davidthedesigner

...and i'm back

Call it a dose of man flu if you want, and you may well be right, but that's why it went very quiet here last week. Now I'm not asking for any retrospective sympathy, but suffice it to say that I went a whole seven days without a single cup of espresso. Believe me when I say that that's serious.

But enough about me, for there's been lots of stuff going on while I've been away, so it's going to take a little time to catch up. First of all though, I had to miss out on the private view for the latest exhibition in the shape of things series. This one is a collective and includes all of the artists who feature in the series. On now until the 6th November in sunny Notting Hill, at the flow gallery (for you fellow designers out there, it's just a few steps up the road from Pentagram). So make sure you pop along - you won't be disappointed.

And make certain to buy a copy of the extremely well-designed catalogue (otherwise all my hard work would be in vain).

I don't know yet what he's showing there, but I'm sure there'll be something amazing from Taslim Martin, who I've told you about before. It's a sign (and a jolly good one) that the shape of things is beginning to get some really meaty media exposure, not least of which is a great feature on Taslim in the latest issue of Crafts magazine. And make sure you watch the video on that link. Pay very special attention and you might even see my feet entering stage left at 4 minutes, 14 seconds:

this made me smile #132

It's boolean taxidermy, apparently. From zeitguised.

can you get anything you want at georges restaurant?*

There's a restaurant a few miles away from me that I drive past frequently. Opposite is a pub and a golf course, both of which look entirely welcoming. And, indeed, I've frequented the pub on at least one occasion. But not the golf course. There's nothing on earth that could ever tempt me to visit a golf course.

But the restaurant's not like that. Don't get me wrong, for on Friday and Saturday evenings it appears to be packed out. But there's absolutely nothing about it which says "welcome, come in and enjoy some good company and good food". For when it's closed (which appears to be most of the time) it offers a blank face to the world. An empty car park out front and a solitary brown and cream restaurant sign which boasts the name of a long-dead poet. And when it's open (which appears to be just Friday and Saturday evenings), the place is heaving. Mostly with Jaguar saloons and suchlike. Cars that independent financial advisers drive, in other words.

And it intrigues me, this restaurant. For it appears to cater only to a private little world. A world from which most of us are excluded. A world only accessible to individual financial advisers and their ilk. And by invitation only, no doubt.

Anyway, talking of restaurants that intrigue me, I happened to find myself washed up in Southampton a few days ago. It's where I grew up, so I try not to go back that often. But on this day I happened to walk past Georges Restaurant.

And I used to walk past Georges Restaurant when I was a teenager. And do you know what? It hasn't changed one bit. Not one iota. It looks exactly the same today as it did then. And now, as then, without a customer in sight.

I mean, perhaps it's not a restaurant at all. Perhaps it's a facade behind which lies a secret world, just like George Smiley's entrance to MI6. Although Georges website indicates that, should you venture inside, your bottom might sit on the very chair that was once occupied by Nick Park (of Wallace and 'Gromit' fame it says here). But still, it looks like a private world in there, doesn't it?

 But do you know what? There's just one thing, just one tiny thing that's changed in all those years since I first walked past Georges Restaurant. And the eagle-eyed typographers amongst you might have spotted that the road sign out front now boasts a typeface that was designed by Dalton Maag.

End of story.

*with apologies to Arlo Guthrie.

not fade away

goodbye old world

Yesterday marked a sort of milestone for me. For it was the day that I had my telephone disconnected. Because it's no longer relevant to my life.

Actually, that's not entirely accurate, because what I've had disconnected is my business landline number. I still have to keep my family landline, because otherwise we couldn't have a broadband connection. Because we're in the UK. And life in the UK (and I'm sure everywhere else in the world) is sometimes full of such nonsensical rules.

So now if you want to do business with me you need to contact me by email. Or call me on my mobile. Which isn't so hard, is it? Assuming I've given you my mobile number. And if I haven't you can always email me and ask for it. And I'll give it to you. If I want to talk to you, that is.

Which sort of puts me in control. Because you never really could completely control a landline number, could you? To filter out those cold callers desparate to sell you a better telephone service, or life insurance, or toner cartridges.

Which reminds me of a design studio that I know of, which used to have (and maybe still does) a very cunning way of deterring cold callers: they had a fictional company director called Tarquin. So if anybody called that they didn't want to speak to they'd be told that they'd need to speak to Tarquin. So people started phoning and specifically ask to speak to Tarquin - and usually because they were following up on an earlier conversation they'd had with Tarquin. But Tarquin was never there, of course. But best of all were the reasons given for his absence: "he's just having a manicure at the moment, I'm afraid", or "he won't be back this afternoon - he's gone to have his back waxed".

Full marks if you can tell me who the studio is.