Naked Or Religious

So after all the simulated freefall fun on Sunday, I thought things would return to normal, which they did, except for two mildly bizarre incidents as witnessed by mrs househusbandnot and I on Sunday afternoon and Monday evening.

Sunday, we got back from Milton Keynes and were walking past our local art school where we noticed there was a show of the MA students' work. Being middle class and tossy, we went in to have a look. Nothing particularly remarkable or shocking to be seen: some nice postcard-sized paintings of moody London scenes; a bad tryptych of a large lady in black underwear; a conceptual room full of old furniture (wow, conceptual man) ; and some rather peaceful dark grey and black monochrome paintings by a thoughtful middle-aged woman who was sitting in the room with her work.

But then we walked into the largest room at the show, and were confronted by a posh old woman who informed us in a friendly manner that "My son, the artist, has to go back to Norfolk. We are taking the pictures down but you can have a look if you like." I checked mrs househusbandnot's reaction (remember I mentioned a while back that she has a thing about bossy posh women), but she seemed cool, so we turned to look at the five huge paintings on display. The first one we saw was of the same posh old woman, the artist's mother, floating naked with her legs wide open - vage akimbo* I think is the technical term for this pose. I just managed to stop myself from looking back at the (real) woman to check the (facial) likeness, and turned to look at a second picture of an old man in a similar pose of nakedness and genital display. I assume this was the artist's dad.

Now I am no prude, but I just couldn't get my head around wanting to paint your parents naked, and not just naked naked but with legs wide open across the canvas. What's the deal on this one? Did the artist have no friends who could sit for him? Did his parents ask to be painted like that? Why was mum there to witness everyone's reaction to the image of her in so indelicate a pose? And why were they taking the pictures down? Had they realised the error in their ways? Or had granddad just bought them all to hang in his Norfolk dining room? mrs househusbandnot and I mumbled something to each other about taking another look at the thoughtful lady's monochromes and shuffled out of the room before we a) asked posh mum about the pictures b) looked at the pictures again c) called the police.

Monday, I went up to pick mrs househusbandnot from her office and we took the bus home. As usual there was one person chatting away on his mobile phone, seemingly oblivious to how annoying it was having to listen to his conversation. But what a conversation. He was talking about meeting up with his mate on the other end of the line, and asking how his mate felt. Listening intently to his mate's response, he paused and said: "I know but feeling crap is just sometimes feeling crap. God will use that and help you. It's not the enemy. It's natural. Don't think it is the enemy." ( At this point in this bloke's conversation, mrs househusbandnot caught me trying to take notes of what he was saying, and gave me one of those "you and your ****ing blog" looks. )

I have to say, the guy on the phone certainly had some sort of peace about him. He was nattering away quite happily to his mate. But 'the enemy'? Is that what they call the Devil nowadays? It was all so matter of fact, the matter being the fact that he obviously really really believes there are powers of good and evil guiding us though our lives. (Mind you, most politicians are just as casual about using those sort of terms when they talk about terrorism, so why shouldn't real believers use them too.) But, like the mum naked stuff, I was shocked that I was shocked. I thought 25 or so years in London would have got me inured to most things by now. I guess I need to work on my attitude to naked old mothers and people believing in the Devil.

In unrelated other news, I started a diet today. I had two pints of diet pepsi for breakfast, and am bouncing off the ceilings and walls of the sitting room. (Good thing I got the practice in on Sunday at the skydiving place.)

* My mate The Waunch has just read this, and provided another suggestion for this pose which I am actually too prudish to insert, descriptive as his suggestion was.