where art collides

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.

nothing to hear

A small boy taps his feet. No words are said, the only sound the quiet pad of foot on floor. He is engrossed, mind focussed on the ethereal conversation on the screen in front of him.

The tapping stops, feet now up on the settee. A silent keyboard makes no noise though it must be kept busy.

The peace is short lived. His mother comes in and chases him upstairs to bed.

This winter I will trim the hedge. I will prune the fruit trees. I might work on the lawn, left over the years to the childhood ravages of wrestling, football, cricket  and rugby, of golf divots and tunnels to Australia.   I will chop the wood, lain drying by the back fence for longer than a season. I will fix the gutter by the door to the garden.

This winter I will go for walks that make my cheeks glow, returning to steamed up spectacles, defrosting in front of the fire. I will consume vast amounts of crumpets dripping with butter and polish off bottles of wine in the kitchen whilst preparing the Sunday roast.

I’m playing Meatloaf. LOUD! Can you hear it? I’m a reb. No cares. No responsibilities. Don’t give me orders. I do what I feel. Turn it up. Move it on. Blues Brothers. Eagles. Dexy’s. Jimmy Somerville. Queen. Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Get my drift? My head nods. Intensity. Focus.

48, that’s progress, one on from 47 but a little while away from five oh
48, that’s symmetry, four be two be four
48, that’s unimaginably old, if you’re ten
the wisdom of 48 years accumulates, steadily
48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48 said ten times quickly
means nothing really though add in a tune and 48 bars
and hopefully we find you on song for your 48^th birthday
Cariad
Tref

I turned the heating on today.  Another notch on the season’s belt. I’m feeling strangely calm,  important decision made. That’s it. We won’t be going back. What now? Winter’s approach. Nosebiting cold. Wait for the storm.

…whatsis name now oh hang on, Vince Cable worra lump of wood – its unbelievable they don’t know nothing guv they don’t know what’s going on in the country.  God they should get themselves out and about a bit more guv, they should get themselves out west, go west.

You’ve only got to go 8 miles, 10 miles west the whole area, the whole area Ruislip, Ickenham, Hillingdon, Feltham, Hayes, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis.  Slough is a war zone, the police won’t even come out in Slough. You call the police they won’t even bother to come out.  They’ve got the Rumanians, the Bulgarians, the Poles they stand on street corners, 20 or 30 men. 20 or 30 of them there they stand on street corners and all they’re looking at is to kill each other. It’s unbelievable. It’s unbelievable and we’ve let it go and it’s too late now to stop it.

I’m a bit upset today because I was playing golf this morning but Read the rest of this entry »

Tshirt and shorts with bare feet contrast with the hard to walk on lawn covered in wrinkle  dry  leaves painful to the naked touch. The start of autumn and end of the summer overlap, rugby  replacing cricket but rainless scorch remains. Panic strikes a production-eased ice cream industry settling down for the off season. Perspiration drips off my nose and onto the table.