Archive for April, 2009

Swine Flu

Thursday, April 30th, 2009

Swine flu has put me on a high,
Another pandemic in progress,
The end of the world is nigh,
Whilst you can, live life to excess.

One more drink before the end of play,
A calming effect don’t panic,
Oblivion wends its certain way,
Endemic or not, it’s academic.

As we await our final moments,
A time for thought and deep reflection,
A battle fought with inner torments,
If life is cheap, what price infection?

“After the walk” by dex

Monday, April 27th, 2009


Dex – self portrait

Monday, April 27th, 2009
by dex

by dex

On the premature death of a neighbour

Sunday, April 26th, 2009

He died, young,
Though many have gone before,
The shock remains,
As if for the first time.

The community, silenced,
In unexpected grief,
Left thinking,
Pondering their own mortality.

On stage tomorrow

Friday, April 24th, 2009

We’re on the Tesco stage at the Millennium Centre tomorrow.

Singing some songs that as yet I haven’t seen and don’t know.

I’ll be standing at the back doing my best as anyone would,

I really hope I don’t do an impression of John Redwood.

slow portrait by funkypancake

Sunday, April 19th, 2009

And he’s out!

Thursday, April 16th, 2009

Not cricket. He said.

Don’t care. Said Mr Turner.

What am I to do between 5 and 7?

Not my concern, you’re not sitting here,

We don’t like you’re demographic and its lack of money.

But my listeners. But my games, my lines. My life.

Commercial radio is no place for cost cutting,

Just people cutting and Mike has gone.

Beware all those who plan careers

In this, the people marketplace.

You’re young once only

And then only briefly.

A Loving God

Saturday, April 11th, 2009

In Italy this week
A loving God
Who is all powerful,
Killed off a couple
Of hundred people
In an earthquake.
They must have been
Evil, presumably?!

The bell tolled,
The faithful went to prayer
And their Leader sent a message
“Assuring us of his spiritual nearness,
Sharing the anguish”.

The bereaved I’m sure,
Would be comforted,
That the souls of the departed
Were fine,
Presuming they were
Good Catholics and
Regularly went
To confession,
The dead that is.

Some mercy was shown –
Survivors were found
Pleased that their names
Were not this time
On the celestial roll call.

The dead, Sofia, Carlo,
Anna, Francesco
Fictitious and fleeting,
Will be remembered for some years
By a plaque, itself destined
For destruction by some future
Wanton act of the same God.

The Orinoco Trail

Saturday, April 11th, 2009

In the morning the mist rolled down from the peaks
To mingle with the steam rising from the hot springs
That formed the headwaters of the Orinoco river.
The snows were still waiting to melt but we floated around the pools
Enjoying the scenery and the fact that we were warm
In spite of the obvious cool of the mountains.

Exploring the waters we were suddenly caught
In a current that left us powerless to resist;
Swept downwards we struggled to keep our heads
Above the torrent and to avoid the attentions of the rocks
That waited their chance at each bend.

In no time at all, it seemed, we found ourselves
Down the river and out at sea fighting huge waves
That pummeled us as much as had the river earlier in our journey.
The waves eventually grew smaller and we were washed
Onto a gentle sloping beach where we were able to recover.

Around us were exotic plants of all kinds
And above the beach the miracle of a terrace bar,
No illusion this but an invitation to partake.
Dripping back to our towels we picked up some
Valuables to barter for ice creams with the locals.

Wild water rapids we got licked!

The Starbucks Bubble

Saturday, April 11th, 2009

Sitting there sipping my tea on the indoor terrace
I was completely relaxed and the noises
That bounced off the skin of my bubble
Added to my sense of wellbeing.
The sounds were never quite prominent enough to intrude
But I could hear what they were.

Chairs moved, table tennis balls pinged and ponged,
People spoke and I could, I thought, detect
The faint whirring of the air-conditioning fans above,
Teaspoons clicked and straws sucked as footsteps went by.
I could see the rainwater running
Down the glass roof outside the bubble
But the sound of the rain was only in my imagination.
Climbers went slowly up and down the wall.
A man, who had been sat with his daughter
For at least ten minutes in front of me finally spoke:
“When is your first exam?”

The family eventually found me and the bubble burst .

Jardin Des Sports, Longleat Center Parcs, Easter 09

What a show

Monday, April 6th, 2009

We listened with amusement.
We enjoyed the later banter.
The elder male grandchild was on.
He held the crowd.
He shouted clear.
The description was crisp and the cola was tasty (so we hear).
Then we heard the sirens.

Center Parcs Longleat

Monday, April 6th, 2009

The pool, providing you can find somewhere to plonk your stuff, is a good place to go when you arrive.

The queue of cars, when it was time to go to the villa, was long and with engines running not particularly environmentally friendly.

The villa, when you finally get there in the car, is a long way from the pool.

It’s a good job we have the car, because 50 camels worth of baggage would have taken a long time to carry the seemingly miles to the villa.

The beer, after we had returned the car, was very satisfying.

The queue, in the Parc Market, was highly frustrating when considering all I wanted was a pack of bacon for breakfast.

The bill, from the Parc Market, did not represent a single pack of bacon.

The rain, on the way to the bike hire place, was somewhat disconcerting.

The rain, when riding the bike back to the villa, was very wet and for those of us with glasses, obfuscating.

The hills, between the bike shop and the villa, were completely exhausting.

The glass of wine, back at the villa, was absolutely essential.

The cuddle with Anne, at the end of it all, was highly satisfying

Center Parcs, Longleat, Easter 2009.

y coliers

Sunday, April 5th, 2009

wyth awr i lawr i lwch,
uffern o le mewn tywyllwch;
eu tynged oedd syched hwch,
diffrwythwyd mewn diffeithwch.

gan alun davies

The bikers

Friday, April 3rd, 2009

I first notice the two motorcycles when they passed me on the M50 a little north of Newport, just after the Celtic Manor junction. I was on my way home from a few days in Cardiff with my sister Sue.

When they passed me I pulled to the left a little to let them by. The rearmost bike was weaving a little side to side, stretching his legs out and riding high on the saddle. It seemed as if he had had a long journey and was flexing his muscles.

They raced on ahead and I thought nothing more. Then a little further north I saw one of them on the hard shoulder of the motorway clearly in difficulty. Looked like some sort of engine trouble. I passed him quickly and again I thought nothing of it.

Then I came across the second bike. He had slowed down and was constantly looking in his rear view mirror for his chum. There was nothing I could do. He had not seen his companion pulling up and could not turn around to go back and look for him. On the motorway I had no way of telling him what had happened.

I quickly pulled ahead of the second bike and my life moved on. I imagine they found each other eventually. It felt to me as if the two bikes were a pair of ducks and one of them had been caught by a fox, the other one flapping around helplessly wondering what had happened to its mate.