here dreams are sold
registered on the system
and brought through
for home assembly
in the comfort
of your living room
chose a colour
pick a pattern
fabric feels good
shut your eyes
sit back and relax
flatpack dreams
aaahhh!
self assembly dreams
float on by
discount dreams
50% off
for this weekend only
dream on
As I drove down the Lincoln bypass last night there was a wonderful picture in the sky. It merited a 1000Megapixel photo taken with a panoramic lens. The problem was I didn’t have my camera with me and in any event I don’t think they make them yet to quite that high a spec.
I mulled over in my mind how I would describe the effect of that sky using only words. I couldn’t see how I could come close.
The rain had not long moved on and the sky showed the remnants of that activity. Shreds of clouds, strays and waifs of irregular shape and disposition. The pallet that was the sky consisted of eggshell blue, dark grey blues, clouds both grey and white and a white crescent moon suspended amongst it all but looking out of place.
I don’t think any art survives for ever. It all eventually is lost or dies. Last night the painting in the sky lasted until it was almost dark and then disappeared. On my way home it was gone. There will be another but it will never be the same.
Ten o’clock at night and it is still 24 degrees out, at least according to the dashboard of Anne’s car.
I feel as if I should be strolling down to some café near the harbour and joining in with the clink of bottle and glass. The pesky violinist is a bit of a nuisance but he knows I will give him some money to go away. There is laughter at all the tables around and we sit back quietly enjoying the atmosphere after yet another busy sun soaked day.
The harbour is strung with lights and the masts that grow in it are barely moving in what little breeze there is. In the distance the blink of a lighthouse offers reassurance. The occasional scooter scoots by hooting the occasional squeaky horn.
The smell of barbecued lamb tempts us and we tuck in, squeezing lemon juice over the meat and dipping bread into the juices on the plate. Washed down with red wine it is very satisfying and we order another bottle.
Eventually the numbers start to dwindle. The violinist has packed away his instrument and walked off up the narrow cobbled side streets to his home. We settle up and follow suit. Back at the apartment we fall asleep on top of the bed with the windows open. We will be back the next day.
I drive down to pick Hannah and her friends up from Nandos at the Brayford in Lincoln and drop them at home. I can but dream!
sparkling sapphire sea,
full of fish and dolphins,
glittering fins break the suface,
but then,
waves roll,
no longer calm and smooth,
but rough and choppy,
no fins break the surface now,
what was perfect is now ready to kill.
Cows have horns in different places to elephants. Both need to be avoided.
Cows don’t have trunks, elephants do which can come in very handy especially for drinking up buckets of beer and then squirting it at whoever is sitting opposite.
Never try and milk an elephant, it could have fatal results and in any case elephant milk doesn’t go well with tea.
Cows are afraid of tigers but I don’t think elephants are, though I’m not 100% sure on this one.
Cow poo is a different shape to elephant poo and you can’t play bowls with it although it is good as a frisbee once it has dried.
Both cows and elephants can be called Nellie. Norman, however, is an unusual name for both species.
Nellie the cow packed her trunk and said goodbye to the circus – yep that works.
You would never get an elephant flying over the moon though, they’re far too big and heavy and would take too much rocket fuel to get them going.
You can get more people on the back of an elephant provided it is a fully grown adult.
Happy birthday Megsy.
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After 25 years you’re back they all said; we’ve been waiting.
I’ve been oh so busy my response – weak perhaps.
I can now see how they won the war, again.
I really enjoy American company and always have. Florida is very cosmopolitan but elsewhere less so.
What a great country, makes us look rather insignificant I feel.
They went to their doom, unknowing
Victims of the modern world,
A destiny predetermined by chance,
Outside their sphere of influence.
There was nothing I could do
As I watched them go by,
And even if I could have communicated,
They would not have been able to respond.
Helpless and oblivious they went on to their fate.
I never saw them again.
Leave my cake alone
I’m keeping it for my tea
If you go and eat it
There’ll be none left for me
Leave my cake alone
I’ve hidden it from my mummy
If she went and found it
It would end up in her tummy
Leave my cake alone
It’s covered in chocolate cream
If you try and lick it
You will surely make me scream
Leave my cake alone
You pastry popping daddy
Coz if you scoff it down
It will make you feel a baddy
Leave my cake alone!
For Stella on her birthday.
Has anybody seen my brown shoes?
I want to go out into the street,
And I need something to put on my feet,
Has anybody seen my brown shoes?
An idea tossed into the air
Gathered momentum,
With spring spurred action,
Test flight looked good,
Filling on form,
Inspection passed,
Bright eyed and open mouthed
The family assembled,
All systems go,
Out of the frying pan
Into the heat
Of the Antipodean summer.
For my funkypancake friend and his family who will know what this is all about.
These are rare evenings.
It’s still, and I’m sat outside the pub
In shorts and shirt sleeves.
The trees are motionless but
Swallows soar and swoop,
Busying themselves,
Though I suspect
Most insects have gone to bed.
I can hear more birds
Talking in the trees.
A murmur emanates from within
And the lights have come on outside
But there is plenty time before the dark dark.
A hairless non stop talker recounts his life
As a musician to a red faced resident,
Listening for the price of a pint.
Cars pass by on the road outside the pub
And occasionally one pulls in.
A Land Rover that leaves its boot open
To cool the dog inside, presumably.
A man leans against his van,
Doesn’t want a drink
But talks on his mobile phone.
The blue sky deepens
A contrast cut
By the occasional cloud, white.
Through the window diners dine
And drinkers cluster round the bar.
The red face drives home!
Geese flypast and land.
Dear Bear/Mr Grylls (delete as you consider appropriate)
The 18th Lincoln (Bailgate) Scout Group is celebrating its 90th anniversary next year on the 12th and 13th of December. It was either rather a long delivery or it happened exactly on the stroke of midnight and they couldn’t make their mind up which day it actually was (delete as you consider appropriate).
Seeing as you are now our Chief Scout/intrepid adventurer/all round good guy (delete etc…) we would be thrilled if you could come along to help us celebrate/unveil plaque/launch new canoe (etc). The latter is because we are Sea Scouts here at Bailgate 18th. Dunno if you ever had any nautical adventures?!
I don’t actually know how we will be celebrating at this time because I think I might have missed that particular committee meeting but I’m sure it will be good. Probably light a campfire and sing songs and so on. You know the form.
So if you could come then that would be great. That weekend is just after my own birthday so perhaps we could make it a double celebration. I’m not ninety though! If you can’t make it that weekend then some other time in 2010 would also be great. We will fit around you so no excuses really eh? 🙂 Just let us know when.
Yours Sincerely
Tref (age 47 1/2 )
there it hung, motionless,
in suspended animation way beyond the back garden fence.
it looked like a ladybird,
red with black spots, though they might have been blue,
I couldn’t really tell from a distance.
it appeared as the evening settled down,
still light, though the trees had started to look like cut outs.
I expected it to come closer,
because of the direction of the wind,
but it seemed to be going further away.
then I realised it was probably landing.
it began to sink slowly
leaving me to guess exactly where it went down,
disappearing out of sight.
I put a log on the barbecue
turning it into a firepit and providing an alternative distraction.