Miss Roberts

Archive for May 2010

Hot Passion

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Illustration for Erotic Review

Friday 28th May 2010.  Hot passion is what my star sign promises for the coming month, but, it says, I musn’t initiate anything myself, I must wait. So I’m waiting…

In the meantime I’m drawing illustrations for Erotic Review magazine, and discussing my darkest fantasies with the Acid Panda on the W3 bus to White Hart Lane. My star sign also says I musn’t reveal any secrets this month so I’m not telling you any dark fantasies right now. The Acid Panda is Anarchistwood‘s depraved drummer. The first time I ever saw her she was on stage naked except for a fine layer of chocolate sauce. She tells me drummers come in two types, the sober straight laced type and the Animal. Acid Panda definitely leans towards the Animal side. Rude Mechanicals are borrowing her for this Sundays gig at Inn on the Green, Ladbroke grove, where we will be playing with Anarchistwood and loads of other really good bands. It’s all free so if you’re around come along, it starts at 4 and is bound to be sinful and warped!

illustration for Erotic Review.

Lynda Beast may be returning for this gig. It is rumoured that Stanley Bad has had a nasty accident with a razor (Miss Roberts denies all allergations). Which reminds me I must do that chocolate eating video I said I would do to prove I can be far more sexy with a bar of chocolate than Stanley, who was mere vile flotsam.

On the subject of fortune telling and fate I had a vivid dream last night where I was in a windowless room with Scooby Doo. I think I dreamt this because yesterday I’d been talking about what sort of dog I should get with Cos and Dylan. I’m going to Battersea Dogs Home next wednesday to look for a dog.  Also on Tuesday Tommy G was singing the theme tune from Scooby Doo in rehearsal. He always sings that, some kind of minor malfunction which we havn’t corrected yet due to it being mildly endearing. Though it does remind me a bit of 2001 Space Odyssey where HAL’s logic is completely gone and he begins singing the song “Daisy Bell“.

In the dream I was talking to Scooby when he turned into china and became covered in a black and yellow zig zag pattern. Although this made a nice ornament it wasn’t very good to talk to. Then the china cracked and Scooby Doo crumpled into tiny pieces on the floor. I had to sweep the pieces up with a dust pan and brush, but I wasn’t unhappy about it because inside the china Scooby had been the real Scooby Doo all along. Is that dream telling me I need to get a large brown daft dog that will break all my china? I also keep having dreams where I’m two people which is hard work because all decisions have to be made twice, so nothing much happens in the dream. Do dreams and stars decide our future? Are they at the meeting table putting forward proposals and budgets as I write this? Are they in the end just knocked into towing the party line by the whip of fate, and whose side is he on?

I’m still waiting.

Written by Miss Roberts

May 28, 2010 at 3:04 pm

Dissecting frogs and other childhood pursuits

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Frog Painting

Frog painting on handmade paper recycled from a Jeffrey Archer novel.

Placed the pond in the garden this lunch time. I say pond, it’s more of a plant pot, round and flat and plastic. But I read in an article somewhere that any pond, no matter how small, is good for helping frogs and toads. As I mentioned in my bones blog amphibians are becoming extinct rapidly, due to pollution, loss of habitat and the devastating effects of a fungus that grows on the frogs skin preventing it from being able to breath – http://www.amphibianark.org/.

Frogs are going extinct! I repeat this because my head has trouble taking it in – no more frogs! Whole childhoods absent of frogs. Sounds (have a listen) that were ancient by the time the first dinosaurs evolved are now to be silenced. I can’t imagine a childhood without frogs, they were a defining feature of mine; water coming over the tops of wellingtons as we waded knee deep at Footscray meadows in search of frog spawn; Mum digging the pond; me refusing to believe that tadpoles turned into frogs (well it is weird). Then the huge plague of minute baby frogs covering the lawn, the whole garden leaping about, Mum’s lawn mower chopping them up into tiny pieces (accidently), frog blood and guts everywhere.

Then the dissections. We didn’t catch the frogs ourselves, didn’t need to, our cat was fond of delivering half dead frogs to the kitchen floor. Dad, trained in anatomy and medicine, would whisk the frog from the floor and place it on the kitchen table. Us four excited children would gather round the table in anticipation as Dad went to get his scalpel. A moment of heavy silence passed before the first incision. The skin would split and the creature would deflate like a tiny green beach ball. Dad fished around the inside, taking out bits to show us, explaining what did what. There was a tiny little bubble inside the frog that facsinated me, I played with it turning it over and over, can’t remember what it was though.

My memories of the intellectual aspects of these dissections are vague, for a 12 year old the grotesque splendour of frog body fluids and bone on the kitchen table was too delightful to be educational.

“Right!” Mum would shout in an authorative manner, “clear the table its time for dinner”. Dad would sweep away the frog remains, leaving them outside for our dog to contemplate. We’d reluctantly go off to wash our hands for dinner, somehow feeling more grown up because we knew what the insides of a frog looked like.

A childhood without frogs? Real riggling, leaping, croaking frogs? Without watching tadpoles grow legs? Just computer frogs with no body fluids, no mess, no temptation for the cat and Dad?

Now that would be cruel to children.

Written by Miss Roberts

May 19, 2010 at 5:23 pm

A large rat, a missing cat and a Wednesday night Against Nature.

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Monday 10th May 2010

George - my missing cat

I spent most of today making paper in the back garden which should have been lovely but wasn’t. Partly because I kept hoping George would suddenly appear but he didn’t, partly because what did appear was the largest rat I’ve ever seen aside from Stanley Bad.

George is my cat. He got beaten up by one of the local tom cats and has since disappeared. It has been three weeks now.

Stanley Bad is the perverse Lynda Beast replacement in the Rude Mechanicals that turned up as Lynda disappeared behind a beard. He plays violin, saw, trumpet and spoons just as well as Lynda so I’ve agreed to let him stay untill Lynda reappears. However, now I find that he is plotting against me.

I found this out at the Against Nature club opening at the Proud Galleries in Camden. Dickon Edwards is starting this new night every first Wednesday of the month and invited the Rude Mechanicals to play at the launch night. It is a lovely venue, what used to be a horse hospital with the old wood beams still holding up the place, and he booked some excellent acts. I particularly liked the magicians BARRY & STUART, one of them had a wallet with an entrance to hell in it, really, he opened it up and flames burst out. Dickon makes a fine DJ in his silk dressing gown and I think this could become a really good popular night.

Anyway back to the evil plot. Rude Mechanicals had done their soundcheck, gone to a pub to be indecisive about a set list, and were just on the way back to the venue when I heard Stanley trying to steal Tommy G away from me. Apparently Stanley wants to start his own band as a rap artist and reprogramme Tommy G to play hiphop!

Stanley the rat, the evil poisonous mutant! How dare he!

But what am I to do? He woos Tommy with his talk of exotic jazz complications. He says he will be of a higher standard than me. Huh!

That is Stanley Bad for you.

And he can’t do chocolate ads as well as me! Not that I’ve ever done a chocolate ad, but I will and it will be much better than his! Just you wait. If that doesn’t put him in his place him I have a cellar I could lock him in, naked and chained to that giant rat I saw this morning.

(The rat was in the garden, not in the house, but should I still try to get rid of it? And how? Isn’t London flooded with them? It wasn’t in the least bit scared of me, but I think I’m a little bit scared of it!)

Written by Miss Roberts

May 10, 2010 at 11:32 pm

Knicker-less Voting – a political rant

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Thursday 6th May 2010

I voted today dressed as a stern school teacher – long dress, hair back in a tight bun – but wearing no knickers. It seemed to make the activity slightly more of an event. It wasn’t an event, notable only for its inability to be anything meaningful. People have fort and died for the right to vote and here I am essentially voting for a hung parliament. I just don’t understand how any of the main parties could make much of a beneficial difference given our dependence on the world economy. So I vote for the situation where the least amount of damage can be done. Knicker-less voting.

As far as I can tell Britain cannot sustain itself without dependence on banks and bankers for maintaining our position in the global economy. Britain, and certainly London, simply does not currently have enough resources to carry on without being able to consume globally, we would starve. So it follows that we cannot put up taxes much because if we do the bankers will leave the country, and we do have to bail them out of trouble so we are in a position where we can still shop in the global economy. If we have to throw money at bankers to keep them here then how can we improve schools and hospitals? “We will organise things better”, “we will cut the red tape”, say the candidates that come to my door. Thats easy to say by anyone not in power, even i can say that, it doesn’t mean anything though.

The big thing I don’t understand about modern politics is how can the economy  and global consumption keep going? Humans, despite all our fancy technology, are still entirely dependent on the earth’s resources. These resources are limited, yet the global economy depends on the vast and ever growing consumption of them. How can this be maintained? Whether you believe climate change is due to humans or not, doesn’t change the fact that we are dependent on the earth’s limited resources. “Nuclear Energy” people say, as if this is suddenly going to solve everything. Really? There is still the basic problem of land isn’t there? Food, over farmed land turns into dessert, but populations are growing and as countries develop they demand more and more food. And waste, all that waste, continually growing, where will it all go?

As for the privacy issues these are likely to stay pretty much the same no matter who gets in power, just dressed up in different costumes (dominatrix or mother?). As the global economy grows and the earth’s resources get used up the gap between rich and poor will greatly increase. Those without will get restless, cause problems, rebellions and war. The only way to control this is through increasing security measures and surveillance.

So my voting was meaningless, because I simply don’t understand how anything much can change for the better without completely radical changes to politics and the way we live and think. Perhaps we are merely carrying out our destiny as organisms – feed, breed, grow in population, consume more, create waste, run out of food, poison ourselves on our own waste – yeast cells in a petri dish.

I don’t have TV or regularly read a paper so I’m not very up to date on day to day issues. Maybe what I’ve just said is complete gobledegoo in todays politics. Maybe people who dress up as school teachers to vote and don’t wear any knickers shouldn’t be allowed the vote!

Anyway, I’ve had my little political rant and will now return to more important issues like Rude Mechanicals. Performing on stage entertains people, cheers them up (hopefully), gives them a moments escape, which is more meaningful than what I’d be doing if I was a politician.

Getting ready to paint a naked man.

More useful than politics.

Painting a naked man

Miss Roberts gets an audience to paint a naked man.

Written by Miss Roberts

May 6, 2010 at 5:30 pm

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“Eccentric awake-at-dawn artist foils break-in attempt”

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Tuesday 4th May 2010

I was woken at 5 this morning by a man in tears at my front door. He claimed that his aunt had fallen seriously ill and he needed me to give him the money to fly to Barbados to see her. I didn’t have the money and didn’t  trust him so shut the door in his face. I felt horrible, scared in case he was still there and was going to try breaking in, guilty because he may have been telling the truth. When I got back to bed I couldn’t sleep, I just lay there worrying, mainly about this book sculpture I’ve been commissioned to do for Pollard Library. In the half-dream state I was in I kept picturing myself building the sculpture and it collapsing every time I turned my back, over and over again. So I got up, had the essential cup of tea and made the paper I should have made yesterday. Then I carried on with the Bone Box, it is now covered on the outside with cream handmade paper and has black fake leather dolls house paper on the inside.

To get the fake leather paper, along with some extra strong recycled card to stop the book sculpture from falling down, I visited Paperchase on Tottenham Court road. There are many different papers here for me to contemplate, slowly, longingly – rag, handmade, japanese – but not today, today I had one of my visions. A vision feels like God visiting. First there’s a strong smell of rubber, maybe the odd visual hallucination – insects mainly – and then wham! Everything is strange and I can’t remember who I am or what, and everything is too much. Too much sound, too much colour, too many sensations, too many memories, whose are they?  They aren’t mine, for a minute it feels like past lifes, and then there’s a something big, a something incredible, larger, more substantial, all containing, more true than anything else ever… then blackness, sometimes, but not today. Luckily it was a mild one today, and the smell of rubber came on early enough for me to reach the toilet before melt down. I keep a good record in my head of hiding places and escape routes. My dislike of shopping is partly because of the difficulty in hiding, but this shop I know well, it has a toilet on the first floor. I have no idea how long I’m in the toilet, this crack in the space time continuum is confusing. When I leave the toilet I notice the security guard starts following me around the store. I must be looking odd.

At home I write a status update on Facebook about the 5am visitor. I get a few responses from people checking I’m alright, telling me I should get a chain on the door and trust no one. There was an attempted break in next door I remember, no it is foolish of me to answer the door to strangers in the early hours of the morning. What he said might have been true, perhaps I should have listened to him, but then again that might have been God visiting me in Paperchase, it’s just safest to assume that it wasn’t. I’m an agnostic mind. “Eccentric awake-at-dawn artist foils break-in attempt” types Lilith, my Boston Dominatrix friend, as a comment on Facebook, and I  like that statement as a summary of my day.

Written by Miss Roberts

May 4, 2010 at 11:47 pm

The Bones in the Back Garden

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Monday 3rd May 2010

Today was a day for considering the bones in my garden.  Why today I don’t know, had planned to make paper from the heap of paper pulp currently festering in my kitchen, but somehow at 2 this afternoon I found myself writing a song about the bones I had discovered.

I moved into this flat a year ago, it’s a nice flat despite sitting on an edge between a massive road and the train line. The nicest thing about the flat is that it has a garden. When I first moved here I had an idea about being a great gardener, but this soon faded as I came to realize the state the garden was in. It was a mess! And underneath all the nettles was junk, bottles, cans, razors, the remains of a mattress, old rotting clothes. You can’t park a car anywhere near my flat so I couldn’t get anyone in to help clear the mess. I temporarily gave up on the idea of doing major work on it and instead decided to have a wildlife garden. Right, I thought, well frogs, and in fact all amphibians, are on the verge of extinction, so what I’ll do is build a pond. I started digging. Then I found the bones.  Lots of them of all different shapes and sizes.

Some of the bones I found in the garden

The bones I found buried in the garden

Now when you find things like bones it gets the brain going, wondering what they are from. Are they one creature or many? Are they a pet dog or a person?

The last occupier was a man called Wolfgang. I think he was a nice person, feels like he was, the flat has a pleasent feeling to it. The neighbour says Wolfgang was “a right care in the community case”, he was certainly eccentric, had crammed the place full of gadgets and wires according to the removal men. What had happened to Wolfgang? Had he died? Did Wolfgang know who was buried in the garden?

When Wolfgang had lived here the garden had been very overgrown, the council had come along and chopped some huge trees down. Then there was all the rubbish I’d found, the clothes still on a clothes line buried under a layer of mud with moss growing on them. I started to worry that the place might be haunted, I was living there alone but there was always the feeling of someone else being near. Next band rehearsal I mentioned this to the Rude Mechanicals. Tommy G rather brilliantly wrote the song Wolfgang in which there is a seance and Wolfgang possesses me, but it turns out that he’s a very normal old man who says “I know” a lot and likes chatting with Greta Garbo. This made things seem much better, and now I have a friendly ghost living here with me and the Rude Mechanicals have a fine, rather odd, seance song for the end of The Cyclops & The Wildebeest album.

Back to today. My garden is fascinating! I’ve decided to build a box for the bones. The Bone Box. It is going to be quite lavish, maybe with some gold leaf, and on the box lid I’m going to put a picture of skeletons, one of a dog, one of a cat, and one of a human. And maybe I’ll finish the Back Garden Blues song I started writing at 2, and that can go in the box with the bones. Maybe I should take the box along to a rehearsal to find out what the Rude Mechanicals make of it. But first I must finish the box and wash the bones!

My overgrown garden in May

My overgrown garden on Bank Holiday Monday in May

Written by Miss Roberts

May 3, 2010 at 11:48 pm

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