That Naughty Little Weasel

The total operating budget of the LHC runs to about $1 billion per year. The Large Hadron Collider was first turned on in August of 2008, and then stopped for repairs in September until November 2009. Taking all of those costs into consideration, the total cost of finding the Higgs boson ran about $13.25 billion.5 Jul 2012 

I copied the above, off t’internet this morning after hearing on the morning news that the famed Hadron Collider is temporarily out of service due to a Weasel burrowing into it. It does not give me any sorrow whatever, that it is also reported that said weasel has passed on to greener pastures and sitteth on the right hand of his maker.  

It does however show that the young and diminutive David may well have brought the mighty Goliath down with a single shot from his sling. We should all bear in mind that we must never lose heart in our efforts to achieve anything that everybody we know tells us we cannot do, whilst laughing in our faces. 

Hopefully that little weasel was spurred on by his mother to do his damaging work that morning; she had complained for the thousandth time that the bloody thing was interfering with the tele and her mobile phone and that she was having difficulties chatting on line with the rest of her family!

Stand tall and face your demons, wait and catch them when they least expect an attack. 

Cern…… you are looking silly this morning babe! Another billion or so down the tubes.

Pocket Photograph

 

Wearing a light summer frock

Patterned design of little flowers

A small boy of seven or eight years old

Leans on his Mums right leg

With a serious sad sullen expression

Eyes on the camera lock

On the mothers other knee

A small girl

Little more than a baby

Hair, ribbon tied, a curly shock

A ringlet falls over her forehead

A satin bow fights to hold an unruly lock

 Both children reflect the look in mother’s eyes

Both sadly missing their soldier Father

Away serving in the Army

In his regiments Army block

The war not over until

Some years have passed

And by then the little girl

Is as old as the boy is in the photograph

The image sits beneath the clock

The professional photo taken

As a reminder

Whilst he fights for his country

To keep his family safe.

Their worried faces

Another reminder

Of how much they love him

How badly they want him to come home again.

The photo now a crumpled block

Kept in a pocket next to his heart

All through those

Terrifying war years

When the huge searchlights

Of night skies take stock

When sirens wailed

Before bombs dropped

East West Beach

East West Beach 

West Beach is moving

    It has been now for years;

Don’t say that you have noticed

    And not expressed your fears. 

Sand flies over the river

    Wind takes a little more,

A few seeds at a time

    Landed on the distant shore. 

There used to be just pebbles

    Now there are plants that flower,

First migration was quite slow

    Then change came by the hour. 

Crawl turned into gallop

    Don’t you think it’s eerie?

Do you think of this at all?

    I have my fear and theory. 

Wonder how a beach can grow?

    This beach that now grows grass

Is there a simple answer,

    To how this came to pass? 

The living beach has spread so fast

    Ten miles or more it reaches

 Have you heard of climate change?

     Then listen as it teaches.

The Changing Room

Contrary to what I am sure some of the male swimmers think, there is very little girlie talk in the ladies changing room at the pool after the early swim session. What we are going to cook for dinner, shopping for shoes, makeup, hair styles or pop music does not usually arise. No indeed, it is quite often quite cultured and about books, films and theatre. 

This morning the TV series The Night Manager was under discussion and the tone slid rapidly. Because of the daily featuring of photos of the flavour of the month star in the newspapers, he is known in our house as, ‘Give us this day our daily Tom Hiddleston’. There were a couple of dramatic stage faints at his name being mentioned. I made a big mistake when I tried to raise the tone by asking clearly, “Have you seen Tom Hiddleston’s Coriolanus”? To which there was speedy response of, “I told him to put it away at once”. What could I expect having been so pompous?  I had seen his Coriolanus in the Donmar Warehouse production when it was screened in the cinema with Hadley Fraser playing Aufidius. Splendid it was too.

 

Anyway, putting the low tone behind me. I had a freezing cold bike ride after my swim and then a smashing run in the woods on my own. The wind has been coming from the north for ages now and it is as cold as any of our winter days. It was the best training set I have had this year, finally feeling comfortable after a few weeks of being decidedly off colour.

 

 

Weird April Day

 

This was a weird day for any time of year but for a late April, it was the weirdest ever.

First thing this morning it was clear, but freezing cold. Then it warmed up enough, that I put washing out on the line in the back garden. Then we had hailstones the size of two-er marbles, then sun again and then it snowed: only for a short while but snow it was. 

The photos were taken just before 2pm, when we were on our way to our second cinema visit in three days. Our little Arts theatre cinema had ‘Trumbo’ on a return visit. Steve and I had wanted to see it when it was first released but life stood in our way. 

I’m not going to do a full review today because it would be fair to complain that I claimed that every movie I saw was a five star film. This can be easily explained with these four words….I CAN PICK ‘EM.

Bryan Cranston as Trumbo = super

This complete film = super. 

I am an old enough movie fan to remember all that talk that ruined the life’s of so many great Hollywood people. Very entertaining and a true story scores extra points for me. My husband is the most trusting of souls and even though he firmly holds the reins of our business and of our sports training and racing, he knows that he is rubbish at selecting which films we go to see. This and the theatre selection belongs to me.

 

Eye in the Sky: My Review

Yesterday we went to the Windmill Theatre at the end of the promenade where the river Arun meets the sea in Littlehampton. We saw, Eye in the Sky. Two ‘wrinklies’ tickets cost £11 plus rip-off parking price. 

The film is so tense I thought I would have a seizure. Edge of the seat or what!

Add to that, that it made my hair stand on end, when Alan Rickman appeared in it, I hadn’t been aware that he was one of the stars of the film, I guess that must have been his last movie. It had a dedication to his memory in the credits. 

Aaron Paul (Breaking Bad) was amazing, since the only acting weapon he had, was his face for 95% of the film in his action position as the distant Drone Pilot. Barkhad Abdi, is the American Somali man who played the pirate hijacker in Captain Phillips with Tom Hanks. He was as good again in this much smaller part.

 

I hated the most excellent Helen Mirren in it, as the Colonel, again distantly, directing operations that were way too close to the moral line. With the main group of superb actors; everybody is in distant control that makes it terrifyingly un-nerving. They are watching on multi eyed screens, a terrorist cell In Nairobi, via fascinatingly small drones. It is so tense, so interesting, so touchy edgy and horrifying. This was surely one of the best movies this year for me. The whole cast were brilliant, job very well done by director Gavin Hood.  I do see though that it would not be everybody’s cup of meat. No car chases or animated animals or pretty princesses.

 

Steve and I were experimenting with eating marshmallows for a change…. mmmm…. well…..errrr…. not sure. Maybe I’ll go back to Revels, although I hate the little toffee one’s. We are going to see Trumbo with Bryan Cranston (Breaking Bad) on Tuesday at 2pm.  I can't do 8pm movies unless there is absolutely no option.

Less than awesome

Far from Awesome 

A little bit under the weather today

Instead of feeling sorry for myself

I feel very annoyed I have to say 

Some may look for an excuse to laze

But I’m most concerned for my health

A degree off, my strictness disobeys 

No need for me to find an excuse

Fitness means more to me than wealth

Not giving my thumbs twiddling abuse 

Wanting to do what needs be done

And do it with purpose and stealth

Well being returned then I have won

 

Bluebell runs

This morning because the unbelievably beautiful bluebells will not last much longer, we changed our usual Sunday run route, into a there and back course, so that we got to make two full passes, and could thus take a last big greedy gulp; placing firmly in our memory banks, this most glorious, heavenly, annual miracle of colour and heavenly aroma. 

The local event organisers Raw Energy Pursuits, had this year managed to bag the exactly perfect date for their Bluebell run event that has expanded into two races, one is the original 10km distance and the newer 10 mile race. We were in the woods long before this event’s 10am start; we start our10km woodland and hillside run at 8.20am. This meant that we would be clear of the course before the hundreds of Bluebell runners hit the woods. We did however; stop for a chat with Raw Energy’s Mike Dicker was out early checking a water station.  

Our wildlife spotting score for the morning was five little deer, popping about hock deep in the purple carpet that appears to float off into the furthest distance through the trees. 

We were hoping to get home in time to watch the London Marathon on TV

 

My Marathon Running Friends

This is my way of saying good luck to all my friends who have a marathon coming up very soon. You have done so well to get to this point, so try now to relax and enjoy the little time left before your big day. 

This poem was written today, it is number 590 in my collection; I started writing just over three years ago, when I had a fall and broke three bones. The poem a day discipline got me through what was a very difficult time for a world class fidget like me. The production rate has slowed a little but the blog has got longer. ( Who said more's the pity?) 

Have a great day Sharon, in London marathon tomorrow and Christine in Milton Keynes next weekend. Hope the sun shines on everybody running their hearts out in their big races. Well done even before you start. I’m so proud of you all, my marathon running friends. 

Marathon Runner 

They start running for fitness and then for fun

Meeting up with friends to run a mile or three

The cold winter days on into the summer sun

Forgetting all life’s problems and feeling free 

A run’s more fun when there more than one

When all you can carry is the front door key

Starting to wonder how far you can run

Confidence builds up on the fitness spree

 

For the first time you hear the starter’s gun

Sprints from the next lamp post to that tree

Satisfaction at finishing a race well done

Feeling happy and healthy as you can be 

The trap is set, the silken web is spun

They talk you round and you agree

Sign up with pals and a marathon’s begun

The finish gantry glad at last you see 

The change in you is total, second to none

The sense of achievement the joy and glee

On your neck a medal your spirit has won

Your finest hour yet then home for tea

 

 

Shakespeare 400th

Tomorrow will be the 400^th anniversary of William Shakespeare’s death.

I thought I would get in early with my tribute to a writer who has given me so much pleasure over the years so many of my seventy six years. It seems odd to celebrate somebody’s death doesn’t it or is that just me? 

My husband does a wonderful mock impression of an actor giving a Shakespearian performance, but none the less, nine times out of ten, he will keep me company when I want to see one of the great man’s plays. I don’t really know why he comes with me because he is not a fan at all. How to really upset him is to go to a play and then realise it has been moved in another time or another place or even worse in modern dress when he will lean over to me and say in not quite a stage whisper; I hate it when they do that. For me, that just shows how marvellous his work was that it stands up so strongly in any age or style. 

I am sure that I have mentioned before that my old mum was an usherette at the Connaught theatre in Worthing when I was a child and I saw everything that was presented by Worthing Rep. Shakespeare in jeans and polo necked sweaters was accepted without question into my little world. Loved it all from a quite young age.

 

Thanks Will

 

If only he were still here and alive

And had the centuries survived,

I’d like to give the man a hug

See him give his beard a gentle tug.

I’d like shake the great man’s hand

For plays seen on evenings planned,

Tell the bard I’m filled with pleasure

Burned in my soul to forever treasure.

Thank you Will, your plays were great

Hook line and sinker, you sealed my fate,

From childhood I have been your fan

Did your mind make me what I am?

 

Incurable 

Once in the stalls seated I believe in magic

Play, opera, and the musical equally mixed

Then again, I love my Shakespeare tragic. 

House lights dim watching plush curtains rise

Addicted, stilled, expectant, transfixed

To the time when “Bravo” the audience cries. 

I am totally out of control to dramatic art

Tickets fall through the letter box stamp affixed

In awe of actors learning their words by heart 

A complete theatrical dyed in the wool fruit cake

I make no apologies, all shame by joy eclipsed

Boundless imagination takes art for art sake.

 

 

 

Showing off to a friend

Today was the first day this year that I have gone out for a run just wearing a tee-shirt, although I did still wear tights. I had invited my friend Christine over so that I could show her the wonderful Bluebells in the woods where we do most of our run training. Christine had told me that she would not like to run in the woods on her own. She is tapering for her first marathon in just over a week in Milton Keynes. That was lucky as far as I was concerned because I was not feeling full of the joys of spring exactly but she said she didn’t mind if I just wanted to make this session a simple jog/walk. She had brought Honey her Golden Retriever along for a run with us. 

She was completely wowed with the amazing sight of the magical purple carpet that appears to be floating through the woods as far as the eye can see in both directions and was equally knocked out with the perfume that fills the air. Knock out. 

Since it was her first visit to our neck of the woods, I was hoping that there would be some sort of wildlife sighting to add to the pleasure of the day. It was a nice warm day and Christine had agreed to be shown around the full loop of our normal Sunday run. The terrain is varied and although it starts with a broad-ish tarmac path, it then turns off into woodland paths. I was enjoying telling her all about what was at one time the Saxon Village of Lower Barpham, and as we that we looked down on the odd indentations of the once upon-a-time-long-ago village, we were joined by a huge Kite just a little way above our heads. I explained to my friend how they sometimes will fly circles, moving a little ahead of you as you walk/run along; my own theory seems quite logical that they hope you will disturb some tiny creature that they can catch for a quick snack. This makes sense to me and it has happened so often that it seems to confirm my theory. Kites appear to be fairly lazy and need all the help they can get. 

Later on our run we came out on to open hillside where there were three huge kites performing some sort of quite aggressive flying game together and we decided that maybe it was a mating dance and we stood and watched them for a while completely entranced with the acrobatics. After that we were in open land along side the gallops where the view was just breathtaking. I never get fed up with this lovely route. 

To complete my friends first visit into our favoured area, I took her to see the Gibbet Post where in the 18^th century, local man Jack Upperton was hung up in a cage for the birds to peck at and as a warning to others not to rob the mail coach as is passed by that spot. He had been hung for his crime in Horsham and placed in a cage as a warning to other would be Highwaymen.

 

 

 

Mixing work and pleasure

 

 

Work can sometimes be harder to cope with than others. Yesterday, Steve asked me to come along because although it was a long day, it was not expected to be very hard. We left our warehouse at 9.30am for the least exciting part of the day day’s chores; this was a delivery to a warehouse close to Heathrow airport, this was to drop off two large French wine baskets that we had sold to the Gleneagles Hotel in Scotland to be used as fireside log baskets, they would be taken to Scotland as part of a refurbishment project. 

Once we got away from there and coped with the same heavy traffic as always back onto the M25 and round to the A3 heading for the rolling hills and farmland travelling toward the south west. The route took us past one of my true favourite places in the entire country. The hair on the back of my neck always stands on end when I see Stonehenge. We also drove close to Glastonbury Tor. Another amazing sight in England’s spectacular countryside.  

 In to Somerset where the next call was. Steve had been surfing the internet for nice restaurants, as he does quite often with his keen interest in good food. Some time ago he had found good reports of: The Kings Arms at Charlton Horethorne, but had not thus far found any of our travels that it fitted with, not work nor races, much as he fancied taking a lunch there. This then is the reason he asked me to join him for this particular work trip. The place we were to pick up a load of antiques for an American client was just 10 miles away, you could say it was on the way but that would be stretching the truth a little; it was a five mile detour off our route, and just ten miles before our destination. We made that our lunch stop with the excuse that many antique shops do close for lunch so there was no reason to go straight there and sit outside the shop and wait until they reopened. Lunch was pub food; there was a fairly usual pub menu but it was posh pub food, very well prepared, cooked and presented. We do, strongly recommend the Kings Arms at Charlton Horethorne, if you, like us, you can find a valid reason to be in that part of the world at all. 

After the pleasant lunch stop we hurried on to The Factory, an antiques warehouse at country market village of Castle Cary. Thirty minutes of loading completed our collections for the day so we reset the SatNav and started off home. Travelling through the New Forest is always a pleasure, I love to see the ponies wandering around free, even though I think they can hardly be described as wild ponies; they cross the village roads without a scrap of care, wander into tea shops and will gatecrash any picnic. Fabulous, if slightly scruffy sometimes, but always delightful little creatures. 

The gradual build up of heavy traffic, the closer you get to Southampton where once on the southern route on the A27 in becomes sheer stop-start murder.  The whole trip was 340 miles and that is enough for most people. I can never understand why I still get to feel tired by the end of a day out in a truck when all I have done is move some of the lighter furniture and keep and eye on the SatNav or map sometimes, even in these modern times. We weren’t that late home either; it was just before 7pm when we got indoors.

 

 

 

Calming down

 

Went to Prezzo last night with visiting friends Sally (Weblet) and Kayleigh Potts before they go back home to NZ.

 

I must make a new rule to only have ice cream for dessert when Out-Out.

Had a dreadful allergic reaction to the salted caramel dessert.

Stomach puffed out to near explosion, then all night sweating like I was under a shower. Hair soaked, pillow and duvet drenched. Got up and put my dressing gown on to soak it up. Shattered this morning but calmed down.

Took a Cimetidine before I went to bed, God knows how bad it would have been if I had not. Will do me good to just sit today.

All Hail the Stones 

All Hail the stones, that’s what I like to say

Whenever a journey takes me along that way

The Neolithic site has such magnetism

The difference in theories a mighty chasm

Standing there more than five thousand years

Each time I see them my eyes prick with tears

Where lies a more impressive prehistoric site

Who died in the building and what of their plight

Mystery shadows the move of the Sarsen stones

Surely not for a graveyard to fill with bones

Architecture introducing tongue and groove

The mortise and tenon theory they also prove

Maybe brought there by barge facing rude waves

That jaw dropping feat brought about using slaves

Rolled into place on stakes by a servile hoard

What methods to raise them then were explored

Ropes, A-frames, massive counter balance weight

Oh to have seen these giants hoiked up straight

Long ago lost in endless time the reason why for

No expert historian sounds entirely sure 

What was the idea or purpose or why on earth

Blood spilled in construction must have worth

As a coronation place for ancient tribal kings

To worship stars or primitive idols with wings

Now the most popular modern interpretation

Why the stones were brought to this destination

Most generally accepted as a place of worship

Thought up by an ancient entrepreneurship

Pre history astronomers with the solstice aligned

Stones mystically to capture each equinox designed

Circle within circle around a central pagan altar

First computer worked out in a priest’s secret Psalter

Predicting eclipses or for magnetic healing

Strange affairs beneath a star studded ceiling

When the last lintel slotted in to its position

A sacrifice made of blood curdling precision

Did bare feet feel the tremor of an earthquake

A religious healer raises a cross or a snake

Like pushing a plug into electrical wall socket

A button pressed for firing an intergalactic rocket

I favour the romance and wide screen type drama

Stonehenge forever blessing England’s panorama

Wooden Enemy's

 

Wooden Enemy's 

My husband thought this was what I had said

For some years he thought this correct.

My ear did not discern that he’d missed the thread

That he had filed it in his head so defect. 

It was when I pointed to his disbelief

During a tramp thru’ a patch in a woody bank

How you see they are anemones by the leaf

He claimed I had a point and to me he’d thank. 

Then it was when he confessed his mistake;

For ‘Wooden Enemies’ he thought was their name,

For so many years, he laughed, for goodness sake!

It all made sense Wood Anemone sounds the same. 

What indeed is in a name as was said of old?

Aren’t they just a pretty with either brand?

They’ll still show their star to sunshine bold

And close the bell when evening is at hand.

 

 

 

 

Glorious Sunday

What a glorious day. Let us mark it down to remember next time its raining heavens hard. Sunday April 17^th in the year of our Lord 2016. 

Every weekend when we go out in the woods fairly close to out home, (almost three  miles, as the crow fly’s), for our longer, more hilly run, we do always hope to have our physical effort rewarded with a wild life sighting or two.  

We parked our battered old car Marcus; who is second hand after my daughter Jacqueline’s ownership. She likes to name all useful items, as do we in fact. We name our bikes and our business vehicles and my mascot bear, oh yes and pretty much all other totally useless items, like Raoul the rabbit, who sits on our bed and allows my husband and I to have differences of opinions without having a barney by saying  “Well Placido told me that you are were a lazy git and that is why you hang the clothes you take off when you come home from work, over my best bike”. Steve might reply “Raoul told me that you smashed the front spoiler off the front of Marcus when you tried and failed to do a three point turn on the muddy corner at the back”. Jacqueline has a camera called Noah the magnificent and the older one is called Claude, she has several other items with posh names. When we took possession of Marcus we tried to change the name and sex from Marcus to Marcia but Jakki made such a fuss that we gave in and reverted to Marcus. 

I wandered off a bit there didn’t I? Back to square one. Super day, blue, blue sky sunshine but very, very cold early on: like, see your breath cold. When we started our run just after 8am, I didn’t last long before needing a walk break because my lungs felt as if I had swallowed ice cubes. Yes, yes I know, if I had swallowed ice cubes they would not end up in my lungs, but it did feel like that though. 

The main feature was that the Bluebells had hit their finest hour: well actually it’s more like two and a half weeks. “OMG” will be heard repeatedly for that time span because it is a splendid, purple carpet through the wood as far as you can see through the trees. Magical. The smell is utterly heavenly and no matter how many years you see the bloobies bloom, it is always the best memory of the year. Then, we saw simply loads of little deer, no white ones today sadly, I love the white ones. The little Yellowhammer popped out of the hedge he calls home, to pose for the camera, as did a sweet little Sparrow, they seemed to be friends. The quiet of the woods was spoiled by an orienteering event with lots of cars. We did get a Marshall to take our photo together, at least we thought he had until we got home and the photo was not there!

Wild Animal

Wild Animal  

A wild animal

Out of control

Dangerous

And un-ruled

Out for blood

Caring only

For its own needs

Destructive

Vicious

Spiteful

As it feeds

Never be fooled

Causing pain

Ripping its prey

To a painful shred

As blood is pooled

 

Unfeeling

Rein it back

Think

Before you speak

Emotions reeling

Before you harm

Or irreparably hurt

One you love

Pull the bit

Firmly under

That wicked tongue

Of yours

Words, lots of words

Last night Steve and I went to the Connaught Theatre in Worthing to see Dr John Cooper Clarke. Actually, not so much to see Dr John Cooper Clarke because as I said yesterday, he is not the prettiest of Gods creatures but he is one of our greatest living poets and is exceptionally good at reciting his own lengthy works in his quite alarmingly rapid fashion. 

The poor theatre manager had the embarrassing job of telling the waiting audience that the show was delayed. It was raining outside so you couldn’t even pop out for a better coffee than the one’s they serve in the bar. The bar then got more crowded and since Steve and I do not frequent bars as a leisure form, we sulkily bought a packet of sweets each and went to listen to the Radio 4 film programme sitting in our car over the street.  

We returned when we saw that all the people who had stood outside the theatre under the art deco awning, had started to seep back inside. There was still a delay before starting. The delightful Melody Bridges, who we know works so hard at the helm of the Worthing WOW group (World of Words), walked on stage and maybe I am mistaken, but she too appeared to be playing for time, encouraging people to buy tickets for the festival 2016 in her usually bubbly manner and introducing the performers to the colourful group of people there present. 

The night was superb, once it got started, and I have to say that we enjoyed Mike Garry very much and admit that he is new to us. He held the first part of the evening with his own works brilliantly read and acted. He is hardly a warm up act, a real star in is own ‘Write’. Google him why don’t you. It was a looooong wait by the time Dr John Cooper Clarke appeared on stage after a very long interval and another introduction and gee up talk by Melody. 

I’ll start with the final summing up. He was brilliant, he was funny and he was most entertaining. Although we could not smell his breathe from way back in the only seats I could get very soon after they went on sale, I would think I was not unfair in saying that I thought he had had a few! That is probably ok for most people but I have lost my tolerance level for people who drink heavily. To put it simply as my mum would say “Its not funny and its not clever”!  My husband does not drink at all, neither did my Dad or Mum, and I am not brilliant at it, a couple of glasses of wine at dinner with good conversation is about my level. 

I am fully prepared for somebody to say that JCC was as sober as a judge and that it is all just part of his performance. They can’t make me go for that though.

 

Passed Caring 

Only once before I remember in all my years

Has this sort of annoying thing happened to me

When you pay money to pleasure your ears

To listen to artists who’ve built their careers

Performing their written words to me and thee  

Eager to book your seats months in advance

Indulge yourself soaking up the inspiring word

Master poet plying his trade will my spirit enhance

Or by sweetest musical note or pretty dance

Hoping mentally to store everything you heard 

Joining a reverent audience there to be awed

Held from fast selling fought for seats tonight

Enthusiasm now damped by drizzle maraud

Where is the one we so hoped to applaud

Holds himself above his fans at such height 

High acclamation must have gone to his head

Eventually before us appears the tardy star

Looking the worse for wear it must be said

Now and then it seems he loses the thread

We forgive that delay when he drank in a bar

De-Composed Caesar Salad

De-Composed Caesar Salad 

It is a pretty hard stretch for one to believe

That these invited guests would dare

To mention beforehand their dietary needs

To enable the hosts to take special care 

It beggar’s belief in this modern day

So un-imaginably rude you would think

To state clearly “No white food please”

Can’t eat carbs when we’re trying to shrink 

Yet this sweet couple rose up to please

With a DIY version of a Caesar Salad

Each ingredient lay prettily in a bowl

A thoughtfully inspired nutritional ballad 

A generous serving of trimmed salad leaves

Set out at the side is a tiny jug of dressing

Dainty chicken chunks, chopped anchovy

When everyone’s happy it’s always a blessing 

Fussy guests appreciate the extra special care

The hosts for their kindness may heaven reward

A diet not broken or warm family love either

Consideration for others we always applaud

The Bard of Salford- John Cooper Clarke

The Bard of Salford 

Several months ago I booked tickets for tonight’s complete sell out performance by John Cooper Clarke. He is the sort of bloke, that if you saw him walking up your garden path just before you heard the door ring, you might not hurry to the door to open it! To describe his appearance simply; I would say he looks a lot like Ronnie Woods of the Rolling Stones. He is about the Stones age too. Topped by a mess of unruly, black sticky-out hair, and clothes that looks like he has owned them for a very long time, in fact since he bought them in a charity shop in 1980. Definitely, he is a pretty dodgy looking character. This skinny vision in sunglasses however, is  hugely respected, a dyed in the wool, tell it as it is national treasure who is frequently introduced as a performance poet, who long, long ago, did the warm up acts on stage for punk bands in concert inspiring some of them with his words. 

At tonight’s show at the Connaught Theatre in Worthing, my husband Steve will be sitting next to me, even though I told him before booking the seats, that he would absolutely hate it. Somehow though, I don’t think he will be able to sleep through the evening. 

Poetry has always held me in a passionate lovers embrace; a warm place, as close to heaven as I can imagine. John Cooper Clarke is not Robert Frost, no indeed, but is closer, as I see him to a melting pot blended recipe, for which the ingredients are: A large dollop of Dylan (Bob that is) although our own Dylan Thomas could also be sprinkled liberally in, vast quantities of retro and modern, irreverent free thinking, stirred aggressively until solid and easily digestible. Can’t wait.

Vanity

 As we drove back from the pool this morning we passed the usual crowds of teens walking to school. They looked so much smarter than we ever looked years ago and that is because they ALL wear school uniform, boys and girls all very neatly turned out. 

Actually the most noticeable difference from my old days at school is that the boys these days seem to take more care with their hair than the girls do. Steve and I were having a chuckle about one particular group of lads, they must have got up early to make themselves look like something out of a magazine. 

I burst out with “Vanity thy name is NOT woman” but then I remembered that that is one of the most famous misquotes, since it was “Frailty they name is woman” That Hamlet said of his mother. This had me searching through my head files for my other favourite misquotes. The all time bests must be that Jesus never said “I am the Lord of the dance” and Humphrey Bogart did not say “Play it again Sam”. 

Any way, I do think that young men are taking much more care over their appearance and are more vain than the girls these days…. At least in Littlehampton.

Regrets I have a few

When Push comes to Shove 

I won’t be here forever you know

You’ll be sorry when I’m dead

All the years I’ve done my best

She filled my ears with dread 

Worked my fingers to the bone

My mother’s voice rings out still

You won’t care, I’ll die alone

She spat those words so shrill 

Regret will come too late my girl

You’ll be filled with useless guilt

The selfish thoughts that you unfurl

Crying over milk you’ve spilt 

For me to have what she did not

A better life for a surly child

It was because of me the life she got

That left me in her eyes reviled 

Yet still I think of her with love

And know she did her level best

Now and then push came to shove

I pray now she is at last at rest