As I walked out today I spotted this handsome beast. So I shot it. The shadow of the Street Lamp looks like a saddle does it not.
The shadow in the foreground is probably me dressed as a Klu Klux Klan photographer.
Sitting stoned staring blankly at yet another shrine I have put together for dead friends. This one is dedicated to Sebastian Horsley. He wasn't everybody's cup of tea, nor would he have wanted to be. Even at his very worst he was far more refreshing to behold than a bag of dried leaves in hot water. One afternoon he crept up the stairs in Meard Street Soho, knocked on my door and gave me this lion's skull as it did not interest him.
The label might imply that this is a tin that likes to lunch. I was so confused by its simplicity l bought it.
“I have no idea what's in this tin. I think it's bits of a pig and stuff from a chemistry lab … or something” – Hoxton Blue-Mental
I hope at a later date to let you know how this lunch went, or came.
Actually, I am pretty sure I won't.
I owe a lot to Viv Stanshall and the Bonzo Boys, everybody should, and they might owe me a few quid too. Anyway, I had the good fortune to encounter Mr Sam Spoons (Greatest Living Spoonist member of a Dadaistic Musical Entertainment Group of the 20th Century), very briefly after a Bonzo gig in Rye and I forced him, against his better judgement, to sign his name in permanent marker on the back of my jacket. I present to you thus the embroidered result. Nice writing Mr S. Spoons Nice embroidery The Mrs.