Contemporary crowd once full of purpose. Sole survivor, somehow symbolic, the last tablet. GONE! Plate purge purist, soil eliminator, grime grabber and cleanser of crockery. Succumbed. Final moments: aged pellet, slow dissolution, dissemination of power. Bare utility, poignant gap, uncertain future.
The good hour,
Long enough, for some
Good enough, for others
Not rushed like ten snatched minutes
Or as fleeting as a moment of your time
A generous measure by all accounts
I waited and then left
In truth, a good hour awake
In the darkness
Keeping my dreams at bay
This year I’m spending Christmas with my piano
My body comes gradually to its senses. It lies there for a while before realising it has changed state. An arm reaches out and brings life to the radio.
There is something all powerful about bringing life to a radio
Some time later the radio drives me out of bed. Dressing gowned stumble downstairs and stick the coffee.
I wander into the music room
Sitting at the piano my hands rest on the keys. A moment of inspiration awaits. Gradually notes appear and the piano picks the music.
Time dances
The day fades into reverie. Coffee miraculously changes to wine and into brandy. An empty plate lies on top of the piano, evidence of the day.
Sun sets
The music continues into the night…
I dozed. Under my blanket. On the sofa. In the shed. The TV blared.
Damp October days
very little happening
in my head
as if thought
has been suspended.
An empty cup
drained of tea
had some effect.
Tales of the philosopherontap
Philosophical tapitudes shut off from the world
Man walks with arm behind back
The one armed man of (flight) BA8472
Rear arm, forearm, forewarned,
flight attendant rhymes with pendant
Man behind, penetrating voice (that)
Occasionally breaks through noise cancellation defences
Fast train to Lincoln
Platform zero hero
Can’t walk in a straight line
But focussed on getting home
Outdoors indoors, the vast roof of the station
Write me a letter with no words
The hat, vanished, tossed into the celestial hat box
Once a creator of character, now piled high on an altar of anonymity
Naked head, naked truth; hatless and hapless.
Hat trick, three hats in a taxi, hats off to you driver.
Times have been different.
A feather in your hat?
Hat tip, typically, tip collector
Sunshade keeper of cool and heartfelt radiator of warmth
Wisdom applies but never practised: hold on tight to your hat
Mock me not with stab to the heart, twisting knife
Blood wiped on the sleeve of the conscience
Bury my bones six feet deep.
Watch my grave until the letters fade.
Mad hatter
Dazzling October sun
Relaxed Sunday morning start
Tea and toast consumed
Conservatory corner basking
Noises in the kitchen
Radio lulls
Hedge rustling wind
Considerations of the day
A traditional Sunday lunch in prospect with a log fire blazing in the grate. Last day of the holiday finished off in an appropriate manner.
Ageless, forever young, liver of life, lovely tiki loving Joe lover, disc spinning colourista, friend of many, wine drinker, foodie, traveller, Shiraz appreciator, Devotee.
Happy Birthday Ren
It is indeed the summer’s day that makes a living being glad.
before the heat has hit and forced all mortal men into the shade.
a floral filtered gentle breeze informs the fragrance of the morn
and coffee permeates the open windowed terraces of town.
The farm panorama. Bird talks to bird. Milking noises off. River ripples, slides past stone beach. Beetle sized cars scurry along hedge-hidden road. Cardboard cut hills provide backdrop. Woodland and fields.
for Chris Conder
On a sunny May day, a big day
the knot splicers rock up and,
in front of a gallery, friends and relations,
admirers, demonstrate their commitment
to unity.
Corks pop and glasses ring out,
excited faces beam happy cheers,
a thrilled and timeless love dance
forever in tune.
sat in the eurostar departure lounge. the checkin process was easy as being nearly two hours early there was nobody else there. debated whether to upgrade to business premier so that I could use the lounge but they don’t do that any more apaz. the decision was always going to depend on how much they wanted to charge me anyway but they took that problem away.
I found a table to sit at so it isn’t a massive biggie but the main issue now is that as the departure lounge fills up every bugger is on their phone and the internet bandwidth has dwindled from v low to non existent.
I’m in two minds about eurostar. The actual on train experience itself is fine apart from the fact that you are mostly offline. it’s the flexibility of tickets that is constraining plus the horrendous queues and taking an hour to get through security at St Pancras.
Enough of this negativity. I’m treating meself to a few glasses of wine on the train, unless they have cold beer.
On the train and settling in. Somehow found myself in the window seat on a table for four. How did that happen?
jeremy from yara
…
there are only 3 of us in this carriage. My laptop is picking up 3 wifi networks. LNER, Charlotte’s iPhone and one called Bollocks to Brexit. I now know the name of the woman sat at the table in front of me although I can’t see an iPhone.
The LNER one is too difficult to log onto and I always just use my own phone’s hotspot. Bollocks to Brexit it is then 🙂
Charlotte’s phone has disappeared. I suspect she was one of the crew changing at Grantham. Someone needs to tell her not to broadcast her hotspot. In fact why leave it on?
…
Relaxed start to the weekend. They ain’t always like this. Last weekend we were deep in preparation for a big birthday party. This weekend it is Shannon and Michael’s wedding but no rushing around doing last minute things for that and more specifically no rearranging the PA spec for the conference in Antwerp during the week.
Tomorrow we head to the south west for a balloon flight. The gentlest of flights is not a racing certainty. This morning’s departure from Victoria Park in Bath has been cancelled due to winds fractionally over the limit. The weather forecast for tomorrow looks no different to me. The slight nuisance is that we won’t get the go/no go decision until 3pm for a 6pm takeoff by which time we will be practically there. Hey…
Not written much over the past week due to a full on time in Belgium. The out of office sign went up on Thursday and will be taken down on Wednesday. I had toyed with the idea of a night in London on Wednesday night as it straddled two meetings but I’ve kicked the first into touch, influenced by the fact that I just realised there is a scouts committee meeting on the wednesday night.
We haven’t had a committee meeting since pre pandemic times. Remember those days? Mary Hopkin will be getting her geetar out and start strumming again. You need to be a certain age to get that one. Google her.
Waking up from the deep hibernation that has been the last two years the world seems totally different. Flares are no longer in fashion! A tank of fuel costs more than a mortgage payment. Baby you can drive my house. The world is at war. I shudder to think what a pint of beer costs. I rarely look 🙂
Life has been very hectic and will continue to be so until the end of June at which point the calendar suggests we throttle back and enjoy some lazy afternoons in the back garden. I know it won’t be like that but we can but dream. It’s all about striking a balance innit.
…
The back garden in the spring of 2022
On an idyllic morning the birds sing
Songs that have not changed
Since tunes began.
A careless, plentiful age, masked
By the long shadows of our troubled times.
Ashort walk
in Caernarfon
Isall ittakes
Bought some
Welsh cakes
Anda book
Butno spices
Now back
Back now
In room
Room in
in Caernarfon
the lost bag
was there and then not
now disappeared
into a morass of bags
waiting to be found
by a baggage engineer
with scanner
I see a person
with yellow hi-viz top
swimming in a lake
of orphan bags
calling out the barcode
awaiting a faint response
“I’m here
here I am
please rescue me”
a lamb’s bleat
when called by its mother