‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’
I was wrong. The hideous concrete sculpture I referred to in the post 'Silver Edges, Tenderly Inscribed' is not ‘proto-Modernist’. It would be better described as a form of poncey urban Brutalist.
When I discovered the sculptor was still alive, I wanted to send him an email telling him what I thought about his brand of concrete pollution. However, Surreal Girl talked me out of doing this. She is getting rather good at persuading me not to speak my mind the moment a thought crosses it.
A case in point tonight happened whilst eating in Sardo. I was in a good mood. Mai Tais at The Loop, a walk that took in window-shopping at the Animation Art Gallery and all the promise of a London night meant I was eating my Sardinian bread and olives and sampling a glass Cannonau with a huge smile on my face. That beam stayed until the New Labour apparatchik couple with the famous American media and political commentator in mother in tow started talking a little too loudly.
Within five minutes I had learnt how the Old Queen Street mob had a mole in Tory Central Office who had leaked them this week’s tax plans, who that mole was and how this all related to the media embargo on revealing the detail of the plans being broken. Then the mother started talking about how pleased she was she had really annoyed certain union leaders in a recent radio broadcast.
Arrogant New Labour staffers and media glitterati always rile me. I wanted to go over to their table and point out they might think they were incredibly clever, but just how smart was it to be bragging before checking you were not sitting next to someone who was not going to ring a contact at Central Office or who was not a journalist who could use their juicy little revelation? Especially as ‘Tory Traitor’ would look great in a headline…
Surreal Girl staid my impulse and made me promise not to say anything to them when we left – even though she also wanted to lean over and whisper: ‘Loose lips sink ships.’ Part of her logic was I did not need to casually make a powerful enemy of the famous American media and political commentator. I did try to explain that like John Lydon, when it comes to enemies, I have always started with the monarchy and worked my way down, but she just distracted me with talk of pudding.
When I discovered the sculptor was still alive, I wanted to send him an email telling him what I thought about his brand of concrete pollution. However, Surreal Girl talked me out of doing this. She is getting rather good at persuading me not to speak my mind the moment a thought crosses it.
A case in point tonight happened whilst eating in Sardo. I was in a good mood. Mai Tais at The Loop, a walk that took in window-shopping at the Animation Art Gallery and all the promise of a London night meant I was eating my Sardinian bread and olives and sampling a glass Cannonau with a huge smile on my face. That beam stayed until the New Labour apparatchik couple with the famous American media and political commentator in mother in tow started talking a little too loudly.
Within five minutes I had learnt how the Old Queen Street mob had a mole in Tory Central Office who had leaked them this week’s tax plans, who that mole was and how this all related to the media embargo on revealing the detail of the plans being broken. Then the mother started talking about how pleased she was she had really annoyed certain union leaders in a recent radio broadcast.
Arrogant New Labour staffers and media glitterati always rile me. I wanted to go over to their table and point out they might think they were incredibly clever, but just how smart was it to be bragging before checking you were not sitting next to someone who was not going to ring a contact at Central Office or who was not a journalist who could use their juicy little revelation? Especially as ‘Tory Traitor’ would look great in a headline…
Surreal Girl staid my impulse and made me promise not to say anything to them when we left – even though she also wanted to lean over and whisper: ‘Loose lips sink ships.’ Part of her logic was I did not need to casually make a powerful enemy of the famous American media and political commentator. I did try to explain that like John Lydon, when it comes to enemies, I have always started with the monarchy and worked my way down, but she just distracted me with talk of pudding.
7 Comments:
I've never met SG, but I have to agree I'm afraid.
Although life will often offer up occasions to take down deserving people a peg or three, just because you have a powerful enough mind and are skillful in this art, does not mean to say that it is always in your best interest to do so.
ESPECIALLY when your line of enemies is as long as it is currently.
Just sit back, relax in the knowledge that you have the moral highground and all the while storing up the information for its best possible use at a later date.
It sounds like they want everybody to know how important they are.
Please. Something as obtrusive to the eye as a concrete sculpture does not give you any other choice, BUT to speak your mind about it. It's just in the way isn't it? Good or shitty, it's asking for it.
Quoting john lydon is always a good move.
You seem to be having your share of people with diarrhea of the mouth lately, aren't you?
Always a good thing to keep your powder dry until it is really needed.
Ahhhh... talk of pudding. Gets me everytime.
I just hate it when my countrymen go out in the world acting like fools. It would have taken more than pudding to shut me up, chocolate cake would have done it... maybe a long island tea.
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