For someone for whom words come easy I am finding opening this blog rather tricky, a bit like trying to get into one of those dang fangled ice cream tubs with the little invisible tab you have to find and snap off. Who thought that was a good idea? I know, let’s make it impossible for someone over forty to get into the tub without their glasses and titanium fingernails. Just give me ice cream now dammit! No chance, I’m going to spend the next five/ten minutes searching helplessly for a way in, while my ‘must have it now’ sons glower at me like I’m the idiot I am. Suddenly I hate ice cream. Walls I’m looking at you.
Sorry I digress, there are those who would claim my whole life is digression, god knows I’m not supposed to be a furniture designer. I have to presume I have something worth saying, that the voice I hear in my head is one you want to hear in yours, otherwise I’m just shouting down a well. HELLLOOOO!
Let me start with a little background. My name is Richard Baker, I was named after the legendary BBC newsreader, a favourite with my mother and just about the whole nation at the time. So famous was he and so evocative was his moniker that when I was little, on being formally introduced, people would go all gooey as if they were actually meeting the forty something spectacularly bespectacled broadcaster himself. For a modern equivalent imagine calling your child Brad Pitt. Am I showing my age?
I have had a life of professionally dubious merit, I have sanded wood, built camper roofs, laid gas pipes, sold uncooperative computers to uncomprehending consumers, been the Australian secretary of health’s secretary’s secret secretary, made theatre props, glued fake fig leaves onto real fig trees, lived on a dole grant, moved boxes over there, acted on stage TV and film leaving no evidence, become an ‘International Furniture Guru’ and, best work I have ever done, secured the heart of Libby, the most beautiful woman in the world. And that’s a fact.
We live in a time where everyone has an opinion, where everyone is an expert, where the incontrovertible has become subjective. But have no fear I am no expert, I am certain of little and happy to admit it. If I don’t know something I just make shit up. Who says knowledge is power? Not me, these days it’s just mildly irritating, like a slightly runny nose. Blow. When information is free the truth is cheap, what better time to join the fray? I will appear oracle like by comparison. Make no mistake, I will be aiming for a higher standard of twaddle. To that end I will try to write only about things that I have a better than average chance of being almost right about. I think I know stuff and I would like to share. Let the twaddle commence.