Jack Vettriano You Can't Come To This Party
Jack Vettriano Yesterday's DreamsJack Vettriano Working the Lounge
trust anyone who gives me money.'
Buddy glanced at the table. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that if something was wrong the guitar would do something ‑ play a discord, maybe. But it just purred gently to itself.
'Oh, all right. If it means I get to keep my teef, I'm all for it,' said Cliff.
'OK,' said Buddy.ever seen him before. An' . . . an' . . . well, you know trolls . . . could've been anyone. . .'
'One of them was definitely the Librarian from the University,' said Herbert 'Mr Harpsichord' Shuffle, the Guild's own librarian.
'We can leave him for now,' said Clete.'Great! Great! We can make beautiful music together! At least ‑you boys can, eh?'He pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. In Dibbler's eyes, the lion roared.Somewhere high in the Ramtops, Susan rode Binky over a cloudbank.'How could he talk like that?' she said. 'Play around with people's lives, and then talk about duty?'All the lights were on in the Musicians' Guild.A gin bottle played a tattoo on the edge of a glass. Then it rattled briefly on the desktop as Satchelmouth put it down.'Doesn't anyone know who the hells they are?' Mr Clete said, as Satchelmouth managed to grip the glass on the second try. 'Someone must know who they are!''Dunno about the boy,' said Satchelmouth. 'No‑one's
Friday, May 15, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Jack Vettriano Edith and the Kingpin
Jack Vettriano Edith and the KingpinJack Vettriano DriftersJack Vettriano Dressing to Kill
waiting,' said Susan meaningfully.
She clenched her fists.
IMP Y CELYN, she said.
The book And it was vitally important that she save him instead. She could feel the certainty like a ball‑bearing in her mind. It was absolutely imperative. She'd never met him up close, she'd not exchanged a word with him, he was just one person, but it was him she had to save.
Grandfather had said she shouldn't do that sort of thing. What did he know about anything? He'd never lived.
Blert Wheedown made guitars. It was quiet, satisfying work. It took him and Gibbsson, the apprentice, about five days to make a decent instrument, if the wood was available and properly seasoned. He was a conscientious man who'd devoted appeared in front of her. She just managed to catch it before it fluttered to the floor.'Thank you,' she said.She flicked through the pages of his life until she came to the last one, and stared. Then she hastily went back until she found, written neatly down, his death in the Drum. It was all there ‑ all untrue. He hadn't died. The book was lying. Or ‑ and this she knew was a far more accurate way of looking at it ‑ the book was true and reality was lying.What was more important was that from the moment of his death the book was writing music. Page after page had been covered with neat staves. While Susan watched, a clef drew itself in a series of careful loops.What did it want? Why should it save his life?
waiting,' said Susan meaningfully.
She clenched her fists.
IMP Y CELYN, she said.
The book And it was vitally important that she save him instead. She could feel the certainty like a ball‑bearing in her mind. It was absolutely imperative. She'd never met him up close, she'd not exchanged a word with him, he was just one person, but it was him she had to save.
Grandfather had said she shouldn't do that sort of thing. What did he know about anything? He'd never lived.
Blert Wheedown made guitars. It was quiet, satisfying work. It took him and Gibbsson, the apprentice, about five days to make a decent instrument, if the wood was available and properly seasoned. He was a conscientious man who'd devoted appeared in front of her. She just managed to catch it before it fluttered to the floor.'Thank you,' she said.She flicked through the pages of his life until she came to the last one, and stared. Then she hastily went back until she found, written neatly down, his death in the Drum. It was all there ‑ all untrue. He hadn't died. The book was lying. Or ‑ and this she knew was a far more accurate way of looking at it ‑ the book was true and reality was lying.What was more important was that from the moment of his death the book was writing music. Page after page had been covered with neat staves. While Susan watched, a clef drew itself in a series of careful loops.What did it want? Why should it save his life?
Monday, May 11, 2009
Lord Frederick Leighton Solitude
Lord Frederick Leighton SolitudeFrancois Boucher Venus Consoling LoveFrancois Boucher The Toilet of VenusGustav Klimt The Virgin
'Was I?'
'Yes.'
'Just thinking. My name . . . it's not right for this music, either.'
'What does it mean in real language?' said Glod.
'Well, all my family are y Celyns,' said Imp, ignoring the insult to an ancient tongue. 'It means "of the holllly ". That's allll that grows , it was very good, very . . . new,' he stared hard at Imp‑cum‑Buddy, 'but there's still something missing . . .'
The dwarf gave Buddy né Imp another penetrating stare.
'Do you know you're shaking all over?' he said. 'Moving around on your seat like you got a pant full of ant.'
'I can't help it,' said Buddy. He wanted to sleep, but a rhythm was bouncing around in Llamedos, you see. Everything else just rots.''I wasn't goin' to say,' said Cliff, 'but Imp sounds a bit like elf to me.''It just means "small shoot",' said Imp. 'You know. Like a bud.''Bud y Celyn?' said Glod. 'Buddy? Worse than Cliff, in my opinion.''I . . . think it sounds right,' said Imp.Glod shrugged, and pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket.'We've still got more'n four dollars,' he said. 'I know what we should do with it, too.'‘We should put it towards Guild membership,' said the new Buddy.Glod stared into the middle distance.'No,' he said. 'We haven't got the sound right. I mean
'Was I?'
'Yes.'
'Just thinking. My name . . . it's not right for this music, either.'
'What does it mean in real language?' said Glod.
'Well, all my family are y Celyns,' said Imp, ignoring the insult to an ancient tongue. 'It means "of the holllly ". That's allll that grows , it was very good, very . . . new,' he stared hard at Imp‑cum‑Buddy, 'but there's still something missing . . .'
The dwarf gave Buddy né Imp another penetrating stare.
'Do you know you're shaking all over?' he said. 'Moving around on your seat like you got a pant full of ant.'
'I can't help it,' said Buddy. He wanted to sleep, but a rhythm was bouncing around in Llamedos, you see. Everything else just rots.''I wasn't goin' to say,' said Cliff, 'but Imp sounds a bit like elf to me.''It just means "small shoot",' said Imp. 'You know. Like a bud.''Bud y Celyn?' said Glod. 'Buddy? Worse than Cliff, in my opinion.''I . . . think it sounds right,' said Imp.Glod shrugged, and pulled a handful of coins out of his pocket.'We've still got more'n four dollars,' he said. 'I know what we should do with it, too.'‘We should put it towards Guild membership,' said the new Buddy.Glod stared into the middle distance.'No,' he said. 'We haven't got the sound right. I mean
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