Fluffety fluff fluff
So, after our uncharacteristic booze discussion in St Andrews, Twisty Headed Man, my uncollaborative artist chum, and I have chewed over a few things and are now recovering from some very complicated cocktails with strawberries and ice-cream.
I have been asked for a post specifically on Scotland and Brexit, so you may get a bonus one shortly, although I think I have covered my initial responses to the problems popping up in the news so far. Those who want a nice concise thousand words or so may wish to tune in later.
The first email asking whether poor Boris is my new muse has arrived. Twisty and I, since we were sitting in a restaurant which had papered its walls with Boris pics, surrounded by English visitors to St Andrews who all appeared to be big fans of his, tentatively discussed this last night.
My objections to this obvious and worthy development are as follows:
Do not mess with the foreign secretary. The Secret Service can be really quite annoying. (long story)
Boris is very married, and my methods can be a bit intrusive should the recipient choose to allow it.
Boris does not particularly require dissecting.
The balance is not right in terms of benefitting both parties.
There are far more relevant artists out there doing much the same thing.
In my case, the process is quite holistic and emotional, and so I do not think this would be a good idea. Whilst I can see that the ‘strange hair, sane head’ thing fits with my modus operandi, I do not think that copious public speaking and quirkiness is necessarily the entry requirements, although from an intrinsic self-acceptance perspective, this could work out really well for me.
I do not do my thing entirely for me, however. Somebody else can explain that one to poor old Wolfe.
Anyway, there is at least a year before I have to make a decision. In the meantime, I think we are looking at someone who does a lot of talking, by the looks of things.