I forgot, two of my giants were spotted last month... John Berger writes for this quarter's Drawbridge and I spied a Nazim Hikmet poster in a scene from The Edge Of Heaven (good film, by the way) - plastered on the bedroom door of a young female 'terrorist'.
Once I was overtaken by geometry: a golden compass lying in a silver box that had cutting edges and sliced through my finger -- if you had to choose would you be the centre or the foot of the compass?
-- the short foot harnessed to a dainty pencil with nothing to do all day but describe describe the perfect circle and meet your origins foot to foot on a highway narrow enough to contain you only or would you rather pierce what you touch putting out who knows what eyes of light sharp deep stay-at-home as balance, reference for the wandering -- no, rather the successfully striding -- foot?
But if you are a compass have you really a choice? Are you not wholly -- stay-at-home and traveller -- It? I think I'd rather be the wide-open measured mouth of the radius tasting every drop of distance.
Over Friday drinks at the office, I found myself in the unwelcome position of explaining what modern art is. One person was telling the others about the Martin Creed exhibition I brought her to years ago. She had thought it was weird and has not forgiven me since.
"A roomful of pink balloons," K described to the rest. "The noise was deafening because the balloons kept popping!"
Everyone looked at me and J complained, "Where's the art in that?"
"Well," I began. "For a start, the balloons were filled with half the volume of the gallery space itself."
This 'punchline' only drew blank faces.
"Don't you remember being a kid playing in those playpens filled with multi-coloured balls, and how fun that was?" I asked everyone at the table.
J, who is a harried mother, responded, "The only thing I've thought of when I see those things is how unhygienic they are and I want my kids to stay away from them."