Staying alive

I know I'm not the only one who is barely around these days, so I'm not going to grovel about it. Half my blogroll keeps turning up apologising after long spells of tumbleweedy silence. We're busy. We don't know what the hell we're doing. We're having an existential crisis.

For me: I've been doing a lot of yawning. Yawning, and faffing (which we know I'm good at), and cobbling meals together out of sweet FA because I forgot in my excitement about local shopping that I go into town to work, not to float about weighing my own dried fruit.

We saw some art. The Lattes were very impressed, not least with the colouring sheet provided, and Eldest even acknowledged that Fabian Miller had 'put a lot of effort in'. We got all whole-experiency and shot out into the garden the day after with our photosensitive paper, which The Grandmother bought us ages ago and in true Coffee House style we had put in a pile and forgotten about.


Impressive, eh? Littlest's effort, with the key and the fish, is less well developed since she held us up by throwing a load of soil all over the steps, meaning that her paper half-exposed itself while we were clearing our way onto the patio.

What didn't work so well was the suggestion made in some literature hanging around the gallery that we stick a photographic negative to a leaf and leave it out in the sun.

After two days we had a wizened leaf with a negative stuck to it.

Whether that is art or not I have no idea.