As the perpetual winter raged outside, life indoors by the fire continued in a very relaxed and comfortable manner. No need to go anywhere other than to fetch another load of fuel from behind the back door and to make the occasional pot of tea. Every now and again he would drop off to sleep, waking up after a short while to continue with his book. There was no other world.
December 28, 2010
December 25, 2010
What do you get a mother for Christmas?
What do you get a mother for Christmas? Someone who has room for no more gadgets, whose larder is stocked full for the winter and who has filled most of the wardrobes in their five bedroom house for two with the contents of several clothes shops. Could I give her youth and vitality? No despite her years she has youth aplenty. Love she dispenses freely without strings. She can have some of this back though it isn’t part of the contract. Praises she has had more of over the years than she could shake her stick at, if she had a stick, and friendship comes naturally. She already shared with me her attitude to life.
All I can think of is a pair of socks and a big hug and thank you for being my mam.
December 12, 2010
November 18, 2010
November 14, 2010
October 30, 2010
Lying Awake
Lying awake in bed is when you realise that when it all comes down to it we are all just animals. The grunts, loud breathing and snores coming from the person next to you!
October 16, 2010
October 14, 2010
Birthday Girl
As the civilised world revelled in the news that the 33 Chilean miners have been delivered safely from their 700m subterranean hell after 70 days, reports are coming in that one person is not at all pleased.
Insiders claimed that ex-British Premier Margaret Thatcher, reportedly suffering from terminal ‘forgetfulness’ muttered that she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about, because as far as she was concerned, there shouldn’t even be any miners because she destroyed them all in 1985.
“Not so,” said International miner’s leader Bora Hole. “Mining is still alive and kicking, despite Thatcher’s attempts to strangle it at source in the UK. It’s gone on in other countries for decades, the difference being that some nations support their workers – who after all are the backbone of any national economy – whilst others prefer the financial sector as a source of national income. We all know where that particular strategy left us.”
“Yeah, right in the mire,” said a passerby with a Yorkshire accent who overheard the conversation. “It’s all well and good all these London-based fairies deciding the future of our country based on Thatcherism – but may I be so kind as to remind you that the British Empire was built on industrialisation – not paper shuffling and number crunching. Wallies, the lot of ’em.”
Apparently yesterday was Thatcher’s 85th birthday – eclipsed totally by a mining rescue operation in Chile – funny old World; wonder what Pinochet thinks of it all.
October 10, 2010
Trefor Davies at 10:10:10:10:10
Trefor Davies at 10:10:10:10:10
This photo of Trefor Davies was taken by son John at exactly ten past ten in the morning on Sunday October 10th 2010.
Reasons not to have a TV (not comprehensive)
X-Factor
Big Brother
Strictly Come Dancing
Changing rooms
Come dine with me
DIY SOS
Supernanny
Weakest Link
I’m a celebrity get me out of here
The Apprentice
Master Chef
Hell’s Kitchen
Wife swap
Total wipeout
Deal or no deal
October 4, 2010
The man said swing
The man said swing
When you’re too tired to write can you slow down? What happens to the words? Do they start to slur? Does what you are saying still make sense? Should that really have been a question mark?
Keyboards don’t drag in the same way that an inkpen does. The smear on the page is missing. The clinical delete button kills off the character. The early draft of a Philosopher On Tap classic will never appear for sale at Christies, found at the bottom of a long forgotten drawer or discovered in the library of a minor country house.
Eb ain’t a great key for a guitarist
Something feels missing. The half consumed bottle of bourbon or the empty jug of black coffee with a pile of cigarette stubs in the ashtray. The pile of paper on the floor, screwed up remnants of screwed up attempts at pen on paper.
Staring at the screen just doesn’t seem to cut it, at least not from the romantic vision of the writer stuck in the attic room looking out over the red brick back streets, or was it a concrete jungle seen from a run down apartment block.
Where’s the story?
The saxophone music came through the wall from next door. At first I thought it came from a CD but then I soon realised this couldn’t be the case. Suddenly it seemed to match my mood. Tiredness. I couldn’t make out the name of the tune. Can’t say my musical knowledge stretches far anyway.
The music stopped and after a minute or so I heard a door slam. Must have been an accident. The slam didn’t match the music. I shut the lid on my laptop and called it a night.
October 3, 2010
Failed Lotto numbers Saturday 18th September
09, 12, 15, 24, 38, 48
Not a single one of them came up. Life’s a bitch.