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Tag Archives: Yarn bombing

Sekentei (-of you all!)

09 Tuesday Jul 2013

Posted by Candia in Arts, Humour, Social Comment, Suttonford, Tennis, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

amae, Djokovic, Hikikomori, Ibasho, Neet, Roundhead, sekentei, street art, Walker Art Gallery, Yarn bombing

Gisela Boothroyd-Smythe was becoming desperate.  It was only the first week

of the holidays and she had been unable to persuade her pre-pubescent son,

John, to get up in the morning.  She had called through the door of his

bedroom: Don’t be so monosyllabic!  She had just about heard the reply:

Wot? 

Today she had heard nothing and was becoming concerned.

She had come across an article which stated that a million young people-

and some not so young- remained holed up in their bedrooms, sometimes

for decades at a time.  They slept by day and stayed up all night, in a

withdrawn state known as HIKIKOMORI.

Gisela was afraid that John might be lapsing into such a condition.  She

checked the article again.  It commented that the youngsters often

exhibited infantile behaviour and could have violent outbursts.  But, as

the French would say, for teenagers: C’est normal! 

Was she worrying inordinately?

The Japanese feared loss of face, she’d read.  Maybe if the children didn’t

do well in their exams, they and their parents, would experience SEKENTEI.

This might lead to AMAE, a kind of extreme dependence.  In bad cases,

sufferers would have to be re-introduced to society through a halfway house,

or IBASHO.  But when she had tried to discuss her worries with her soon-to-

be ex-husband, he had only scoffed:  I’m already sekentei of you and the

children.  Why do you think I left?

She hadn’t known that he took an interest in global culture.

It would be all too easy to become an over-pushy parent, like so many others

who sent their offspring to St Birinus’.  It was just that she didn’t want John to

end up a NEET-(Not in Education, Training or Employment.)

It was so difficult as a virtually single parent and she was trying to be both

mother and father to her children, during the divorce period.  They, of course,

were running rings round them both.

She returned to the article.  Goodness, in Japan some parents approached an

agency which sent round hired, not assassins exactly, but strong persuaders,

who basically broke down the doors and hauled the hermits out, gave them a

severe dressing down and then took them away to a dormitory.

Well, she had already done something similar by sending him to boarding

school. But what was she to do in the holidays?

Maybe she should phone the mother of those twin boys who were in John’s

class- the ones with the ridiculously over-pretentious names.  They seemed

quite nice and couldn’t help their parents’ labelling choices.  A rose by any

other name would smell as sweet.

But they might not want to come round as John often teased his peers.  This

verb was a euphemism and she knew it.

Just at that moment, with Gisela’s hand hovering over her mobile, her daughter,

Juniper sauntered into the kitchen, opened the fridge door and proceeded to

drink pure orange juice straight from the carton.

Gisela refrained from expressing her outrage and casually asked: When did

you last see John?  She felt a role reversal, as if she was a blue satin-suited,

ringleted child being asked by a committee of Roundheads for information as

to the whereabouts of his Cavalier father.  Wasn’t there a famous painting

of this subject?  Her mind began to wander through Art History.  Wasn’t it in

The Walker Art Gallery?

Ha!  I was wondering when you would notice that little darling was missing,

sneered the evil Juniper.  I yarn-bombed his door handle and connected it to

his window catch, so he can’t get out of his room.  I’m writing it up for my

Street Art Project and it can go into my portfolio for A2.  I’m calling it

‘Prisoners For Art.’

Mum! groaned a shaky voice from behind the door.  Let me out!  I’m hungry!

Clearly he had finished all the food stashes under his bed.

Juniper!  You’re grounded!

But Juniper was already halfway down the street, having performed a Djokovic

slide on the kitchen tiles which continued down the laminated hallway, until she

laughed and ran out of the front door.

Novak Djokovic Hopman Cup 2011 (cropped).jpg

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Speech Day

26 Wednesday Jun 2013

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Education, Humour, Suttonford, Writing

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

aigret, Ascot, Auchenshuggle, Charles Saatchi, chavette, Isabella Blow, Old Girl, Philip Treacy, Pippa Middleton, Prizegiving, Rabbie Burns, Shard, Speech Day, The Hatpin, To A Louse, Yarn bombing

Isabella Blow 2.jpg

Juniper Boothroyd-Smythe’s mother, Gisela, had been trying to find a suitable

hat to wear for the St Vitus’ School for the Academically-Gifted Girl‘s

Prizegiving.

Her daughter was going to receive the 2013 Sirdar Yarn-Bombing Textile Award

and her classmates, Tiger-Lily and Scheherezade, were being awarded

acknowledgement shields and cups for being The Girl Least Likely To and

The Girl Whose Mother’s Timekeeping Has Improved Most Markedly.

Gisela was going to be braving the marquee toute seule, since her formal

separation from Juniper’s father- realised after a much less provocative

gesture than that of Charles Saatchi’s.

Gisela had spotted a hat in Help The Ancient, Suttonford’s designer charity

shop. Some tattooed chavette may have abandoned it post-Ascot.  It

wasn’t exactly Isabella Blow-cum-Philip Treacy, but, for £9.99, it was a very

good deal and could be re-cycled afterwards.  Hat boxes took up too much

room in the wardrobe, she felt.

Drusilla Fotheringay-Syylk had just come out of her closet- not in a gender-

assertion manner.  No, she had literally de-cluttered her bedroom in her

flat in the boarding house, before vacating the premises for the summer

school let.  Lodging with her mother in Bradford-on-Avon usually stretched

both their reserves of patience.

She was glad that she had been disciplined enough to rid herself of that

hat which she had optimistically purchased in anticipation of her mother’s

demise.  It would have fitted the daughter of the deceased’s role very well,

but her mater was obstinately clinging to life and so the millinery moment

had not dawned.  Help The Ancient had been the beneficiary.

Drusilla intended to sport a Pippa Middleton-style fascinator for Speech Day.

She had fastened two aigret feathers together and secured them to a scrunch

of net veil with a vintage brooch.  Burlesque not.

Come the day, Gisela was sitting two rows in front of her daughter’s

housemistress and she was unaware that her headgear was being scrutinised

as closely as Rabbie Burns had inspected the louse on the woman in the pew

in front of him.

Drusilla knew it was the same hat which she had donated, as she could detect

the pinholes in the brim where she had removed the amber-headed hat pin

which she had inherited from her grandmother, who had advised her to stick it

into any male who bothered her in the dark at the cinema. (Drusilla had never

had occasion to employ this strategy and felt that she might have been

arrested if she had done so.)  Even after all these years of teaching in a girls’

school, she was still somewhat in the dark as to what male reprehensible

behaviour might consist of, and she was, frankly, rather disappointed that no

one had ever molested her sufficiently as to render the bodkin’s function as

anything greater than decorative.

The Hatpin CD.jpg

In fact, when she saw how fetching the hat could be, she immediately wished,

like many other women who part with items from their bulging wardrobes, that

she could turn back the clock and reverse her actions. She was completely

distracted and paid no attention to the Head’s speech, in common with most of

the assembly, admittedly.

She missed the accolade to all those who have acted as the pacemakers of

the pastoral heartbeat of this remarkable institution. Old Girl, Ffion

Tullibardine-Tompkins’ account of how she had scaled The Shard in aid

of the locally-favoured charity, Anacondas In Adversity! went entirely

unregistered.

London 01 2013 the Shard London Bridge 5205.JPG

She was last on her feet for the rousing school song, scraped enthusiastically

by the Junior Orchestra: Here’s tae Us/ Whae’s Like Us?/ Gey Few..An’ They’re

A’ Deid, to the tune Auchenschuggle.

By Monday, the first day of her holiday, she had re-purchased the hat for

£12.99 from the charity shop.  She couldn’t believe her luck, having spotted

it immediately it had re-appeared in the window.  She’d been on her way to

meet an ex-colleague for coffee, since friends were in rather short supply.

Help The Ancient is, as you all know, dear Readers, right next to

Costamuchamoulah, the must-seen cafe.  Now she only needed the

appropriate occasion to bring the cat, I mean hat out of the box.

Hi, Miss Fotheringay-Syylk.

Drat: it was that awful Juniper girl.  Why hadn’t she gone away like the others?

Of course, Mrs Boothroyd-Smythe had to work, unlike most of Juniper’s

classmates’ mothers.

It looked better on you than on my mum!

(She had been spying through the window.)

But why did Drusilla always feel that the girl was being sarcastic?  Maybe it

was the not-so-fleeting snigger that played about her lips.

Have a nice holiday, Juniper, she smiled.  In fact, she thought, Why don’t you

take a premature gap year, or ten?

And then Drusilla tripped over the pavement art.

Yarn bombing! Grrr!!!

Sorry, Miss Fotheringay-Syylk. I hope you haven’t broken your ankle.  Do you

want me to call an ambulance on my mobile?  Let me carry your hatbox.

The first day of the holidays in Casualty.  She might have known.

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Lifestyle Choice

28 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Fashion, Humour, News, Poetry, Politics, Social Comment, Suttonford, Writing

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Ari Seth Cohen, Gin Blog, Gin Foundry, Ian Duncan-Smith, idioms, Jenny joseph: When I am an Old Woman, Karen Walker Eyewear, Madonna, silver fashionista, suspended coffee, Suttonford, Yarn bombing

Juniper Boothroyd-Smythe, l’enfant terrible of St Vitus’ School for the

Academically Gifted Girl, had tired of yarn bombing and so she decided

to concentrate on street photography for her art project.

Carmen Dell'Orefice, Red Dress Collection 2005.jpg

Having been impressed by Ari Seth Cohen’s blog which celebrates silver

fashionistas, she saw her photo opportunity as Magda wheeled her

nonagenarian charge, Ginevra Brewer-Mead down High Street,

Suttonford.

You look amazing! Would you give me permission to include you in my

portfolio of Living National Sartorial Treasures? Juniper enquired.

Ginevra nodded vigorously, the egret feather on her hat swaying in

the breeze.  She pouted at the lens.

Where do you source your fantastic outfits? Juniper asked, getting her pencil

out.

‘Fantastic’ was a fairly just adjective, but Ginevra detected no ambiguity.

I always have a sneak preview of Help the Ancient’s biennial Designer Sales,

she confessed.  But don’t tell anyone else.  They would be jealous.

The interview continued.

What has inspired your signature style, would you say?

Well, I’ve always approved of that poem: When I am an old woman, I shall

wear purple, Ginevra stated confidently. She didn’t admit that it was the

only poem that she could remember.

Oh, we studied that one in our GCSE anthology, Juniper enthused, noting

down phrases such as ‘exophorically-referenced style statement.’

And what is your name, dear? asked Ginevra.  She was sure that she had

seen this girl before- perhaps in grand-daughter Tiger-Lily’s school

photograph.

It’s the same as yours, actually, Juniper smiled.  Juniper and Ginevra are

from the same root.

Really?  And do you have a passion for gin too? asked the bibulous one.

Well, I’m not supposed to drink alcohol at my age..

Neither am I! laughed Ginevra.  It doesn’t stop me, though.

It was at that precise moment that a meeting of two rebellious minds

took place.

I have read The Gin Blog, Juniper confessed.

Oh, they are replacing that with The Gin Foundry in June,

Ginevra informed her.

Magda was worrying that they were obstructing the pavement.

She parked Ginevra outside Costamuchamoulah must-seen cafe.

Would you like a coffee while we finish the interview, Juniper?

asked Ginevra.

Juniper looked faintly abashed.  She hadn’t any cash on her.

Don’t worry- you can have a suspended coffee, Ginevra informed her.

Sorry?

It’s a scheme where people such as my neighbour, Sonia, pay for two

lattes and then only consume one.  You could have the freebie that the local

vagrant usually claims.

But the people who own the cafe don’t mind ?

Not if he drinks it outside, Ginevra stated firmly.

Magda returned with three beverages.

Question Three then, persisted Juniper: is it difficult to maintain your style

on a pension?

Ginevra placed her lipstick-crescented cup on the street table. It will be nigh

on impossible if that-pardon my French!- Ian Duncan Smith creature

persuades us all to return our winter fuel allowance, she exploded.

Persuades-hah!  At present, it just about keeps me in mascara…

..and gin, added Magda.  It was astounding how much progress she

had recently made in aural comprehension.

Iain Duncan Smith Nightingale 1.JPG

The sun came out briefly and Ginevra replaced her spectacles with a pair

of retro Karen Walker Eyewear sunglasses.

And what would you say is the colour of these cool shades? continued Juniper.

Well, they are on the same tone continuum as Prince Philip’s black eye,

I’d say, Ginevra reflected.

Damson, Juniper scribbled.

Yes, the over-fifties, living relics though they were, certainly knew how to

put things together, she considered.  All except Madonna, who should know

better than to dress in competition with her daughter, Lourdes, Juniper

mused.

Upper body of a middle-aged blond woman. Her hair is parted in the middle and falls in waves to her shoulder. She is wearing a loose dress with black and brown prints on it. A locket is hung around her neck, coming up to her breasts. She is looking to the right and smiling.

She addressed Magda suddenly: Do you know the idiom about mutton and

lamb?

We do idioms next week, Magda said gravely.

Okay. Thanks, guys, Juniper said, preparing to put her camera back

into its case.

Suddenly the local mendicant appeared, no doubt seeking his fix of caffeine.

Juniper beat a hasty retreat.

There was no decrying it, though.  His flak jacket was really cool.  She took

a surreptitious shot of his back view as he entered the cafe.  He could really

carry off Grunge.  She supposed it was a lifestyle choice.

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End of Term Reports 2

06 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by Candia in Arts, Education, Humour, Religion, Suttonford

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Chris Ofili, Gilbert and George, graffiti knitting, Man Booker, Pussy Riot, street art, toxocariasis, Warhol, women bishops, Yarn bombing

St Vitus’ School for the Academically-Gifted Girl.

Martinmas Term Report

Juniper Boothroyd-Smythe

Art

Juniper’s art project was imaginative and evidenced a global awareness of current textile instillation work.  Perhaps she should be aware that yarn bombing/ graffiti knitting is still considered a criminal offence and can invite prosecution.  Covering the local gold Olympian commemorative post box with a crotcheted balaclava incorporating the slogan Go! Pussy Riot! did not bring glory to the school, unfortunately.  Perhaps public art is not the forum for her underage protest.  Her domestic, interior piece Deadly Knitshade was worthy of an A*, but I fear that she may have plagiarised the title.

The Dean and Chapter would be grateful if she removed the string of knitted women bishops from the cathedral railings.  Point taken.

Drusilla Fotheringay-Syylk  MA, M.Phil

Tiger-Lily Brewer-Mead                                   Dec 2012

Art

A*

Tiger’s multi-screenprints of Pooh-Bah the pug with thermal imaging format made for a really hot art project this half-term and owed much to her visit to the Warhol exhibition.  The suspended Agnes C  poo-bags around the frame reminded us of the importance of the anti-toxocariasis campaign and issues related to wealth and waste.  I was grateful that the aforementioned receptacles were empty, from a Health and Safety perspective, so full marks for awareness of these matters.  Her justification of the potential medium was well-grounded in the traditions of Gilbert & George and Chris Ofili.  If she were to dabble in the elephantine variety, she would need to consider much larger containers and antiseptic handwash.

This was an improvement on her unmade bed installation from last half term, which we considered rather derivative, and grammatically unsound, given that the title Everyone I have ever had a Sleepover With ended in a preposition and that is something up with which we do not put.

D. F-S

No Woman No Cry by Chris Ofili (1998). The pai...

Scheherezade Percival      Martinmas term 2012

English A*

Sherry’s narratives show urgency and her use of the cliff-hanger device makes each story seem of vital importance, creating suspense and keen anticipation in her reader.  Her moral fable: Nemesis House, about a couple who lust after a bigger and better home, only to be gazumped in a very public and humiliating way, could be seen to be a tale for our times.  Other vignettes with an ethical point included Role Reversal, the sad account of a man whose wife never cooked and who failed to be on the short list in a cookery competition.  Less successful was the rather didactic portrayal of the ageing masseuse who failed to attract a television cameraman.  It seemed a trifle far-fetched and somewhat untrue to life.  If Sherry is prepared to murder her darlings, so to speak, and to write what she knows, from her own experience, then we will perhaps have a future Man Booker winner to add to our alumnae.

D F-S

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My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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