More Nonsense…
If all the world were upside down
Now wouldn't that be funny
With birds and bees upon their knees
And cow dung rain like honey
Water would spout up from lakes
To reach the top of cliffs
With sailing ships of cows on high
There'd be no smelly whiffs
Skirts and kilts would have balloons
Attached to thier periphery
Lady Ram’s House
Sitting under the shade of a tree in Lady Rams Meadow, I’m thankful for the trees that soften the outline of the views, and give the place so much character.
Protected by the sea on one side, and on the other by automatic iron gates and a high concrete wall, I think about how brave the architect it was who designed the replacement for her old house, to pay no heed to the Genius loci. For it seems to be part of the perennially popular modernist movement, the brutalist design philosophy that prides itself on honesty, simplicity and functionality.
Dream #98
No wind disturbs the surface of the sea as a lifeboat makes its way slowly towards the harbour.
People join me on the quayside, watching as a tall man appears on deck, dressed in all weather gear, but bare-headed.
He picks up a thick rope, ties it around his waist and then loops it round and round his neck, almost like a Kayan neck ring woman, finishing with some kind of slipknot.
Without a word or a backward look, he steps calmly over the gunwale and disappears beneath the water, as the rope snakes down behind him.
I seem to be the only one concerned that he doesn't reappear.
Regulations… Regulations…
I mentioned to a couple of visitors waiting beside me, that locals used to have their own pewter tankards hanging behind the bar, which reminded me that I had one at home somewhere, that I won at a motorcycle trial in 1959 for the best rider under 18.
Puppies, Kids and Katz
Puppies, Kids and ‘Katz' It’s hard to work out why I write. If I ever submitted myself to a psychoanalyst we could together, with very little effort and some revealing light hypnosis, arrive at the happy conclusion that I was born to write. 'You have a deep Freudian need to express yourself Tom, an undiscovered brilliance and well, something something something something about a desire for creative cathartic expression.’ he’d say. I would of course sit there modestly, slowly shaking my head and holding up my palms in faux embarrassment. ‘I guess so doc’ I’d say bashfullly ’That must be it. It's in my soul’ I’d leave his office to cheers from an adoring public and immediately order a taxi to Hay on Wye.
Nonsense poem? 5.07am
As I was going up the stair
I saw a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
Oh how I wish he'd go away
As a child, my daughter really didn't like this poem. It upset her, and now after installing a camera doorbell which she recently gave me, I am grateful for one piece of technology that sometimes saves me getting out of bed in the middle of the night.
Saving the cow
A few days ago, quite by accident, I came across a 5 peso note. Because foreigners only use CUC we get used to thinking in dollars (USD that is – the same rate – less the exchange rate) so it was a new experience for me to have in my hand currency in which Cuban Nationals are paid, and which is probably illegal for me to use.
I was hungry. No, I felt like eating something, hunger is when you have nothing to eat.
Hubert the Hare
My parents had a strange relationship with books. I never knew either of them to go out and buy one, or indeed have a library ticket.
Somebody gave me a copy of Hubert the Hare when I was very young. I didn't like it. I thought the illustrations were grotesque, and the story was preposterous.
I was also given an illustrated book of fairy stories, which disappeared as soon as I learn to read.
The only books I had access to were my mother's art books (which I absolutely loved, especially the nudes) and a set of encyclopedias, which were very old.
Lost Memories
There's not much of a problem with drugs in our village – unless you count heart, arthritis, and cholesterol pills. I'm mostly free from aches and pains, and the environment is really good for mental health.
Early this morning my daughter phoned me, and solved a puzzle that had given me a disquieting day and a sleepless night.
The cause of this mental turmoil was the discovery of a flash drive containing 32 chapters of a story that I have no recollection of writing.
An unfinished painting
One of the kindest things that a friend can do after a bereavement is to share a memory of the loved one.
Getting to the root of it..
I have Kitty, my lovely dental nurse, who incidentally is a spitting image of Liz Hurley, to thank for the title of this piece. Let me explain, I was lying back, almost horizontally, waiting for the anaesthetic to take effect, when she asked me if I'd rather sit up?
No thank you, I replied firmly, I do my best thinking lying down. It's the early hours in bed, where I get my ideas.
I shall have to write my next piece about this experience, I said jokingly.
A 15th Century Bridge
I wonder sometimes what this 15th century bridge has witnessed.
Today is idyllic, children splash in the river without a care.
It takes a stretch of the imagination to think of it at night, after a storm, the river in full spate.
Without yin and yang, experience would have little meaning. Without the night, the day would be mundane.
The Author 1958
The other day, walking along our street, I met a neighbour cleaning his new motorcycle. I stopped to admire his machine.
It's difficult not to stop and chat with neighbours, as the street is little more than 6 feet wide, but it can take half an hour to walk its quarter of a mile length during daylight, when neighbours are out and about, and one wants to say 'hello'.
A Visitor From Afar
Yesterday, as often happens, I saw
through my window, somebody taking photographs.
A few moments later, the doorbell rang, and as I opened the door a couple stood in the street, the man apologised for bothering me, and explained that they had travelled from Tasmania to visit this house as it was here that his great great grandfather had lived.