Spawning a moo moo bench

You know when you're on the look out for photo opportunities, perhaps to test out a new camera, or maybe the one on your phone, or just because you're in a snap happy mood, or possibly because you haven't done a blog entry for a while and need to post something, anything, before it seizes up with internet rust and has to be waggled back and forth in a bath of WD40 whilst you try and remember what your old Dad told you about loosening up stiff old blogs, probably?

Yeah, you do.

Well, it can go two ways really, the picture hunt.

First, and this is the dread, nothing at all occurs.

And keeps on occurring.

It's as if the world, in a sudden bout of anthropocentric concern, has decided that, with all the wars, disasters, diseases, accidents and what-not, there really should be a few minutes of inactivity as a sort of time-out so reality can catch its metaphorical breath.

So, for just a few moments, nothing interesting happens at all.

This can be a good thing, because maintaining the status quo is the secret of eternal happiness. Or at least it would be if things didn't change all the time.

So, a static universe can be viewed positively, unless you had your camera at the ready and were just waiting for something out of the ordinary to come along. Instead, you're left with an optical desert without so much as a prairie dog turd to catch your interest.

When this happens, one must take a photo of something anyway:



Ooh, frogspawn!

I like frogspawn, because it heralds the continuation of life, the warming of the year, the beauty of the cyclical nature of the biosphere, a small, encapsulated metaphor for the whole living world. It made my heart swell, the sap rise in my humors, and momentarily I felt at one with my animal brethren.

Then I thought realistically about just how many of those eggs will make it to adulthood and I got all depressed, so went off looking for something else to photograph with the pitiful effort that my Blackberry calls a camera.

There must be something, I thought as I walked through my local park, looking hither, yon, and then hither again for a picture.

And Cthulu bless those rambunctious teens who like nothing more than to torment a disabled elderly man by moving his garden furniture:



It's not right, but it does make for a good pic.

I took that picture yesterday, and went back today to see the elderly owner has taken to keeping the bench in his living room. It looked like quite a struggle getting it out so he could enjoy the April sunshine and I nearly took another photo for your enjoyment.

However, sense prevailed and I realised that, should I do that, it might not only mark me in an unfavourable light, but it would also mean standing up from behind the parked car I was crouching behind, and he might then ask for my help.

So, frogspawn and a roofiated seat. That's blogworthy I thought, and made my way home, a little sated.

Photographically speaking.

Later, it was time to drive a couple of hours up the motorway to see if the in laws would agree to let the children live with them so I could pursue a life of leisure. I hitched up the child wagon, put in some fresh straw and chew toys, locked them safely in and off we went.

Driving along. I used my phone.

Not for texting or making a phone call, because that is illegal and irresponsible and I cannot countenance anything other than obeying every law and statute passed by our superiors in authority. I even ensure I give the tail of any washed up dead whale I find to the queen, help pregnant ladies relieve themselves into policemens helmets whether they want to or not and, when in the city of York, keep a suspicious watchful eye out for medievally armed Scotsmen.

I was taking a photo, which is far safer, obviously.

This photo is unusual because, firstly, you can actually see some of the tarmac of the M6. Usually, the road surface is completely invisible 'neath a sea of immobile vehicles, noses pressed up to rears like the worlds biggest sycophant gathering.

For any foreign types unfamiliar with the nomenclature of British roads, a motorway is a large three or four lane road originally designed to allow vehicles to travel freely from place to place at 70 mph, but more recently a handy place to keep cars for extended periods whilst their occupants can enjoy entertainment in the form of roadworks.

The other (and main) reason the photo stands out is the cattle truck on the left, which had a song title relating to it's function as a cow transporter:



For those of you who can't read it, it says "We're all bound for moo moo land" which is a KLF lyric. Sort of.

Now, I think this is a good idea and vehicles having song titles on their paintwork which accurately reflect their cargo or function should become a modern tradition.

Fire Engines could have Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start The Fire" emblazoned on the side.

Yeah, that's right. Emblazoned.

RSPCA vans could have "Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden; Ambulances might sport "Fix you" by Cold Play or perhaps "The Drugs Don't Work" by The Verve.

"Good Riddance" by Green Day could go on the back of bin lorries.

Or hearses.

Anyway, you get the idea. I quite obviously haven't given this much in the way of thought, but that's rarely stopped me pursuing daft ideas before so why should I give in now.

Motorway Maintenance Vehicles should be required to have "Highway To Hell" printed on them.

Suggestions anyone?