Author Archive

The Third Law Part 11 – Easyjet living

Tuesday, May 15th, 2012

I’m on an EasyJet flight from Luton Aipowt to Berlin. Sat quite comfortably on a front row aisle seat having forked out £20 for speedy boarding. Worth every penny. In fact had I forked out £12.50 in advance I could have been sat in the ServisAir Executive lounge before hand. As it is I spent most of the waiting time eating lunch and doing emails and still left enough juice on my laptop battery for the whole flight ahead of me.

We were 20 minutes late taking off. 5 persons had made last minute decisions not to travel which meant that 5 bags had to be retrieved from the hold. You wonder whether one of them had a premonition. The real reason is almost certainly mundane. Bad back suddenly got worse, phobia about flying returned, straightforward family argument (again!), etc etc etc. I stuck in three etc’s there but in reality I couldn’t think of any more reasons on the spur of the moment, which was almost certainly the way they decide not to travel – on the spur of the moment that is – it’s unlikely that they had taken a lot of time to think about this or they would probably not have bothered checking their bags in. I will never know their fate and tb quite h not in the least way concerned.

Whilst in “departures” at the airport I purchased a copy of the Daily Telegraph for £1.20. This was only to (more…)

The manflu epidemic

Saturday, May 12th, 2012

They fell where they sat
settee, armchair or bed
the sickness took them
aspirin soon exhausted
bottles of Lucozade
scattered empty and liberally
on the floor around them
face cloth doused in water
but long run dry
falls off the forehead
and is not replaced
the victims fall in
and out of sleep
left alone for long
periods of up to
fifteen minutes
whilst their partners
selfishly get on
with the housework

The old man and the handcart – Lincoln municipal tip, Great Northern Terrace

Monday, May 7th, 2012

We were driving down to the tip at Great Northern Terrace and passed an old man pushing a handcart. All we had was an old carpet. The handcart was piled high with what looked like bits of an old boiler with its steel chimney. He held a steady pace – looked as if he must have been pretty fit.

He belonged in a Hovis advert really, with his flat cap firmly on his head and a look of determination on a timeworn face. I almost felt guilty driving past him. He must have come a fair old distance as there were no houses nearby and here we were in the car with just a measly bit of carpet. Did I say guilty? I think I probably meant inadequate.

We got to the tip and disposed of the carpet in the appropriate hopper. As we were leaving the dump the old man arrived at the entrance, no letup in his speed. We drove off. I wouldn’t recognise him again, unless perhaps he was pushing a handcart, with that same flat cap.

The cafe at Infosec2012, Earls Court, Tuesday 24th April

Sunday, April 29th, 2012

Two young salesmen smart in shiny suits
Take a short break, expense account cafe,
Corporate linguists, expert jargonistas
Sit now in silence, pondering their day.

a concise history of trefor davies in twenty thousand tweets (of one hundred and forty characters or less)

Sunday, April 22nd, 2012

Crossed, a random line in the twitter sand,
twenty thousand statements lost in a flow,
downstream the cybersea, stormiest of places,
tossed, examined, ignored, replied or retweeted,
unseen by most and mostly rubbish
peppered with an occasional gem, perhaps
a reflection of life and personality
insignificant, except to myself.

The modern day Eleanor Rigby

Sunday, April 22nd, 2012

Wild ambition-fuelled follows,
follow back at your peril,
modern day Eleanor Rigby
waits for something to happen,
a craving in space and time
where are all the people?
do they have other lives?
did I miss something?
twitter is forever.

The three sentences

Saturday, April 21st, 2012

Three sentences, gone, unrecovered. A broken promise by Microsoft Word. A rewrite was considered but no, let them be lost, cast adrift on a sinking raft of memories. Time is short and we must move on to arrive at our camp before night time. If we are delayed, fumbling, we will miss our destination and ourselves drift, blind with not even the stars to guide us.

Staring out of the window the yellow headed tulips have opened wide but the reds seem reluctant to follow. A blue painted wooden garden chair sits in splendid isolation on the lawn. The grass needs a cut but it is too wet, as is common practice during droughts and times of hosepipe ban. Thunderous Odin casts down his wrath; his energy arouses false anger.

But still the bird sings, perched in the hedge at the side of the garden. The rain brings the worms up to the surface. The noise of the rain on the roof has drowned out the birdsong. For all I know it works to the same principle of the refrigerator. When the door is shut the light is out. Is this the same for the bird when the rain gets too noisy?

I have to go now. Goodbye.

The leaves are back

Saturday, April 21st, 2012

The leaves are back, it’s been a while,
tender green delicates
emerge blinking in the newly sprung sun.

The rain keeps them fresh, droplets roll,
soak the bedraggled soul
finding shelter under the canopy.

Drink deep, smell that forgotten smell,
wet neck warm face smiling
in harmony with a birdborn chorale.

The Short British Summer

Sunday, April 15th, 2012

Winter has returned to LN2. The rain is pelting down outside and I have lit the fire in the front room – something we had given up on for the summer. On the wireless the BBC news informs us of a hosepipe ban. The domestic cricket season has kicked off but the week of summer is clearly over and soon the shops will be putting out their Christmas displays. We very much enjoyed the salad we had one day last week but are now glad that the Sunday roast has returned. My pair of shorts can go back in the drawer.  The t shirt gets to stay out.  It is worn all year round, from October onwards in lieu of a vest. The tan has disappeared already. In fact I don’t think I got one this year. I was in the office that day. The football season is already back, or perhaps it hasn’t yet finished. It’s difficult to tell. Although we lament the passing of the short British summer I am looking forward to the Winter Olympics in London this year. August is one of the few months of the year we can guarantee snow in the UK. I must remember to leave food out for my feathered friends and to break the ice on the bird bath. Fortunately we didn’t get around to taking the thick counterpane off the bed which is where I’ll be headed shortly to save on gas and electricity.

Great sea journeys – Part 1, The Isle of Man Ferry.

Saturday, April 14th, 2012

The pointer, a time served professional, high vis jacket kept jauntily unzipped, playfully left his pointing until the last minute. It had been quite obvious which way to go but reassuring to know that this was in line with expectations. After all we were on a big sea journey and were happy to know that we were in the safe hands of a team that knew its stuff. The Jeep slid in behind a white van near the front, perfect for an early getaway at our destination.

The harbour had met with expectations. A quay, a lighthouse that looked the part, lifeboat station with bright red barn doors and the RNLI flag flying proudly aloft. Behind it the gas tanks suited the scene and up above on the headland a hotel, now defunct, stood next to the offices and transmitter of the local radio station. Slightly lower down, on the path leading towards the lighthouse stood the camera obscura.

Our ship, the Manannan, was moored next to the larger Ben My Chree, a high sided white expanse of a ferry that plied its trade between Douglas and Heysham. Thick grey smoke emitted from the two chimney pots at its rear. These looked implausibly small at the top of the huge black and red funnel.

We were Liverpool bound. (more…)

Naked and abandoned in the rain

Friday, April 13th, 2012

Today I saw the castle,  naked and abandoned in the rain, for the ruin it really is. In the sunshine an impregnable fortress, the entrance fee bolsters its sense of inaccessibility. Now during a torrential downpour, the car park of Fenella Beach peppered with watery explosions and rivers where no rivers should exist, the sandstone walls show the sorry results of centuries of neglect. I sat quietly, listening to the rain thundering on the roof, watching only a very occasional stray bird making its way home. The windscreen misted up. I switched on the engine and drove off.

Peel 11th April 2012. 6am

Wednesday, April 11th, 2012

The sea is not quite as rough this morning. Not a soul about in town though I can see a couple of people fishing on the breakwater in the distance.

It’s a funny communal pattern – sleep by night and wake up by day. Most of us adhere to it. I expect there are one or two alarms going off now – radios coming on, bleary eyed people staggering down to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

It’s 6 degrees centigrade. Still what you might call “fresh”. From my spot looking down on Fenella Beach I can see (more…)

The early morning run

Wednesday, April 11th, 2012

The bleary eyed stagger
Fumble for the light
Kettle on autopilot
Oh no – out of tea bags
Scramble around in corner cupboard
Ahah – find new pack
Pour milk into large plastic measuring jug – only one available
Two mugs – my favourite and hers
Rinse out teapot
3 bags
Click whoosh
Tea cosy on and tray upstairs
Back to bed.
The early morning run to the kitchen

Pelagos Venture and the Dream Catcher of Menai

Wednesday, April 11th, 2012

Names to fire the lively mind
Idyllic seaborn high adventure
Drift:
gently, rod cast, fish flout,
lights dance the flutterless bay,
distant music – timeless Mediterranean romance,
Water laps across the Southern sky

Sails plough, spinnaker helmsmen battle
wind blown grip’d rigging gaze into the dramatic posed distance,
below, mugs of crew steaming liquid,
racing cumuli cut through white tops.

reality, tucked away in port,
outside the sea clings to winter,
discarded untidy mess of ropes, buoys and fishing nets,
castle abandoned to unseasonal tourists,
rusting orange topped ladder leads down to dribbled river,
cold run eyes freezing water,
stormed seaweed litters overnight road.

The Horizon

Monday, April 9th, 2012

Unattainable aspiration, reachable only by others.