The Plastic Carrier Bag.

What I do now is, I er.. I hang a er.. I hang a plastic carrier bag on the cupboard under the sink. One of those you get in the supermarket. The carrier bag I mean, not the sink. I don’t hang a sink on the cupboard under the sink. That would be stupid. Or a cupboard come to that. Let’s get this right. What I do is, I hang a plastic carrier bag on the handle of the cupboard door. The handle on the door of the cupboard under the sink.

When I say hang that’s not strictly true. I attach a plastic carrier bag to the door handle. The thing is you see the plastic carrier bags are really lightweight and they don’t have the ability to hang. Not until they have something inside them then they hang but by the time that happens I have already attached it. So yes, attached it is then.

It’s to put kitchen rubbish in. The plastic carrier bag. Scraps and suchlike. Saves having to spend money on rubbish bags. No, not scraps. Scraps go to the chickens usually. Unless it’s something I think Mia the German Shepherd would like. In which case she gets it and the chickens miss out. Sad for the chickens but well, you know, that’s life. I wonder when a chicken becomes a hen? Always puzzled me that. No, not always. Just now I meant. It has just puzzled me. This instant. I mean that instant. The instant just passed an instant ago. Or was it a moment? A moment ago. Well, a few moments ago actually.

Other kitchen stuff like.. Take an apple core for example, or maybe a banana skin? Things like that get put in a plastic container next to the sink and when it gets full up I empty it onto the compost heap. Used tea bags too. They get put in the plastic container. And coffee grounds they would go in there. But I don’t have coffee grounds so.. Anyway, I would probably use instant coffee so it doesn’t apply to me ‘cos instant coffee dissolves completely. No residue.

No, the plastic carrier bag is mainly for wrappers and stuff made of paper or plastic. Used kitchen roll, yes, that’s a good one. Stuff that can’t be re-cycled. That goes in too. Stuff that can be re-cycled gets recycled. Unless the recycling bin is full. In which case I usually think sod it and chuck it in the plastic carrier bag anyway. I do my best for the environment but I’m not a saint.

The thing is the supermarket now charges for the plastic carrier bags. It's a new law. I wasn't consulted. So the saving money by using them for rubbish doesn’t work anymore. I mean, I may as well buy proper plastic rubbish bags. It’s a hell of a dilemma. I just don’t know what to do for the best.

Anyway, I don’t want to bother you with it. I know you worry, but please don’t. You know me, I’m sure to figure something out.

Jill.

I met Jill an elderly friend at the car boot sale:


"Hello Jill, nice to see you. Have you found any bargains?"

"I just bought this number thirty house number."

"That's nice. Do you live at number thirty Jill?"

"No"

"Why'd you buy a number thirty then?"

"I am going to sell it."

"Do you know anyone who lives at number thirty?"

"No, but I know someone who lives at number twenty nine."

"You could sell it to their next door neighbour."

"She died last week."

"Who?"

"Their neighbour."

"Oh, that's a shame."

"Anyway, She was number thirty one so that wouldn't work."

"Oh well, I'm sure there are lots of number thirty houses in England. You are bound to sell it eventually."

"I might hang onto it for a while."

"Good luck with it anyway Jill. I hope you make a profit. See you soon.

"Bye John. Do you know anyone who lives at number thirty?"

"No sorry. Bye love."

The Scottish Wildcat Haven.

Life is a bit odd at the moment. Instead of spending most of these warm late summer days outside - apart from repairing my old campervan -  as I am sure I used to do I now spend lots of my time painting happily. A lot of the time I am painting at night and into the early morning. I enjoy working at night when it is so quiet outside - not that it is ever very noisy here at any time. This is down to the fact that it is now possible to buy craft lights that imitate daylight so perfectly. This does mean that I spend a good part of the day asleep in bed. it's a good job I have to walk Mia the German Shepherd or I might not see much real daylight at all.

The Scottish Wildcat by John Bain 2016
Oil on canvas
20in x 16in

I spent a couple of nights and part of a day on this painting of a Scottish Wildcat and finished it at 6.30 in the morning. The Scottish Wildcat is in great danger of becoming extinct some estimates put it at only thirty five left in the wild. How sad it would be if it were to disappear entirely. Some people are doing their best to see this doesn't happen. The main reason for it's problems is that it is being hybridised by mating with feral domestic cats. The group called Scottish Wildcat Haven operate a catch, neuter and release of feral cats and it seems this is being successful. Here is a link to their website:

https://www.wildcathaven.com

I have only once ever seen a Scottish Wildcat. I was fourteen years old and I was with my mum's boyfriend Fergie. It was somewhere in Aberdeenshire Scotland. The chances of seeing one today are extremely unlikely.

I am doing my bit to help. Look, I have bought a square foot of the Highlands.. Please in future address me as 'Your Lordship'. Laird being a Scottish lord.

 I would like to donate this painting to Scottish Wildcat Haven. Not sure how to go about doing that or even if they would want it.

Click on photos to enlarge.

John.

Paintings.

Here is another big painting I recently finished. I did it over the course of a week from a small black and white photo. It is the same size as the Bowie painting I did a couple of months ago 60in x 48in. It doesn't half use a lot of paint. I made the stretcher myself and put the canvas on nice and tight with the help of my extremely handsome son George.

Prince.

And here are a few more paintings finished recently.

The Old Barn at Drove Farm.

Patricia.

The Pond Nymph.

Holiday? You're 'Aving A Laugh!

I ain’t never bin on a n’oliday never. I bin places an’ I done stuff but I ain’t never bin on a proppa’ roliday.
What’s the point of it? Know what I mean?
You gottu pack all your fings in a bag and most fings you don’t need and then you gottu go somewhere strange and pay to go there an’ pay to stay there an’ you can’t even get a proppa cup of tea there probably and even if you could get a proppa cup of tea it costs a bleedin’ fortune. And there ain’t a comfy chair to sit on and the bed? Well, it ain’t noffink like your bed at home ‘cos your bed at ‘ome ‘as got all the proper lumps and dent’s in it wot you fit around perfect. And you ‘ave to get up in time or you will miss breakfast and if you don’t miss breakfast you ‘ave bacon and eggs an’ fried bread every day during yor ‘oliday and at the end of yor ‘oliday wot you got to show for it? Constipation that’s wot ‘cos you ate all those fried breakfasts every day ‘cos you paid for it and you might as well get yor money’s worth. Serves you right really that does.
An’ then you sit on the beach with people laughing at yor white body, especially yor white legs which from the back look like a pair of white tapes hanging out of yor bathing suit and you roast in the bleedin’ ‘eat covered in factor god knows wot sunscreen so you don’t get burnt. An’ you get burnt anyway ‘cos you bought sunscreen cream from the pound shop and it don’t work ‘cos it’s cheap so what did you expect? An’ sand gets everywhere too an’ it sticks to you ‘cos of the suncream. Even in all yor fatty bits, ‘specially between yor buttocks.
If you don’t sit sweltering on the beach all day you go sight-seeing. On a bleedin’ coach probably with lots of really fat people who smell quite ripe ‘cos of the ‘eat an’ farting ‘cos of tummy upsets caused by the drinking water being full of shit. An’ you all troop off the bus together an’ go and look at some brick rubble and then you all troop to the toilets together an’ the women complain ‘cos they only got two toilets between the lot of them but the men have got urinals and they can all pee at the same time, an’ it ain’t right and then troop back on to the bus together.
An’ at the end of it all yor glad to be back ‘ome to yor own bed ain’t you? An’ you can show all yor friends the photos you took of yor ‘oliday. Photos they could all see on the bleedin’ internet if they was at all interested, but they ain’t.
Look do yorself a favour an' stay at 'ome next time and 'ave a really nice rest. I mean, that's what an 'oliday is about. Know wot I mean?