cheerio and toodlepip!

(just to start things rolling again, heres my leaving from epic post, seems very long ago and very far away)

Well… finally time for me to leave Epic.

Yesterday, on a bleak and windswept Wednesday i got up at 6:30 and went to London.
All to meet Amma, that Indian saint woman, the hugging mother, she is an incarnation of the mother goddess. Over the past 36 years she has hugged 28 million people, sometimes for 22 hours non stop.
It really is an incredible experience, not something for describing in words, but suspend your disbelief. if ever you get the chance to hug her. just do!
Theres a lot of heart and unconditional love in this world, we are all a small part of it.

hmmm… I would like as my leaving song ‘Your going to make me lonesome when your gone’, by Bob Dylan
because thats the song i’d always play whenever a friend of mine would leave.
despite the title it’s a sweet cheery tune, off ‘blood on the tracks’, Dylans big breakup album, but this song is just so good natured and fun, like how you feel when the rain finally blows away and the sun comes out!
i’m humming it now.

Seven and a half years! That’s how long i’ve been at Epic.
That is quite easily the longest i’ve ever done anything. A marvelous achievement!
It’s been a huge part of my life and a mostly happy time.
I started off working on Video Arts with Martin and Wangchuck and Ali and Kristy …
I’d only been here 3 months when Sibéal was born.
Nobody at work knew diddley squat about me, i was the complete new boy, but they all chipped in and turned up on the doorstep with flowers, and a babygro with a 3d lenticular vision puppy on it.
How blooming kind and supportive and generous and friendly is that!
And thats the way peeps have been to me throughout all the way though to my last db learning project, an uninspiring chore, but everybody on the team was so good natured and encouraging. hugely appreciated.
… anyway, the night Sherbailey was born, it was up in the tower block at the hospital, the nurse said ‘Mr Basgallop, nothing will happen, no baby will be born tonight, you may as well go home’. so I did.
Luckily my brov was staying over to look after Finn and he shook me awake at 3am, apparently the hospital had phoned 10 times, but were unable to wake us from our blessed slumbers.
I pegged it through the streets of Kemp town, running all the way, beneath the bone white glare of the august Full moon.
Got there just in the nick of time! hurrah, births are extraordinary and painful things… much easier in life to be a bloke!

Whilst pam was in a state of shock and recovering, I was handed my beautiful baby daughter, so in time honoured tradition i held her up to show her the view at dawn on the morning of her birth. hurrah!
here it is!
something worthy of getting sentimental about
this is what she looks like nowadays,

that is pretty much what working at epic has been about for me.
but you lot should all take a big bow, you’ve been brilliant, it’s been a pleasure!
much love

I’ll leave my African Buddha in the quiet room, as i’ve always felt it’s like the Ravens and the tower, if i take it away the building may well fall down!

…and also (going on to much as ever) i should have a leaving poem,
Pied Beauty has always been one of my faves
the other week Sibéal and her best friend Elfienan were in the kitchen and were reciting the whole thing! amazing, apparently they learn it in the school and have to do a different action and facial expression for each line
It was superb, hilarious and i’m sure just what manley hopkins had in mind, he’d have been chuffed!

“Pied Beauty”

Glory be to God for dappled things–
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced–fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise Him.

save on plastic

… response to another post

well that’s a fine idea, hopefully most people do that anyway, far too much horrible (yet often useful!) plastic in the world.
My one concern would be that i once read somewhere that it actually took more energy to heat water to wash the ceramic cups, than to produce the plastic? but that’s complete counter logic and obvious nonsense.

I liked the indian solution, which was that you’d get your cup of chai in a disposable terracotta cup. amazing little artefacts, a lump of clay, hastily thrown on a potters wheel.
Once i’d finished i’d do a little foot stamp olé, then in the manner of cossacks by the fireplace with a shot of vodka i’d hurl it down to smithereens against the railway track! such fun.
the good thing being it would crumble back to dust (ashes to ashes, dust to dust), no rubbish! Mix-a-ma-religions, but one day the clay would be scooped up again to make another cup, rather hindii, karmic wheel law of eternal return. Recycling.

… on a rather more prosaic note, has anyone seen that glass, that looks like a nutella pot? you know the one with the love hearts around the rim. It’s always been my fave, so i hope it’s just being hoarded under a desk somewhere and not smashed, none of that keatsian “beaded bubbles winking at the brim”, just supping from crushed love hearts. mmm

it’s raining, it’s pouring

dank and drip dropping out there!
Wwe were in Merida, high in the Andes, it rained for ooh 40 days and 40 nights, just bucketting down. the drainage system couldn’t cope and all the water welled up and out onto the street. It would gush hurtle along through the gutters in a torrent.
Nothing to do, so we’d spend all day playing hands of Bridge in the veggie cafés, drinking Polar Beer.
Folding the paper napkins up into Origami boats, then racing them along in the stream
pell mell but peaceful

dum di dum

I keep on bumping into that busker round town, the latin american looking one, playing classical spanish guitar. just lovely

puts me in mind of the fact that John Williams the classical guitarist, think cavatina, think the deer hunter, the hamlet cigar advert, well him, he was raised by wild and wooly monkeys on the rugged rocks of the cornish coast!
… kinda
his dad set up the Looe Monkey Sanctuary in cornwall, which rescued monkeys, it’s a great place right on the edge of the cliffs
when we visited a few years back the colony was dying out, thankfully people are much kinder to monkeys nowadays.
and 90% of the monkeys left were useless blokes, was much like being amongst programmers

MelanchololoIic! I like to think tho’ of the young John Williams practicing his oh so, so sad spanish guitar, surrounded by a bunch of mournful, lachrymose monkeys

oh and how he looked back in 1978, i do like the t-shirt over a big collared shirt look, i shall be modelling such next week
the lp is seemingly called something ponce!
(what ? who? was ponce de leon? I have no idea)

i just wikipedia’d juan ponce de leon

he was a very interesting fellow!

‘As a young man he joined the war to conquer Granada, the last Moorish state on the Iberian peninsula. Ponce de León accompanied Christopher Columbus on his second voyage to the New World. He became the first Governor of Puerto Rico by appointment of the Spanish Crown.’

apparently also
Ponce de León was looking for the waters of Bimini to cure his sexual impotence, when he discovered the fountain of youth and also by accident Florida, the name of which means ‘Flowery’



I love Kemp Town. I stopped to ponder outside a pet shop on my home, it was called ‘Paws Fur Thought’
When i’m older i’m going to get a shop of my own there, just so it can jostle alongside shops, such as, the hairdressers, famously ‘Ba Ba Blacksheep’
and my own fave, the flowershop ‘Aloe Petal’

here be pooches…

knobbly knees

we-e-ll as the days are getting shorter the troosers are getting longer
i’ve finally abandoned my summer garb, shorts are just so last season, doncha know
it’s blooming odd going on a bike tho’, you have to tuck your trouser leg into your socks
does that action alone allow me to be a free mason?
in the words of bartholowmew simpson…’ eat my shorts’


…. in response to an ed post

hot date!

well i’d watch the Polanski film version of the play, whatever you may think of him personally, it’s a fierce, brutal, visceral interpertation.
It feels grimly scottish and even survives comparisons with monty python and the holy grail!
when we studied it for o-levels, we got to watch it in class, which was just fab
….and much better than say RE, where Mr Blanchflower, one of those blokes like Michael Eavis, with an upside down head beard thing.. oh and he wore a string vest under his shirt and just dreadful tediously monotone read excerpts from the bible. oh woodworm dull, waste of my life

… back to the film… plus bonus, that bloke from the proffesionals, martin shaw(?) plays banquo and his ghost
once you’ve grasped teh story then you can concentrate more on the text for the stage version and it really is beautiful in places!

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.”