hole where a wall used to be, I quickly realised there was an urgent need for some fairly major repair work if Callie (the whippet) wasn’t to venture off into pastures new, which, if on the scent of the afore-mentioned Reynard, might be quite a long way off. The wall has finally succumbed to gravity because a number of not insignificant limbs of a neighbour’s tree had penetrated the stonework, thereby rendering its render somewhat less cohesive. The chainsaw was therefore necessary to remove said limbs, with the assistance of son Oliver ,who was supposed to pull on a rope so that the offending bough came down in the right place. Once I had managed, with some difficulty, to manoeuvre it back onto our side of the wall I was able to contemplate the ancient and highly skilled art (creative practice?) of dry stone walling. After a few, admittedly rather feeble attempts, I resorted to another skill learned first as an army officer and more recently as a landowner (of a very small patch), namely wire fencing. Once again our walled garden has a secure perimeter in which much-loved pets can safely gambol.
Whilst this artisan labour was most satisfying, the highlight of the day was going to be watching England start their 6 Nations campaign with a great and glorious victory in the Stade de France in Paris. Sadly, it was England who have accepted the reclassification of creative practitioners, whilst France displayed all the artistic genius for which they have long been renowned. It was Matisse and Monet versus Damien Hirst and Banksy. We, and as I am English I feel justified in displaying such partiality, were pathetic. For all his beguiling pre-match drivel, Eddie Jones was out-thought and out-played. It’s so sad that the England captain’s dad, Andy Farrell, having coached Ireland to greatness, has now hopped across the channel to show France how to do it. He played rugby league for Gt Britain so how come he’s now in Europe! Hopefully he will be detained at the channel border and refused entry back into the UK.
As for the Arts Council……what absolute poppycock. Are Van Gogh and Picasso, Rembrandt, Turner and Constable now all going to be downgraded to “creative practitioners”? Yet another example of thinking outside the box, when the thinkers should be firmly locked up inside one; with bars.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 