Sunday, 15 January 2012

Field Study's Man in E17 wallows in rotten tomatoes

I apologize to Technomist for splodging on the sidewalks of his (and the) magnificent opus that is, The Archipelago of Truth. My crass and offending poop of a comment can be found here. In future I shall refrain from attention seeking field trips into his eminently more worthy territory, and keep my thoughts to myself, strictly within the bounds of Lost and Found in E17 for the delectation of my dedicated following of Russian spam sites.

It was amiss of me to make light of suicide and to do so on another's site - supposedly hurling myself in despair (at the failure of Tesco Leyton to provide the lowest priced value chopped tomatoes) from a bridge over the A406 North Circular Road. Not funny. Haven't I got anything better to do?

Of course the misdemeanour is not my fault. I am a victim of the indoctrinating forces of Hollywood and in particular I blame the Coen Brothers and Sam Raimi, for planting the seed of a rotten tomato of a joke in me. What I consider to be the offending seed is the opening scene of, The Hudsucker Proxy - a youtube clip of which can be found here - although I strongly recommend you do not click on that link; I might be deported.

It was Waring Hudsucker's board meeting and fall which inveigled its way into my mind as I read Technomist's 'Tinned Tomatoes of Doom' and listened to radio reports of Tesco's difficulties over the Christmas period. The "....... in short, we're loaded - ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha " vignette sets the tone of how I have imagined the board meetings of major supermarkets. I am one, in the great throng of 'plebs', who patronizes Tesco and make it the loaded force it is - a personal choice at odds with some of my other local affiliations. Allegations of duplicity and hypocriticism are justly made. In my defence I do grow and source and sauce tomatoes locally although this year a particularly nasty bout of blight set in to test what are obviously flimsily held beliefs.  

Quite how the mood was in the Tesco boardroom as its share price dropped is a matter of speculation and one can only speculate further about the possible boardroom guffaw turning to the splutter of entirely disgusting (in my mouth) value instant coffee (even executives are making sacrifices in these straightened times) as news was released of the unfortunately timed sale of shares. Technomist has updated his post with Daily Mail flavoured reports on this matter.

How is it I have returned from the North Circular? As it didn't happen I plunged into a truck loaded with stocks of untinned tomatoes - all of which were rotten - throwing myself at the stocks! How ironic? How corny, except that's a different foodstuff and a very different loaded food issue. I narrowly escaped being tinned and was so eager to share my stuff of shameless tomato triviality I took no notice of which brand saved me. Thanks to Technomist for his ardent tomato which-finding work.

Haven't I got anything better to do? I have been visiting and documenting public art works about town. Here are some details from the Book of Manors on the staircase of Walthamstow Central Library. Always willing to confuse art and real life I will adopt the guise of this peasant and make my way to the allotment while there is still daylight.



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  2. Thanks to you Technomist for visiting. I am reading Electric Eden - Unearthing Britain's Visionary Music (Rob Young). In the chapter, The Island Spell RY gives an account of composer Arnold Bax - including Bax's connection to William Morris, immersion in Irish folklore and poetry (especially W B Yeats) and romantic fixations. According to Young, the faeries (or Fair Folk) will need something, a sacrifice may be, to pacify them. What would pacify the Tomato Faery?

    Bax was recorded at Walthamstow Assembly Hall by the London Philarmonic Orchestra

    Sticking with the wisdom and beautiful untruths of the Emerald Isle, Oscar (Fingall O'Flahertie Wills) Wilde wrote a defintion of a cynic is 'a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing' - a witticism I often direct at myself.