David Stead

I have a new blog at http://www.throughthegallerywindow.blogspot.com/ Read Full Story

The scope for misunderstanding and acrimonious squabbling on this strange trip was vast. A pair of eccentrics and a depressive-Aspergic-artist cheek by jowl in a camper van for a month in the rain; throw Sat-Nav and the fact that I’m cycling upwards of 80 miles a day in to the mix and the potential must surely be explosive. That we only seriously lost each other the once is a miracle on a par with anything Jesus knocked up to entertain his mates. There occurred a series of coincidences so... Read Full Story

Dame Della Smith welcoming me back to the Village and at the same time trying to make off with my bike. I’m feeling ever so slightly foolish cycling round and round a housing estate waiting for Becky to give me the signal; well you do don't you? We’re waiting for the TV and radio people to set up their gear so I can ride into the Education Village as a symbolic end to the trip. The only thing is, I’ve been up and down the same road several times now and the three blokes fixing their car are... Read Full Story

I’m preparing for the moment when I have to slip back into the lycra. I don’t have to do any cycling (well, a few yards for the cameras at most) but I have to make my triumphant appearance at the Education Village on Tuesday, with bike and all the kit. I’d prefer to do the cycling bit and not wear the kit but apparently they want the whole package (if you’ll pardon the pun). The thing is: I look ludicrous in lycra; everybody does, but me more than most. I thought of ringing the school and... Read Full Story

Things have changed since I got back. The little cobbled street outside my gallery has become a dangerous place – mothers, hold on to your children and woe-betide the unwary. Once, almost pedestrianised it has now been opened up to traffic, but it is not the bling encrusted taxi drivers, the truculent truck drivers, or the racing repmobiles that cause me to leap into doorways lest I be mown down; oh no! It’s the pedestrians……They’ve been motorised! Once a steady stream; now a raging torrent... Read Full Story

I first spot him from high up on the bank: the telltale ‘Glop’ and the widening rings betraying his position, and now I approach him slowly and quietly. Feeding trout always face upstream, allowing them to expend minimum effort in catching their food as it floats down to them and so I wade cautiously upstream towards his Lie. The river bed is stony and I’m careful where I place my feet so as to make as little noise as possible. A Dipper zips past and sits on a nearby rock, his brilliant white... Read Full Story

So: what next? The fundraising will continue, so if you’ve found some spare change down the back of the sofa cushions, please send it in; but what of the blog? I’ve sort of got used to writing it now but of course Darlington to Vienna is over. It’s finished, completed, at an end. Who am I writing for now; is there anybody out there? Knock three times on cyberspace if there’s anyone there. If one of the first stages of madness is talking to yourself, then where along the line of looniness does... Read Full Story

‘So........! ’ Many people have been asking. ‘What was it like?’ What was it like? Well, to be truthful, I don’t really know what it was like. There doesn’t seem to be an ‘it’……more of a they, or them, and they were all different. Should I at this point cite the curate’s egg? “Oh it was great”. I say. Then immediately picture myself pedalling for mile after mile with rain and snot running down my face; wishing I were anywhere else but here. Or: “It was agony!” And then I see myself sitting in... Read Full Story

Home at last and though I went to some lovely places - particularly Vienna - it feels great. The house seems strange to me and I have to walk into all the rooms to look and familiarise myself with them again. Everything is refreshed and new. I can even see my paintings with a fresh eye. Whilst I was away I don't think I gave the house or the gallery a moments thought so it's only tentatively that familiar things present themselves to me. Friends on the other hand have been far from tentative... Read Full Story

The whole subject of the war and the holocaust was something I had intended to avoid on this trip (Don’t mention the war) but as I followed the Rhine there were many poignant reminders – sculptures, Plaques, destroyed bridges etc that put me in mind of my own father’s experiences on the push through to Germany in the months after the Normandy landings. As I progressed further south, I became more and more uneasy with the idea of ignoring – glossing over a period with such resonance... Read Full Story