Posts from — September 2009

Remote though they are, even the Outer Hebrides are not far enough away to escape the far reaching tentacles of European legislation. It seems the quirky, rhomboid shape of the passing place sign has offended the Keepeurs of the Livre de Standards (see Note 1), who have dictated that they must be replaced by square signs, an example of which below.

Locals remain phlegmatic.

Note 1 – No attempt is being made to single out the French for blame, I just can’t do any of the other European languages very well.

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Ubiquitous feature of travel in the Western Isles of Scotland. A transient meeting place of generosity, where people wait for oncoming vehicles to pass, or to allow people uninterested in photo opportunities to overtake. Invariably involves a smile, a wave, or a short, polite parp of the horn.

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I dream my internet dreams
asleep surfing the screens
that lay inside my eyelids,
long slammed shut.
my brain clicks,
flits its way webward
visiting the sites that,
wide awake, I meander,
pondering the theft of
my most precious days.
my internet dreams
take an ethereal existence
virtually to new heights
but all too soon I wake,
history wiped clear,
no bookmark beneath my pillow
and my journey starts again.

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The harvest is in, except for a few cornfields, left for the sweet anticipation of another day. The stubble that remains provides an interesting contrast with other textures in fields adjacent. The pale green growth of next year’s early season crops. Magnetic brown, newly ploughed terrain, full of seagulls.

The farmer slumps across the wheel of his hi tech controlled-environment crop processing machine; tractor to me and you. Although the air conditioning does away with the need for sweating its soul is there, metaphorical perspiration.

Barns bulge and granaries groan. Tables bend under the weight of produce served up to open eyed families and wider circles of friends, privileged guests for the forthcoming feast. Corks pop, laughter pervades then slows to a silence. We slump into hibernation.

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You are now entering the congestion zone
6th form college enrolling now
High Quality Offices To Let
Marks and Spencer – Simply Food
Paul Ponsonby Specialist Distribution
The Firm – in cinemas September 18th
not completely confident female cyclist
Crouch End Number 91
London Euston
Internet Phone Booth
Dorian Grey – in cinemas 090909
Going Green for London
Mayor of London’s Skyride Sunday 20th September
OMG! my chunky just got funky?

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sand blows in my face as together on the towel, we huddle,

a solitary woman sits with a bucket and spade whilst her kids play at the edge of the waves

no sharks sneak up and snaffle

a child spouts ad hoc poetry:
armpit hair
underwear
people who don’t care
boys who won’t share

4 people sitting in a row on camping chairs facing outwards

a young mother struggles with her pushchair over the sand and shouts “Tylor James wait for me!”

windmills out at sea

windbreaks wrap around their people and red and yellow flags brace themselves in the breeze

a fairground in the background dips large, rolls along the coast, big wheel sliding off the pier

lifecrew

my hat blows off in the wind and I envisage equally windswept coasts opposite in Germany and Holland

plenty of photographic opportunities:

two red and blue kites flying in breeze
donkeys turning
towels flapping

a basketball bounces on the path behind

a man appears out of the water wearing long white swimming shorts and a white old fashioned vest contrasting with his black skin

icecream, lollipops, burgers, whelks, crab sticks, doughnuts, haddock and chips with fluorescent mushy peas, cups of tea

flat stones skimming
seagulls squatting, floating
large clouds hovering, watching
smaller clouds higher up move more quickly

children fleeing chased by brown waves

slot machines, twopenny falls, horseracing
international bowling

out of the bushes comes an explorer
he says”cor blimey mate”
and back to the car we go

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20mm tonight they said on the radio.
Doesn’t bother me I said,
Then I went to the grandstand
And saw people mud-wrestling,
Hang on, no, they’re walking to their tents on the old pitch and putt.
A joke in there I thought (dimly).
Can’t imagine doing this any more but
Perhaps in a different country, like Robert Pirsig did.
My second time through the book was finished today.
It’s the later edition with the postscipt.
Memorable. Like the MGP but more upsetting for the majority.

Let us know if you’ve read it as a parent or a son or a daughter.

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