Can you believe this sticky, Lidl situation?

In writing this, I am apologizing to everyone who was behind me in a recent Lidl queue when I was trying to buy a box of butter. You know, I actually like my local Lidl, it being yet free of those direful automated checkouts and their robot voices. Instead, I had the pleasure of a nice young gent serving me. All good, but when the nice young gent tried to run the 500g box of Olive ® spread past the barcode reader, the reader would not, well, read. ‘Afraid I can’t sell you this, Madam,’ he said, ‘the butter is not on the stock database.’ ‘Eh?’ The nice young gent then offered to run and fetch a box of Clover® or Utterly Butterly®? I jumped at the latter product. The nice young gent ran away and returned two minutes later with a box of Utterly Butterly® and – same result – the barcode reader would not acknowledge the product was in the store. The nice young gent ran away again to seek another product. By now, dark and mutinous mutterings were emanating from the checkout queue, and more than a few desertions happened. Advise me: what do you do when in a situation like this? Who do you apologise to and who – if anyone - is to blame? The store? The manufacturer? The shelf stacker? The bad luck fairies? Not the nice young gent certainly, who was doing his best for me. Sure, I could have paid for the remaining items and found my butter elsewhere, but I was anxious to witness the conclusion to the rather weird scenario. My nice young gent returned presently, this time with a selection of products. He ran a box of I can’t believe it’s not butter® past the reader and – presto! – a price flashed on the monitor. ‘I can’t believe it’s worked,’ I said. The nice young gent didn’t think it funny, either. Has anything like this happened to anyone else, anywhere, ever?

Rock of Ages

When I heard that Tracey Emin had been the other half in a nuptial ceremony, my first thought was oh, no, not another independent, intelligent woman intent on sacrificing herself upon Hymen's altar; but then I learned the truth. Ms Emin has pledged her troth to a rock in the garden of her home. This knowledge has modified my emotions somewhat. After all, what partner could be more perfect than one who is always there, in all weathers, strong, silent and dependable? According to Wikipedia: "a rock or stone is a naturally occurring solid aggregate of one or more minerals...granite is a combination of quartz, feldspar and biotite minerals." I doubt if Ms Emin has had the geological composition of her spouse analysed - but really, who else knows the exact constitution of their life's partner - and does it matter? Rocks are the children of the stars, born in a cosmic cataclysm and tempered into planets, thus establishing gravity and time. Aeons down the line, the mineral fallout from rocks became me, you and other animals. I resume quoting Wiki: "The minerals and metals found in rocks have been essential to human civilization." Quite; without rock formation, we would not have had the ores and oxides essential for the making of a myriad pigments, marble slabs for Michelangelo's sculptings, and countless other treasures. In summary, we have the geological world to thank for the entire trajectory of art history - what a metaphor for Ms Emin! We wish her and her steady partner every happiness.

Form following function - forget it.

A novel handbag perhaps, born of the jaded imagination of a designer who has tired of creating dress reticules in Italian leather, beads and embroidered silk? A computer with a built-in carry handle – like those old-fashioned transistor radios – designed for executives who can check their complexions in its shiny surface before dashing into meetings – or maybe it is a transistor? A novelty jewellery box with lights that flash every time it is open/shut? No; it’s a toaster, friends – a sandwich toaster, to be exact. Two generations ago, when designers decreed that form should follow function, such an appliance would have screamed its purpose, sitting squarely and proudly on a kitchen counter, and nudging fiercely any other electrical impostor that dared to try to make it redundant. Those days have flown. A quick trawl of the net reveals that all appliances have shed their edges, having been honed and trimmed into round-cornered chumminess – let’s all get along together, shall we? And so many appliances now resemble one another; no individual pride anymore, but a desire to look universally cute and cuddly, what with vacuum cleaners that look like human faces, and computers that resemble cosmetic purses, and cocktail shakers that double up as glow sticks. It could be down to the plastic surgery mentality, the idea that we must all hack and sculpt the protruding pieces of ourselves to try to resemble some notional ideal, extending to gadgetry. More likely, it is designers competing with one another to shoe-horn electronic circuitry into ever more improbable configurations. Fashions have a habit of growing tired, however, and I suspect that one day we will wake up to a whole new generation of rugged, unglamorous and unpretentious toasters, grinders, kettles – but not any time soon.

An orange floating in darkness....

Around 2.30 a.m., the first, tiny bit had vanished from the great Sky Cookie. The Monster continued nibbling at the Cookie, reducing it sector by sector. By 3 a.m., the greedy beast had transformed into a globe of deep orange, with a thin rind of lemon brilliance on one edge…ah! No wonder the ancients believed a lunar eclipse was a definitive portent: the night my son was born, the moon turned red… I didn’t wait to see it return to yellow normality; my warm bed beckoned and besides, I wanted to carry the memory of the celestial orange floating in a sea of eerie darkness, despite there being no cloud – else we wouldn’t have seen the eclipse – into my dreams…

Zaha and the Great Island

Last summer, I joined a crocodile of honest folk, queuing alongside the Olympic competition pool, awaiting the pleasure of jumping in and swimming to the Great Island. For those of you who haven’t seen it, the Great Island is an enormous, blue/yellow inflatable that dwells in the midst of the pool, a cross between a bungee jump and a Wipeout-style challenge. I plunged into the 10-foot pool, bobbed to the surface and swam to the island. I grasped the pull-handles and pulled, and pulled, and pulled… I had just about given up when I pulled me out of the water and onto the Great Island – but the challenge was just beginning. I cleared one hurdle, climbing a plastic mount and sliding down the other side – loved that bit – and that was it. The next challenge was to negotiate another obstacle by working sideways along it with the aid of yet more pull-handles – and there was no, but no way my floppy body was going to triumph. I plunged back into the water, said good-bye to the GI, and spent the rest of the session swimming up and down, up and down, as one does in a pool. Yet, it was an enjoyable experience, and leaving the Tom Daly-style flip dives to the kids did give me an opportunity to contemplate the architecture, and the sheer luxury of swimming in such a space. Congratulations to Zaha Hadid for winning the RIBA gold medal, and a parallel thanks for that marvellous building. I have been to the Aquatics Centre twice already and each time, excitement has filled me on approaching that soaring, inspiring building, and thrilling to its extraordinary shape. What matter if first-time visitors get confused when looking for the entrance? My bet is that the architect intended us to walk around and actually look at it – it’s hardly a hospital A&E department or a police station, after all. One thing is certain; an entire generation of young people in and near Stratford are unlikely to live as couch potatoes – and a number may even become architects.

The Great Kitstallation: pulling the plug on Kitten Art

On first sight, the mind – and eye - boggle. The expanse of fur and checked cloth teases the retina while the finer details come slowly into focus: the exquisite kitten eyes and perfect, pink noses, the authentic felt patches that define the delicately-erect ears. The upturned, adoring and adorable faces add emotional appeal to the piece, while the bright blue and purple baubles about the neck of Mommy Kitten are a touch of vibrancy – and genius – against the more naturalistic background. Like all exotic objets, it hails from a faraway land; Portugal, to be exact. Measuring 15 x 13 x 9 cm, it is small – but they do say that the best goods come in tiny packages. Constructed of cloth and fur, the minute particles of plastic are added for visual variation. But the real appeal of this kitstallation lies in a control box placed discreetly behind the left kitten. Pull the plastic plug from the box and immediately, a distinct caterwauling will greet the ears of the connoisseur, a jingle-jangle, howling-yowling designed to stimulate the senses – and pave the way towards insanity. Believe me, kitten art does not get better than this; it’s so naff, it’s wonderful.

Salad days: growing in judgment with Lidl's readymades

In these posts, I have expressed at least one desire to be Cleopatra; who wouldn’t want to bathe in asses’ milk – good for the skin, they say – walk upon rose petals and lie, wrapped in gold tissue, upon a purple and golden barge that floats down the Nile, while flutes play in time to the rhythm of silver oars? While I don’t fancy getting up close and personal with an asp, I have lately been becoming “green in judgement” with the Lidl range of salads. Baby Leaf and Rocket is what it says on the package, peppery rocket blended with mild, baby red leaves. Italian Salad is a blend of five leaves. Lollo Rosso is mild, with “robust flavour on red tips.” Red multileaf is “crunchy, light and mild in flavour.” Baby leaf spinach is soft to eat and has a delicate flavour, and lamb’s lettuce is tender, light and delicious. Apollo (what a name!) is a green “frilly” leaf that is mild in taste, while endive is crunchy and bitter. There you have it; two different salads, each one an orchestra of texture and flavour. All washed and ready to eat, and at around about a pound for 150g of leaf (five helpings in a pack), you won’t need a pharaoh’s ransom to get one of your five a day.