There was a dead fox in the road. It was perfectly formed, although obviously being dead was a slight imperfection. I only saw it for a moment as I drove past. I looked at it. The fox did not look back. I was quickly by and the dead fox disappeared into memory.
January 28, 2012
Trip to the dentist
you can go straight in
no waiting, no time to think
perfunctory chat, the chair back sinks
hand over control
smells, glare, open mouth, noises
occasional aah – not much of a conversation
plastic sucks metal prods
several injections stab pain
numbing silence
whirring drill might be pneumatic
gag
hold on tight
large spectacles see spit fountain
filling, squeak and scrape
clamp those teeth, up and down, a few times
looks good
rinse and spit out the bits
quick clean and quick payment
departure.
the trip to the dentist,
never a great experience.
January 22, 2012
The train of infinity
endless hypnotic wait for the passing
in cold trance of a train
of infinite length, flatbed truck follows
flatbed truck after flatbed truck
lengthening a crossing queue
of, eventually, growing irritation as
the train never seems to end.
Dark Saturday afternoon on Tritton Road
It’s January and everywhere is dark and wet and miserable.
The Lincoln slate sky covers a time of drabness day,
Flat blue-red-brick- beige-grey-dark in the paint-damp-run drizzle,
Orange branding tries vainly to B&Q brighten the desperate place,
Over the neon road, lights just make it though the gloom:
SCS, Pets at Home, Starbucks, Staples, Comet, PC World, Currys
Countrywide conformity reflected in dark and miserable grey.
January 13, 2012
two little young old ladies
One wore a short green topcoat with large green buttons, a pair of blue jeans and sensible shoes. The other was similarly attired with a black and white hounds tooth top and a black beret. Not “with it” but not “without it”.
They were slim. Greying hair.
Their faces betrayed them, more appropriate to the old east end, a talk with a fag over the back fence whilst they hung out the washing. There was nothing out of place about them. They were of this time. It’s just that their craggy faces were not.
“It’s a good job I’m skinny” said one to the other as she sat down next to someone else sat opposite me. He didn’t look that big. It’s all about attitude.
Neither wore a wedding ring. I wondered if they were partners. Certainly friends. Get on!
January 11, 2012
Mellow jazz and 19th century diseases
JazzFM is on in the background. I’m on my third glass of wine. Quite a nice 2007 Rioja. I am relaxed.
A boy strides up and down discussing attitudes to disease in the 19th century.
I recognise some of the tunes. It adds to the warm and comfortable feeling.
Looking around I notice the colours in the kitchen. Black contrasts with oak. Green tablecloths with the rich red of the wine. The lights are reflected in the deep black windows.
A double base plucks its resonance and the hi hat intermingles with strokes on the piano.
Household noises don’t interrupt. A football match is about to begin in another room. A debate on medical discoveries continues; single sided.
A Spanish guitar has replaced the piano. I picture myself playing it. Removing my spectacles, eyes closed, my mind wanders off to a cellar bar in Andalucia. Communication is unnecessary.
An evening meal enters the room, shakes a saucepan and greets us. The trance is broken.
January 8, 2012
Small boy taps feet
nothing to hear
A small boy taps his feet. No words are said, the only sound the quiet pad of foot on floor. He is engrossed, mind focussed on the ethereal conversation on the screen in front of him.
The tapping stops, feet now up on the settee. A silent keyboard makes no noise though it must be kept busy.
The peace is short lived. His mother comes in and chases him upstairs to bed.
Reflections from the couch
Isolated as I am, from the nightly hypnotic lure of the television, I lie back and from the cosy stretched out comfort of the fireside my own narcotic takes hold.
Self administered stupor. The fire flares occasionally as new wood is overcome. It mesmerises but serves not to distract, adding to the air of relaxation, sweeping clean the floors of the imagination and setting fertile the stage of the unencumbered mind.
Words are few; thoughts random and surprised. Twist and shape and set free, sometime seen off into open fields where winds lift and scatter. Distant echoes.
January 1, 2012
Observations at the start of 2012
It’s 1.20pm on New Year’s Day 2012. I am sitting here waiting for the tea to brew and in anticipation of a visit from the next door neighbours for (another) cuppa at 3pm.
Observation #1
I got 2012 right first time. I often get the year wrong the first few times when it is a new year. I guess I wasn’t just writing a date there though. I was specifically referencing 2012.
Not much of an observation perhaps as the first of the new year. Nothing hugely meaningful as people are wont to spout at this artificial date in our timeline of progress (gravewards). I expect you thought I’d express joyous and optimistic thoughts geared to lift the spirit, parting perhaps the mental mists that remain in front of eyes, bloody from the closing celebrations of 2011. Nope.
Observation #2
I was in my pyjamas until 11.30 this morning. Unheard of! Having hit 50 in December is this now the beginning of the end? The ride down that slope, time-worn brakes offering no protection against hitting wall, ditch or hedge. It could be though it probably isn’t.
Observation #3
My cup runneth over no longer. The tea has been drunk, consumed, absorbed and its effects noted. It is an empty cup. Plenty of potential there and no cause for concern. Fill, cup fill. I stare expectantly. It will only happen if I get up and do it myself. So be it.
December 30, 2011
wild night of fearful darkness
wild night of fearful darkness
leaves chased freely by the wind
a tree falls
December 9, 2011
December 8th 2011 – the last day of the roaring forties
It’s the last day of my roaring forties. I guess they did roar and will finish loudly. Today I am traveling 1st class on the train from Lincoln heading to London. A busy day of industrialism followed by the Trefor.net Xmas tweetup at the St Pancras Renaissance hotel.Before I set off I tapped the barrel of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord bitter (my favourite) ready for the party on Saturday. Just a few friends round out house for a jazz session and to play some old disco favourites:) Tomorrow will be a civilised day spent relaxing, perhaps getting a haircut and then in the evening going out to see Erv in a piano recital.I’ve been looking forward to my 50th. When I got to 40 I wondered what all the fuss was about. 50 seems to be a much more significant milestone. Why is this?
At this point life seems to be a contradiction. 50 I imagine is an age of respectability. A time where a person would historically look back, bask in the fruits of success and begin the slow and inevitable glide into old age.
That’s the bit I don’t understand. From where I stand 50 looks like a launch pad. A place from which to increase the pace of life and go on to greater things. There is plenty yet to achieve. Life should continually overshadow the past.
The respectability thing is a difficult one to grasp. How can someone as clearly irresponsible as me hope to live up to an image that goes with 50? It isn’t that I don’t recognise the responsible part of the outer me. I hear me speak. I see people Looking at me and listening. There is plenty of evidence of the responsible me.
Inside though I am still the 19 year old occupying the ladies cubicle at the New Strand Inn in Douglas making the girls queue up, with their handbags. I am still the kid who skived off General Studies classes at school to go and play pool and who woke up our form teacher who was taking a nap at lunchtime by playing pitch and toss against his door.
There is evidence of change since that time. The house, 4 kids, the widening girth! The fact that I can no longer run the 10k in under an hour!! Just a temporary aberration I’m sure.So some good, some not so good but life is all about change and it just needs embracing.
December 4, 2011
Aspirations for winter
This winter I will trim the hedge. I will prune the fruit trees. I might work on the lawn, left over the years to the childhood ravages of wrestling, football, cricket and rugby, of golf divots and tunnels to Australia. I will chop the wood, lain drying by the back fence for longer than a season. I will fix the gutter by the door to the garden.
This winter I will go for walks that make my cheeks glow, returning to steamed up spectacles, defrosting in front of the fire. I will consume vast amounts of crumpets dripping with butter and polish off bottles of wine in the kitchen whilst preparing the Sunday roast.
December 3, 2011
Move it on!
I’m playing Meatloaf. LOUD! Can you hear it? I’m a reb. No cares. No responsibilities. Don’t give me orders. I do what I feel. Turn it up. Move it on. Blues Brothers. Eagles. Dexy’s. Jimmy Somerville. Queen. Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Get my drift? My head nods. Intensity. Focus.
November 30, 2011
Ann is 48 today
48, that’s progress, one on from 47 but a little while away from five oh
48, that’s symmetry, four be two be four
48, that’s unimaginably old, if you’re ten
the wisdom of 48 years accumulates, steadily
48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48, 48 said ten times quickly
means nothing really though add in a tune and 48 bars
and hopefully we find you on song for your 48th birthday
Cariad
Tref
October 20, 2011
Another notch on the season’s belt
I turned the heating on today. Another notch on the season’s belt. I’m feeling strangely calm, important decision made. That’s it. We won’t be going back. What now? Winter’s approach. Nosebiting cold. Wait for the storm.