Chulla

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Chulla last won the day on August 11

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4,135 Exceptional Poster of Nottstalgia

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About Chulla

  • Rank
    GIGA NOTTSTALGIAN
  • Birthday 08/12/1939

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  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Rise Park
  • Interests
    Research and writing about Aviation. Music. Victorian art. Films from the Golden Era (1930s/1940s)

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  1. I wrote two or three very short stories in threads a few months ago. I have written another and created a dedicated thread for it and any others that might follow, or for members who might like to add to it. The woman in the painting The crowd were mingling and viewing in the room at the art gallery set aside for an exhibition of works by local artists past and present. This was the invitation-only, pre-public-viewing evening and most attendees were holding a slim glass of white wine. Among them was a chap slowly circulating past the pictures. Every now and then his eyes would catch those of someone looking at him and result in the usual quick smile and a nod. He was on his second circuit of the room when an attractive lady walked through the crowd towards him, but staring past him. Immediately he experienced the feeling of deja vu. Where do I know her from?, he pondered. As she drew level with him he forced the question, 'Hello, have we met before?' She stopped, turned to look at him and replied, 'I don't think so - is that your best chat-up line?' Sorry, no, he replied, but not feeling satisfied with her answer. After seeing all that he wanted to see he made his way to the small café in an adjacent room and sat with a coffee. He was slightly startled by a voice from behind him saying, 'Did you remember where you had met me?' It was her. 'Er, no, but will you join me for a drink?' said he. 'I'd like that' she said. In the subsequent conversation he told her that he liked art, though was no expert - he knew what he liked and not what people thought he should like. 'Much the same here' she said. 'I was once told that we had an artist in the family many years ago' she continued; 'maternal grandfather, apparently'. I don't think that we ever did' he said; 'painter and decorator maybe, does that count?' She smiled at the humour and then asked him, 'Do you mind if I have a cigarette?' 'Not at all'. She removed the cigarette from its packet and tapped its end down vertically on the table to solidify it. 'No filter tip, then?' She shook her head. It was at this point that the little tete-a-tete became more than casual acquaintance talk. He couldn't help noticing the way that the fingers of her left hand supported the cigarette. Instead of the usual way of between the first and second digits, it was held between the second and third. 'I've always smoked plain cigarettes; I prefer a strong tobac...' Her voice trailed off. 'Why are you looking at me like that?' she said, to which his staring reply was 'I've just realised where I have seen you'. 'Oh, so we have met before, then?' 'Not in the flesh', to which she asked, 'How then?' He went on to explain that many years ago he bought a folio of small watercolours at an auction; artist unknown. None of the pictures were signed, so he never did discover who he or she was. 'But where do I come into the picture, excuse the pun?' she said. 'Well, you see, there about twenty watercolours, all of which are landscape, seascape and still-life studies; except for just the one, that of a young woman, about your age or thereabouts'. 'And I look like her, hence the earlier illusion that we had met?' 'Yes,' he said, 'but there is more to it than that'. She leaned forward over the table towards him and sotto voce said, 'I'm intrigued, tell me more'. He replied, 'The lady in the picture not only looks facially just like you, but she had a cigarette between her second and third fingers of her left hand'. 'Oo-er, I've gone all goose bumps' 'Did your mum smoke?' he enquired, 'I do not know, she died when I was very young. I have a photograph of her - perhaps we could meet for a drink tomorrow night and I will bring it along'. This was arranged and a venue chosen.. When he saw the photograph it was obvious that the woman in the picture was the same one as in the photograph; but to their disappointment she wasn't smoking. Aah, they laughed, what a pity. But wait. Her left hand was visible and there, on the insides of the second and third fingers were the tell-tale skin stains that tobacco smoke produces. So there it was. He then produced a small cardboard tube and out of it slid the rolled-up painting. She unfurled it, stared, and with a breaking voice said, 'Are you telling me....' He interjected, 'That the woman you are looking at is your mother, painted by your grandfather. Please take it and let's have her back with her daughter.
  2. Things you don't see anymore

    Nice picture of me playing the Theramin.
  3. Wetherspoons pubs

    CT. Not quite true. 'spoons in Sherwood has a nice, quiet cosy corner, slightly gloomy and out of sight for most of others in the place.
  4. Poetry

    Nocturnal nature When falls the light of dying day, o'er town and pastures green, And birds do roost on nest and bough, in every glade and dene. And shadows' fingers creep along, 'til dark replaces night, Then it's clocking-on time, for creatures of the night. The twilight's gloom awakes the bat, that hangs around by day, He uses echo-sounding, to locate and catch his prey. So swiftly and so silent, back and forth he sweeps, Devouring moths and insects small, that nightly harvest reaps. The spiky hedgehog trundles out, from underneath his hideout, It's worms and slugs he's after, devout by pointed snout. Quietly minding business, and never one to brawl, When danger lurks instinctively, he curls into a ball. The hungry owl with saucer eyes, has chicks that need be fed, Nocturnal rodents live in fear, its talons, they do dread. The silent glide, the accurate snatch, goodbye Mr Mouse. Then back to enjoy dinner in, his hollow tree trunk house. Attracted by a bright light, the moth on coloured wing, Like its brethren butterfly, it is the insect king. Its varieties are many; the plain and colourful, The spotted and the dappled ones, the gaudy and the dull. The gardeners' constant pests, the slug an the snail, Whose nocturnal wanderings, are marked by silvery trail. Watch out on your hostas, and don't forget your lettuce, The little buggers love 'em, of you they'll take no notice. The fox and his vixen with, their shaggy coats of red, When darkness starts to fall, come out from under shed. They prowl the streets to scavenge, and noisily they bark, Tipping up the bins in, backyard and in park. Let's not forget the flowers, when dark they go to bed, Closing up their petals, and bowing down their head. But there's one flower we always, praise its sweet bouquet, The evening honeysuckle, the perfect end to day.
  5. Back yard memories

    The centre photo interested me the most, because it showed a line of air-raid shelters. The common above-ground street and school type - no windows, of course.
  6. i have always liked the sound of the vibraphone. My favourite tune featuring this instrument was that played in the Gallery section of the children's BBC programme Vision On. I have always wanted to hear it played all the way through, and on Radio 3 this morning they did just that. It is called Left Bank Two and is played by The Noveltones.
  7. How's your day?

    A couple of chucky eggs this morning - not so much a him-a-layer as a her-a-layer. Then later I will be repairing my saffron robe where Joanna Lumbley's fag ash burnt a hole in it. Oiling the spindles of the prayer wheels, allowing fellow countrymen to touch my hem - a Dalai's day is very long. PS. I hope there will be room for a mention of me in your memoirs.
  8. Bulwell

    I hope you realise, Jill, that you will be added to the Bulwell Bluebeard's long list of wimmin acquaintances, and might be mentioned in his memoirs.
  9. Bulwell

    Jill, 9 to 9.30am. But we will be there for a couple of hours or more so you could arrive later.
  10. Bulwell

    Let's have you at Bulwell 'spoons tomorrow morning for breakfast. No excuse - you're not wokkin'. Ladies, afterwards you can stroll down Main Street and have a look in Gucci, Tiffani and Harvey Nicholls.
  11. How's your day?

    Jill, when I saw Ben last week I noticed that he had shaved his 'tash off. Gives him less of an Alf Garnett look, but still a long way from George Clooney.
  12. Nottingham cinemas

    I came across a list I have had for decades, compiled by Nottingham cinema historian Rick Wilde in (I think) 1981, of all the cinemas in Nottingham and the surrounding districts. I cannot say that it is complete, but it is pretty near. I have re-typed it and put the cinema names in alphabetical order. Of course, some of those listed were still open at that time, but now only the Savoy is still operating as it was intended. The Broadway and the modern constructions are not listed, nor are the travelling film shows, eg, Goose Fair and Cinerama.
  13. Sir Paul Smith

    Someone once said that Marilyn Monroe would still look great if she was dressed in a potato sack - and she went on the prove them right. https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=B7V3YdLM&id=424DE9AB9ED14D7B579E53868EB70B05438654EE&thid=OIP.B7V3YdLM3BR-ECJzOfD-eQB7Es&q=marilyn+monroe+sack+dress&simid=608009638140904682&selectedIndex=0&ajaxhist=0
  14. The hanging teddy

    Twelve inches of stair-rod up his jacksie will sort out his neck problem. I can hear it now - 'Ah, Chulla, don't be so cruel'
  15. Here is one of the great comedy films made during WW2. I have posted a clip from it not long ago (what are you laughing at now, thread) but now see that the whole film has been put on YouTube. I do not suppose any NS member will be sufficiently interested in seeing it; past experience tells me that, but you never know, one just might. It features Carol Lombard, then the wife of Clark Gable. This was her last film before she was killed in an air crash. It also features some of Hollywood's finest character actors of that era. The main star is, of course, Jack Benny, ably assisted by Sig Rumann - 'So they call me concentration camp Erhardt, do they?' Highlight scene - probably near the end when a dead man's beard is the key to identifying who is the real professor. The director is Ernst Lubitsch, who specialised in this kind of mid-European-style comedy, he being a German émigré to Hollywood. Take a look at it - good story, good cast, good acting, good humour, good direction.