One man and his dog

I went into San Francisco today with my mum and my sister. I took my camera but only took two photos because, well, it’s a little bit faulty. Not SF. My camera. Both pictures were off  a man and his dog.

This pic was taken just after the man and his dog had been moved on by the police in Union Square, San Francisco’s swanky shopping area full of upmarket department stores and just a dog’s stick’s throw away from the Tenderloin area; a part of SF that is just as it sounds. If you’re not sure what that means, join the club. I’m writing things I don’t understand myself. I once wandered into the Tenderloin during daylight hours. I saw desperate people. I saw a man push another man into a bin. Not shove him towards it, but actually stuff him headfirst into a big metal dustbin.

The policeman was kind, the man and his dog no trouble. The policeman took his time and during the conversation held his hand out for the dog to sniff. Once dog and cop were happy, patting took place.

I wanted to get a photo of that, but I was too slow. I think I was too slow on purpose. I’m uneasy taking photos of strangers. I feel unqualified to do it. So, I fumbled, and only got on with snapping once they were walking away. I feel, with a photo like this, that I am not violating the soul of the man or his dog. I may be wrong.

Here’s a touristy pic from a couple of years ago.

Animals take over the news

Bobbin 1991-2006

Well, when I say the news, I of course mean the Daily Mirror. All of these stories are in today’s Mirror:

“Cat Rosie survives cruel airgun attack”.

“Three teens arrested on deer death”.

“Grandma is savaged by angry gulls”.

“Rider hurt in horse horror”.

““Mahmoud Ahmadinejad buys puppy to show World he is an ok guy.”

Watch it, mum!”- A clumsy duck steps on one of her own ducklings.

Ok, one of them I made up, but five animal stories in one day? What’s going on?

Four of them cancel each other out; terrible abuses by humans on animals (cat and deer)- animals then fight back (horse and gulls). Now this may not be much comfort to Delphine Mutch (yes, that’s Delphine Mutch, Mrs. Mutch, who was attacked by the nesters in Weymouth) but let’s take a Gaia-ian approach to these stories. (No, I haven’t a clue what I’m on about, but what goes around comes around blah blah blah- one day a dog’ll flush a kid down a toilet, that kind of thing).

The odd one out is the duck on duck attack. Thankfully it was an accident. The mother duck was ushering her ducklings away from a swan when she squashed one under her foot. When ducks turn on each other for no apparent reason, that’s when we should worry.

Coming back briefly to the puppy in the pipe story. That was yesterday but it’s still a big deal. Do you know of this tale? A four year old boy flushes his puppy down the loo. Before I carry on, know this; the puppy’s fine. See the amazing rescue attempt here. It made me cry.

Anyways, the four year old said he wanted to wash his puppy. Hmmm. Obviously he should have asked his parents first. They may have suggested a bowl or the sink or the bath (if the puppy even needed washing at all). But he didn’t and instead chose to wash his puppy in the place where he’s just been taught to wee and poo. Would you? Poor little four year old. I suspect he put his puppy in the toilet and flushed it just for fun, to see what happens. That’s what we do when we haven’t quite grasped consequence. And then… then… then… when he realised, when he saw the puppy sucked down the u-bend, wagging his little tail goodbye … then… when the puppy doesn’t come back… then… Oh dear, I bet something kicked in. Then I bet the little fella ran to mummy screaming and crying.

Poor boy. Poor puppy. But all good in the end. Well done, DynoRod Man. And well done for doing it for free.  (Obviously you get all the publicity and so on, but regardless, well done!)

the guardian‘s jumped on the animal bandwagon too. They’re saying cats are daft. Or rather scientists are. You can find out the science here.

Well, that’s not news! Anyone with cats knows they’re daft animals, dafter than dogs. My two cats, (the much missed Bobbin pictured above and his sister Tess- still going strong at the age of 19- that 457 in human years), are and were remarkably stupid. Those who know Tess may object (and quite likely will) but…

Oh, then alright, I acquiesce. Tess is lovely. She’s deaf now. Or just plain rude. She never comes when called, doesn’t look up when you enter a room, and spends all of her day sleeping. Ok, she’s clever.

Tess, Bobbin's sister. 19 now.

The duckdogs of Dulwich

If the above picture looks sinister, well it should. It is. It’s the duckdogs of Dulwich and every year around this time they wheedle their way into the Dulwich Festival and, under the guise of entertaining the kiddies, round up all the local ducks and herd them into baskets. What happens next, no one knows. Some say the ducks are eaten by the dogs, others that the ducks are made to dress up and dance for the dogs as the dogs all chant “who let the ducks out.” One way or another, it needs to be stopped. Just like this post.

IcelandSculptureMargate75p and a dog goes into Argos…

Cats and Dogs in Broadstairs

The cats and dogs in Broadstairs lead very different lives. The cats do as they please, coming and going; giving strangers like me dirty looks. The dogs don’t have this freedom. When you see them on the streets they are often on the ends of leads, tethered to a human who controls their movements. If they were to go out on their own they’d find themselves severely curtailed (which for a dog can be distressing). They can’t go on the beach throughout the summer. This seems a raw deal. Sure, they get the place to themselves from September until the end of April, but that’s when it tends to be cold and sunless. I guess the cats can go on the beach when they like. Cats though, being contrary animals, are rarely seen on beaches.

The absurdity behind all this is that Thanet District Council thinks dogs can read.

Surprise dog

I have had three camping adventures in my life. The first, when I was a student, saw the damp seep into my bones and I ended up at the hospital (the Hospital for Damp Bones in Buxton). By the time of the second, just a few years ago, I’d become more robust, and I weathered the storms of Glastonbury. Sure my tent got flooded, but I had a £5 bed from Argos and I was 5 inches off the ground. The third time the weather shone and I met this dog. A very friendly dog with a lovely nature. I played football with him for a bit. But you may be surprised when he looks at you.

Sheep and Dog

I’m off out today, to meet up with Trev and trek off to a meeting somewhere or other. And so, rather than waffle on about horror films, or put up polls, or moan, here’s two pictures of a sheep and a dog living in perfect harmony.

Cast Away aka Killing Time in London Town

“Do a commercial, you’re off the artistic roll call, every word you say is suspect, you’re a corporate whore and eh, end of story.” Bill Hicks.

This morning I had a casting for a commercial. I had to go to a fancy pants agency over in Ladbroke Grove. You know you’re in a fancy pants agency when the people who work there take their dogs to work. This one, a sweet and lovely dog, I have met before- on one of my other failed trips out to Ladbroke Grove. And this was a failed trip.

I don’t like castings. I never have. When I was younger, and I didn’t have to go to them, I wouldn’t. I didn’t like the way they made me feel nervous, the way they made me sweat, the way they made me feel just a little bit useless and stupid. I’d have been like Bill Hicks. But, I’m still here. So I’ve given up and given in. Though some amongst you may be aware that I did one advert in 1995 for some sweets called Fruitang. We did the advert as the World of the Strange characters. So, I guess I’m off the artistic roll anyways. That advert enabled me to afford driving lessons, at the age of 33, and also to afford a car; my little Ford Fiesta that I’m still driving now; yes, my car’s a teenager.

So, back to today. I had to be a tic tac man (the racecourse hand lingo, not the mints) for a tabloid newspaper ad. Everyone around me looked like a bookie from the racecourses. I wasn’t going to get this ad and so I resigned myself to stroking and playing with the dog. While all around me waved their arms like they were playing a demented game of Simon Says, I sat on the floor and communicated with the dog.

In the casting room, you face about ten people all there to watch you wave your arms around. They gave me a piece of paper with my name on it. You hold this up while they film you for an “ident”. I forgot to take mine in. I tried to make light of it but I felt hidden scowls. Once, at a casting years ago, I got so nervous that when I went up to shake the hand of the director, a man called Rock, I stood on his foot. Anyway, I waved my arms around a bit and then left. The odds on me getting this job?- for the tic tacs reading, crossed arms. For the none tic tacs- 33/1. It would be higher but that’s as high as tic tac goes.

I left and decided to kill some time in London time. Sometimes I pass the time, sometimes I waste it; but today was definitely a killing day.

In Winkworth’s, just by Ladbroke Grove station, the estate agents sit eating crisps.

Outside the Ivy photographers wait, ready to shoot. I stand for a moment to see who will come out. But then I realise that I could be in for a big disappointment; what if it was, say, Sid Owen? And so I walk away, knowing for sure that I hadn’t seen, say, Raquel Welch or Uri Geller.

I do the same thing outside Cafe Nero. A police van turns up and spills out its officers, straight into the cafe. That’s exciting. I wonder what’s going on? Well, I’m still wondering. I walked away. I think they were maybe all going in for coffees.

I go to Fopp and allow myself £10 worth of goodies. I buy two dvd’s; Funny Games (the Michael Haneke remake of his own film), The Assassination of Richard Nixon (Sean Penn); and a book, The Comedy Writer by Peter Farrelly (as in the Farrelly brothers). Not bad for £10. Oh, but then it goes hopelessly wrong. I get to the till and am tempted by their “sweets” display- I buy two more things; the special edition Deathproof soundtrack (why special? because it comes in a padded packet, like a car seat), and Sunday at Devil Dirt by Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan. Doh! Now I’d spent another £6. Still, at least I’m going to make a bit of money playing a tic tac- Doh again! Me and my bad memory.

That’s how I killed time. Now I’m off to pass time, playing pool for JFK Rejects. It’s cup night tonight and we are in the semi-final, facing JFK’s (the non-reject ‘A’ team). Come on the underdogs!

p.s. If this post seems a little moany, sorry. Yes, I don’t like castings, but when things work, it’s not a bad way to earn a living. There are worse things I could do.

That’s how people grow up

I don’t live near a prison. As I walk back from the cafe, I pass through Hither Green’s hinterland; the road that runs along the railway line that’s full of businesses that mind their own business. And they make sure you don’t stick your nose in by using prison-like preventative measures. it’s Prison Break in reverse.

One of the more open and accessible businesses is Joy Skip Hire. I like this place. I like it because, in a way that I don’t fully understand, I take their business name as a command.

As I passed it today though, I was saddened. Is this how it ends for us all? Is this what becomes of a dad? I’m afraid that the answer is likely to be yes.

As I write this Morrissey sings:

I’m doing very well
I can block out the present and the past now
I know by now you think I should have straightened
myself out
thank you, drop dead

That’s from Something is squeezing my skull from his new LP Years of Refusal. The title of this post is the title of another track.

If I’ve dragged you down, I’m sorry. Let me end on two bright notes. On Saturday, Broadstairs looked like this:

And a quote from Dan Leno:

“Birth is something which comes to all of us sooner or later…”

Manor House Gardens on a snowy day