roll ‘em
fill ‘em full of whisky and roll ‘em
line ‘em up like gas-bloated porkers
brim with potential and gasping for kicks
release to an audience of nosey savants
significant savour,
bar brawl, shameful mix
full, of anticipation
empty, filling with expectation
or deepest reflection, innermost feeling
a cycle, start again
roll ‘em
fill ‘em full of whisky and roll ‘em
photo – Barrels by Blues
My homepage is Google. It all started there. Don‘t ask me how because I never know where it is going to take me. Normally I just sit there and let it take over. Sometimes I just visit the same old sites. Every day. No imagination but I don’t really care. It’s a comfort factor. A bit like sitting in the same armchair day in day out. Same pair of familiar slippers maybe.
Anyway on this day I decided to do it differently. Like driving to work in a different way to the way you normally go. When I drive to work I’m usually on autopilot anyway. I don’t notice the route. I set off and I get there. Sometimes I (more…)
The suspension on this one can be quite firm. If you are looking for passenger comfort you want a Mercedes.
Conversation overheard whilst passing a parked coach, one driver talking to another.
Landlords at the Strugglers Inn, Westgate, Lincoln.
1838 Philip Ball
1854 Mary Ann Ball
1856 Philip Ball Jnr
1869 Charles Frost
1875 William Roberts
1890 Thomas Thorndyke
1899 Charles Hagues
1904 Frank Brumpton
1917 Harriet Brumpton
1924 Patcick Markham
1935 Arthur Woodcock
1944 Amelia Wardle
1960 Charles R Wood
1966 Frank Ormsby
1988 Philip Hockney
1996 Anthony Reany
1996 Christopher Mansell
15/10/1999 Heidi Raabe
Note I’m going to have to go back and check some of these names. I can’t understand my own handwriting sometimes, especially after a beer.
I know all the staff there.
Des has been in the chippy business all his life
I went there last Friday
they were queueing outside the door
it was raining and
I had to shelter under the awning outside
the queue was still the same length
even when I got to the front
he is moving to new premises
hopefully in July
the old Waggon and Horses
it was a gentle spring evening
tshirt weather
we were just coming out of winter
they were dancing in the Strugglers
the music rocked that night
the lone guitarist
with harmonica and voice
he knew all the requests
a potent combination
good beer and good music
not a lager in sight
just one more for the road
my cab arrived
and I left knowing it was too soon
I might just have one of these active yoghurts and a slice of ham
I hear a flute
I know where it is coming from
but I prefer to think it is ethereal
it doesn’t matter anyway because
ethereal or not
I listen to it with
extreme pleasure
it stops then starts up again
sometimes haltingly
sometimes with a wonderful fluidity
scales, up and down,
pauses here and there to digest the task in hand
in my imagination I see her
sat there studying the music
perfect poise
swept back blonde hair
she is beautiful
Batemans Miss Ireland (4.1%) £2.95
Adnams Dry Irish Stout (4.3%) £3.05
Roosters Celtic Corker (3.9%) £2.95
Wychwood Paddy Stout (4.3%) £3.05
Barbecue this Sunday in the beer garden .
it came out in plain English.
nothing fancy, just simple words
that we all understood and
could interpret our own way.
we had read others’,
some good and some not worth the effort.
everybody had a favourite, or two
and often quoted from memory.
time passed.
I, guitar, lie prone, in need of gently caress,
vibrations long gone, motionless, silent.
please adjust, tune me strings,
I, guitar, seek attention, lifeblood
of wooden body,
rhythm pulsates, me dance, shout,
I, guitar, burning, oxygen fanned
programmed passionata
laugh, cry, I guitar.
a loneliness of worn carpet
home from no home
blanket inadequate
alarm clock neon
by flashing bed
right daily twice
shower adjacent suite
plastic toothmug disposable
towel thin, tablet soap
noises
the line of the hedge
so sharp it cuts
your view in two
dirty white above
pale green below
the dark stripe
yellow flags flutter
indicating wind
speed and direction
the line of cars
haphazard, holds back
parents delaying
the inevitable
when duty comes
before comfort for
Sunday soccer
the cold wind,
loyal discomfort
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