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March 14, 2009

The last person to drive legally the wrong way down Cecil Street

Filed under: bailgate,miscellany — Trefor Davies @ 8:15 pm

As many of you will know Cecil Street, by the Turk’s Head pub, is a one way street that cannot be accessed from Newport.

Terry Mackown was the last person to drive down it legally coming from the Newport direction.  He had dropped a friend off by the Newport Arch to buy some meat from the butchers. There used to be a butcher’s shop there before it became the Klogz shoe shop.

He pulled in down Cecil Street to wait for the friend.  As he was parked there two workmen came and put up No Entry signs either side of the road.  To my knowledge he was the last person to ever drive down that street in a Westerley direction.

Somewhat poingant methinks.

The Burton Road Strip

Filed under: The Burton Road Strip — Trefor Davies @ 3:06 pm

The strip,
Furious confluence of disposable society,
Magnet for irreverents,
Cruising ground for hungry souls,
Melting pot for a global fondue,
Curry, Chinese, fish and chips,
Full English breakfast,
Even pork pies and sandwiches
From the Shell garage.
On your way home from the pub,
You can satisfy your needs
On the Burton Road Strip.

March 13, 2009

Guest Beers Today

Filed under: the art gallery — Trefor Davies @ 8:36 pm

Batemans GHA                                (4.2%)      £2.85

Dixons Diabolical                          (4.4%)      £2.95

Grafton Lady Catherine              (4.5%)      £2.95

Adnams “The Bitter”                    (3.7%)     £2.85

Spire Brewery Overture             (3.9%)      £2.85

Watch out for Irish beers next week for St Patrick’s Day!

March 6, 2009

My eyes are stinging

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 7:54 pm

My eyes are stinging

And my nose smarts

From the sensory attack

That is the annual chutney cook-in.

The fruit soaks up the spices in vinegar

Swelling with proud absorption,

The spoon stirs until leaving a trail,

Standing in the rich, dark pool of preserve.

Hot jars await the plasma ,

Rubber seals close down the smell,

Weeks of virtuous patience are

Rewarded with palatable satisfaction.

The Trail (He Left Behind)

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 7:43 pm

Walking along the path
He left a noticeable trail,
It was a smell,
A feeling,
An impression,
A change to the landscape,
Even an attitude.
It was nothing new
But nobody had seen it before.
He left the path behind and
After a while the trail
Began to fade away,
Though the weight of his footfall
Made it last a little longer than
It might have done,
As it did for others.

He left a tip for the taxi driver
And bought a train ticket
With his credit card,
Spoke to the barman,
Sang in the street,
Winked at the girl,
Had an eye test,
Switched the light on,
Painted the garage,
Mowed the lawn,
Picked up a piece of litter and
Put it in the bin,
Had four children
Who left home and
Then he occasionally saw
Until he died…

March 4, 2009

The Page Turn

Filed under: chinks — Blues @ 9:12 am

Approaching the last line of the page.  Big long trill on the C for 8 bars.  Here we go.  One two, two two, OK turn now. Three two, four t.  Come on, turn.  Five two, TURN THE PAGE.  Turn to look at desk partner.  Seven two. AARGH.  Too late !  It gets complicated on the new page with mixed bars of 2 and 3.  One two, one two three, one two three, one two, one two , one two three.  Is this bar a two or a three one, and precisely which one is it ?  It’s nearly half a page before I find the way back in.  Note to self.  Write TURN HERE six bars earlier and in bigger letters.

March 3, 2009

The Football Match

Filed under: fusion — John @ 6:50 am

Phweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

The game kicks off
I’m playing in defence
they have the ball and
they come running at me
I hear their supporters shouting and
my coach shouting at me and
I safely make a tackle and
I smack firstpharmacyuk.com it to the forwards and
they are on the break
they do a 1-2 and shoot and score
its Welton 1-Moorlands 0 !

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March 2, 2009

Yesterday was St David’s day

Filed under: thoughts — Trefor Davies @ 9:20 pm

Yesterday was St David’s day. It has no real significance outside of Wales other than, as a Welshman, I know it is synonymous with daffodils. This year has been different because of the dearth of these yellow blooms on view.

I’m not saying that everyone in Lincoln goes around wearing ‘daffs’ on March 1st but they have usually hit the hedgerows by now. As of today they have yet to flower.

An observation would be that they are late due to an unusually hard winter. One more akin to the way winters used to be. However one might ask why they have traditionally been worn on March 1st if winters of old were harsh and daffodils late flowering.

I don’t have the answer and am not really inclined to dig deeper.

Flight T3 4386

Filed under: Isle of Man — Blues @ 1:31 pm

“This is a further and final invitation for passengers Davies and Burton to proceed to gate sixty eight for flight T3 4386 Eastern Airways to the Isle of Man”.  I didn’t know who passenger Burton was, but passenger Davies was definitely, and inescapably me.  Pushing aside the immediate feeling of unfairness, I hastily polished off my well-earned glass of wine, gathered my belongings, and hurried off in the direction of the departure gates.

 

It had taken me three and a half hours to get to this point, and had started with the mid-morning decision to leave work at midday, a little earlier than planned.  A warning bell had been clanging all morning after Classic FM’s traffic and travel news at 8.30am.  The usual place.  The right turn at St Fagan’s.  After her usual introductory banter about bagels, or her evening out yesterday, Jay-Louise Knight had announced that there were serious problems on the M5 somewhere. I couldn’t remember where.  I decided to err on the side of caution and set off very early for Birmingham airport.  So when I hit traffic in a very unusual place I was initially quite confident.  I had plenty of time.  But an hour later and scarcely two miles further on, I was showing signs of stress, and was wondering whether my ticket was flexible enough for a free transfer to the evening flight.  But I needn’t have worried.  Although there were further threatening ‘Queue Caution’ signs, none of these came to pass and I arrived at Long Stay Car Park 1 with enough time and in a calm state of mind.

 

The screens in the main departure lounge had showed I had twenty minutes before boarding, and I had decided to relax with a glass of wine and look forward to the weekend ahead.  “This is a further and final invitation for passengers Davies and Burton to proceed to gate sixty eight for flight T3 4386 Eastern Airways to the Isle of Man”.  It certainly hadn’t been twenty minutes, and I definitely hadn’t heard a first call.  By the time I got to gate sixty eight, Passenger Burton had got there before me, and I was the last to step aboard the bus, taking in my stride the faintly accusatory glances from the eight other passengers.

 

As we soared over the Irish Sea I looked down on the water glinting in the sun, and found myself smiling.  A weekend at home in Peel ahead of me.

March 1, 2009

For Clare at 40

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 10:12 pm

What do you get a woman
When she turns forty?
She already has it all,
Good looks,
Lively personality,
Rich and caring husband,
Dutiful children,
Great friends,
A VW camper van,
Exciting tastes,
Stylish wardrobe,
Intelligent conversation,
Great sex drive (apparently),
A mansion near the cathedral.

You get her a poem:

There was a young lady called Clare
Who drove me one day to despair
For try as I might
A poem to write
But damn it the muse wasn’t there

Four Oh

The numbers game,
A milestone we celebrate,
Marching on,
Steadily ticking,
One more goes by,
There’s no going back,
Drip, drip, drip
A watershed
Life changing?
It all begins here!
Live for the moment!
Do it now,
Before bits start falling off.

Four Oh.

February 27, 2009

Life is short

Filed under: thoughts — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 10:10 pm

“Sometimes you just got to eat desert first.”

Jeff Pulver, 28/1/09 though it may well not be original.

The men in the pub

Filed under: prose — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 9:57 pm

I was stood at the bar of the Morning Star, not chatting to the barman. It’s one of the great things about popping into a local pub for a swift one. Sometimes you chat with the barman, sometimes with whoever else is standing there and sometimes you don’t.

I am very comfortable with just being there sipping a beer, saying nothing, watching, listening and quietly taking it all in. Saturday afternoons are especially good, before the ”early doors” rush. It isn’t very good for the pub trade I’m sure to not have many punters but as a form of relaxation it is nice to just stand there not talking.

This wasn’t a Saturday afternoon. It must have been a Wednesday because other than the weekend I really only get there before picking up from Cubs and then for a very swift one. I was at the bar in my usual place, near the door, when in walked some men.

There were six of them, aged in their thirties, forties and fifties. Three were British and three seemed to be Eastern European. The locals were clearly entertaining the visitors. One of them asked for a tab at the bar.

The hosts began recommending specific beers. The visitors didn’t understand the concept of a bitter or an ale and certainly did not recognize much of what was on offer. The conversation seemed fairly stunted as the vocabulary of the guests sounded limited. They wandered off into a corner of the pub to conduct the business of their evening. I thought it was likely to be a strange sort of night out due to the problem of communication.

I finished my pint and left to go to and pick up the kids. I hope their business went well.

February 24, 2009

The tree skeletons

Filed under: winter series — Tags: — Trefor Davies @ 5:40 pm

The tree skeletons
Stand out in the fields
As I pass by,
Their stark, nakedness
Presenting no embarrassment
As might such frankness of expression.

In a time of want and austerity.
The countryside around is barren
But the coat of death
Has not yet turned to decay,
The deep freeze a desperate grasp on what was
But may no more be.

February 22, 2009

I heard a robin singing

Filed under: prose — Trefor Davies @ 2:33 pm

The snows had finally melted the day before. We had enjoyed the abnormally wintery winter while it lasted but I think everyone was pleased to see the temperature rise and the roads get back to normal.

When I got out of the car that morning I heard a robin singing. Looking up I could see him on a branch at the top of a bare tree, caroling at the top of his voice. He too was clearly glad the freezing weather had gone.

It was still too early for spring but the sound of the robin filled me with spring-like sensations. The crocuses were out, the rich yellow of their petals the first display of new life in the new year. Other bulbs were now also starting to push through and I was sure it would not be long before daffodils again filled the roadside verges.

I could smell, in my imagination, the freshness of the new season in the back garden and hear the loud cacophony of birdsong, joyful in its celebration from within the newly clothed hedgerows. There was energy there, as if the electricity had been switched on again after a long winter spent in the dark. I raised my face to the sun and soaked it in.

All that though was still to come as the robin sang out its hymn. Still, it raised my spirits and I walked through the front door of the office that day with a spring in my step.

The Bag

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 9:59 am

Save the planet you bastard,
Said her eyes,
As I asked for a bag
At the checkout.
She was right of course,
Though I did need
To carry the food home,
So I took one and left.

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