Wet Paint

It’s been art week at school. I’ve been seeing a lot of paint. And, not for the first time, I’ve thought how much more pleasing wet paint is than dry paint. Thick and glossy and bright, it’s always slightly disappointing when it dries, duller and grainier than it looked in the tin or the pallet. Wet paint speaks of possibility, all the things it could become still waiting in liquid colour. The idea of liquid colour is inherently satisfying: its primary purpose is its colour and there’s something indulgent about that. It looks inviting; I almost want to touch it. But I don’t... because the feel of wet paint drying on my fingers is certainly not a monkey.

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)

The Most Perfect Sweet Potato Ever

There’s been a reason for the lack of ‘Taste no Evil’ monkeys round here recently. I’ve had a persistent bout of oral thrush, which has been unpleasant in many ways, not least in its devastation of my taste buds. I’ve gone from weird tastes to no taste at all and I’m finally coming out the other side... which has led to me finding monkeys in unlikely places.

There have been small pleasures in things I could taste more than others, or things I could suddenly taste again, but the most amazing taste bud excitement came yesterday, very surprisingly, in a simple meal of a baked sweet potato with hummus. It was a very beautiful meal: bright orange topped with creamy yellow and contrasting with green salad leaves and purple beetroot. I wasn’t expecting to taste much. But the sweetness of the potato, the soft gooey flesh of it, was a proper joy, balanced by the nutty, garlicky flavour of the hummus. It was the first thing to seriously beat the thrush in a taste-fight. I was eating alone, which was unfortunate because I was dying to gush my appreciation, but it made my pleasure seem satisfyingly illicit and indulgent, and this I enjoyed very much.

Taste is a simple luxury that it’s easy to take for granted, but that sweet potato reminded me of all that is glorious about flavour. And that made it The Most Perfect Sweet Potato Ever.

Monkey by Ed Clews

Lie-in

I’m aware that my approach to my Sunday morning lie-in is faintly ridiculous. It’s a small pleasure I look forward to all week, and I’m lucky enough to be routinely indulged in breakfast in bed and a steady supply of tea while I read and rest in the most comfortable bed in the world. What is ridiculous is that I get up before the first cup of tea arrives. I open the curtains at one end of the room (one set closed for privacy and the other open for light has a pleasingly cave-like effect). I make the bed so that the sheets are smooth and duvet is orderly again after a night of sleep. I find it satisfying to see the hugeness of the bed when it’s made properly and I can sit up and enjoy it. I plump my pillow and set it against the headboard at just the right angle. And when all this is done, I am ready to enjoy my lie-in to maximum effect. If the room is tidy and the sheets are fresh, there is no evil to be seen on a Sunday morning.

Monkey by Tony Pickering (@mrpickers)

Morning Magic

Early morning sunshine is like a magic spell. There are few days when I wake up gladly, but occasionally, when the sun is already up and bright and reaching through the curtains, it’s easy. Even with the curtains still drawn and the blinds pulled down, the room is bathed in yellow. The day ahead seems long and full of promise and you don’t have to turn the lights on in the bathroom. You’re not going to be cold when you pull back the covers and you’re not going to get wet when you open the front door. And everyone else has woken up with the sunshine too, so when you get to work, everyone’s wearing brighter colours and smiling. We haven’t had one of these days in a little while. Here’s hoping... 

Monkey by Clive Wesley Dennis 

Smells like School

There are plenty of not-so-pleasant primary school smells (children’s toilets; sweaty classrooms; bare feet on gym mats...) but there are also some that are comforting and welcoming and full of nostalgia.

Poster paint is one of my favourites: it still smells exactly as I remember it when I was at school, and sometimes when I walk into a classroom full of children painting, I’m swept back to memories I didn’t know I had of standing at easels and dipping fat brushes into pots of colour. I also love the smell of unifix-cubes – little plastic cubes, for those not in the know, that fit together and are usually used as counting aids in maths lessons. They have a very specific plasticy smell, and though I don’t really remember using them myself, they must have been around because that smell is familiar enough to take me back to my primary school classrooms. I love the smell of fruit-time in the morning (especially if the children are having oranges) and the smells from the kitchen of freshly baked bread and simmering gravy. I love the smell of pencil sharpenings and play-dough and washing powder on a Monday morning when all the uniforms are clean and fresh.

It largely depends on my mood whether I’ll pick up on more of the good smells or the bad smells on a given day, but on the good days, there’s something glorious about the smell of a primary school.

Monkey by Kieran Hazell (www.ownbeat.co.uk)