Bullocks Bottom and Boots
Bullock's Bottom and Boots
Sue's husband has brand new RED power sawing boots. I am supposedly working on a project about shoes.
I had not been out of the village for eight weeks and the village is largely closed down until the first of March now that Hogmanay is done and dusted. The weather has been awful: three named storms, snow, ice, hail, rain and more snow and rain and hail.
The first dry weekend I escaped to stay with Sue, one of the students who has turned out to be a soul mate. She lives in a very beautiful home with her husband, seven chickens and 64 rare breed sheep on the outskirts of Inverness. Phil had been practising his manly moves wearing said boots in the hopes that I was indeed the foot fetishist of his fond imaginings. Trees on their land needed sawing, he was the man to do it and I was supposed to be the artist immortalising him.
Their house is unusual in that they have two private railway crossings on their land.
I had been there once before and knew the routine.
You stop in front of the closed barrier, ring Inverness Station Control and say where you are.
They tell you whether it is safe for you to open the gates and cross before the next express train thunders through.
No problem finding Sue's house even in the pitch black night and relentless rain.
I parked by the gates and rang the controllers.
"I'm at Bullocks Bottom," I said
There was silence at the other for about a minute.
"Caller, please repeat your location," said the nice man on the other
end of the line.
"Bullocks Bottom!" I repeated louder.
"Cross immediately caller."
I tried, but I couldn't open the crossing gates. My car was too close. I hastily got back into the car and reversed and tried again.
Still too close.
Third time lucky and I managed to open the gates.
But... did I have time to cross the railway line, open the opposite gates, recross the line and get into my car and drive over before the express train to Kyle?
Apparently I looked like an episode of Mr. Bean navigating the crossing. How do I know? There's a camera.
It's Bullocks Crossing not Bullocks Bottom! The controller and his mates, alerted by my getting the name wrong in the first instance, and with nothing better to do at 7.30pm on a wet winters night, had watched me.
And I had checked with Sue before setting off that it was indeed Bullocks Bottom. Not at all unusual in Sussex. Near my house there is a Pratts Bottom!
That was only the beginning.
Phil was sawing trees in a deep gully.
Sue appeared next morning in full mountaineering gear including ropes and a harness to winch me down into the gully to sketch her husband.
I legged it up the hill instead and spent a lovely morning photographing the trees and walls on her property and sketching at the top of the gully.
He was waist high in brush wood so I couldn't see his boots anyway.
Back at the studio and we've been beavering away for six weeks on our chosen project and media. I feel like a Chinese factory worker. I have already produced 47 shoe paintings in the last six weeks and there are still two weeks before the final passing out exhibition.
The local charity shop no longer charges me for shoes as they know they'll get them back and who knows? my masterworks might sell more shoes!!
Sue's husband has brand new RED power sawing boots. I am supposedly working on a project about shoes.I had not been out of the village for eight weeks and the village is largely closed down until the first of March now that Hogmanay is done and dusted. The weather has been awful: three named storms, snow, ice, hail, rain and more snow and rain and hail.
The first dry weekend I escaped to stay with Sue, one of the students who has turned out to be a soul mate. She lives in a very beautiful home with her husband, seven chickens and 64 rare breed sheep on the outskirts of Inverness. Phil had been practising his manly moves wearing said boots in the hopes that I was indeed the foot fetishist of his fond imaginings. Trees on their land needed sawing, he was the man to do it and I was supposed to be the artist immortalising him.
Their house is unusual in that they have two private railway crossings on their land.
I had been there once before and knew the routine.
You stop in front of the closed barrier, ring Inverness Station Control and say where you are.
They tell you whether it is safe for you to open the gates and cross before the next express train thunders through.
No problem finding Sue's house even in the pitch black night and relentless rain.
I parked by the gates and rang the controllers.
"I'm at Bullocks Bottom," I said
There was silence at the other for about a minute.
"Caller, please repeat your location," said the nice man on the other
end of the line.
"Bullocks Bottom!" I repeated louder.
"Cross immediately caller."
I tried, but I couldn't open the crossing gates. My car was too close. I hastily got back into the car and reversed and tried again.
Still too close.
Third time lucky and I managed to open the gates.
But... did I have time to cross the railway line, open the opposite gates, recross the line and get into my car and drive over before the express train to Kyle?
Apparently I looked like an episode of Mr. Bean navigating the crossing. How do I know? There's a camera.
It's Bullocks Crossing not Bullocks Bottom! The controller and his mates, alerted by my getting the name wrong in the first instance, and with nothing better to do at 7.30pm on a wet winters night, had watched me.
And I had checked with Sue before setting off that it was indeed Bullocks Bottom. Not at all unusual in Sussex. Near my house there is a Pratts Bottom!
That was only the beginning.
Phil was sawing trees in a deep gully.
I legged it up the hill instead and spent a lovely morning photographing the trees and walls on her property and sketching at the top of the gully.
He was waist high in brush wood so I couldn't see his boots anyway.
Back at the studio and we've been beavering away for six weeks on our chosen project and media. I feel like a Chinese factory worker. I have already produced 47 shoe paintings in the last six weeks and there are still two weeks before the final passing out exhibition.
The local charity shop no longer charges me for shoes as they know they'll get them back and who knows? my masterworks might sell more shoes!!
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