Thursday, August 27, 2009

thic goddyss of smalle thyngs hath brungen home whyte flewers


the salt air at brighton rusted the original buzz bike

eventually, the front wheel collapsed and, as soon as i'd replaced it, the handle bars snapped off

i'd been using it every day for a year or two while i was collecting materials for the magic beach

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

'ats wot changed 'istory

i had a hat like this in 1981-82 ... it had an already thirty-something-year-old brass and enamel badge with the tiny two-tier slogan: BUTLIN'S/SECOND WEEK ... it went AWOL during a punch-up in the Dug-Out, a rarther grimy club that i loved in Bristol ... so, wherever you are, whoever you are ... GIVE IT BACK !

... and just in case Butlin's isn't part of your ancestral mindscape ...

Monday, August 24, 2009

a well-intentioned fairy with an outsized heart of gold ...

... generously sent some birthday cash ... but because she has forsworn the internet, she'll never know that i've wasted it on prosecco and new reading glasses

Sunday, August 23, 2009

ornithologically clapham common

as the dear old dog and i meander from clapham junction towards the pond on the common we are distracted by the conversation of seven magpies high in a plane tree

they seem to be trailing us and they fly on in parallel to a conker tree in which they discover two jays

monosyllabic insults are exchanged without recourse to violence

further on, at the pond, the resident heron leaves immediately but they see a young cormorant roosting on a dead bough and, possibly with typical curiosity, they settle quietly around him before sidling closer until he feels obliged to leave

the walk around the pond is quiet this morning and the council have belatedly posted notices warning of the algal bloom that started nearly three weeks ago

Friday, August 21, 2009


in the deep dignified silence long before sunrise, a jaunty squirrel with an ebullient tail is silhouetted black against blue as he scampers along the bare curved bough of a gigantic cedar

moments later, a crow spreads her sawtooth-tipped wings and launches into a gentle glide from the end of the same bough, which bounces very slightly after she is gone

the grand old tree is keeping its dreams to itself