Jack Vettriano Cleo and the Boys IIJack Vettriano Candy and Mr SmithJack Vettriano Cafe Days
'Dere's dat word again,' said Cliff. 'The Musicians' Guild'll be right on our necks.'
'Not this place,' said Dibbler. 'Guaranteed.'
'Where is it, then?' said Glod.
'Are you ready for this?'
They blinked at him. Dibbler beamed, and blew a cloud of greasy smoke.
'The Cavern!'
The beat went on . . .
Of course, there are bound to be a few mutations . . .
Gortlick and sat either side of an anvil and wrote popular songs to mine along to.
'Gort?'
'What?'
'What do you think of this one?'
Hammerjug cleared his throat.
'I'm mean and turf and I'm mean and turf andHammerjug were songwriters, and fully paid‑up members of the Guild. They wrote dwarf songs for all occasions.Some people say this is not hard to do so long as you can remember how to spell 'Gold', but this is a little bit cynical. Many dwarf on the lines of 'Gold, gold, gold' but it's all in the inflexion; dwarfs have thousands of words for 'gold' but will use any of them in an emergency, such as when they see some gold that doesn't belong to them.They had a small office in Tin Lid Alley, where they
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Jack Vettriano The Road to Nowhere
Jack Vettriano The Road to NowhereJack Vettriano The Remains of LoveJack Vettriano The Red Room
crepe,' said the Dean. 'It's got a little pointy thingy over the–'
Ridcully breathed heavily. 'When your boots change by themselves–' he growled.
'There's magic.
'What's this?' he said.
'Four‑four time?' said the Dean.
'Music ain't magic,' said Ridcully. 'Don't be daft. Music's just twanging and banging and–’
He stopped.
'Has anyone got anything they should be telling me?' afoot?''Haha, good one, Senior Wrangler,' said the Dean.'I want to know what's going on,' said Ridcully, in a low and level voice, 'and if you don't all shut up there will be trouble.'He reached into the pockets of his robe and, after a few false starts, produced a pocket thaumometer. He held it up. There was always a high level of background magic in the University, but the little needle was on the 'Normal' mark. On average, anyway. It was ticking backwards and forwards across it like a metronome.Ridcully held it up so they could all see
crepe,' said the Dean. 'It's got a little pointy thingy over the–'
Ridcully breathed heavily. 'When your boots change by themselves–' he growled.
'There's magic.
'What's this?' he said.
'Four‑four time?' said the Dean.
'Music ain't magic,' said Ridcully. 'Don't be daft. Music's just twanging and banging and–’
He stopped.
'Has anyone got anything they should be telling me?' afoot?''Haha, good one, Senior Wrangler,' said the Dean.'I want to know what's going on,' said Ridcully, in a low and level voice, 'and if you don't all shut up there will be trouble.'He reached into the pockets of his robe and, after a few false starts, produced a pocket thaumometer. He held it up. There was always a high level of background magic in the University, but the little needle was on the 'Normal' mark. On average, anyway. It was ticking backwards and forwards across it like a metronome.Ridcully held it up so they could all see
Monday, May 11, 2009
Alphonse Maria Mucha Spring
Alphonse Maria Mucha SpringAlphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha GismondaPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas
lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing ' said the skull. 'A lot more dangerous than just a little. I always used to say that, when I was the power of belief, or at least about the power of belief in a combination of high magical potential and low reality stability such as existed on the Discworld.
Belief makes a hollow place. Something has to roll in to fill it.
Which is not to say that belief denies logic. For example, it's fairly obvious that the Sandman needs only a small sack.
On the Discworld, he doesn't bother to take the sand out first.
It was almost midnight.
Susan crept into the stables. She was one of those people who will not leave alive.''When was that, exactly?''Can't remember. I think I was pretty knowledgeable. Probably a teacher or philosopher, something of that kidney. And now I'm on a bench with a bird crapping on my head.''Very allegorical,' said the raven.No‑one had taught Susan about
lot of knowledge is a dangerous thing ' said the skull. 'A lot more dangerous than just a little. I always used to say that, when I was the power of belief, or at least about the power of belief in a combination of high magical potential and low reality stability such as existed on the Discworld.
Belief makes a hollow place. Something has to roll in to fill it.
Which is not to say that belief denies logic. For example, it's fairly obvious that the Sandman needs only a small sack.
On the Discworld, he doesn't bother to take the sand out first.
It was almost midnight.
Susan crept into the stables. She was one of those people who will not leave alive.''When was that, exactly?''Can't remember. I think I was pretty knowledgeable. Probably a teacher or philosopher, something of that kidney. And now I'm on a bench with a bird crapping on my head.''Very allegorical,' said the raven.No‑one had taught Susan about
Friday, May 8, 2009
Edward Hopper Night Windows
Edward Hopper Night WindowsEdward Hopper Lighthouse HillEdward Hopper Hotel RoomEdward Hopper Hotel Lobby
more interest in these things, he'd realized the role people seemed to think that colour played in concepts like, for example, roses. But he'd made them black. He liked black. It went with anything. It went with everything, sooner or later.
The humans he'd SORRY. I WAS THINKING. WHAT WAS IT YOU SAID?
'Camomile tea?'
I THOUGHT THAT WAS A KIND OF SOAP.
'You can put it in soap or tea, sir,' said Albert. He was worried. He was known ‑ and there had been a few ‑ had responded to the impossible size of the rooms in a strange way, by simply ignoring them.Take Albert, now. The big door had opened, Albert had stepped through, carefully balancing a cup and saucer . . .. . . and a moment later had been well inside the room, on the edge of the relatively small square of carpet that surrounded Death's desk. Death gave up wondering how Albert covered the intervening space when it dawned on him that, to his servant, there was no intervening space . . .'I've brought you some camomile tea, sir,' said Albert.HMM?'Sir?'
more interest in these things, he'd realized the role people seemed to think that colour played in concepts like, for example, roses. But he'd made them black. He liked black. It went with anything. It went with everything, sooner or later.
The humans he'd SORRY. I WAS THINKING. WHAT WAS IT YOU SAID?
'Camomile tea?'
I THOUGHT THAT WAS A KIND OF SOAP.
'You can put it in soap or tea, sir,' said Albert. He was worried. He was known ‑ and there had been a few ‑ had responded to the impossible size of the rooms in a strange way, by simply ignoring them.Take Albert, now. The big door had opened, Albert had stepped through, carefully balancing a cup and saucer . . .. . . and a moment later had been well inside the room, on the edge of the relatively small square of carpet that surrounded Death's desk. Death gave up wondering how Albert covered the intervening space when it dawned on him that, to his servant, there was no intervening space . . .'I've brought you some camomile tea, sir,' said Albert.HMM?'Sir?'
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Jean Beraud The Theatre des Varietes
Jean Beraud The Theatre des VarietesJean Beraud Symphony in Red and GoldJean Beraud Pont des artsJean Beraud Leaving La Madeleine Paris
they chase us if we sneak off now?' she said.
'Don't think so. Meeting's over, see?'
'Come on, then.'even have a word for wolves! It's not like that. Names are human things.'
'Dogs have got names. I've got a name. Gaspode. 'S'my name,' said Gaspode, a shade sullenly.
'Well . . . I can't explain why,' said Angua. 'But wolves don't have names.'They sauntered into an alley and, when they were sure they hadn't been noticed, ran like hell.'Good grief,' said Angua, when they had put several streets between them and the crowd of dogs. 'He's mad, isn't he?''No, mad's when you froth at the mouf,' said Gaspode. 'He's insane. That's when you froth at the brain.'All that stuff about wolves—''I suppose a dog's got a right to dream,' said Gaspode.'But wolves aren't like that! They don't even have names!''Everyone's got a name.''Wolves haven't. Why should they? They know who they are, and they know who the rest of the pack are. It's all . . . an image. Smell and feel and shape. Wolves don't
they chase us if we sneak off now?' she said.
'Don't think so. Meeting's over, see?'
'Come on, then.'even have a word for wolves! It's not like that. Names are human things.'
'Dogs have got names. I've got a name. Gaspode. 'S'my name,' said Gaspode, a shade sullenly.
'Well . . . I can't explain why,' said Angua. 'But wolves don't have names.'They sauntered into an alley and, when they were sure they hadn't been noticed, ran like hell.'Good grief,' said Angua, when they had put several streets between them and the crowd of dogs. 'He's mad, isn't he?''No, mad's when you froth at the mouf,' said Gaspode. 'He's insane. That's when you froth at the brain.'All that stuff about wolves—''I suppose a dog's got a right to dream,' said Gaspode.'But wolves aren't like that! They don't even have names!''Everyone's got a name.''Wolves haven't. Why should they? They know who they are, and they know who the rest of the pack are. It's all . . . an image. Smell and feel and shape. Wolves don't
Sunday, May 3, 2009
William Beard So You Wanna Get Married
William Beard So You Wanna Get MarriedWilliam Beard Phantom CraneWilliam Beard OwlsWilliam Beard Majestic Stag
was aware of a sudden drop in temperature.
'I shouldn't think so,' said Carrot, slowly. 'She's only nine years old.' .
One of his hands gripped her wrist tightly and the other prised the book out of her fingers.
'Hey, let go!'
'Sergeant!' 'Mrs Maroon?'
'That's Sergeant Maroon's widow, she sells coal in—'
'How about Annabel Curry?'
'She still goes to the Spiteful Sisters of Seven-Handed Sek Charity School, doesn't she?' Colon smiled nervously at Angua, still not sure of what was happening. 'She's the daughter of Corporal Curry, shouted Carrot, over his shoulder, 'can you come up here a moment?'Angua tried to pull away. Carrot's arm was as immovable as an iron bar.There was the creak of Colon's foot on the stair, and the door swung open.He was holding a very small cup in a pair of tongs.'Nobby got the coff—' he began, and stopped.'Sergeant,' said Carrot, staring into Angua's face, 'Lance-Constable Angua wants to know about Mrs Gaskin.''Old Leggy Gaskin's widow? She lives in Mincing Street.''And Mrs Scurrick?''In Treacle Street? Takes in laundry now.' Sergeant Colon looked from one to the other, trying to get a handle on the situation.
was aware of a sudden drop in temperature.
'I shouldn't think so,' said Carrot, slowly. 'She's only nine years old.' .
One of his hands gripped her wrist tightly and the other prised the book out of her fingers.
'Hey, let go!'
'Sergeant!' 'Mrs Maroon?'
'That's Sergeant Maroon's widow, she sells coal in—'
'How about Annabel Curry?'
'She still goes to the Spiteful Sisters of Seven-Handed Sek Charity School, doesn't she?' Colon smiled nervously at Angua, still not sure of what was happening. 'She's the daughter of Corporal Curry, shouted Carrot, over his shoulder, 'can you come up here a moment?'Angua tried to pull away. Carrot's arm was as immovable as an iron bar.There was the creak of Colon's foot on the stair, and the door swung open.He was holding a very small cup in a pair of tongs.'Nobby got the coff—' he began, and stopped.'Sergeant,' said Carrot, staring into Angua's face, 'Lance-Constable Angua wants to know about Mrs Gaskin.''Old Leggy Gaskin's widow? She lives in Mincing Street.''And Mrs Scurrick?''In Treacle Street? Takes in laundry now.' Sergeant Colon looked from one to the other, trying to get a handle on the situation.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Camille Pissarro Still Life
Camille Pissarro Still LifeCamille Pissarro Morning Sunlight on the SnowCamille Pissarro Boulevard MontmarteClaude Lorrain The Rest on the Flight into Egypt
afraid so. Haul it out, find out who he was, make out a report for Sergeant Colon.'
The corpse was a clown. Once Carrot had climbed down the pile and moved the debris aside, he floated face up, a big sad grin painted on his face.
'He's dead!'
'Catching, isn't it?'
Vimes looked at the grinning corpse. Don't investigate. Keep out of it. Leave it to the Assassins and bloody Quirke. These are your orders.
'Corporal Carrot?'
'Sir?'
These are your orders . . .
Well, damn thatwho, we fished out of the river last night but, we don't know who he is except he is a member of the Fools' Guild called Beano. He has been seriously hit on the back of the head and has been stuck under the bridge for some time, he is not a Pretty sight. Captain Vimes says to find out things. He says he thinks it is mixed up with the Murder of Mr Hammerhock. He says talk to the Fools. He says Do It. Also please find attached Piece of Paper. Captain Vimes says, try it out on the Alchemists—'. What did Vetinari think he was? Some kind of clockwork soldier?'We're going to find out what's been going on here.''Yes, sir!''Whatever else happens. We're going to find out.' The river Ankh is probably the only river in the universe on which the investigators can chalk the outline of the corpse. 'Dear Sgt Colon,'I hope you are well. The weather is Fine. This is a corpse
afraid so. Haul it out, find out who he was, make out a report for Sergeant Colon.'
The corpse was a clown. Once Carrot had climbed down the pile and moved the debris aside, he floated face up, a big sad grin painted on his face.
'He's dead!'
'Catching, isn't it?'
Vimes looked at the grinning corpse. Don't investigate. Keep out of it. Leave it to the Assassins and bloody Quirke. These are your orders.
'Corporal Carrot?'
'Sir?'
These are your orders . . .
Well, damn thatwho, we fished out of the river last night but, we don't know who he is except he is a member of the Fools' Guild called Beano. He has been seriously hit on the back of the head and has been stuck under the bridge for some time, he is not a Pretty sight. Captain Vimes says to find out things. He says he thinks it is mixed up with the Murder of Mr Hammerhock. He says talk to the Fools. He says Do It. Also please find attached Piece of Paper. Captain Vimes says, try it out on the Alchemists—'. What did Vetinari think he was? Some kind of clockwork soldier?'We're going to find out what's been going on here.''Yes, sir!''Whatever else happens. We're going to find out.' The river Ankh is probably the only river in the universe on which the investigators can chalk the outline of the corpse. 'Dear Sgt Colon,'I hope you are well. The weather is Fine. This is a corpse
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)