gashead.net Brain Experiments

Winter in East Ardsley always seems to bring down a mist around 7pm. Here are some shots.

East-Ardsley-Lam...

East-Ardsley-Lam...

East-Ardsley-Lam...

Off we went to Spain to see a gig. We went to A Curuna in Galicia, a region not known for its beautiful people, at least not by me. As usual, however, I feel in love in a very real way for the very first time. I took a poor photograph. I didn't get her name.
 

Travelling around the world as I'm won't to do - well, Paris next month, Russia later in the year followed by Bali, jokes just make themselves.

Try this kids meal idea from a restaurant in Aachen in Germany. First thing in the morning following a sweaty gig in the town, we stumbled upon an American style diner that served a passable breakfast.

Random selection of places I've taken pictures of.

Church 1

Right, and I mean that in several ways, it seems that Pauline Hanson has decided to leave Queensland and move to the United Kingdom.

"G'day Mick, thought you'd like these," JC Devlin felt guilty about leaving "old" Mick Pool in Farnborough, at the end of the earth.

He'd realised this ever since his trip to the State capital where he was presented with his cheque for the lottery win.

"Yeah, looks good", Mick wasn't the most forthcoming of blokes and didn't have much time for mobile phones or hi-t

The dour cloisters of Rimmington Hall rang with excitement. Cleaning, dusting, painting, polishing, rejuvenating were the orders for the day; the young master was coming home. For the first time in four years the curtains were not drawn, the fires were alight and the sound of music - in the form of off-key humming could be heard int the anterooms and backstairs.

Chapter 1
This is what it was like before I was born. Before I asked you what death was like and before you showed me.

Chapter 2
I’d never seen the image of a dead man - a corpse picture – let alone the real thing. Back then, I’d never seen a cold morning without breakfast or hope of supper. I hadn’t seen a very great number of things, although I hoped to.

The thing about expensive wine, by which I mean wine that costs more than $200 a bottle, is that I can’t imagine anybody slooshing its dregs down the sink at the end of an evening.

To my mind, $210 worth of Château De Plume du Plom at the bottom of a glass heading for the waste disposal of a stainless steel kitchen sink is an image of sadness.

So, what about Melbourne or some small village in Vietnam where the brutality is glazed over with warm spirituality and the illusion that the real world occurs in the in the other side of the planet?

Utter and obvious rubbish, of course, but this is the nature of the story.