Leg of Sven

Actually, I don't know the name of the leg's owner. I just know that the publishers of Swedish magazine, Tare Lugnt, decided to release their third edition as a tattoo.
You'll find more pics, plus a Youtube video, if you click here.
The thing I find most shocking is that this human mag didn't bother to buy new undies for the photo shoot.
All that pilling around the crotch is so not a good look.
It raises some interesting possibilities, though, in these times of dwindling magazine and newspaper circulation.
I mean, who wouldn't be interested in an edition of Inside Out tattooed all over Orlando or Brad or George, if only to find out where they placed that retro lamp?
And that's all from me this week because the weather down here has been unbelievably good and is threatening to stay that way until Sunday.
I've already backfilled a retaining wall with sand (which was as exciting as it sounds) and today I'm finishing painting the shed.
See you next week.

Rust as a lifestyle statement

One of these days I'm going to learn how to scan magazine pages but until then you'll have to bear with me and put up with the dodgy photos.
This pic (along with the other pictures in this post) is from the May-June edition of Inside Out magazine. It's one of dozens of house/garden-type mags I've bought in the last 16 months, because when you're faced with an overwhelming house reno it's far easier to sit down with a drink and a glossy magazine rather than actually do any renovating.
As a result of all this magazine browsing I'm now quite well-versed in the art of design wank. And if you ask me, this pic is right up there with the best.
As in, it's fine if you don't mind grass seeds burrowing into the crotch of your undies while you sip your lemon barley water and nibble on a chunk of baguette (which I sincerely hope is made from organic, hand-milled flour or I want the cover price back).
And it's definitely not a problem if you don't mind being at one with the less cuddly of nature's offerings (snakes, bull ants, centipedes, ticks, feral pigs, escaped serial killers etc).
But otherwise it's bullshit, isn't it? I mean, when was the last time you said, "Darl, how about we have a picnic in the middle of a field of really long grass? Go on, dare ya!"
Worse: Those rusty old French cafe chairs, which are a fiver a pop in their homeland, cost $160 each. The folding metal table is $1000. The skinny little cushions tied to the top of the chairs are $40 (yes, each).
Now for pic number 2, which provided a much-needed laugh-out-loud moment after a morning of digging holes with a pick axe:

It may look like a giant toilet-brush holder but it's actually a bathroom sink. It doesn't say in the ad if council-approved sink fencing is required, but considering the way little kids like to stick their heads in things, it's probably a good idea.
In the meantime you could always use it for your home brew or to bathe your pet rabbits.

Finally there's this picture, which is attached to a story about Patti Southern (the lady wearing the table cloth), who owns a retro furniture store in Sydney (as in, it's all original vintage stuff).
I know I've said it before but what is it with this retro thing? Why does only the really ugly stuff seem to survive?
I lived through the 60s and 70s and I know for a fact that if anyone had bought my Mum that hideous red and blue lamp, she would have beaten them to pulp with it.
Or dumped it in a field of really long grass. Now there's a thought.