Daf's Charity Leaflet

Hello,

   I have been a triathlete for almost thirty years and I have set myself a challenge this year because I will be 80 years old in August. I will try to raise money for two charities close to my home. The first of Charity is The Chestnut Tree Children’s home near Arundel, West Sussex for children with life shortening conditions.They do the most marvellous work there.

The other charity is Age UK West Sussex. They have 'Drop in' centres and arrange classes and meetings almost every day at different places locally. 

Of the events I am doing to raise funds for both super worthy charities for this year;

First up, my season starter is:

The Frosty, swim- run at Freedom Leisure, Littlehampton on March 3^rd

Then at the end of March: Swimathon 5000 metre pool swim.                                                    

I will swim on all three days of this competition making almost 10 miles in total.

In May: Eton Sprints weekend at Dorney Lake where I will do the same sprint distance triathlon event on two consecutive days.

June: Windsor Triathlon 1500 metre swim in the River Thames/ 40km bike/10km run.

June 30^th: Ironman 70.3 Haugesund Norway- 1900 metre swim/ 90km bike/ 20km run.

August: As one of team GBR I will compete in the ITU World Triathlon Championship Lausanne, Switzerland.

You can find a link to donate to either or both causes by simply entering:

Just Giving Daphne Belt on your computer, when entries for both pages with appear one after the other.

If you have any questions please email me: dafbelt@outlook.com

All of this above has been compressed into a small piece pf paper that I can carry with me at all times and hand out to anybody I know who I hope will make a donation to either of these great causes. Ant amount large or small will be gratefully given to the charity automatically if you use the Just Giving Daphne Belt link.

Scribbler's first gathering of 2019

 

Scribbler’s poetry and writing meeting last Sunday was so funny that I had to leave it a day or too to calm down before I wrote a report on our latest get together. The subject that I had suggested for us to put up for discussion was swearing in poetry. I had brought in because I knew that our newest little scribbler, who had read her very first poem at the previous meeting, had told me that she had written another poem but she was not sure if it would be in order for her to read it because it contained some swearing.

Now people handle bereavement in different ways and I know that because I was a volunteer at Cruse for a while in Worthing.  My friend Tina had lost her man cruelly and suddenly, at six months notice, last year. Her partner John was a man who worked with us, using his small truck within our antiques business sometimes.  It seemed to my husband Steve and I that dear Tina had gone into a classic case of denial for a while, seemingly coping well, when l in fact she was not. Then later on, became very angry and the anger, was directed at poor old John for leaving her when she needed him most.  He was such I nice guy and real gentleman, polite and very hard working.

So when Tina told me of the poem with a bit of swearing in it that she was not sure was acceptable of not, I thought that it might help to talk about it with friends. Yes, typical bereavement counselor I know. So in the group email, in which I announced the next meeting; I put forward as something to talk about; when and if the odd ‘fuck’ and other expletives were allowable. I chose to present a poet that I follow on Instagram where I encounter poets from around the globe and what a variety of styles there are.

This fellow though, seemed to have layers and levels of shading in his work that was pleasantly surprising. So I read five of his posts from Instagram that I had enjoyed or admired to our  friendly circle . Then I had planned later to blow whatever conclusions my group formed about this poets sometimes light, sometimes deep thoughtful work, right out of the water by then playing on my phone, this very nice looking man, doing his day job (or more likely a night job) as a Rap Artist containing the full blast of swearing that is often heard in this kind of poetry with a beat and a message.

However, just before our meeting started, I got an email from another poet in our group Rik, that I know in my other world of swimming and sport. When Rik cannot attend he sometimes sends an ‘Excuse Me’ poem to me.  What a laugh that was when another member read Rik’s poem out cold, having not seen it before and that opened the flood gates to dam busting levels.

Another swimming running friend of mine who is a respected GP found the forum opening gave her freedom to clear a little confusion for her. She is a talented linguist and holds some most individual ideas, she is as green as can be, ridiculously well read, and can recite the Rime of the Ancient Mariner! She does that while she runs around the countryside, sometimes barefoot picking up litter. She is also German and has lived in west Sussex most of her working life. So what she used the subject was to clarify the use the words in question. One question was “Which is it worse to call a  man; a Prick or a ‘C. U. Next Tuesday”! As Steve’s Mum used to say when she was alive!

The day’s finale came when Tina said she would read the poem that she had questioned, and made to get up to read. Now, I suspect what happened next was partially due to an attack of nerves, maybe I am wrong. Poor Tina was struck by a powerful attack of cramp and crumpled down on to all fours in the centre of the floor between us, clutching the offending Hamstring and Calf muscle. Luckily we have a GP and a physio therapist in our number and soon three people were crawling on the floor. One suffering pain and two trying to help.

After a while the poor woman managed to turn to a sitting position on the floor, took a deep breath and read her poem that was very well received and I hope maybe a little therapeutic.

To close the proceedings, I did play the handsome Rap guy in full bewarey-sweary mode, but by that time we had heard and seen and said much worse, though the video was passed around the room and nobody was shocked. We are all over twenty one and as I often relate, I have spent forty years off and on sitting in the truck drivers lounge of the cross channel ferry, so with me its not so much that bad language is new to me but more that I prefer beauty rather than words that suggest that the singer or the sung-to have some weird relationship (that I am not happy about) with their mothers. I could not say those words at all.  My respiratory system would shut down rather that supply the air to form those words. I blame my parents and the regular slap around the head I caught as a child if I fouled the air with as much as an exclamation of ‘Bum’. 

Scribblers on the move: Shock horror

 View from The Boat House in the Marina and below the building in question with its large terrace.

It is the most unbelievable news, that our home of almost a year, the Look and Sea Centre has closed suddenly and been out into the hands of administrators. The whole of the Harbour Lights Café complex was closed at the end of day without warning it seems. At 5.30pm on Friday August 31^st less than a week after our last poetry group get together in the meeting room upstairs. Everybody has had the same reaction to the news when they hear of it, which is generally an exclamation of “But it’s always packed”. And indeed it was. It seems however that the restaurant being full every moment of the day was not enough to save the entire complex that spreads over three floors.

We have been happy using the meeting room for all the meeting of our first year as a group a I was thrown into a bit of a flap realising that I must try to find a new venue quickly, well at least before our next meeting. I read in the local paper that Julie Fear who is the owner of another busy restaurant in the town,  had offered any displaced parties a home at The Boat House in the Marina. I emailed Julie as soon as I heard to ask if that was correct. Over the course of a couple of weeks I have been in to The Boat House and had talks with Julie who is happy for us to make a few booking and see how it pans out. It is a real pain in the neck for a number of reasons, including for me, that all the nice glossy cards I had printed are now totally redundant.

I have had some more printed that just show my contact details but not the venue just in case things don’t work out, though I hope to goodness we will settle there. The other point is that I have reverted to the original name of ‘Scribblers’ for the group since the change to ‘The Harbour Lights Poets’ was so short lived. Doomed maybe, I never was happy with that name change.

Like any move, there are a number of things to consider. Firstly and importantly, that although we have been invited to make the place our new home, that there is not the luxury of quiet private room as we had enjoyed Look and Sea. This would mean that other people taking tea or a coffee and cake or a full meal, will come and go whilst we read to each other giving us the chance to see how we will take to being beginner performance poets. EEEEK! Scary stuff. Who knows, the clients may like it and many we will too, in the fullness of time, as all our quite dreadful politicians say to glibly.

Well cutting to the chase, I have booked several dates and all we can do, is give the idea a chance. It is also a lovely position, right in the Marina looking out at the River Arun as we did before, but from the west bank of the river this time. 

There is plenty of parking there and no meters either. That's me above on a bike ride visit.

It is possible to walk there from the town via the foot bridge by the Arun View pub close to the station. The Marina entrance is adjacent to the foot bridge. You can also drive there easily enough. From the roundabout at Tesco’s, you carry on over the road bridge in the direction of Bognor Regis but take the first turning on the left, which turns sharply back toward the river again as if heading for the foot bridge from the west side or as you would do to go to West Beach or the golf course. Then just before the foot bridge, you turn left into the Marina area and continue toward the building that is The Boathouse. Most of us have been loads of times though in our case it was usually on our bikes.

The Boat House has a great menu for breakfast lunch or afternoon tea. The coffee and cakes are all excellent too. This meeting will be our first birthday celebration so I am hoping and praying that as many as possible of you will come and try to make a big success of our big move. There will be cake.

 An exciting new path, where will it lead us

Harbour Lights Poetry: group news

                                                  Isle of Wight, Pier to Pier swim.                            
                                                                                                          

Our alarm rang at 5.20am, sadly waking me from the best sleep I had had in quite a while. I opened one eye and muttered that it couldn’t be morning because it was still dark. Maybe I was bird in another life and only feel fit to wake when dawn makes at least a little effort to crack just before the dreaded bedside klaxon. The only thing that saves the clock from an unhappy end is that my husband keeps the noisy critter on his bedside cabinet distant from any violence from my direction.

We got ourselves down to the sea front to meet our friends in the swimming pool car park for the planned 6.30am sea swim, but, I started the ball rolling in the wrong direction by saying that it was too cold and dreary for me, and that I was going in the pool for my swim. It was very overcast, and the tide was not fully in so there might be a bit of wading before you could swim. My excuse was that I was too long in the tooth to get very cold, mentioning that it was after getting very cold at this time last year that I ended up with Pneumonia. I don’t want to be pampered but I don’t want to be just plain old stupid either.

Once the wall of will started to crumble the rest of the group didn’t take long to do the same as me and slope into the pool instead. A bit of sunshine might have made all the difference. Once in our swim lanes we did all get a good work out and were comforted by that. Steve ( Coach/Husband) had to get off to work to meet a delivery, but told me to be ready to go out on our bikes a little later in the morning, which we did, so in the end a useful swim and a bike ride made us feel better about our training.

 

For me this is a slightly scary time of year as gradually the sun moves away and the days become shorter. I do not enjoy the lack of light in the winter months and I get accused of being a S.A. D. subject. I have to agree with that I suppose but there are other things that almost make up for the lengthening on the nights. The night sky is a wonder that regularly gives me a touch on neck ache and I have learned to stop and stare rather than bowl on and trip over any hazard available.

I do miss Orion during the summer time but he, like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s  sci-fi character,  will be back,  spear poised raging across the sky, the most noticeable, best known of all the constellations.  Then we can look for Sirius the Dog Star yapping at his master’s feet as they take their long winter journey.

Sweet Sirius

You stop my heart, it skips a beat

You are a star of stars elite

Brilliant, flashing, huge blue star

Clearest, brightest heavenly Tsar

Dominating others less in sight

Admiration doth your flame requite

Peaceful Pursuits

High on the list of things to be done

When not at work, waiting for lunch at one,

Not busy getting meals and slaving all day,

There never is the time to go out and play.

Dream of this then, to calm your self down

Slow your breathing; get rid of the frown.

Walking barefoot on the sand at low tide

Wearing loose clothes, the body sins hide.

Glide into the sparkle at the waters edge

Hoik up you your pants and give this pledge;

I will take time at least once in a while,

To stand alone on the beach and smile.

The next meeting of the Harbour Lights scribblers group is this coming Sunday

August 26^th at 2pm.

If anybody is reading about this for the first time, please let your curiosity lead you to us. We can be found in the upstairs meeting room above the Harbour Lights Café at the Look and Sea Centre alongside the lovely River Arun in Littlehampton. There is a small pay car park behind the lifeboat station or the town car park is only five minutes walk away.

The  café kindly set iced water and glasses in the room for us or you can buy a pot of tea or what ever  other drink you might prefer and bring it up on a tray yourself, there is plenty of room.  

All are welcome to come in and join us just to listen and comment if you wish or to bring anything you have written that you might like to read to the group or indeed if you have a poem that you have heard on ‘Poetry Please’ or maybe read in a book from the library, please bring it along.

We are a warm friendly group and will be pleased to meet any newcomers.

Ring me with any questions: 

Mobile: 07990 803274

Email: dafbelt@outlook.com

Daphne Belt

Holiday time and meetings

Harbour Lights Poets (ride again).

Time to remind our friends that the next meeting of the Harbour Lights poets will be on Sunday 29^th of July.  For the sake of any new guests to our group we gather at 2pm in the meeting room above the Harbour Lights Café at the Look and Sea centre, by the beautiful River Arun in Littlehampton. West Sussex. For more info, email: dafbelt@outlook.com

Everybody is welcome, watchers and listeners are just as warmly invited as poets and writers of any level, in fact we love to encourage, help or advise and greet beginners or just sit and lap up more experienced visiting poets work. Please do join us for a couple of hours.

Steve, Anthony Towers and I have been on a swimming and hiking holiday in Reifnitz on the Wörtersee in Austria, where the surroundings are stunningly, breathtakingly scenic and inspiring.

Looking toward the mountains in Slovenia from our table at dinner last night

A Hike in Austria

Taking what was less than a path uphill

just after breakfast with some time to kill,

needing to shake holiday sloth away

Crank up the limbs to work more than just play.

Rising sharply from the village below

Into thick woodland where dark shadows grow.

A deer leapt, the flash of furry rust red

of his flanks as through sunlight he sped.

A mountain stream spat the tiniest frog

who crawled up a leaf and on to a log,

through trees we saw a marvellous vista

turquoise lake surface of sparkling glister.

Give thanks to fortune to have such a life,

hand in hand fondly, a husband and wife.

Mouse Mountain

A mountain side cowshed turned

into a chic hotel conversion.

From fancy brochure we learned

funky individuality emersion.

Each room furnished

by a well known designer

wall art, coffee table

and smooth leather recliner.

The trendy restaurant serves

Dishes, artistic yet regional,

wide reaching and international

wine list and fruit that was seasonal.

The vast buffet breakfast presents

Swiss delicacies and specialities

Experienced staff that were fluent

in languages for all nationalities.

Early morning breakfasters

were it seemed, few on the ground.

On that morning just one other

couple entered, glancing around.

They strolled to the far end and

he sat down with his back to the wall,

she took the seat opposite, facing him.

She looked in and he could see all.

Between our two tables appeared

the furriest mouse I ever saw

lush mountain coat, a comic appearance

fur coated mice in such places are law.

Insects and rodents don’t bother me

but watching her husband’s eyes….

Turned to see what it was he saw;

She screamed, blood curdling cries.

She kept on bellowing her alarm

skirt held tight climbed on a chair

I turned to face my other half

he went and hid by the buffet there.

The manager apologised to the lady

who was still distraught by that.

He brought a mousetrap and the cat;

Placed them both near to where she sat.

That couple left the hotel soon after

leaving behind the horror of the house.

On my dessert plate that evening was

a huge ice cream with a marzipan mouse.

An Enforced Break

Hello to you all,

Sorry things went a bit quiet, but the day after the last meeting at the Harbour Lights Café

 I fell off my bike during a training session and spent the rest of the day in A & E at Worthing Hospital. The X-Ray showed that I had broken both my Ulna and Radius in my left arm.

Since I was told that they were compacted, I was subjected to an experience much like being put on the rack, to try to pull the bones out and into line again. I wasn’t wild about that. 

It involved one doctor holding my arm just below the elbow and the senior doctor hauling the lower part and further stretching the hand using his thigh as a lever. Final stages shown here.

They put a three-quarter cast on the arm leaving room for the expected swelling. It did swell and turn all shades of purple. Anyway I am still in plaster, a complete pretty purple one now,

but hope to be cut out of it in a few weeks.

However I am still managing to get a little training done.

I am doing a brisk walk pretty much daily and a turbo training at home.

This is with the added use of a couple of big cushions over my handle bars.

I can type using my right hand, and the index finger of the left hand 

which is not as stiff as the others digits.

Meeting your first Alien

Last evening I saw my husband chatting to our next door neighbours at the rear of our garage.

They are a lovely young couple with a little boy of pre-school age, soon to have his 4th birthday

After a few moments Steve came into the house to get me and told me that little Héctor wanted to see my broken arm, if I wouldn’t mind; they had stopped by to ask how I was.

I went out and was greeted by the little boy’s look of complete astonishment.

He had never heard of such a thing, let alone seen anybody he knew with an arm set in a plaster cast. He eyed the purple fingers and the bruises around my elbow with amazement. 

“Does it hurt Daf” he asked.

I told him that it did hurt a bit but that it felt better since the Doctors at the hospital mended it

 and put it in the plaster until it was OK again.

He looked bewildered, so I knocked the plaster so that he could hear the funny noise it made.

His big brown eyes widened even further, he looked from my face to the plaster and back several times. I invited him to knock to see how hard it was.

He clenched his little fist and did a sample soft knock and then tried a slightly louder one.

His mother took him by the other hand and moved to leave prompting the little boy said

 “What have you come to say to Daf Héctor”?

“Get well soon Daf”, he said, still looking as though he had met his first alien.

He waved goodbye to me as he was walked away into his own garden.

He is such a cute little guy, bless him, I thought, bless his little heart.

The pure wonderment of children!

I have taken a few acupuncture appointments at Harmony Acupressure in Chichester, that seems to have helped with the bruising and swelling as well as my stress levels. A very peaceful treatment.

 The date of my latest accident was five years almost to the day

 since I had a fall whilst out running on holiday in Italy.

That time was worse, since there was also a broken foot to cope with and lacerations.

The poems and story below were written then telling of my difficulties and about my first outing a few days after doing that. 

On that occasion as now I told myself that my broken bones would heal themselves in the fullness of time and held that in my mind.  There are thousands of people who are much worse off than me. People lose limbs through accidents or acts of war and terrorism, mine is in the light of that thought simply a temporary inconvenience. This is the incredible Rudy Garcia Tolsen pictured here at a half Ironman triathlon this summer.

Ups & Downs

Missing my training

Life’s not the same

It’s not even raining

Temporarily lame

Six weeks is a lifetime

Nothing is fun

Not even bath time

Is easily done

The gardens a mess

Can’t get to grips

Left handed trowel-ing

Got any tips

Dust bunnies hiding

All over indoors

Our house is filthy

The shelves and the floors

Doing my bra up

Some clothes I can’t wear

Even lifting a cup

Isn’t easy my dear

Two weeks more

Not so much longer

What I hope for

Is soon to be stronger

Life’s ups and downs

Soon come and go

The strength to get through it

Is what I must show. 

The Pyjama Game

Chichester Festival Theatre

Minerva

Starring

Hadley Fraser

Seats G56-57

May 23^rd 2013

A game indeed

Seats booked months ahead

They sold at the speed of light

Hadley had been Raoul

In ‘Phantom’ previously

I looked forward to it so

Then I was set in plaster

There’d been a fall you see

I wasn’t going to miss it

But how was I to go?

Wild horses wouldn’t stop me

Now it would not be easy

That, it could not be

I called the theatre

Got them on the phone

A few days ahead

Told them of my plight

To find out about seats

It had not mattered when I booked

That my seats were at the back so high

Manager and receptionist checked location

And told me with a sigh

I should come in early

And they would help me to my seat

The Minerva is so neat

For me the very best

But it’s just a bloody bank of stairs

Swirly almost in a circle

No such thing as a bad seat

On the front row

Actors are at your feet

In the top back row you still see all

Getting to our seats

Would be a labour of love

The theatre assistant was most helpful

Drive up to the door she said

And plant me just inside

My husband then could park the car

And I would not have to go too far

It was an effort and a half

Hobbling up to where we’re sitting

The theatre empty at that time

No coming out again at half time

Once settled with my programme

And lots of time to read it through

So I could see who would be who

Soon after the house lights faded

And the first songs were rendered

I realised a new handicap of mine

And this one hurt in quite another way

Couldn’t clap my hands

At songs divinely sung

Could not even wave my arms

Well at least the good one

It would look like something else

My crutch behind my seat was bunged

Could not even tap that down

Being entertained so well but then

Worth all the painful twinges

I’d do the same again. 

I would like to let you know that I have booked the last Sunday in July, August and September for our next meetings. There is not a June meeting due to holidays.

July 29^th

August 26^th

September 29^th

Please make a not in you diaries.

As ever but nobody has ever taken me up on this.

 Please send me anything you might like included in the next news message

Weapon of Choice

Weapon of Choice:

Next meeting of Harbour Lights Poets will be Sunday 27^th of May at 2pm as usual in the meeting room at the Look and Sea Centre above the Harbour Lights Café. My email: dafbelt@outlook.com

Much as I would most often prefer to sit and write when I am at home alone, ‘Poetrising’, as my husband calls it when I sit scribbling away on my own, it was a warm day for a change and I grasped the nettle in more ways than one, taking the opportunity to tidy up out little back garden.

Starting with the Daffodils that had past their most glorious stage, and had finished flowering. All that was left of them was a mess of floppy green leaves. The bedding plants; Geraniums, Petunias, Antirrhinums, and Sweet Peas were all still on the polystyrene boxes, looking as though they were suffering grade A. Pot-bound-itis.

I had pulled lots of the pots forward and had been working on the garden table to save my back from too much bending over. I didn’t want to find that I was not able to ride my bike the next day due to unaccustomed labour. There were several metal pots that did not have draining holes at their base and over winter they had become smelly, soggy, muddy messes and the flowers that were in them when they were bought; Tulips, had suffered from the soaking and completely rotted. They were beyond saving. There weren’t that many of the offending pots and I set about looking for a tool or two that I could get the job done with, without having to wait for Steve to come home and do it for me, when he had been working all day and would want to sit down, have a cup of tea and catch up on the news.

The club hammer was easy to locate in my husbands tool box and a further search through drill bits chisels and other smaller items, brought just the thing to light, a big-ish centre punch. Then having emptied of the mushy goo I set about making a few holes in the bottom of the planters that I need to use.  It wasn’t as easy as I would have thought but I had put some thick gloves to protect my hands,  and set about the job in hand, how hard could it be?

I heard our door bell chime loudly through the open kitchen door. Steve had ordered a new Bar-b-que to replace the old wrecked one, from Amazon and had told me to watch out for the van and man since there was an email declaring that the item was out for delivery.

A few steps through our little cottage took me to the front door and I opened it with a clatter, club hammer in one hand and centre punch in the other. The deliver guy took several steps backwards from the step exclaiming “Whoa Mrs, who you expecting, ‘Annibal Lecter or summick”? He had climbed over our front wall (No, there isn’t a front gate) and had set the heavy looking package down on the pathway before I opened the door. I put down my tools and asked him to just stand the box in the hall for me and added “Please” and a smile, since he was still looking at me in a funny way. He suggested that I should stand back because it was heavy but hoiked the thing up and stood it just inside the front door, I had to squeeze around it to go to sign for the delivery, I scribbled an H and a scrawly L but he didn’t notice and nobody can read those things anyway.

Not more than a few moments after I had got back to my gardening chores, a regular workman that we use for odd household problems, bowled in through the garage at the back into the garden where he found me sitting on a plastic stool, still bearing the same tools that had given the delivery guy such a start. Just one step back this time, because this man had known me for a number of years. “Jesus Daphne, WTF are you doing with a club hammer?

I indicated first to the pot and explained “No draining holes”. Then the centre punch and then the club hammer and a short mime, before saying that I was not aware of any restrictions on girls using tools!

Having put the tools down and stepped toward the kitchen to turn the kettle on to make tea, I turned to see my husband, home early, stepping through the garage and into the mess of pots and plants. He spotted the club hammer lying on the ground and became the third man in half an hour to question my ability to do a simple job for myself.

“What ARE you doing with my club hammer”?

“Well, for a start, think it was my dad’s club hammer, though, due to our marriage, I suppose it could be deemed ‘Our’ club hammer, one of our ‘Worldly goods’”. I went on to say that I did not know that I had to pass a test to use it.

Steve made the holes in the rest of the pots that I indicated, but still giving me a levelling look and later on I told him that I might lay claim to it. It obviously had some magical power, since three normal looking workmen, had all found something new and a little bit scary in me when holding the said tools.

As a bit of a scribbler, I am well aware that poets and writers have long claimed that the pen is mightier that the sword but nobody ever took a few steps back from me when I stood with gel pen in my hand as they had done that day when I brandished my new weapon of choice.

 

Pen versus Sword

The Pen, so it is said, is mightier than the sword.

Yet ever since this was said, the assertion has been in dispute.

Support is split in the hundreds of cartoons, posters, tee shirts,

mugs and caps.

Sword v Pen

Literally, we all know it to be untrue.

Were the two weapons put to the test.

An arm would be cut off, and the pen would fall from the severed limb.

The hulk holding the sword would claim victory and march off

waving his blood dripping weapon.

The writer would quickly bleed to death.

Pen v Sword

On the other hand, (pardon the pun), intelligent people can write stirring stuff, get themselves lodged in high places, change laws, start rebellions,

and sway those in power and have ignorant, violent monsters locked away.

Wield or Yield

This question still stands. as we see in the school playground,

where the bully can still rule.

Yet very often the bullying is done with words:

Spiteful things said, threats on Facebook and text messages.

Quill or blade can strike with equal cruelty.

An accurate, articulate word or a murderous swing of the sword.

Both decidedly deadly.

                                      Painting by our talented cousin Sally Hoolican-Cooper