A few years ago the village had a competition to make scarecrows, to be placed on public view and judged as to artistic and maybe sarcastic merit.
Local lads expressed their enthusiasm by throwing many down the hill, after a night too long in the pub, so the communal spirit dried up and became rather prune faced.
We couldn't quite bear to eviscerate Tony, so he hung about for some years getting increasingly dilapidated and earning stinging epithets such as straw man, feet of clay, jerk etc.
Our Tony had a head then, but he lost it about the time we invaded Iraq and I realised I had been thoroughly hoodwinked and had likewise had to accept my jerkhood.
While Tony burned I was working on my new piece for summer exhibition.
We have to take a look at the area around the exhibition centre, an old Victorian Maltings and produce something relevant.
I decided to Do the arches
They are tall and elegant, which at the mo, my piece isn't. M gave me some lovely silks which I have juggled into position, but then I thought I would trap them behind a chiffon so i could set about stitching them to death.
Demise arrived earlier than I expected, unfortunately, as the lovely sheen has gone dull and all sorts of doggie hairs, fluffs and detritus have been stuck down as well.