So this is how I started the post, which was supposed to go out on Saturday:
I couldn’t let this day go by without some kind of recognition: it’s fifty years to the day since PP and Bert the Flirt stole a pot of paint and a one-inch brush from the shed, climbed under the Chatham Road bridge and daubed their names on the concrete.
Except that, what with one thing and another, it didn’t happen. Don’t ask: it was just one of those days, with 36 hours’ worth of life to jam into 24 hours’ worth of day.
I’d had it in my diary for about 18 months to make sure that I’d be under Chatham Road bridge on 20 October 2012 to celebrate 50 years of vandalism in Hamilton North; maybe sink a tinnie for the olden days. To be fair to myself I did manage to get down there, and took this photo.
I took this one too, of the PP graffito. But this is what threw me: I was inexplicably a bit pissed off that someone had – roll the drums of irony – vandalised it. Yeah! Fifty years it had been there, this piece of vandalism, pristine and untouched, and then a week before its fiftieth birthday it gets … vandalised.
I suppose it’s entirely fitting, really. POAS told me about the relentless competition between street artists: the “being first” to a place, the tagging over of other people’s tags with your own tags, the endless search for novelty and “firstness”. And yet, when I looked up and saw it, I felt really bloody annoyed with young DTEC and REAG. Where’s your respect?!
Jambo and I carried on down the creek. The ten ducklings are down to nine and it’ll be interesting to see how many make it through the coming weeks. This little guy’s taking a risk sitting on the banking.
There are lots more predators around with the warm weather, but on Sunday the weather turned and it was horrible and blustery, and the temperature dropped by a gazillion degrees. Jambo almost stepped on this junior blue-tongue that was trying to suck a bit of warmth from the bitumen in the gasworks. He was so cold he could barely hiss (which rather sounds like something Mr Humphries would say on Are You Being Served?).
Headed upstream at the end, to see what the kids had done to the recently pressure-blasted concrete bankings. Found this piece of Bakunin-inspired rant. Not sure what Julia would make of it; perhaps “only people” or “only human-kind”. We’re not living in the 1960s, you know.
Unlike Bert the Flirt and PP. Where are you now, guys? What do you think about modern vandalism? Will anyone visit “No gods or kings only man” in 2062? So many questions, so few answers.