... of the seven deadly sins, the eighth and most horrid is emotional blackmail ... whilst for this blogger, the only sacred thing is life itself
Monday, November 15, 2010
i am too weak-willed to resist the temptation of offering you this gratuitous juxtaposition
... having just collected the book from battersea library and chuckled more than once on the journey home
Sunday, November 14, 2010
drafting my own obituary ... "among the poet's earliest influences ... hearing these verses created a life-long allergy to work, even though he was only eight years old at the time"
Take out the papers and the trash
Or you don't get no spendin' cash
If you don't scrub that kitchen floor
You ain't gonna rock and roll no more
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Just finish cleanin' up your room
Let's see that dust fly with that broom
Get all that garbage out of sight
Or you don't go out Friday night
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
You just put on your coat and hat
And walk yourself to the laundromat
And when you finish doin' that
Bring in the dog and put out the cat
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
Don't you give me no dirty looks
Your father's hip; he knows what cooks
Just tell your hoodlum friend outside
You ain't got time to take a ride
Yakety yak (don't talk back)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cR0hQ7SwL-I&feature=related
I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler
About a workin' all summer just to try to earn a dollar
Every time I call my baby, and try to get a date
My boss says, "No dice son, you gotta work late"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues
Well my mom and pop told me, "Son you gotta make some money,
If you want to use the car to go ridin' next Sunday"
Well I didn't go to work, told the boss I was sick
"Well you can't use the car 'cause you didn't work a lick"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues
I'm gonna take two weeks, gonna have a fine vacation
I'm gonna take my problem to the United Nations
Well I called my congressman and he said Quote:
"I'd like to help you son but you're too young to vote"
Sometimes I wonder what I'm a gonna do
But there ain't no cure for the summertime blues
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeWC59FJqGc
Saturday, November 13, 2010
a simple amusement ...
before it started raining, very early this morning while it was still dark, i filled a cardboard box with dry leaves and took it on my round, offering it to gullible, troublesome, and abusive customers, as a free sample
the way people respond to the offer of a free sample tells you a lot about human nature
the first shook his head and said rarther grimly there was nothing about free samples on the print-out for the day
the second was straight in to the box with the enthusiasm of a child on christmas morning
only one asked what kind of weirdo would bother to stuff dry leaves in a box
the way people respond to the offer of a free sample tells you a lot about human nature
the first shook his head and said rarther grimly there was nothing about free samples on the print-out for the day
the second was straight in to the box with the enthusiasm of a child on christmas morning
only one asked what kind of weirdo would bother to stuff dry leaves in a box
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Monday, November 8, 2010
rain rain rain !
the world is windswept and awash in ashdown park
i step down with a splash from the shiny red lorry in to a puddle on which floats a green and yellow armada of gingko leaves
and as i raise my eyes, so a rain-soaked family group of eight grey dripping does tiptoe by
i step down with a splash from the shiny red lorry in to a puddle on which floats a green and yellow armada of gingko leaves
and as i raise my eyes, so a rain-soaked family group of eight grey dripping does tiptoe by
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
3BT plus 2
on putney heath, one owl hoots and another screeches as i walk past the black wood to the bus stop at a quarter to four in the morning ... and then they do it again, twice
i pass a shop in haywards heath outside which is an umbrella stand containing about a dozen feather dusters and i try to visualize an allegorical painting involving twelve virgins and michelangelo's david ... if only beryl cook was still alive
near turner's hill, twelve cock pheasants gleam on a grassy knoll
the wide window in peter jones' rooftop restaurant is hung with thousands of tiny white lights, reflected and double-reflected in the double glazing as if it were snowing stars ... beyond them, the sun has set and across the grey rooftops beneath a strip of pink and purple sky is the outline of harrods' illuminated dome traced in vibrant smudges of incongruous golden light
a violinist and a pianist enter the gilded norfolk room wearing deep purple and position themselves so that i often see the pianist's face through the crook of the violinist's left arm during their brilliant recital ... the violinist plays with her eyes shut, the pianist laughs with her eyes at every musical joke
i pass a shop in haywards heath outside which is an umbrella stand containing about a dozen feather dusters and i try to visualize an allegorical painting involving twelve virgins and michelangelo's david ... if only beryl cook was still alive
near turner's hill, twelve cock pheasants gleam on a grassy knoll
the wide window in peter jones' rooftop restaurant is hung with thousands of tiny white lights, reflected and double-reflected in the double glazing as if it were snowing stars ... beyond them, the sun has set and across the grey rooftops beneath a strip of pink and purple sky is the outline of harrods' illuminated dome traced in vibrant smudges of incongruous golden light
a violinist and a pianist enter the gilded norfolk room wearing deep purple and position themselves so that i often see the pianist's face through the crook of the violinist's left arm during their brilliant recital ... the violinist plays with her eyes shut, the pianist laughs with her eyes at every musical joke
Thursday, November 4, 2010
richard learoyd in ticehurst
you wouldn't necessarily have heard of ticehurst, its not famous
but i'm lucky enough to pass through sometimes on my way to or from a collection at traditional sussex cheeses
there's a posh second hand bookshop with a cafe but it isn't often possible to stop on these tiny streets in a big red truck
today i needed to post a letter so i stopped short of the village centre and walked up,
drank my coffee and wrote some extra pages in the bookshop then walked twenty yards to the village post office,
then thought, "why not stroll over to the corner and look up and down the street for signs of life ?
i didn't immediately notice this shop, can't think why
there are two huge framed magnificent photographs on display by a man called richard learoyd
one is of a dead heron, the other is of a dead hare
don't ask ... i don't know
but i'm lucky enough to pass through sometimes on my way to or from a collection at traditional sussex cheeses
there's a posh second hand bookshop with a cafe but it isn't often possible to stop on these tiny streets in a big red truck
today i needed to post a letter so i stopped short of the village centre and walked up,
drank my coffee and wrote some extra pages in the bookshop then walked twenty yards to the village post office,
then thought, "why not stroll over to the corner and look up and down the street for signs of life ?
i didn't immediately notice this shop, can't think why
there are two huge framed magnificent photographs on display by a man called richard learoyd
one is of a dead heron, the other is of a dead hare
don't ask ... i don't know
Monday, November 1, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Three more beautiful things
Emerging from our brick tenement just after the sun has risen, I turn the corner in time to see the last pink clouds fading above the dense woodland called Putney Heath, and wish I’d been about just a few moments sooner to see the show ... but then, for the first time in my six years in London, a little bat flutters from the woods and zig-zags over my head, veering around the flats and disappearing high up beyond a big oak tree. Sadly, my eyes are no longer keen enough to see whether his fangs are still dripping with the blood of a B-movie starlet.
The 170 bus to Victoria via Clapham Junction fills up with quiet people, some of whom are up far too early, but many, having worked a long night in the big neurological hospital, far too late. In Wandsworth we are joined by a glamorous Jamaican woman, dressed with such urban sophistication as you might hope to see in Paris, who immediately begins to preach to us of Jesus’ love, laying special emphasis on the need to live well in the here and now, and to make others feel loved because, she says, “We won’t be coming Back !” I’ve seen her a couple of times before on these local buses, always smart, always lovely, her energy flooding the space, even to the place where i cower in the back row. Over the years, her phrasing and body language have become more “theatrically professional” and I wish there was a way to politely encourage her, whilst respectfully preserving my own timid scepticism.
I collect the dog from the old brick terrace. We meander along amongst the parked cars, she stopping constantly to sniff every gate and lamp post, and searching the gutters for last night's chicken bones, and when we eventually turn the corner at the far end of the street on our way to the Common, we look west where a vast white rain cloud is rising quickly amidst trailing streaks of vapour and rain, supported on one side by half a rainbow, the whole spectacle imposing itself in fluent contrast to the dumb jagged dark rows of indigo slate roofs and burnt orange chimbley pots, like a beautiful preacher intimidating a crowd.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sunday, October 24, 2010
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