Marmite faces of the World Unite!

In Praise of Marmite

 

A secret passion of half the UK

Who have to taste it every day

Who cares what it is? Yeast extract!

I don’t really want to be too exact,

But I tell you this without hesitation

It’s a totally yumpcious taste sensation.

Spread on buttered toast OMG!

A bagel satisfy’s the snack eating squad. 

Not a healthy looking tongue tickling treat

Well bred or the ordinary man in the street

Slap it on a huge split baked spud

Slip spoonfuls on to help your taste buds bud

The love it or hate thing seems to be true

But on a cheese sandwich nothing else will do

Contains B vitamins, it says on the jar

Don’t pretend it has goodness, that’s going too far

Just love it for love’s sake as we munch this stuff,

As we lick our sticky black mouths it makes us feel tough

No pretences, no nonsense it’s a wake up call

And a Marmite Sandwich is the best of all. 

Praise be to Marmite

Amen

 

Adoption

If you are lucky like me, there is hardly a moment to think, because your life is full to the brim. Even though it means rushing around fit to bust trying to get everything done, doing all the jobs, meeting people, going places, repeating activities, it is so much better then live being empty. Give thanks and love for that!
 

Adoption 

Lately I have been reminded

For a number of reasons

Of my childhood days

When all of my ‘Aunties’

Where not actually related

I was told to call them Auntie

They were only my mum’s friends 

I had lots of Aunties anyway

My mum had five sisters

Auntie Lily was the only one

Who was older than Mum

Then came Auntie Vi

Who lived in Southampton

Where we went for holidays 

My granddad was killed at war

My mum a child herself

Her mum remarried

And three more sisters came

Gladys, Nellie and Betty

She never called them step sisters

But loved them all the same 

 In addition to Mum’s sisters

My dad had sisters too

One of whose names, Janet

I have as my middle name

I was only a baby

When we moved away

And I never saw them again 

The two honorary Aunties

I remember best were

Auntie Ivy who had been

A Land Army Girl in the war

Cookie who was the cook

At a children’s home

Where my mother worked 

Many years after

When I became a mother

Friends, and in laws

All had families too

Aunties, real or semi-adopted

In fast order I found myself

Called Auntie Daphne 

First along young David

Named after his dad

Robert, Janie and Nick

Deborah, Tracy and Suzanne

All were friends from the start

And all lodged in my heart

With my dear baby Jakki 

So in her turn

Jakki never questioned

Aunties Anne, Clare and Liz

Accepted as were

Her true Aunties, Valerie

And my brothers wife

Auntie Burnhild 

It seems to make no difference

Blood relative or no

The only thing to count on

Is love where it is freely given

And taken without a show

God parents filter in to note

Another unrelated title 

Now some younger people

Have come into my life

Have made their own nominations

And adopted me as an aunt

Or even a surrogate mum

Katie, Andy, Sally

An honour I’m happy to take 

In older life now it continues

The giving of or taking love

A most important gift

The warmth of being gathered in

As part of a younger adult life

These friends don’t ask for much from me

A text signed, Love, Mum or Auntie D

 

Spring Primrose

Primrose 

Are you really so prim rose?

Are you so prim?

Whilst there you can be found

You stay close to the ground

Snuggled up in grassy mound. 

But not really prim

Rose, not really prim

With your lemon parasol

Dainty as a pretty doll

Is it protective protocol? 

You really are a flashy piece

Though a low profile you keep

Afraid to go it on your own

Full posy on a bank is blown

Beauty just for spring on loan. 

Leaves like Savoy cabbage

Drab beside your daintiness

Flash your pretty little flowers

Face the sky for hours and hours

Compared to you the violet cowers. 

Are you so prim pretty rose?

If you are then no one knows why

The glory of your yellow glow

Unafraid profusely flowering so

Underground ‘til next year you go.

Wild Violets

With eighty days to go to the start, my day started with a 6.30 am Sufferfest turbo session, coffee in Costas afterwards, home to change and get Steve's porridge and his mothers breakfast, before lighting off to Arundel for a run in the park there, the route know to the inner set as; Up to the big tree and back!At the end I spend some time closely examining some of the tiny wild violets that have presented their exquisite little faces to the world.

If you like this, bung a fiver on my fund site. www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Wild Violets 

How can it possibly be?

That some people see

This pretty wild flower,

As something with power

To be a common garden pest

Has sensibility gone west?

Let’s get up close and muddy

And make serious study. 

Two pairs of purple wings

The daintiest of things

One pair reaches up to the sky,

The other spread asking why?

To the pretty apron between

On the mouth of this is seen

The most delicate minute

Teeny-weeny mouth so cute,

From which yellow and purple

Miniature stripes hurtle. 

Focus on the whole face now

And you will see just how,

With open arms to bless

To offer a fond caress,

And in the softest gaze

Signs back to you in praise

For your admiration

Of a spiritual creation. 

Shiny deep green leaves

Like medieval sleeves

Shaped like tiny hearts

As loving arrow darts

Cluster around collectively

To hold the flowers protectively.

Doubt

Well, I have just checked the countdown in my diary and there are 85 days to go until I start my big charity challenge. I case my friends think that I am full of confidence and feeling cocky about any of it, today's entry will put you straight because I know it will be just that, a challenge and I am already getting the wiggle-waggles. I will need help. I will need a bit of back up. And I will hope that I meet my fundraising target. www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

  

Doubt 

Starting to panic a little bit now

My extensive plans are looking scary

To carry out a challenge so big, Wow!

Questioning my own worth, being wary. 

Confidence has almost drained away

A sort of stage freight inside me I see

A countdown until the appointed day

Slow down time, can you wait for me? 

All the things my friends have said

Are all rushing back to haunt me

Earlier today my legs felt like lead

I was so sure and now doubt taunts me. 

Over the months I have talked the talk

Now the magnitude of the task has dawned

Soon I must swim, bike and run the walk

Fear of failure as a mighty chasm yawned. 

Strength I once had in full abundance

Endurance like a stately cloak I wore

Steel my self against my own redundance

I’ll face the challenge to which I swore.

Spring flowers

Don't you just love Daffodil time in England? I certainly do since I am one of the many people who think they suffer from S.A.D. during the horrid dark months. The mornings are getting lighter, which for somebody who leaves the house most mornings at around 6.15am is a blessing. I noticed the first CRACK of dawn this morning as I went out to the garage to put on a load of washing at 5.45am before I went out for a turbo session with friends. Later at around 8am, doing a little run along the sea front it was just heavenly to be out in the sunshine, even if part of the view down by the River Arun was of the council trucks and cranes starting to repair some of the damage caused by the winter storms.

Tête-à-Tête Daffodil 

The Tête-à-Tête miniature Daffodil

Tiny golden bell with a pretty yellow frill

Most sweet, my favourite spring flower

Product of a little sun and a cold March shower.

 

 

Red Camellia 

Peaking over the high garden wall

Showing no fear of winter yet unfinished

Surviving through to spring from fall

Her strength and beauty undiminished. 

Breaking buds like crimson velvet

Changing to wonderful deep pink flower

Above our wall showing a flashy pelmet

Glowing thru’ afternoon sunlight hours. 

Thank heaven for Mother Nature’s gift

Bursting forth despite the cold

That brings a smile and spirits lift

Born out of winter this colour bold.

 

 

Sado Island travels

Just flipping through past travels and was reminded of the fabulous time spent with the GB Age group triathlon team some years ago with our most excellent manager Ian Pettitt. One of the best trips of my life was to a little island off Japan.  It is around eighty eight days until I start my big challenge
So please feel free to donate. www.justgiving.com/Daphne-Belt

Sado Island, Japan 

Excitement filled me when I thought,

Even thought, if or not I ought

To go to Japan more for a triathlon race

Such a distant and unknown place

Most other women decided not

Only five on the GB team they got.

I felt a lot easier when I found

At Heathrow we’d leave the ground

Flying all together as a team

Much more sensible it would seem

The place where we were going to go

Was not in cosmopolitan Tokyo

Sado Island, off the North West coast.

That nothing was western, surprised us most

I crash coursed a language tape before

Leaving to go to so strange a shore.

No choice but to stay at a Ryokan hotel

Traditional style would suit us well

No outdoor shoes allowed indoors

Kimono and slippers would be yours

For the entire duration of the stay

We would live life the Japanese way.

We slept upon soft bamboo and raffia floors

And got used to the paper thin sliding doors.

No English was spoken anywhere to us

So we got a translator and a Karaoke bus!

She gave us lessons on every ride

Shyness was no place to hide.

Everybody must sing out a song

Good or bad we must sing along

I used my bit of panic learned, Japanese

And though they giggled, it seemed to please.

I was able to order some toast and tea

And thank very politely when it came to me

Giggles hidden by hands, bows everywhere

I started bowing too, tradition to share.

The Great Bath was a culture shock

All naked together and no door to lock

But we girls took it all in our strike

Deciding we had nothing special to hide.

The sweet children at the local school all

Adopted an athlete whose name to call

When we were out racing our race

A sign with our name on would be in place

On the cycle ride around this strange land

Like a willow pattern plate close at hand.

The best of the of the trip was not the gold

Medal won in my age or the title I hold

So… domo arigatogozaimashita Japan

For carrying out your immaculate plan