Roger Stowell

A plethora of walnuts have come my way. I’m a nut lover, a lover of nuts but I do not freely share this love with all nuts. I have my pride and I also have a very small nutcracker …… smirking doesn’t suit you. Brazil has much to recommend it save for its nuts. Brazil nuts are the Sirens of the nut world that will seductively lure the nut eating ingenue into believing that their creamy interior is…

The Jolly Roger rarely comes into the sight line of the curmudgeonly grandpa character that I have studiously created, and behind which it is thought that I sit in paroxysms of jolly laughter, and when it does it is the skull and cross bones graphic, rather than apprehension of the sudden appearance of ear ringed corsairs with nothing but my booty on their minds, that strikes a chill into my…

Blackout….

I’ve lived the lie for long enough. Of the lies to live with, whilst remaining covert, it may well be the easiest as its nature is hardly believable. I have hidden in plain sight for so long that, for much of the time, I not only believe the lie but forget that it is a lie. My disguise is as simple as it is thorough; to all appearances I am what I profess to be, but which I absolutely am not.…

Asparagus, Figs, Nectarines and a Chair….

These images are available, as Giclée prints printed on Hahnemuhle Art paper by the Print Space, on https://www.rogerstowellpictures.com

Priced, according to size, from 50€ to 200€.

……or contact me direct on [email protected] to ask me any questions.

A bad annus…..

It’s the end of June, I’m in France and it’s grey outside. How happy I would be it that statement was an oxymoron but in this current annus horribilis, which is as horrible as an annus can be, happiness is seasoned with bad shit, in all its many and varied disguises. Were I to travel back through the pieces which I have written over the years, I would not be surprised to find that I have written…

Hot cross one…

…two, count to three before you say it.,,,,,oh, f-f-f-f-fudge. Fudge is an odd substitution for the infinitely more potent f word which is fuck by name but not by nature….any more. Fuck has left the bedroom and is in the street effing and blinding at any effing thing or abusing old ladies for not giving up their seats, or because it’s fucking raining or just being fucking angry….it’s left the…

Thighs chapped and sore by wet grey flannel flogging around them in the freezing Worcestershire winters of privileged prep school misery generated in me a longing for long trousers. The move to long from short was profound. To find an equivalent in the progress of a child of today is beyond me as I can’t find any parallels. Long trousers were an iPhone, were liberty, were privilege, were a new…

Norman IS an island …

This sort of misunderstanding starts wars….or warts. John, hits the space bar instead of the “r” key, now known as the “tur” key, and Norman’s status as an island is lost in a flash The bell has been tolling for Norman and not for you or me over eons of time as nobody has asked, because he asked us not to , as to why the bell is always tolling. Norman can’t hear the bell, doesn’t give a fuck…

Social distancing has resulted in my getting up close and familiar, on a daily, nay, hourly basis, with a multitude of complete strangers the majority of whom I insult and given half a chance would maim or kill without a second thought. The very word “distancing” puts one in a much safer place when employing the “cunt” word or similar erudition when arguing a political point or any point come to…

where have all the carrots gone, long time passing….

Carrots are huge; they have always been huge but now, in our moment of need, they are humongous which is why I cannot find even a one of them for my cooking pot. The humongosity, however, does not relate to the carrot per se but to the appetite for them shown by our fellow on line or in line shoppers here, in La France Profonde. I cook quite a lot; for quite a lot read a lot. I cook every day and…

This has been a bruising encounter in which the Plaintiff, Roger, believes he has been thoroughly rogered by the Respondent, Roget, in that the Respondent allowed his hard backed Thesaurus Rex, an unlicensed verbivore, to gobble up the text of the Plaintiff’s recent WordPress post entitled “We are not going out”.

The Respondent, Roget, denies the severe rogering and states that his Thesaurus…

we are not going out….

Rarely has a script writer, wittingly or unwittingly, so completely nailed the zeitgeist. As an adolescent I was told with monotonous regularity that actions had consequences to which I paid scant heed, but that same meme today has become an imperative as opposed to a caution. Corralled within the confines of our home, the action of going out advised against, we virgins, unwonted to the rituals…

Spare us this day our daily read….

…because I’m daily becoming less and less likely to forgive those that trespass against us: us being all the people who have suddenly found ourselves trying to stay alive in a world that is following a frightening script, far more frightening than any of Stephen King & Co’s books mainly because the death toll by book is limited to being prosaically crushed by a falling bookcase or, in the spirit…