Ace Jet 170

A Tale of Two Mugs

I interupt my recent maudlin introvertions for some real-life news:

After a full academic year of internship at Thought Collective Nat left us yesterday. In the end of year report she produced we fair well; it's funny and honest and really nice. It's also beautifully designed which Nat attributes, rather graciously, to what she has learned during her time with us.

We're all sad to see her go. She is what The Kids™ call "awesome" and it's been a pleasure to sit next to her and give her all manner of mundane tasks to perform (making the tea, washing the cups, breaking the cups, buying replacement cups). Every task carried out with an amazing degree of enthusiasm, humour, intelligence and all round chirpiness. Really, it's been an absolute pleasure.

The fact that she broke two of my most prized mugs, one of which my wife bought me, should in no way tarnish an otherwise perfect record. No siree.

No, regardless of those low points (low, all over the floor in pieces, moments), Nat's been a top notch intern and I'm sure will go to great things. One to watch.

(Especially if she's just picked up your favourite mug).

Magic

That nice man Merrick has a new print out. About which he says:

You might be able to tell by now we like round things! This print came about from a brush with some old packaging - the sixties 'Magic Eight Ball' packaging to be precise. A perennial gee gaw, unwanted Christmas present, and collector of dust. Yet, weirdly iconic.

Print comes in A3 (11.7 × 16.5 inches) size. Part of a numbered and signed edition of 100. As ever, the prints are made to the highest quality possible - professionally printed with archival quality inks on 220 gsm watercolour paper, and shipped in the sturdiest of cardboard tubes.

Available here.

Mallet

It's become a new tradition. When I/we visit my parents in England my Dad sends me off to his shed to pilfer anything I might find useful. You may remember last year I described an earlier session. Dad's not able-bodied enough to carpent like he used to. In fact, it's quite clear that his sawing days are over. But we're not a morbid family and practicalism always comes to bear.

Not that I've been able to take just anything. After this last trip it occurred to me that you could chart how precious his tools have been to him using some arrangement of concentric circles. His most prized tools sitting closer to the centre. And with each trip he has granted me greater access to the inner circles.

This time I selected just a few items; items that held memories from the distant past. My Dad's mallet was one of them. I'm pretty sure he made it himself when he was quite a young man. It would be a typical piece for him to have made: robust; durbable; impervious to attack from heavy artillery.

I found it in a cupboard and when I saw it it felt just about as familiar an object as any I have around me every day. Even though I haven't seen it for years, it felt like meeting a friend I'd lost touch with but who "hadn't changed a bit". Well, perhaps a few more lines; a bit of wear and tear.

Dad's never really been a big talker, not on a personal level. He has always been good at talking at the telly, during the news; he says outrageous things. My point is, we've never been "close" but somehow, when I look at Dad's mallet I see him, the real him.

Beachy

Hands up who doesn't love a beach?

Thought so. Everyone loves a beach. Even in inclement weather there's much to entertain you on a beach. Karen is facinated by rock pools and we can spend hours poking around for trapped sea life: hermit crabs, shrimps, the occassional blood sucker, a sea snail here and there. Unidentifiable fish. Once, on the north coast of Ireland, we cornered an enormous jelly fish in a particularly deep and still pool, to study from a safe distance, until we set it free (being careful to avoid contact of course).

I like to comb. For small, pilferable natural phenomena.

We travelled across many miles

We've just come back from our summer holiday. Did I say "holiday"? I should have said "odyssey". To us it was an epic journey of unfeasible length. A journey through lands foreign to us (Scotland, England and Kent). By car, we travelled across many miles. By ferry, we journeyed across a vast expanse of ocean. By car, we travelled across many miles (again). In my Mum's house we had dinner, slept a bit and ate many wine gums. Then by car, we travelled across many miles (again, again). Until finally, FINALLY we reached the next stage of our journey.

And it's at this point our journey became so very strange, the account of it sounds more akin to an extract from a Jules Verne novel than a true report of an actual, real occurance. Get this: We travelled in our car, on a train, through a an enormous tube, under the very bed of the sea. And when we emerged from our subterranian experience, at the distant end of the mega-pipe, we were in…another country. A country known by some as "France".

Finally, FI-NA-LLY! France. Finally, we had reached…the next stage of our journey.

By car, we travelled across "beaucoup de milles".

 

Truman Elliot Olivia

New from Fontsmith: This, this and this. With lovely specimens in our post hole.