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November 27th 2009

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    Many years ago at a craft show I spent a hot sunny day watching a man paint with his feet.  This time who knows, because the propaganda for tomorrow's event contains that terrifying implication "a jolly good time is had by all".

    The man who could paint with his feet was wheeled out, popped in the shade of his canopy and there he lay with his head on a pillow while a bevy of large women offered encouragement and assistance with brushes and paints, orange drinks and those sorts of things.   

    

    

    I cannot recall whether any of us sold anything, but I do remember that by around midday we had all soured on children.   Especially one little bastard of a boy, who was encouraged by his mother and by our neighbor's bevy of large women to take off his flip-flops and do a little foot painting himself.

    The man who could paint with his feet also had difficulty with communication.  He could squeak in positive and negative tones and he could grunt.  My own interpretation of his frequent remarks, suggested that right from the start of that day he had wanted to stay home.

    But craft shows are good for us, otherwise atrophy and preoccupation with soil sets in.

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tim candler

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