Good old Bill

"It's pink enough!" Dad commented, as he walked into Sophie's new look room early on Saturday afternoon.
The second bedroom is currently being decorated and made fit for baby Sophie’s move from the moses basket in our bedroom in approximately a month’s time so last Thursday the carpet fitters were in. Arriving half an hour early, the carpet fitter, a friendly, bearded chap by the name of Caffrey, and his rather more impatient workmate, arrived in their beat up estate, nodding their greetings and obviously eager to get on.
The carpet men followed me up the stairs, climbing the steps behind me with their toolboxes, bags and the large folded carpet we'd picked for Sophie's room the week before in the local carpet store where we had chosen possibly the brightest, most vibrant, dark pink we could find. The kind of pink that makes you blink to adjust your vision. A pink that slaps you across the face upon first glance.
Just as I neared the top of the stairs I remembered Ka was currently lounging in the bath but with the bathroom door lying wide open for all the hallway to see. Rushing the last few steps I leaped, ignoring Ka's questioning frown in the mirror on the opposite wall, and swung the door closed just as the first carpet fitter turned the corner from the stairs on to the landing. The guys got straight to work, unfortunately leaving the bedroom door wide open, confining Ka to the bathroom, unless she fancied making a run for it across the hall in her towel, through the temporarily gathered nursery furniture, avoiding the piles of jagged carpet tack strips.
After some initial hammering and cutting the carpet fitters informed me they'd have to remove the doors from the room's in built wardrobe as they were too close to the floor and would require planing as they would not easily open over the room's new carpet and underlay.
Underlay. Something sorely lacking in the Reid household. Since purchasing we have sussed that there is no underlay whatsoever throughout the entire house. Before selling the owners kitted the whole abode out but only with a thin, cheap, pale brown carpet through which your feet can feel every floorboard. There's not a room in the house that doesn't have at least one creak, crack or complaint from the boards underneath as you walk over it.
After a mere forty minutes or so, during which Ka did manage to escape the bathroom at some point, the carpet fitters took their money packed up their tools and strips of pointed tacks and were off to their next stop somewhere in the Clyde tower, one of EK’s lovely tower blocks, leaving Ka and myself to admire their workmanship.
A floor or pure, luxurious dark pink met our feet as we stepped into Sophie's room. In fact, along with the underlay, walking on Sophie's new deep pink carpet was a veritable bouncy castle compared to the flooring anywhere else in the house. We spent more than five minutes simply walking around Sophie's room, just for the novelty of walking over such a soft, comfortable floor. No boards creaked, none dipped underfoot, none sprung up at the other end of the room when you stepped on it's opposite end.
It was great.
But Ka, being Ka, wanted the furniture back in Sophie's room immediately, so my ongoing, aimless, carpet wandering had to be cut short as there was work to be done. The furniture that my Dad and I had easily lifted out from the room the previous evening and shifted into the study and hallway had to be moved back in, but only with my own strength and Ka's help.
Mamas and Papas furniture may look small and cute for a nursery but it ain't light. It's chunky stuff, made from solid pine and not easy to lift on your own, especially when it's still full of vests, outfits, jackets, snow suits, bibs, my mum's knitted cardigans, tiny shoes and elmo slippers. Ka and myself ended up on our knees, maneuvering it back into the room slowly, lifting each end off the floor by only a couple of inches, to get it through the door, before stepping it into position once inside the large square room.
After some grunting and a bit of shunting all the white furniture was back in it's rightful place with the exception of one thing. Or rather two things. The old wardrobe doors lay against the wall, looking, decidedly sorry for themselves. One of them was looking especially dodgy after being taken down from the wardrobe frame, it's back panel shaking at one end, paint cracking and peeling from it's joints. These doors needed more than a plane, I thought, they needed a skip.
So when Saturday came around my Dad and I took a trip to Cornes, the local DIY shop whilst Ka and Sophie took a trip to the shops. At Cornes Dad and I enquired about the best ways to get some new wardrobe doors. We spoke to Bill, obviously one of the shop’s elder statesmen, but who turned out to be a great help. As I told him about my wardrobe he stood and listened, scratching his bearded chin thoughtfully, sometimes hinting for me to repeat myself for the hearing aid perched behind his right ear, and suggested we get back up the road and measure the wardrobe frame properly. At first I nodded and thought I’d get on with my day, confident I’d get round to it at some point only to find Dad driving us back home to get the correct measurements. After another drive back down to the DIY store we approached old Bill again who looked over my hastily written measurements through his thick lenses. Bill nodded, humming a little and made a few suggestions, we decided it was probably better all round to buy a normal six panel interior door and cut it up the middle. The idea sounded a bit dodgy to me but before I knew it Dad had nodded and told me to get on with it.
Bill disappeared out into the store’s back shop and sauntered back within 5 minutes with a successfully halved door. He had already slotted a block of wood into fill each of the now open wounds on both halves of the door and together with nails, hinges and glue my Dad and I left Cornes with a new job to do as Bill told his boss, Mr Cornes, he was heading out for lunch, perhaps believing that would be the last he'd see of us.
Once home we set up a temporary workshop in the kitchen, using the old foldaway dining table covered with my painting sheet as a work bench. We glued each of the wooden blocks into each of the door’s sides, reinforcing them with a small tack, headed up the stairs with each and found that neither would fit the height of the wardrobe frame and even if they had there was to be approximately an inch of space between the doors. So off we went back to Cornes, and approached old Bill again, now back from his lunch, but a little uncertain looking, as if he couldn't quite remember us. He took the two doors back off us and disappeared into the back shop again to lose an inch off their height. Within moments he was back out again with the newly shortened doors and helped pick out some strips of wood for us to run up the inside of the wardrobe frame in order to reduce it's width. Before too long we were on our way back home again.
On getting home, for the third time, we fastened the wood to the frame and sized the doors up within. We then fitted the hinges on to the doors, after a quick telephone call of help to the Cornes store again in which we spoke to the shop owner, presumably Mr Cornes, after finding ourselves uncertain as to how to fit the hinges. We then carried them upstairs and screwed the first, left door, into the slightly modified wardrobe frame only to find it would not open smoothly. We’d put the hinges on the wrong way around. Mr Cornes was wrong with his advice. We’d have been better talking to old Bill. So we took all the hinges off the doors and refastened them the other way around. Fortunately this seemed to work. Just.
After screwing the doors into place we found that the doors would not shut, unless opened and closed together, so one of them, or maybe both, still needs a little planning in order to close one after the other but it’s only a minor fault. Dad and myself finished up at around quarter past five, just in time for me to head down to the town centre and retrieve the wife and daughter from the shops.
Dad visited with Mum and Lynsey Ann for lunch on Easter Sunday, bringing his drill with him to enable us to provide the doors with their finishing touch. Their knobs.
So after a couple of wraps, a few cups of tea and a few light choice hot cross buns we drilled two holes on each door and fitted the two silver doorknobs before closing each door over with a smug satisfaction. A satisfaction that was slightly marred by the fact that each of the two silver door knobs were different sizes. According to the back of their packets there was a half inch difference, apparently. Again, another minor quibble and one that can be easily rectified...eventually. The wardrobe now looks far better than it had done before. The pessimist in me would have never thought the job could have looked so good in the end, though I doubt me or Dad will be changing our professions any time soon.
So thanks to the carpet fitters, old Bill in Cornes, and Dad, Sophie now has the best looking room in the house, and the most silent. All it needs now is for me to get to work with the gloss paint on the wardrobe and a new, correctly sized, silver doorknob.
That’ll mean another trip to Cornes. Hopefully I’ll manage without old Bill for that visit!

Weapons of choice

Just about finished Al Pacino this weekend. Ka hit the shops yesterday with Claire and Olivia leaving me in the flat to my own devices. The devices in question being my easel, acrylics and paintbrushes in an attempt to finish the Pacino portrait I have been working on, on and off, for over three months. Thankfully, it’s just about finished now.
It’s not bad for a first attempt anyway.
Even though Mum thought it was Bob Marley.
Mum and Dad popped in for a cuppa last Saturday afternoon and after a few minutes pondering the portrait before them in quiet contemplation, they eventually started muttering some compliments, being careful not to say what was obviously on the tip of their tongues.
“Who’s that supposed to be?” being the main phrase that springs to mind. I could tell the two of them were struggling to contain the words escaping from within their mouths as I stood back before going into the kitchen to switch the kettle on. Hopefully a cup of tea would enlighten them.
Yesterday I gave the portrait it’s finishing touches – hopefully. Though I’m sure I could fuss over it for a little longer if given the chance. Like a mechanic with a prize car in the garage, I’ll probably go back to it and tinker at small niggly bits now and again.
I’ve still to give my Christopher Walken portrait it’s finishing touches also, something I also meant to get round to yesterday.

Another portrait I started more than a few months ago, long before Rowland Rivron even considered the idea of defiling the great man’s brilliant dance routine which accompanied Fatboy Slim’s fantastic ‘Weapon of Choice’ (It is for the Sport Relief charity though so I suppose we should let him off). Just as I was about to pull the portrait out from under the dust covers I was interrupted by an unexpected phonecall from Oz.
Ka picked up the phone, not long after returning from the shops, expecting the monotonous tones of a computerised female ‘Important message’ or the slightly over friendly tones of a 3 salesman, (3 have suddenly been calling trying to sell us mobile phones repeatedly for the past few weeks) but was surprised to hear the unexpected tones of my happy brother calling from the other side of the world.
It was 10 past 3 at night over there which meant it was now the 18th of March on their side of the world. Kenny had hit the grand old age of 29 and was now on his way home to his hostel after a celebratory few drinks in the pub. Tequilas being the drink of the day apparently. Kenny’s in Sydney now and once more enjoying the Australian city life after a few weeks on the quiet Gold Coast.
He sounded high spirited (in more ways than one) but keen to get on and find a job whilst in the big city although he wasn’t particularly enamoured by my own job situation.
S&UN Prepress is being moved to the Glasgow offices on the Clydeside but unfortunately for Dave and myself there is only one Studio job. We were each given the dreaded brown envelopes on Monday so it’s either apply for the one post or take the money offered. It wasn’t a great start to the week really but hey, life goes on.
Recently I’ve been helping with the organisation of a ‘Charity Hat Disco Night’, a brainchild of DJ William Rae. On the 26th May, DJ William Rae will be hosting a disco night in the upstairs lounge of The Salmon Leap at which all who attend must wear a hat, the best of which will win a prize! Raffles, rock ‘n’ roll bingo and games will all be interspersed within the music and all proceeds are going towards Sands (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society) and Cancer Research UK. At the moment we’re fishing around for some raffle prizes and myself, William, Ka and Jane (DJ William’s better half) are all selling tickets which are going like hot cakes so if anyone out there is interested in attending please see here or contact me at mike@reidnet.org.uk.
I’m not sure which hat to go for on the night. I have a rather battered looking trilby sun hat from Ibiza which I could wear but I don’t think that’ll win me any prizes.
Ka suggested I wear my Boba Fett helmet but I pointed out to her, as the title suggests, it is a helmet, and I’d probably find myself getting disqualified if I wore that particular piece of headgear. Still, it would be a laugh to see a shirted Boba Fett throwing some shapes in the middle of Calderwood’s Salmon Leap.
After DJ William’s best hat disco the following crazy party idea came from Jillian who hits the big 3-0 in September.

Obviously inspired by the recent trip to the flicks to see the new Muppet movie, Jillian thought it’d be a great idea for everyone who attends her birthday party to go as their favourite Muppet. Ironically enough, the party is to be held in the Kirkintilloch Rangers Supporters Club. I’m not sure if that’ll go down well with the regulars to be honest. I suppose I could always play it safe and go as the Cookie Monster.

Nicholson's chin and the supermarket tannoy

“Customer attention please. Customer attention. Could a Kelly Ann Reid please come to the checkouts please. A Kelly Ann Reid, please come to the checkouts. Thank you”.
The voice reverberated around the aisles of Stewartfield Morrisons today after I failed to find her within the bowels of the busy supermarket on this rainy Saturday afternoon. We were in search of Christening wrapping paper and stopped of at the local Morrisons. I dropped Ka off at the store’s large, pillared front doors and swerved off to the adjoining petrol station to obtain some more ridiculously expensive unleaded while she popped in for the paper. After buying the petrol I drove back to the pickup point, knowing that the paper/card buying area was at the store’s front newspaper checkout and believing that it wouldn’t have took too long for Ka to purchase the required gift wrapping while I bought the fuel.
As always with these things though, nothing is that simple.
The wife always finds a way to complicate things. Ka was nowhere to be seen. We both had no phone on our person so, the car had to be parked. After slotting the car into one of the carpark’s tight, awkward spaces, I started a whirlwind tour of the supermarket’s vast innards. Starting at the gift wrapping/birthday card/newspaper/lottery ticket checkout at trhe front of the store I then proceeded to the main checkouts where, again, Ka was nowhere to be found, so, there was nothing more that could be done, except the obvious. An exploration of the aisles. Fifteen minutes later she was still nowhere to be found.
So, I hesitantly approached what resembled a store manager at the help desk where the tannoy microphone stood waiting.
Ka eventually appeared, tottering up towards the checkout with a basket full of products, which we had not come in for, looking a little disconcerted and embarrassed. Apparently she had been at the fish when the tannoy announced her name. Needless to say a mild argument occurred where Ka voiced her disbelief and I repeatedly gave my argument for approaching the store manager and requesting an announcement for a missing wife.
It’s the end of a rather relaxing week off from work. It’s flown by even though I’ve not been up to anything particularly interesting. Just the usual. Gym, cinema, jogging and painting. Painting of the canvas kind.
I’m three quarters of the way through a Walken, just about finished a Nicholson and struggling a bit with a Pacino.
As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’ve started painting movie stars. Walken was the first and since then Ka, Pauline and Chaz have all eagerly spurred me on to paint more, so it’s thanks to them I spent the first half of the week struggling over Jack Nicholson’s chin and the bare bones of Al Pacino’s face. I thought Pacino would actually be a little easier than Nicholson, but how wrong I was. I feel like I’ve been painting and repainting the main structure of Pacino’s face for three days now. I’m sure it’ll get there in the end. Wherever, ‘there’ is.
On Wednesday, after a day of trying to get Pacino right, Pauline, my cousin’s ex wife, who just happens to be an old friend from Primary school and is now a good friend of the Mrs, popped round for a 5k jog around the block. Or rather, jog around a few blocks. Both the St. Leonards and Calderwood areas of EK to be precise.
It’s all in preperation for the Big Fun Run taking place on the 29th October. Ka is running it for Sands in memory of our wee Lucy Reid, as are myself, Pauline, our pal Claire, the in laws, Grace and Dougie, Ka’s bro Colin and his Mrs, Jillian and Ka’s sister, Angela along with, I imagine a great number of other folk. (I’ll take this opportunity to spur folk on to please sponsor the Mrs in her 5k endeavour. Please visit this site to sponsor – any amount of pence or pounds is gratefully accepted for this great cause!)
Pauline, who apparently does not run, was keen for a practise jog and managed the 5k easily in 35 minutes and, although we thought she’d be cursing us, she did insist that she still loved us. Well, most of her did anyway.
Apparently her lungs didn’t.
They’ll get over it.
Last night I was back in the O2 Academy for another visitation from The Wombats. Having recovered from her run the two nights before, Pauline accompanied me to the gig, after Ka took a rain check, and the two of us jumped away to the tunes undeterred by the amount of kids surrounding us in the crowd. The Liverpudlian threesome put on another storming performance for Glasgow, playing a lot of their most recent album, a lot of which I wasn’t familiar with yet. I purchased the album months ago and have listened to it about thrice. Don’t spend as much time listening to music as I used to.
Too busy painting, jogging or looking for the wife in supermarkets.

Guilty of a mug smashing

Woke up yesterday morning with a start (which is what mornings usually are). My mobile was blaring away, vibrating on the desk at the side of the bed, the familiar beat and twinkling background notes of ‘Once in a Lifetime’ interrupting my dream.
After a brief conversation with Ka and making sure her straighteners were off, for at least the fourth time this week, I stumbled into the shower in an effort to wake myself up. After drying and pulling on a shirt I stomped into the kitchen only to be faced with another of my own wonderful creations from the night before. Another leaning tower of dishes, left drying at the side of the sink. Ka hates me leaving the dishes drying overnight and the mighty piles of pots I balance precariously on top of one another. After a short huff I set to work and started prizing the pile of dishes, pots, mugs and cutlery apart from the intricately balanced structure they were leaning in. Unfortunately, even after my shower, I was obviously not fully awake.
An oven dish slipped.
A casserole dish toppled.
A plate fell forward.
A large glass and a mug at the side of the draining board, balanced on the edge of the sink, were hit.
I moved to rescue them but missed the escaping tumblers. They spun, fell and hit the laminate floor below, smashing into a hundred tiny glistening pieces around my bare feet. The mug broke in half and only the base of the glass remained intact, complete with a large triangular, jagged shard, pointed threateningly up at me. Rolling my eyes, I got the brush and pan out from under the sink. After what seemed like ages, sweeping the smooth laminate floor in my bare feet, dodging around the hundreds of glass pieces dotting the floor, I finally finished and put the pan away and started making a now rushed breakfast. As I moved around the kitchen, flicking switches, punching down toasters and pouring cereal, glass occasionally nipped at the soles of my feet.
I’d tried to tidy the floor of all the glass with the brush but there were still small shreds lurking over the smooth floor. You couldn’t see them, and only barely feel them if you ran your hands over the deck, but they continued to nip at my feet.
The situation seemed to express perfectly how I have been feeling mentally for at least the past few months. No matter how much you try and tidy things up, tidy away, there’s always something there to remind you, no matter how small or seemingly invisible.
It was the second glass I’d smashed in a week and the second mug in a month. Yesterday’s mug was my ‘Ring For Service’ mug, a mug I had received as a present from former work colleagues down in Solihull. Natalie and Hannah had bought me it as a joke, insinuating my glorified tea boy status at the time. At least I think that was the joke? I certainly don’t think they were alluding to any other rings…
In that job I carried out my role as glorified teaboy brilliantly, until the two girls were made ‘redundant’ and I became the company’s General Dogsbody. As it happened I also carried that role out rather brilliantly until I left in 2004 to come back up to Scotland.

The first smashed mug of the month was my Homer mug. One of my favourites which Ka had bought me on one of our first Christmases together. A picture of Homer Simpson adorned the mug’s side, his head x-rayed to see his brain split up into sections, which included, ‘Sleep’, ‘Doughnuts’, ‘Sex’, ‘TV’, ‘Sweet, sweet beer’ etc. along with the caption: “Genius at work”.
Since I am a genius (if only in my own mind) I’d taken the mug into work to use for my teabreaks. Unfortunately, using her Studio Supervisor perks, Andrea had been getting her hot water delivered to her desk to her from the kitchen boiler tap, and one day asked me to fetch her hot water. Andrea passed her mug to me making my own slip from my hand and crack off the floor. As the Homer mug lay there, in bits over the floor, I looked up at Andrea as she burst out laughing. It felt like that moment in ‘Back to the Future’ when Biff had George McFly’s hand up his back. George’s fist forming slowly, pulling back at his side to the tune of Biff’s laughing, gearing up for the expertly delivery sucker punch.
Thankfully, I let it pass.
Andrea continued to laugh and I sighed out heavily, giving an expert fake smile as I picked the mug shards up off the floor. I’ll never forgive Andrea for that.
The love of my life, Ka, has even been guilty of a mug smashing. A more ‘Karate Kid’ flavoured one. Mum and Dad bought Kenny and myself Star Wars mugs, many moons ago. One had Luke Skywalker on the side, the other Boba Fett. Needless to say I demanded the Boba Fett mug and enjoyed many a cup of tea from it, up until a few years back when Ka decided, after watching some telly, to swing her legs off the arm of the sofa and successfully kick my Boba Fett mug, which had been minding it’s own business on the coffee table, across the living room. Half a cup of tea and a mug handle suffered as a result. The handleless Boba Fett mug now holds my paint brushes. As a protest and a heavy hint for a replacement, I didn’t throw it out. I know how not throwing stuff out really annoys Ka, but, for some reason, she allows me to use it as a paintbrush holder (it would also be a great breadstick holder). It must be the guilt. She’s still not bought me a new one.
It’s only stuff at the end of the day though. Mugs, glasses. Whatever.
Why am I sitting writing about mugs? I’m not sure. Because I’m sad? Stupid? Possibly. It’s just the way this blog has flowed I suppose, like tea that’s not had enough brewing time.
The other morning I was asked what was wrong with my mug? Being only half awake at the time, I asked, “what one?”

Headaches and children

Another weekend almost over! They whizz by like a chettah on heelys. Wish they wouldn't do that as it always makes us smack into the brick wall of another Monday morning. A bit of a quiet one again this weekend with more painting yesterday afternoon and then a movie last night. Chaz appeared at the door at around half eight with two carriers full of crisps, chocolate and corona and joined Ka and myself in watching the brilliant 'Training Day'. This movie I've been meaning to watch for at least two years and with Ka and Chaz settled down to watch. Denzel Washington was indeed great in it and deserved the oscar he received for the role afterwards. Conversations ranged from Costco, Corona's need for a good bit of lime, the Wispa bar to relationships (that old chestnut!) and redundancies.
This morning I awoke to a neighbour piling some empty glass bottles into the bottle bin downstairs, each clatter and smash echoing through the close up through our letterbox, down our hallway, in to the bedroom and directly into my right ear, through a slightly diverted route in the channels of my brain and out my left ear, continuing from then to the nearest wall and bouncing back off the brick, making a disasterous u-turn hurling back towards my right ear again. Trying to ignore the signs lighting up in my head telling me it was time to get up I did manage to go back to sleep until Ka woke me with a glass of orange juice. My head was aching and I had not thought I'd had that much to drink last night. In fact I know I hadn't. Six bottles of beer. That was it. Is that what it takes to gain a hangover these days? That's got to be a sign of getting old. Forcing myself up though I went straight to the gym and forced the alcoholic blues straight out of me and after an hours workout, a quick swim and a short time in the sauna, felt brand new again. I say quick swim because everytime we go to the pool on a sunday, for some demented reason, we end up going in when it's 'family time'. Yes, family time in the pool is when young kids flock in with their mums, dads, grandparents or all of them, to jump about on giant planks of polystyrene that the kids themselves only take up a fraction of space on. They glide these straight across the surface of the blue water, giggling and laughing whilst aiming straight for the side of your head. If it's not one of those butting into your body parts, or at least into your swimming path, your sure to get a ball or hoop of some description slung at you from the other side of the pool while the parents just jump about not giving a hoot. Sorry, I didn't realise I was really intended in life to be part some kind of aquatic fairground attraction. I'm half expecting a loud alarm to go off and Derek the lifeguard to come out from his viewing point with a stupidly large cuddly toy the next time a plastic beach ball bounces off my head.
Talking of fairground attractions Ka was driving today. Only kidding. Ka is a great driver, not at all like a dodgem... or a roller coaster. It is amazing how many a**e's you get up your rear bumper whenever they twig there's a learner infront of them though. You'd think a learner plate is a license to distress and agitate the attached vehicle for some drivers out there. This, understandably, stresses Ka out a little but not only do they put the rear end of my new car at risk but they also put their own car at risk, not to mention the other drivers behind them. Ignoring that though, Ka will undoubtedly be passing her test shortly.
We were dropping a painting off to Angela and Steven's today. A belated engagement present/early wedding gift. The grey rose seen here. We then went home to EK only to find the same Angela and Steven, with Morgan, in EK Sainsburys, suspiciously close to the alcohol aisle. After meeting our pal Martin, who is currently a security guard in the supermarket, and getting an update on the pregnant Claire, I managed to get myself a bottle of Jack Daniels for £13. I'll call it an early Christmas present to myself. Unfortunately there was a slight casualty in the trip as Morgan managed to fall flat on her face after I, yes me, told her to go and get her mum after she had spied her near the checkouts. She broke into a run on my words and ended up sliding down the floor of the CD aisle head first. She got up from the floor screaming and shooting blood from her mouth after puncturing her top lip in the fall. Needless to say I felt very guilty and will do for the rest of my mortal life no doubt. Hope your lip gets better Morgan. Martin told me determinedly that I would not be babysitting his child when it arrives. I nodded in agreement.

Black and blues

A blue rose this time. Today I've spent the day painting. A new rose, this time in blues and blacks. It's going quite well and now has all the basic layers in place and in colour. It is another rose but the way I see it, every rose I have done in the past year or so has been an original in itself. Although the basic form is the same they all contain different shades, shapes and tones. Last week I completed another, very different, painting entitled 'Angel or demon'. A female angel but with a fiery elemental look about her which could give the idea of her form being a deception - the fiery look being at odds with the angelic image (like some women I've known!). I've yet to put it up on Reidnet's gallery.
Have been listening to Roisin Murphy's latest album whilst working. There are some great tracks on it including the brilliant discoesque You Know Me Better. Great to jive to around an easel!

Going grey

Finished another rose painting this weekend. 'A grey rose'. Thought I'd try some grey tones this time with good old black and white. Quite tricky to duplicate a grey colour if you run out of it on the palette. The canvas had been lying about the flat half completed so I took the opportunity yesterday to get on with it and finish it off although I did keep allowing myself too many breaks to watch the swimming at the Olympics. Good to see Great Britain get a gold today at the cycling on the women's road race thanks to Nicole Cooke from Wales. Well done to her!

Photo update

New photos on REIDNET.
Have now updated the photos pages with stuff from April through to present, including KA and my birthdays, our trip to Dublin and Gran's 80th birthday bash. As I didn't take a massive amount of pics on the day Uncle Tommy has contributed his pics to the album. Thanks for that Tommy!
Have also updated the gallery pages with my latest paintings.
Back to work now.
Come on Lee! That's what I'm talking about!

Birthdays and Bruce

Friday once again.
Busy weekend ahead with various birthdays and gatherings going on not to mention any painting I can squeeze in. Almost finished the chrysanthemum and have started on the backgrounds of a few new canvases so plenty to keep me going. Looking forward to doing more character pieces like 'The Tortured Man' and 'The Conversation' and having a break from flowers. They are great to do but I'm looking forward to telling a story again with a painting.
I can't believe it's june tomorrow?! Halfway through the year.
Gran Reid is 80 this weekend so best wishes to her on her special birthday. I'm sure we'll all have a great time on Sunday to celebrate. The family is gathering in a local hotel for sunday lunch. Very fancy.
Happy Birthdays also go to Chaz aka Charlie boy! He hits the grand old age of 30 today following Colin who also hit the milestone last weekend. My two buddies ever since the first day of school and hopefully for the next thirty years! Colin was in Dublin seeing Bruce Springsteen for his birthday whom Mum, Dad, Tom and Linda were also seeing on Wednesday in Manchester. Mum summed it up in one word...I think is was tremendous. A few years back I seen Bruce in Crystal Palace in London. He was tremendous there also. I was never particularly into his music until I seen him live. The energy and sheer enthusiasm he has for the live show is brilliant. I hope I get the chance to catch him live again.
A belated Happy Birthday should also go to my Dad who also had his birthday last weekend but was away sunning himself somewhere in Spain at the time... alright for some.

A couple of pints

A week off.

On holiday from work last week so had time to chill, watch a few movies, enjoy the sunshine, do some painting and hit the town and have a couple of pints. As we arrived in Glasgow's town centre at half nine on Wednesday night the pubs had been emptying with many a drunk, disappointed looking person. No violent scenes fortunately unlike the horrible films we seen on the news the next day from Manchester. What a bloody disaster... makes you ashamed to be Scottish. Anyway, Glasgow thankfully had none of that and we ended up in Bunker which is a cool bar on Bath Street with cool music. Cool all over really. Woke up on Thursday feeling a bit rough mind you. Maybe indulged in too many cheap vodkas. The movies I watched over the week were pretty mediocre all over really - "The Cottage", a vaguely amusing brit-comedy horror probably better watched with a

 couple of pints, "Black Sheep", an vaguely entertaining gorey horror, again probably better with a couple of pints, 'Shrooms', yet another horror about teens getting lost in a forest type location and slowly getting killed off in horribly horrible ways, and 'The Nines' a weird mystery centering on a guy with a supposed personality crisis. Again probably better with a couple of pints.

Here's the latest painting so far:

Have been working on this since this last shot was taken so it has improved, honest! Then again, looking at this after a couple of pints...