Muffin Tron-ster

And a very merry Christmas

Merriest of midwinter moments and joy to the world say I. And to celebrate the occasion in typically selfless and eclectic style, here are some photos of me enjoying the best of the festivities.


Frolicking in a winter wonderland (too excited to get the Christmas scarf on):

WHERE'S Muffin Monster?? Aspiring to (but not quite attaining) the pinnacle of fairydom:

Hanging out with Christmassy pals at home:

And over at the extended family's home an endless parade of wild winter wonder and colourful cosy Christmas chaos convivially contrived:

Enjoying the heartfelt glow of John and Gail's thank you gifts (the candles) for alcoholic European festive fruit cake:

Relaxing by the fire and talking the finer points of companion animal protection in Nepalese rural areas with the photographer's sister (and trying to ignore the dejected Christmas turkey on the window behind me):

Christmas Day morning's expedition into the Arctic wastes beyond the end of the garden. Yet again I'm without my Gore Tex, but the scarf more than compensates. And a considered thank you to Boris et al for the return of the all important hat:

Myself and Jessica putting a brave face on the blistering chill:

A rare and exclusive shot of my photographer (taken by Jessica against my better judgement):

Christmas dinner with the crowd. Warm, cosy, and slightly tipsy, feelings abound. Happy Christmas!

Monsternapping isn't so bad you know ...

... in fact when there's a minor lapse in one's social calendar I'd go so far as to suggest it may provide a convivial afternoon respite.

Meet my new friends! 


I must admit that their method of introduction wasn't particularly becoming, parcelling me up without a word and threatening me with excessive temperatures, but more of that another time. Suffice it to say that lucid wit and charm (and apparently my nice new Christmas hat) saved the day. Oh the hat, the hat, everyone wants a piece of my hat. A more unusual bargaining chip one is ne'er likely to encounter. Must be the time of year. And extensive snowy-ness. And (did I mention?) wit and charm. 


Although there was no photographer in the vicinity of the anonymous location of my ordeal, the guys had their own questionably constructed photographic apparatus and were happy to take turns behind the lens. 


First up, me with Boris, as he attempts a simulacrum of my yuletide savoir faire:

This is me with Vlad who is trying not to appear too self-conscious. He's struggling to look dapper with my Christmas scarf (fortunately I always travel with a spare - I don't know them that well):

Finally we had a go with the self timer, but Boris struggled with the time/distance issue, as indeed have I. He also inadvertently adjusted the colour settings to an impressive degree considering his lack of appendages:

All's well that ends well, as my pious Plasticine predecessors purportedly preached. All these shots were with the guys just before they blindfolded me (so as not to reveal their location to any LBM search and rescue professionals, of which there were surely thousands by that point) and dropped me off back home, just in time for tea. And Christmas present wrapping. And carol practise. I think we'll keep in touch, although physical limitations means being pen pals is not an option. Occasional video conferencing perhaps.

SOS

beingheld captive 
ocation unknown
.monsternappers' motivations nknown
nmay be ransom involvd
no chance ti get picture of surroundngs
only attempt b

Morph: progenitor of Wallace and Gromit

Here's a wintery contribution from the early Aardman archives. It counters my recent experience of snowmen as not particular helpful creatures. Morph is also legendary in my professional circle, not to mention the photographer's early memories of Morph adventures on 1970s British television. 


I am not a monster susceptible to idle celebrity worship, but if I were to choose a target Morph would be on the shortlist.

M. Muffin Monster: Professionel d'appareil photo

The tables have turned. Briefly. I received an invitation to capture this moment and gladly accepted. To truly excel as a LBM one must have extensive knowledge from both sides the lens. Such a naturalistic style as mine is, paradoxically, honed over agonising years to a state of grace where I am not so much anticipating the camera as in a state of pure symbiosis with its every intention. Yes, I am one with that facilitative tool of creative wonder.


This of course should have made taking a simple festive family shot a rote activity.


The genesis for the scene was to illustrate the tall, thin characteristics of the photographer's tree on the left with the more vertically reduced and rounded personality of Jessica's tree on the right. A slight concept but sweet nonetheless. My preference was to avoid any form of post-prod. editing, hence I positioned the camera in the hallway. Fine with a manual focus SLR of course, but challenge number one was to ensure the digital's eyes were squarely on the Christmassy prize. This is my good self setting up the shot and cleaning the lens:

Challenge number two, as I'm always loathe to admit, was effective manipulation of the control set without the old opposables and a distinct lack of personal elevation. In this I was aided, in a mediocre fashion, by the photographer, who provided a makeshift platform. I didn't challenge him on the health and safety aspects of this construction although I did internally list at least 14 flagrant risks sufficient to take him to a tribunal.


Et voila mesdames et monsieurs, the shot itself. What I did not remind the photographer of was the inescapable truth that if there's a camera in my vicinity with its shutter open, I need, yes, need, to be in front of it. I set the self timer in secret. Unfortunately my stocky little legs have rather glaring limitations. Ten seconds was sufficient to get in front of the lens but no further. Either way, I am 200% certain that you will agree the finished product is greatly improved with my presence than without. Happy festive preparations to all!

Days 7-9

The weekend prior to Jessica's return was anticipatory in feel. Whilst the photographer worked feverishly in the background to ready the homestead with festive knick-knacks in a humble attempt to engender warm fuzzy feelings in his returning spouse, I was most glum. Perhaps it was the aftermath of the grand day out sampling Swedish, post-modern Anglo-Italian and American retail culture all in one heady helping. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of where my next photo-op. would come from. Perhaps it was just Seasonal Affective Disorder (we are on a similar latitude to Moscow here). Either way, the first thing I did on arrival at the photographer's parent's home for a meal was throw myself in the path of an oncoming train:

When it was pointed out that I was likely to do more damage to the train than the contrary things started to brighten up. I felt almost empowered (not a word I treat lightly considering both my stature and lack of opposable digits). To give a further propane boost to my spirits the succulent smell of Sunday roast started to emanate from the kitchen. When the food arrived I ended up feeling a little out of my league, but happy again nevertheless.

On our return home the photographer's festive preparations melded with my improved perspective and I deigned to lend my refined visage to the following scene. I feel it augments the rather more jaded profiles of these two celebratory stalwarts no end. Can you see the professionalism with which I 'project' myself into the scene? I am coming Rudolf! (And do please note the quality stitching of my Christmas Scarf as it comes daringly loose in the excitement).

Just when I was on a high from the photoshoot who should I meet but these two grumpy old pieces of petrified Plasticine. They play starring roles in the Vallentine family Christmas card collection this year and I think it's gone to their frozen heads. The snap below is in fact of me telling the photographer what I thought of their bemused aloofness:

The day before we drove to the airport was long and tedious, punctuated by moments of anticipatory frivolity. I re-knotted my scarf and practised my best smile. I superimposed myself on old holiday photos with a certain wistfulness:

I had surprisingly well honed debates with Darth Tater on the ontological state of fictional nemesese in action figure form whilst waiting for the photographer to return with daily provisions:

Finally the 'Day of Jessica's Return' arrived. We left for Heathrow blisteringly early (LBMs are not renowned early risers but my TCi was well insulated) and arrived comfortably on time. I believe it's fair to say I felt a certain gamut of nerve jangling emotions whilst seated at Arrivals watching the anonymous yet unique faces of recent alightees as they poured from the gates of Her Majesty's Customs & Excise. Whilst Jessica is a soulmate and friend of the highest calibre we had not met in the Plasticine before. Needless to say my anxieties were misplaced and the meeting when it came about was most satisfactory:

Days 4-6

Having suitably scrubbed up and warmed up my de-iced glutes, the following day was about the symbolic union of two essential condiments of the highest order. Yes, I'm looking at you Salt and Pepper. My extensive wardrobe doesn't only pander to the unbearable lightness of my scarf passion, it also contains neck cloth of a far more ceremonial bent. With clerical collar suitably positioned it was off to the church grounds to engage a spiritual strand of my polymathic knowledge for the greater good of all condiment kind:

By a stroke of transtheistic luck, who should I meet on my way back through the Pot Plant Forest of the Nether Living Room but my old pal the Green Man. He really needs to get those teeth seen to.

The discomfiting news reached me the following morning of food poisoning in the New World Horn clan. Never been a fan of sea food myself. Nor salad for that matter. Muffins are fine if one is isolated in the Arctic wastes and needs to cut something warm open, a la Empire Strikes Back, to hide in whilst the blizzard passes o'er head. Otherwise not a fan of the taste. So discomfited was I by this most sad news that the psychosomatic force became strong in me and I vomited my discomfiture all over the strategically placed local newspaper.

Even more unfortunate is that unscrupulous photographer who, unbeknownst to me, caught me the previous evening in a state that can only be described as 'hedonistic abandon'. I must have been having such an ecstatic experience in the midst of home-made (by Jessica)truffle devouring that I didn't notice his surreptitious snapping. And now the cause of my psychomatic sensitivity has been revealed brazenly to the world in all its mundane and truffley truthfulness.

Day 6 was, by all accounts, rather exciting. It commenced with a trip to that mildly crazed Scandinavian furniture emporium and ended in the romantically named Costco via lunch with some Bristolian relatives of the photographer. 


We started in IKEA by looking at shelving for Jessica (a.k.a. new furniture for me). IVAR wasn't so comfortable for all day sitting, but I was impressed with the proffered value. Sadly the sign told us that IVAR wasn't available for comment, or purchase.

The highlight of the day was, as it always should be, to make friends and influence plushies. These chaps were incredibly accommodating and made me feel most welcome in a Swedish kind of way. I did get a little nervous at the way they kept nudging me toward the cooking pot behind us. Perhaps they just like saunas.

Having said our adjös and kept all our appendages unsteamed, we moved on to the bedroom department where I formed an instant attachment to the anatomically well thought out pillows. For a side sleeper with a long neck like me, such well designed curves were a joy to discover:

Lunch had a post-modern faux rustic tinge to it in a way that only British eating houses can. The cuisine was, naturally, Italian in origin (panini) with English embellishments (brown sauce). The hot chocolate was most acceptable. 


The conversation centred mainly on old family photographs and present day likenesses and traits. Whilst not undisposed to look back at the past as a method of understanding the present, it's not where I'm really 'at' as an existentialist monster. Perhaps if someone were to unturf sepia prints of my own great grand parents, my predisposition would become more favourable.

And finally the grand tour of Costco, Jessica having recently been gifted membership as a result of her professional pursuits. It would have been good to have her accompany me as her competency in the discipline of shopping is undisputed. Through some simple comparative analytics using the photographer's smartphone ('smart' being a misnomer, when I greeted it courteously it didn't even grant me a staccato sine tone in response) it seemed as though Costco would not save us money due to our lack of need for bulk purchase. 


Of suitable wonder and delight however were the freshly made delicatessen and perishables on show. The cakes would not only feed a platoon of monsters by their size, but would also send them into cathartic delight by the quality of taste and texture. Whilst not personally a fan of the taste of muffin (the faintly cannibalistic imagery perhaps) I was nevertheless excited to see my namesake in print and marvel at the variety on offer. It inspired a reverie in which I saw all muffinkind as eclectic, sweet, colourful, anatomically varied, universally pacifistic, intellectually astute, AND multitudinous. Perhaps they can win me over, with time. Arise Sir Muffin (and all associated monsters)!

Days 1-3

Without further divertisement, let me recount the week of my inaugural travels and their daily publishing on the international stage that is the most exotic sounding locales of Clemson, South Carolina and Dallas, Texas. Particular mention to the appreciative capabilities of the Family Horn: true connoisseurs of the joys of anthropomorphicisation.


For a period of 9 days, starting with my birth day on the 27th November 2010 A.D., I was alone, with only the photographer to provide pitiful banter of the lowest order as a substitute for genuinely erudite conversation. In other words, a perfect opportunity to do what the great gods of Plasticine put me here to do: explore.


Firstly I enriched my geographical knowledge whilst following my most wonderful uber-friend Jessica as she flew over the icy tundra of the northern Americas in her really really small transportation vessel with a big red line coming out of its rear: 

Inspired by this I requested that the photographer provide me with my own transportation, and thus the Travel Cup (TCi tTec MM, coupe delux model) veritably rocketed off the production line (yes, I really am pinned back in the TCi by its acceleration):

With my new found freedom we ventured forth. Now, I am known far and wide for minutiae and subtleties of facial expression that make me excel as a LBM. You'll notice below for example that, even accounting for the shock of realising a carnivorous quadrupedal hunter twenty times my size was behind me, I sustained a wary smile long enough for that overly lethargic photographer to get me in focus:

This location shot as a concept was sound, but next time I'm wearing Gore-Tex over my posterior. Or temporarily relocating my scarf:

After such a taxing day there's nothing better than to remove one's garments and relax in the bath. I'm told certain species include warm water in the equation but I can tell you that with my own delicate constitution that would be an unremittent disaster. Savour this salacious scene - it's a rare instance in which I am captured scarf-less.

I am Muffin Monster, hear me articulate.

Welcome welcome welcome. I welcome you. Muffin Monster is the name, exploring the game. All modi of exploration considered: physical, metaphysical, kinetic, static, aesthetic, gastronomic (the latter within certain limitations). 

Despite pretentions toward the polymathic, my true vocation is capturing my explorations on celluloid. I'm at home in front of the camera as a Live Blue Model, seeking out new friends and snapping myself with them. Out where wild things sneeze, truffles are plentiful, and snowmen are antisocial posers. Huzzah!