Category — chinks

Cooped up, stressed, tired, argumentative, sulky, whinge, smoke alarm, trumpet practice, noise, noise, noise, noise, noise.

A bike ride brings peace. A corner of the table. A quiet brunch.  A large cup of tea.  Ahhh.

Tweet

they used to be small
now they are huge with attitude
i look up
from my lowly position of parent
see the results
of that investment in fruit, vegetables, protein and love
it seems to have worked
why would i ever have thought otherwise
they can be sensible
looking up again
from that feet on the ground perspective
i smile

Tweet

Just come back from a walk in the allotments at the back of our house. It was a privilege to have been the first human there after the snow. Not quite the same as a being the first to lay eyes on Shangrila but these days we have to be grateful for any small discoveries allowed to us.

Having recently watched the BBC series frozen planet our bit of snow does seem a little pathetic but hey, I’ll take it.

Tweet

Greying sky and temperature drop. Shop girl moves pavement display inside. Few pedestrians circulate though two cyclists skid to halt by bookies. Man carries three bags for life. I feel draught and adjust shirt under coat. Baby cries outside post office. Hands in pocket dirty road home city needs a clean. Garage sells all coal. Soups stock’s out in supermarket. A nation anticipates snow.

Tweet

five boys, two phones

three watch, two play

three gifts, for birthdays

six parents, no choice

Tweet

crowded café, quiet murmur
newspapers, smartphones, bacon sandwiches
outside, bright Saturday morning
sun competes with sharp frost,
most customers sit alone
TV switches on, intrudes
nobody watches, except I watch people
and pictures on wall
murmur volume grows
competing with ignorant TV
noisy advertisments
music switches on kitchen
in preference

I notice lights, wonder if dark without
11 am in February

Tweet

I am laid back on the sofa near the fire listening to Pink Floyd. In my own little world. This music is so near to perfection that I want to write the equivalent of it in prose, or poetry. Words should be able to take me away in the same way that the music does. There is no reason why words alone can’t anaesthetise. Carry.

Our family tonight has become the ultimate technology victim. Anne is sat on the floor inserting leaflets into “Target” newspapers whilst watching some TV programme on the iPad and listening through earphones.  We are in our own zones. There is no need to talk to each other. Each other’s presence is enough. The kids are elsewhere.

No great words from  me though. Just meanderings. As the log fire dances slowly its warmth gently permeates.

Nothing that is on the TV attracts me. It strikes me that talented as some of these programme makers must be we can surely have nothing in common.

Tweet

I saw a man in an orange high viz top

He looked as if he was picking up rubbish

He picked up a cigarette stub, studied it and slipped it in his pocket

I gagged

Tweet

Jaunty jazz-filled airwaves at Café Guzel. Not many customers but it is after 9am and they should all be at work. I can see them striding purposefully by outside, well wrapped up against the zero degrees first day in February. The café is comfortable and its walls are covered in fifties and sixties movie memorabilia together with souvenir number plates from the far side of the Atlantic.

I am facing the big front windows but behind me I can hear café-like activity. Frying, clanking dishes and the banter in another language between the chef and waitress.

The music has stopped and I can now hear the traffic and what sounds like the moan of the wind outside though it may be the beginning of the next track! I have a few more minutes before I need to head off for my meeting.

Occasionally the door opens and someone else enters. Good morning…

Tweet

There was a dead fox in the road. It was perfectly formed, although obviously being dead was a slight imperfection. I only saw it for a moment as I drove past. I looked at it. The fox did not look back. I was quickly by and the dead fox disappeared into memory.

Tweet

you can go straight in
no waiting, no time to think
perfunctory chat, the chair back sinks
hand over control
smells, glare, open mouth, noises
occasional aah – not much of a conversation
plastic sucks metal prods
several injections stab pain
numbing silence
whirring drill might be pneumatic
gag
hold on tight
large spectacles see spit fountain
filling, squeak and scrape
clamp those teeth, up and down, a few times
looks good
rinse and spit out the bits
quick clean and quick payment
departure.
the trip to the dentist,
never a great experience.

Tweet

endless hypnotic wait for the passing
in cold trance of a train
of infinite length, flatbed truck follows
flatbed truck after flatbed truck
lengthening a crossing queue
of, eventually, growing irritation as
the train never seems to end.

Tweet

It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.

Tweet

One wore a short green topcoat with large green buttons, a pair of blue jeans and sensible shoes. The other was similarly attired with a black and white hounds tooth top and a black beret. Not “with it” but not “without it”.

They were slim. Greying hair.

Their faces betrayed them, more appropriate to the old east end, a talk with a fag over the back fence whilst they hung out the washing. There was nothing out of place about them. They were of this time. It’s just that their craggy faces were not.

“It’s a good job I’m skinny” said one to the other as she sat down next to someone else sat opposite me. He didn’t look that big. It’s all about attitude.

Neither wore a wedding ring. I wondered if they were partners. Certainly friends. Get on!

Tweet

JazzFM is on in the background. I’m on my third glass of wine. Quite a nice 2007 Rioja. I am relaxed.

A boy strides up and down discussing attitudes to disease in the 19th century.

I recognise some of the tunes. It adds to the warm and comfortable feeling.

Looking around I notice the colours in the kitchen. Black contrasts with oak. Green tablecloths with the rich red of the wine. The lights are reflected in the deep black windows.

A double base plucks its resonance and the hi hat intermingles with strokes on the piano.

Household noises don’t interrupt. A football match is about to begin in another room. A debate on medical discoveries continues; single sided.

A Spanish guitar has replaced the piano. I picture myself playing it. Removing my spectacles, eyes closed, my mind wanders off to a cellar bar in Andalucia. Communication is unnecessary.

An evening meal enters the room, shakes a saucepan and greets us. The trance is broken.

Tweet