From my new workspace, I'm overlooking a small gravelly garden, big fir trees, a chaotic bamboo patch, and a dovecote. The birds that are a-twitter at the tops of the firs seem uninterested in the seed-feeders, below - wise, given the number of cats that frequent this area.
There is something really rather pleasing about the swoop and swirl of blue tits.
Just yesterday, I mentioned to a teacher - a bit stressed, she was - that were her school located within an entirely concrete landscape (as so many are), then that pressure that she was feeling would somehow be a fraction more overbearing. Casting a casual glance across the green fields adjacent to the staff room, and to a hill beyond, she murmured.
'Mm. You know you do talk some shit sometimes, but I know what you mean.'
Then I added to her workload.
Showing posts with label Animals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Animals. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
distinction
Jim (cat) has gone missing.
Whilst being a cat of distinction, a man-cat of routine and strict habit, I like to think of Jim as my OneTrueColleague.
This morning, I felt some degree of empathy towards those people who distribute 'lost cat' posters.
Alex is with his Dad, and their extended family. This is his longest break from us, ever (Day 5, of 9 days). Come Sunday, I'd rather he be returning to the household as was, rather than as was minus cat.
We shall see.
----------------------
UPDATE:
Jim-Cat Is Returned!...
Quite unscathed, not saying a word about where he's been, unwilling to meet my eye.
I think he may have found himself a woman*.
* Old, living alone, a generous feeder - my archetypal nemesis figure.
Whilst being a cat of distinction, a man-cat of routine and strict habit, I like to think of Jim as my OneTrueColleague.
This morning, I felt some degree of empathy towards those people who distribute 'lost cat' posters.
Alex is with his Dad, and their extended family. This is his longest break from us, ever (Day 5, of 9 days). Come Sunday, I'd rather he be returning to the household as was, rather than as was minus cat.
We shall see.
----------------------
UPDATE:
Jim-Cat Is Returned!...
Quite unscathed, not saying a word about where he's been, unwilling to meet my eye.
I think he may have found himself a woman*.
* Old, living alone, a generous feeder - my archetypal nemesis figure.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
fowl
We have become friends with a really rather cool mother and son, plus grandparents, who live in a massive, rambling, tree-lined property that's close to us. Having done a lot of running about last week and over the weekend, by Sunday afternoon I felt the need to unwind. So we took up an invite to join said mother and son, at their place - for drinks in the shade.
As I looked over some outbuildings, Emma was given the formal tour of the gardens, and Alex took a turn towards the vast hen enclosure (later showing off at being able to gently gather up the more dull-witted of hens). Later, as we exited Rambling Manor, I mentioned that I'd needed that break. The Lady of the Manor seemed glad for the remark.
Then. Yesterday evening. Just before bed-time.
Alex: (casually having a wee) Shane.
Shane: (pasteing up the toothbrushes) Mm?
Alex: Y' know when I was with the hens yesterday?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: Well, now don't tell me off for this cos it wasn't my fault -
Shane: (not impressed) What did you do?
Alex: I didn't do anything, it was the hen.
Shane: (oh Lord) What?
Alex: Well I needed a wee, so I went down to the bottom - behind the shed, near the weeds. I weed in the weeds.
Shane: Did a hen peck your pecker?
Alex: (amused) No. It tried to peck my wee.
Shane: What?
Alex: The hen tried to peck my wee! And I ended up weeing on its head.
Shane: (he weed on the hen's head!) A tiny bit funny, but really not very cool.
Alex: It wasn't my fault! It was too lazy to go up to the water buckets, so it tried to drink my wee.
Shane: That's foul. And that was it, was it?
Alex: I turned the tap on for it, but it ran back up to near the gate, so I turned it off.
Shane: Hmm.
It is with the 'Hmm' expression that I convey the moral significance of non-human animals. This, I imagine, is what The Boy reads from the Hmm, too.
If you were out, I hope you wore sun-block.
As I looked over some outbuildings, Emma was given the formal tour of the gardens, and Alex took a turn towards the vast hen enclosure (later showing off at being able to gently gather up the more dull-witted of hens). Later, as we exited Rambling Manor, I mentioned that I'd needed that break. The Lady of the Manor seemed glad for the remark.
Then. Yesterday evening. Just before bed-time.
Alex: (casually having a wee) Shane.
Shane: (pasteing up the toothbrushes) Mm?
Alex: Y' know when I was with the hens yesterday?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: Well, now don't tell me off for this cos it wasn't my fault -
Shane: (not impressed) What did you do?
Alex: I didn't do anything, it was the hen.
Shane: (oh Lord) What?
Alex: Well I needed a wee, so I went down to the bottom - behind the shed, near the weeds. I weed in the weeds.
Shane: Did a hen peck your pecker?
Alex: (amused) No. It tried to peck my wee.
Shane: What?
Alex: The hen tried to peck my wee! And I ended up weeing on its head.
Shane: (he weed on the hen's head!) A tiny bit funny, but really not very cool.
Alex: It wasn't my fault! It was too lazy to go up to the water buckets, so it tried to drink my wee.
Shane: That's foul. And that was it, was it?
Alex: I turned the tap on for it, but it ran back up to near the gate, so I turned it off.
Shane: Hmm.
It is with the 'Hmm' expression that I convey the moral significance of non-human animals. This, I imagine, is what The Boy reads from the Hmm, too.
If you were out, I hope you wore sun-block.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Sighs
Yesterday was a good day. A monkey on our back was cut right down in size, and though this was explained to The Boy (for he has felt it, as we all have), and although he gave his Mum a hug, I doubt whether he yet understands the collective weight that was unburdened. And nor should he, he is only eight years old after all.
But I was so pleased with him, and for him. I gifted him the Simon's Cat book - important, as I felt it was, to mark the day somehow. He was pleased and gave implausibly emphatic thanks.
Earlier in the day, his mother had spoken the words:
'No, you don't need to give me a moment, I'm going to cry through this anyway', as good news was detailed.
At bed time, The Boy and I flicked through about half of the Simon's Cat book, recognising many of the wry illustrations.
And after reading a couple of chapters of The Fire Thief, we chatted for a while. We talked about how when you're a child, it's hard to imagine who you might meet later in your life - which new friends you'd make between the ages of eight, and say... thirty four and exactly one half. This chat led to his explaining that Daddy would like to get married, and that he uses match dot com - for meeting new people and for setting up dates. Feigning naivety, I asked questions, listened, and suggested examples of what my profile might look like on match dot com.
The Boy: It'll find people for you who like the same stuff as you. So you put in things like... your favourite colour -
Shane: Green.
The Boy: Mm. And... what you like -
Shane: Chicken in gravy.
The Boy: (hesitantly) If you like.
Shane: Mm. But what if all of the other people who like chicken in gravy live in... Africa?
The Boy: You have to put in where you live as well.
Shane: Oh. Is it best to meet people who like the same stuff as you?
The Boy: Yeah.
Shane: Is that so that you can go to a restaurant that you both like?
The Boy: (sighs, rolls his eyes) Something like that. You can put the light out now.
Shane: Alright. See you in the morning.
The Boy: 'night.
He slept soundly. I didn't... the residual thought of what might have been.
The next week or two should see some relaxing of the mind, and the shoulders.
Amen.
But I was so pleased with him, and for him. I gifted him the Simon's Cat book - important, as I felt it was, to mark the day somehow. He was pleased and gave implausibly emphatic thanks.
Earlier in the day, his mother had spoken the words:
'No, you don't need to give me a moment, I'm going to cry through this anyway', as good news was detailed.
At bed time, The Boy and I flicked through about half of the Simon's Cat book, recognising many of the wry illustrations.
And after reading a couple of chapters of The Fire Thief, we chatted for a while. We talked about how when you're a child, it's hard to imagine who you might meet later in your life - which new friends you'd make between the ages of eight, and say... thirty four and exactly one half. This chat led to his explaining that Daddy would like to get married, and that he uses match dot com - for meeting new people and for setting up dates. Feigning naivety, I asked questions, listened, and suggested examples of what my profile might look like on match dot com.
The Boy: It'll find people for you who like the same stuff as you. So you put in things like... your favourite colour -
Shane: Green.
The Boy: Mm. And... what you like -
Shane: Chicken in gravy.
The Boy: (hesitantly) If you like.
Shane: Mm. But what if all of the other people who like chicken in gravy live in... Africa?
The Boy: You have to put in where you live as well.
Shane: Oh. Is it best to meet people who like the same stuff as you?
The Boy: Yeah.
Shane: Is that so that you can go to a restaurant that you both like?
The Boy: (sighs, rolls his eyes) Something like that. You can put the light out now.
Shane: Alright. See you in the morning.
The Boy: 'night.
He slept soundly. I didn't... the residual thought of what might have been.
The next week or two should see some relaxing of the mind, and the shoulders.
Amen.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Ache
On Tuesday morning, I awoke to the sound of Nadine Dorries being interviewed on Today. That was the audio equivalent of watching a chaotic pitbull harass innocent parkfolk - not a good start to any Tuesday.
Wednesday has been better.
Thursday addendum.
Wednesday has been better.
Thursday addendum.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Kingdom
Particularly Relevant to the Beautiful People.
Perhaps overdoing it on the Take-Opportunity-To-Get-Away-And-Relax-Goddamit-Relax front, my return from the north east was but a stepping stone to a dive south (just don't even go there, sniggerers).
On Saturday morning, I took breakfast at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park - with its leafy green outlook to the west. Deftly egg-dipping a hash brown, I was roused by an unusual bird call. And thus, I spotted - clear as the blue sky - my first ever wild ring-necked parakeet. There were many of them. And later, a trio came and perched in the tree of a property next door to where I was staying.
It's good when the Red Deer faces competition for my weekly 'Most Favourite Bit of Nature' prize.
Other observation, of human nature: In the cosmopolitan centres - Manchester, London, Stoke-on-Trent, it is easy to feel surrounded by the body beautiful. On fine sunny days, the work that goes into the body beautiful is there to be seen - the doggedly determined clomping round the park, the gritty extra lap on the 21-speed racer, the comedy of the power walk. Maybe it's because much in their lives is taut, and edgy, and competitive, and all a bit brow-furrowing, but a lot of these Body Beauties look like they ought to relax a bit. Look at the ring-necked parakeet or the red deer, their's are paces that seem to be much more well-adjusted - culturally-speaking.
I'm also liking deadwood - it's likely to be a contender for this week's prize. Never to be overlooked, though, is the mid-evening goldfinch rhapsody.
Perhaps overdoing it on the Take-Opportunity-To-Get-Away-And-Relax-Goddamit-Relax front, my return from the north east was but a stepping stone to a dive south (just don't even go there, sniggerers).
On Saturday morning, I took breakfast at Pembroke Lodge in Richmond Park - with its leafy green outlook to the west. Deftly egg-dipping a hash brown, I was roused by an unusual bird call. And thus, I spotted - clear as the blue sky - my first ever wild ring-necked parakeet. There were many of them. And later, a trio came and perched in the tree of a property next door to where I was staying.
It's good when the Red Deer faces competition for my weekly 'Most Favourite Bit of Nature' prize.
Other observation, of human nature: In the cosmopolitan centres - Manchester, London, Stoke-on-Trent, it is easy to feel surrounded by the body beautiful. On fine sunny days, the work that goes into the body beautiful is there to be seen - the doggedly determined clomping round the park, the gritty extra lap on the 21-speed racer, the comedy of the power walk. Maybe it's because much in their lives is taut, and edgy, and competitive, and all a bit brow-furrowing, but a lot of these Body Beauties look like they ought to relax a bit. Look at the ring-necked parakeet or the red deer, their's are paces that seem to be much more well-adjusted - culturally-speaking.I'm also liking deadwood - it's likely to be a contender for this week's prize. Never to be overlooked, though, is the mid-evening goldfinch rhapsody.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Effortless
(All images taken with a not-top-of-the-range phone)
I went up north this past weekend.
On Friday morning, on a whim, I decided to take the M6 route - up to Junction 38 (Tebay Services), then across (A66), then Barnard Castle, Raby Castle, the Aucklands, on and in. The A50 > A38 (skimming Derby) > M1 > A1 > A167 alternative just isn't the same without those big industrial chimneys near Sheffield.
Listening to: The Quiet Curse of Demolition, by Everywhere Looks the Same.
It was somewhere in the low 30s junction numbers that the horizon really began to change, and the simple raw beauty of the Pennines caught me by implausible surprise. I'd driven this route dozens of times, albeit not at all in the last few years.
Approaching the westerly-most reaches of Durham, through fog, there they were - snow-flat-capped hills. Had I been holidaying with a lovebird, then maybe a lay-by, a stretch and chill deep breaths would have been on. Instead, the herbal tablets, the CD changer and I cracked on.
Listening to: Somewhere Bound, by Kirk Merrington for Lunch.
.
As with Terence Stamp, grey but gorgeous nonetheless.
Not many miles from the family home, I was taken aback in Tindale. Even here, the architectural equivalent of impetigo did its thing.
.
Amongst family, I forgot about pictures and blogging and all else. I sat back and laughed along to the sweet ferocious banter of the other Wexford offspring.
.
Prior to Saturday's football trip, sister and her copper girlfriend, their dog and me, went for a walk by the rec' in Kirk Merrington - near to where the last grandparent lives.
.
Over to the south east - some 30 or so miles away, Roseberry Topping dominated the horizon, just as it had on the Sunday afternoons of my childhood. To my right, a small dog wrestled with a tennis ball at the feet of copper girlfriend.
.
Though I'm not really a dog person, I did quite like the hound's mindless zest.
.
The playground, where we would compete to see who could jump furthest from the swings.
.
And the roundabout, that I always thought seemed a bit dangerous.
Later, there was the football - a nil-nil draw between Middlesbrough and Wigan - not as bad as it might sound. Middlesbrough were light up front, but otherwise fine. Wigan were generally square of shoulder, and blunt in attack.
.
Before the game, the ladies settled themselves - Teesside spirit.
After a Saturday evening meal out, at the Duke of Wellington pub, we all returned to the parents' house. The dog - the cute one whose name that I've forgotten - appreciated playful attention. But oh my no my - it posed the pose of a truly mentalist dog - what with its big teeth and glaring eyes.
I wondered how much effort would be called for, in order to contrive an image that would be really spooky.
Really not much effort at all.
.
My family are nice people - honest. Not like those people who have crazy dogs that eat people or anything. Besides, sister and the copper and the dog live in Gateshead - I reckon it's probably a bit rough over there.
.
On Sunday, I returned south and west for a testing, stretching week.
.
Faith - the dog was called Faith.
.
Listening to: His Body, by Man En Route to Bed.
I went up north this past weekend.
On Friday morning, on a whim, I decided to take the M6 route - up to Junction 38 (Tebay Services), then across (A66), then Barnard Castle, Raby Castle, the Aucklands, on and in. The A50 > A38 (skimming Derby) > M1 > A1 > A167 alternative just isn't the same without those big industrial chimneys near Sheffield.
Listening to: The Quiet Curse of Demolition, by Everywhere Looks the Same.
It was somewhere in the low 30s junction numbers that the horizon really began to change, and the simple raw beauty of the Pennines caught me by implausible surprise. I'd driven this route dozens of times, albeit not at all in the last few years.
Approaching the westerly-most reaches of Durham, through fog, there they were - snow-flat-capped hills. Had I been holidaying with a lovebird, then maybe a lay-by, a stretch and chill deep breaths would have been on. Instead, the herbal tablets, the CD changer and I cracked on.
Listening to: Somewhere Bound, by Kirk Merrington for Lunch.
.As with Terence Stamp, grey but gorgeous nonetheless.
Not many miles from the family home, I was taken aback in Tindale. Even here, the architectural equivalent of impetigo did its thing.
.Amongst family, I forgot about pictures and blogging and all else. I sat back and laughed along to the sweet ferocious banter of the other Wexford offspring.
.
Prior to Saturday's football trip, sister and her copper girlfriend, their dog and me, went for a walk by the rec' in Kirk Merrington - near to where the last grandparent lives.
.
Over to the south east - some 30 or so miles away, Roseberry Topping dominated the horizon, just as it had on the Sunday afternoons of my childhood. To my right, a small dog wrestled with a tennis ball at the feet of copper girlfriend.
.Though I'm not really a dog person, I did quite like the hound's mindless zest.
.The playground, where we would compete to see who could jump furthest from the swings.
.And the roundabout, that I always thought seemed a bit dangerous.
Later, there was the football - a nil-nil draw between Middlesbrough and Wigan - not as bad as it might sound. Middlesbrough were light up front, but otherwise fine. Wigan were generally square of shoulder, and blunt in attack..
Before the game, the ladies settled themselves - Teesside spirit.
After a Saturday evening meal out, at the Duke of Wellington pub, we all returned to the parents' house. The dog - the cute one whose name that I've forgotten - appreciated playful attention. But oh my no my - it posed the pose of a truly mentalist dog - what with its big teeth and glaring eyes.
I wondered how much effort would be called for, in order to contrive an image that would be really spooky.
Really not much effort at all..
My family are nice people - honest. Not like those people who have crazy dogs that eat people or anything. Besides, sister and the copper and the dog live in Gateshead - I reckon it's probably a bit rough over there.
.
On Sunday, I returned south and west for a testing, stretching week.
.
Faith - the dog was called Faith.
.
Listening to: His Body, by Man En Route to Bed.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Wakefield
For those of you who I know in actual real-life human being form, this is not for you. If you have not received a real Christmas greetings card, then it's because I disagree with your views on football.
To the rest of you - Uncle Willy, Aunt Nilly and all - rejoice! I created this delightful sketch for you. See. I care. Really. I do.
I hope I don't offend anyone this Christmas.
I hope my car doesn't breakdown. I've got to drive 170 miles from 3pm on Christmas Day. In 2006, part of the M1 was blocked, so I had to drive through Wakefield. Have you ever been to Wakefield? On a Christmas Day? It was weird. I hear that they pronounce 'The Westgate Run' as 'Westgate Run'.
Baubles is an unusual word. Doesn't sound 'pretty'.
Until and through 2009, relax and be good to yourselves.
And don't forget, the best blogs are those with the seamless narratives.
Pah!
To the rest of you - Uncle Willy, Aunt Nilly and all - rejoice! I created this delightful sketch for you. See. I care. Really. I do.
I hope I don't offend anyone this Christmas.
I hope my car doesn't breakdown. I've got to drive 170 miles from 3pm on Christmas Day. In 2006, part of the M1 was blocked, so I had to drive through Wakefield. Have you ever been to Wakefield? On a Christmas Day? It was weird. I hear that they pronounce 'The Westgate Run' as 'Westgate Run'.
Baubles is an unusual word. Doesn't sound 'pretty'.
Until and through 2009, relax and be good to yourselves.
And don't forget, the best blogs are those with the seamless narratives.
Pah!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Startled
Seven year olds tend to respond well to the suggestion of competitions and races and the opportunity to rub others' noses in the dirt of defeat.
Morning:
Shane: Alright, young hound. It's a race - you've got to get fully dressed and have your teeth brushed before I'm speed-showered and dried.
Alex: (considers) Shane. (smiles)
Shane: Yeah?
Alex: Go!
I dash up the stairs, into the bathroom, gown off, shower on - hot hot hot, and I'm in.
Soapily, I hear a speed-scampering towards the unlocked bathroom door. Alex bursts in - now only half-pyjamaed (for he too is racing) and carrying Jim the cat (surely an impediment to speed-dressing), but, what's this - a flush of the loo and...
Shane: (something's not right) Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!
A running laughing boy (plus one startled cat) exits the room.
Seven year olds will remember - and utilise - facts such as When the loo is flushed, then the adjacent shower will run cold for five to ten seconds.
Shane: (calling, shivering) That is the purest evil!
Alex: (calling) Loser!*
I blame the parents.
------------------------
* I may have lost the race, but the moral victory was undeniably** mine.
------------------------
** Does not take into account the views of seven year olds.
Morning:
Shane: Alright, young hound. It's a race - you've got to get fully dressed and have your teeth brushed before I'm speed-showered and dried.
Alex: (considers) Shane. (smiles)
Shane: Yeah?
Alex: Go!
I dash up the stairs, into the bathroom, gown off, shower on - hot hot hot, and I'm in.
Soapily, I hear a speed-scampering towards the unlocked bathroom door. Alex bursts in - now only half-pyjamaed (for he too is racing) and carrying Jim the cat (surely an impediment to speed-dressing), but, what's this - a flush of the loo and...
Shane: (something's not right) Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggggghhhhh!!!!!
A running laughing boy (plus one startled cat) exits the room.
Seven year olds will remember - and utilise - facts such as When the loo is flushed, then the adjacent shower will run cold for five to ten seconds.
Shane: (calling, shivering) That is the purest evil!
Alex: (calling) Loser!*
I blame the parents.
------------------------
* I may have lost the race, but the moral victory was undeniably** mine.
------------------------
** Does not take into account the views of seven year olds.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Querulous
There are times when a particular word or phrase will jump out of a speech, a story or a poster display, and it will stick in the mind for some moments.
On Wednesday morning, for example, I listen to a discussion regarding the kind of learning that should have emerged from these times of credit crunchiness. A person who understood The Issues spoke about people having to simply live within their means. An especially lucid volley of criticism was reserved for ‘Loyalty Card’ schemes. For much of Wednesday afternoon, that term – Loyalty Card – sat just beneath my consciousness. That would have had something to do with only having heard the term for the first time about, say, five years ago.
Early evening, Wednesday, and the Boy Wonder and I are sitting in the vet’s reception with a rather forlorn Jim (cat, nothing too serious). As Alex is taking an interest in other people’s sick creatures – I can hear him chatting to some other cat-keepers, my eyes wander. And they land – abruptly - upon the kind of phrase that will cause a man to experience sleep disturbance.
‘Worming Loyalty Card’
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Occupied
The One-Minute Wednesday (podcast?) will return - possibly on a Thursday, or a Monday - they'll be better, shorter, and will feature guests. Right now, I'm not making time to edit audio. In fact, I'm in a personal blogging lull. On the work front, one project is being turned into a blog.
We is busy, like.
For now, in the style of the great Trainspotting publicity materials, life is:
Get up. Don't shave. Sort boy. Nod at strangers. Email people. Call people. Visit people. Frown. Listen. Talk smart. Repeat thrice. Pick up messages. Re-arrange diary. Write stuff. Dodge bullets. Think big thoughts. Dodge clowns. Miss football. Consolation swim. Read to child. Stroke cat. Stasis. Go to bed. Repeat.
Normal flightiness will resume soon. Just felt like a general blah, or moan, was in order.
We is busy, like.
For now, in the style of the great Trainspotting publicity materials, life is:
Get up. Don't shave. Sort boy. Nod at strangers. Email people. Call people. Visit people. Frown. Listen. Talk smart. Repeat thrice. Pick up messages. Re-arrange diary. Write stuff. Dodge bullets. Think big thoughts. Dodge clowns. Miss football. Consolation swim. Read to child. Stroke cat. Stasis. Go to bed. Repeat.
Normal flightiness will resume soon. Just felt like a general blah, or moan, was in order.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Organ
Morning:
I wander down the stairs, fully expecting Emma to greet me with her usual zesty, springy, sprightly charm.
Shane: Morning, my lovely.
Emma: There has been a death on the patio.
Shane: Heaven forefend! Mouse?
Emma: Mm, I think so. All gone but for a leg, a bit of blood and… an organ.
Shane: Ach, the organ of poppable squidge – possibly a stomach.
Emma: Mm.
Shane: And how does Jim seem?
Emma: His usual dopey self…
Emma: …Not sure that he should claim the kill, though. Might have been one of the neighbouring cats. Would you get rid of the organ.
Shane: That wasn’t a question, was it?
Emma: Be a hero.
Shane: I’ll do it now.
Out on the patio, hearing the distant unfolding of a nearby school’s Fun Day (there’s no room for fun in the ordinary school day), I see the potential for some degree of home-based learning.
This is the umpteenth organic ‘sack’ that I’ve had to dispose of, and as the cat would sympathise, its texture I find most disturbing. There is a definite squashiness to it – though I’d never fully explored this.
I wander down the stairs, fully expecting Emma to greet me with her usual zesty, springy, sprightly charm.
Shane: Morning, my lovely.
Emma: There has been a death on the patio.
Shane: Heaven forefend! Mouse?
Emma: Mm, I think so. All gone but for a leg, a bit of blood and… an organ.
Shane: Ach, the organ of poppable squidge – possibly a stomach.
Emma: Mm.
Shane: And how does Jim seem?
Emma: His usual dopey self…
Emma: …Not sure that he should claim the kill, though. Might have been one of the neighbouring cats. Would you get rid of the organ.Shane: That wasn’t a question, was it?
Emma: Be a hero.
Shane: I’ll do it now.
Out on the patio, hearing the distant unfolding of a nearby school’s Fun Day (there’s no room for fun in the ordinary school day), I see the potential for some degree of home-based learning.
This is the umpteenth organic ‘sack’ that I’ve had to dispose of, and as the cat would sympathise, its texture I find most disturbing. There is a definite squashiness to it – though I’d never fully explored this.
Gathering up the organ on a small stick, I place it on a small wall and gently press the sharp point of the stick against it again. A moment later:
Emma: You ok?
Shane: Ahhhhh, that is as close to being sick as I’ve been in a long while.
Emma: (amused – note the loveless lack of concern) What’s wrong? What did you do?
Shane: I… I made two incisions into the organ –
Emma: (amused) You popped the sack of squidge?
Shane: Yes.
Emma: Idiot.
Shane: It would seem so.
Emma: What happened?
Shane: Well, nothing after the first careful incision, but then, it popped after the second cut. Stuff that looked like a combination of humous and cream cheese oozed out, in the way that toothpaste slowly oozes out of those completely rubbish pump-action toothpaste dispensers.
Emma: Y’ know, much as you love Springwatch – and admire you for it we do, I don’t think you’re ready for this sort of thing just yet, eh.
Shane: What d’ y’ mean?
Emma: Well, Bill Oddie and Simon King and gorgeous Gordon Buchanan, they wouldn’t wretch at the contents of a small mousepart, would they?
Shane: Well, I don’t care about them. (thinks) I only care about Kate Humble. In fact, I think I love her.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Rhythm (Overheard #2)
It's been a good holiday weekend for muddy bike rides - Friday evening after tea, yesterday before the trip to the football, and this afternoon following the cinema trip.
The rules of Bike Club are simple:-
Pedal hard
Aim for the deepest of puddles*
The muddiest is the winner*
No running into each other - too dangerous
Make occasional glances sideways for interesting wildlife or birdlife
Get back home out of breath and ready for food and drink
Take the bikes out back, put them in the shed
Get undressed just inside the doorway
Create mountain of washing
Shower-time - first come first showered
Don't forget to wash inside of your ears
* indicates default setting for seven year olds
Late this afternoon, calling to Alex to finish up with his shower and get dried, from the bottom of the stairs I was privy to a fine overheard lyrical adaptation:
Shane: (calls) Hurry up, Alex - we're putting the film on in three minutes.
Alex: (shouts) I am hurrying! (15 seconds pass) (distantly, songfully) Heads, shoulders, knees and buttocks, knees and buttocksssss -
Shane: (to Emma) He sounds happy.
Emma: If you both return with mud on your teeth and no injuries, then I generally assume that it's been a good one.
Shane: Mm, well-observed.
The rules of Bike Club are simple:-
Pedal hard
Aim for the deepest of puddles*
The muddiest is the winner*
No running into each other - too dangerous
Make occasional glances sideways for interesting wildlife or birdlife
Get back home out of breath and ready for food and drink
Take the bikes out back, put them in the shed
Get undressed just inside the doorway
Create mountain of washing
Shower-time - first come first showered
Don't forget to wash inside of your ears
* indicates default setting for seven year olds
Late this afternoon, calling to Alex to finish up with his shower and get dried, from the bottom of the stairs I was privy to a fine overheard lyrical adaptation:
Shane: (calls) Hurry up, Alex - we're putting the film on in three minutes.
Alex: (shouts) I am hurrying! (15 seconds pass) (distantly, songfully) Heads, shoulders, knees and buttocks, knees and buttocksssss -
Shane: (to Emma) He sounds happy.
Emma: If you both return with mud on your teeth and no injuries, then I generally assume that it's been a good one.
Shane: Mm, well-observed.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Beaten
The best laid plans of mice and, yeah, Saturday’s trip to the greyhound races didn’t go quite as planned.
Alex had had a late Friday night and a taxing Saturday, it was raining a lot and Emma was knackered before we set off.So, all good so far.
On their arrival at our front door step, Roy seemed distracted - tense even, and Barb had a certain barbed edge to her (something was afoot, and it wasn’t any of their four feet). Anyway, to Monmore Green Stadium - we got there, five of us driving south in the Peugeot Enormobile.
As a kind of informal social marker for the evening, my taking a wrong turn into some industrial estate dead-end was immediately followed by our car being approached by a local prostitute – the kind who would, say, be so up to the eyeballs that the fact that our carriage contained a seven year old child (not to mention four adults) – seemed not to be a barrier to the thought of a possible economic (plus god knows what) exchange. We moved on, and got to the stadium just after the first of the evening race-card’s fourteen races.
Despite an initial buzz of excitement, by Race Seven, Emma had accurately gauged that Alex had absolutely nothing left in the tank and was not for being cajoled into lightening up.
So, things not looking too good so far.
Deciding to take a break with Alex back at the car, this left Shane looking and feeling the merry lemon – if not raspberry – as Roy and Barb seemed to be getting over their earlier frostiness towards one another.
So, increasingly awkward so far.
With my mind on the hour and half that lay ahead, Emma and Alex back (albeit possibly sleeping) at the car, Roy’s incontrovertible ‘Always number four’, and Barb’s recurrent ‘We should quit while we’re ahead’, I took her point literally and – after only Race Eight (of fourteen) – I suggested that it was a bit unsettling that Emma and Alex seemed done-in and that I’d be up for leaving whenever our guests were. And there, the trip to the dogs came to an early end.
Wonder loveliness and merciful merriment to the chap’ and his lady, they took it on the chin and variously amused Alex and me throughout the drive back. From the driving seat, I heard an amateur magic show unfold (Roy), along with a conversation about ‘favourite Harry Potter spells’ (Barb and Alex). It was impressive. To my left, Emma slept, but did not snore – ever the lady.
Looking back, there were learning points to be derived from the evening:-
1. It is important to not give children the impression that betting on dogs is just about going up to a counter and giving a middle-aged woman less coins than she gives you in later return. This is where unhealthy mis/understandings of gambling come from.
2. For youngsters (and partners), relatively late nights ought to be preceded by easy days and easy previous evenings, lest the late night may go tits-up before it’s got going. This is where avoiding frustration would come from.
3. Photographing dogs with a mobile phone is tricky – especially where one seeks to do this discreetly and in the pouring rain. This is where pneumonia and waterlogged phones come from.
4. As grim an experience as I fear it would be, the hospitality package (‘delicious three-course meal’) may be the best formula for visiting the greyhound races. This is where getting seats would come from.
5. Taking time to properly print out directions or get a SatNav might be a good idea. This is where not running in to wet prostitutes (rain) would come from.
6. Seeming to be terribly embarrassed and quietly frustrated by a plan that could have gone so much better can pay dividends. This is where the delivery of a Sunday afternoon rhubarb crumble from next door comes from, and so very much appreciated was it.
So, no real harm done so far. But heck, R&B are our still-new neighbours, I’m sure that some cack-handed DIY or gardening exploit will enable me to piss these people right off.
It’s late, and my week ahead looks horrible. If you will excuse me, I will fall asleep to thoughts of ‘What would I call my greyhound, were I a racing dog owner?’
‘Sleepy Gambler?... Patient Chaplain?... Crumble Queen?... Lordy It’s A Pro?...’
Good night.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Brewing
So our new neighbours moved in - they being the chaplain Roy and his writerly partner, Barbara. A good team effort saw many a trinket, not so much furniture, but a lot of techno-gadgetry hauled into their new home. And, in the short time that they have been here, they have struck rather a wonderful chord - to the extent that they’re coming greyhound racing with us on Saturday evening – Go God, Go!, says I.
Perhaps it’s just a fluke, but at the time of this forging of social relations (why can’t I just write ‘friendship’?) with the chap’ and his lady, I’m reading a novel about a member of the clergy who is seeking to ‘plant a church’ – to grow it from nothing but good will in a socially and economically barren part of the world – an estate in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in pre-Blairite mid-90s Britain. This fictional member of the clergy is thus tasked with ingratiating himself into a community that is probably much grittier than our’s – though a recently formed residents' group (back in reality, now) has promised to ‘reclaim the streets’ from ‘nuisance youths’. Such is life. Anyway, in the novel – Crusaders, by Richard T. Kelly – the cleric is currently (I’m at page 299, out of 540) becoming a pal of a local gangland man who’s been tripping over himself to offer support to the churchly enterprise, whilst clergyman has also made time to bed a young single mum from the estate (she’d attended a community forum type of meeting that he'd hosted at the local primary school). Other than that, the central character is also being courted by the local MP – a former socialist who very much feels New Labour ideology. Somehow, these four diverse characters’ story arcs are to become enfolded – I’ve worked this out from having read the book's synopsis – ‘...Gore (the clergyman) finds he needs the help of all three (the gangland man, the single mum and the MP) to bring off his mission. But gradually these same relationships draw him into a moral crisis’, it says.
So you see, what I have is a degree of latent 'being prodded at', regarding notions of community and, well, people coming together generally - to try to make good feelings and other worthwhile stuff happen. Mm, that's where I'm at. As this is a blog, I shall simply leave my babbling at that. I shall brook no big claims-making re ‘making a difference’. For now, I feel that it is enough, simply, to feel.
And from this above post, I choose ‘enfolded’ as my favourite word.
And, as ever, I must beg of your forgiveness for my great love affair with the simple comma, and, indeed, God’s honest hyphen, all so very important for the gentlest pacing of a Thursday evening's blather.
Today I am 11 stones in old money. That's 70 kilograms in Euros - just on the limit of light welter-weight.
Good 'morrow one and all.
Perhaps it’s just a fluke, but at the time of this forging of social relations (why can’t I just write ‘friendship’?) with the chap’ and his lady, I’m reading a novel about a member of the clergy who is seeking to ‘plant a church’ – to grow it from nothing but good will in a socially and economically barren part of the world – an estate in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in pre-Blairite mid-90s Britain. This fictional member of the clergy is thus tasked with ingratiating himself into a community that is probably much grittier than our’s – though a recently formed residents' group (back in reality, now) has promised to ‘reclaim the streets’ from ‘nuisance youths’. Such is life. Anyway, in the novel – Crusaders, by Richard T. Kelly – the cleric is currently (I’m at page 299, out of 540) becoming a pal of a local gangland man who’s been tripping over himself to offer support to the churchly enterprise, whilst clergyman has also made time to bed a young single mum from the estate (she’d attended a community forum type of meeting that he'd hosted at the local primary school). Other than that, the central character is also being courted by the local MP – a former socialist who very much feels New Labour ideology. Somehow, these four diverse characters’ story arcs are to become enfolded – I’ve worked this out from having read the book's synopsis – ‘...Gore (the clergyman) finds he needs the help of all three (the gangland man, the single mum and the MP) to bring off his mission. But gradually these same relationships draw him into a moral crisis’, it says.
So you see, what I have is a degree of latent 'being prodded at', regarding notions of community and, well, people coming together generally - to try to make good feelings and other worthwhile stuff happen. Mm, that's where I'm at. As this is a blog, I shall simply leave my babbling at that. I shall brook no big claims-making re ‘making a difference’. For now, I feel that it is enough, simply, to feel.
And from this above post, I choose ‘enfolded’ as my favourite word.
And, as ever, I must beg of your forgiveness for my great love affair with the simple comma, and, indeed, God’s honest hyphen, all so very important for the gentlest pacing of a Thursday evening's blather.
Today I am 11 stones in old money. That's 70 kilograms in Euros - just on the limit of light welter-weight.
Good 'morrow one and all.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Willy
From: Emma
Sent: 30 January2008 10:40:33
To: Shane
Subject: Alex drawing
Shane,
I just scanned this to send to Lily. Alex did it and stuck it on his wall last week. One of his bedtime drawings.
It has actual willy and balls!! Where did that come from?
Shocking and amazing in equal measure.
XX
From: Shane
Sent: 30 January 2008 13:29:11
To: Emma
Subject: Re: Alex drawing
'...actual willy and balls' - you're not wrong. One for the gallery on Art Attack? Or a submission to some kind of science/art contest? '...and see the consistency of them there lumps of poo - 'twas a healthy monster diet, that is for sure'.
I see your monster-willy drawing and I raise you a picture of a cat in a fruit bowl.
XX
Sent: 30 January2008 10:40:33
To: Shane
Subject: Alex drawing
Shane,
I just scanned this to send to Lily. Alex did it and stuck it on his wall last week. One of his bedtime drawings.
It has actual willy and balls!! Where did that come from?
Shocking and amazing in equal measure.
XX
From: Shane
Sent: 30 January 2008 13:29:11
To: Emma
Subject: Re: Alex drawing
'...actual willy and balls' - you're not wrong. One for the gallery on Art Attack? Or a submission to some kind of science/art contest? '...and see the consistency of them there lumps of poo - 'twas a healthy monster diet, that is for sure'.
I see your monster-willy drawing and I raise you a picture of a cat in a fruit bowl.
XX
And that was as intellectual as today got.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Mud
Last week, I spoke with a few artists, one of whom mentioned a piece of worked based in a piggery. I was impressed. So impressed in fact, that it inspired me to want to write a poem from the seed that was the word ‘piggery’. All was going well. I had several stanzas, a fairly clear narrative, and it was safely put to bed, as ‘twere.
Now, I realise, it was not. It was not saved, it is gone. So, I am trying to dredge my memory - I aim to recreate it. Folks, this is the rough end of the Being an Amateur Poet wedge – yes, The BAP Wedge, as we for-one-month-only amateur poets would have it.
As I have nothing other than this insight into ‘process’ to share here, do feel free to suggest a theme for a series of posts – the iller-advised the better. It will do you no harm, and it just might help drive me towards my short-term piggery ends.
Come, bathe with me in the mud of et cetera et cetera.
Now, I realise, it was not. It was not saved, it is gone. So, I am trying to dredge my memory - I aim to recreate it. Folks, this is the rough end of the Being an Amateur Poet wedge – yes, The BAP Wedge, as we for-one-month-only amateur poets would have it.
As I have nothing other than this insight into ‘process’ to share here, do feel free to suggest a theme for a series of posts – the iller-advised the better. It will do you no harm, and it just might help drive me towards my short-term piggery ends.
Come, bathe with me in the mud of et cetera et cetera.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Apples
On Friday evening, Alex and I prepared chocolate apples. It was messy, it was a bit disorderly, it was fun. From the kitchen window, we could see our relit pumpkin:
Alex: We can sell these apples for ten pounds each.
Shane: We can try.
Saturday dawned a misty, drizzly dawn, as my parents departed the North East to visit us. Emma set about making the house look habitable, as I took Alex to his football training session.
He enjoyed getting muddy.
Alex: I think I need some football boots – I was slipping over in my trainers.
Shane: Mm, ok.
Alex: Maybe I could get some like Cristiano Ronaldo's.
Shane: Or maybe those black and silver ones that were about eighty pounds cheaper.
Alex: Yeah.
Shane: Good man.
Back at home, we found Jim conducting a review of home security.
Jim’s report featured:
‘…a strong recommendation for increased cat rations, commensurate with the intensive perimeter monitoring that is a necessary response to the severe threat posed to food supplies by neighbouring domestic animals…’
He seemed to know what he was talking about.
At 1pm, my parents arrived. We lunched, then walked and talked. My Mum seemed happy, though Dad occasionally struggled – he was nursing a back injury. We talked about his older brother, who retired recently.
I had already chosen to not share with my Dad what I’d learned of his missing younger brother. My sister was sure that this was the right choice, for now. Given his relative fragility (no pun intended), I had to agree.
We went to a pub for an early evening meal, and were joined by Emma’s parents. Though it was all very pleasant, from where I sit, it always strikes me that Emma’s and my parents live highly dissimilar lives – in ways that make me wish for more for my parents. Emma rebukes me for such thinking.
At 6:30pm, Emma, Alex, and my parents and I headed for a ‘Fireworks Extravaganza’ – the kind that comes with a fairground and a small pop concert.
.
As Emma, Alex and I rejoined my parents, they reported having had a very good time watching the concert. I regretted that I’d missed the opportunity to see what Cher would have looked like, outdoors on a cold November evening.
Shane: What did Cher look like?
Dad: (pause) Like Cher.
Mum: She was hardly gonna look like Meatloaf, was she?
Shane: I suppose not.
Emma: (suppressed smile)
Then there was a countdown.
.
There were big ugly fireworks:
But much more prettily:
Alex: We can sell these apples for ten pounds each.Shane: We can try.
Saturday dawned a misty, drizzly dawn, as my parents departed the North East to visit us. Emma set about making the house look habitable, as I took Alex to his football training session.
He enjoyed getting muddy.Alex: I think I need some football boots – I was slipping over in my trainers.
Shane: Mm, ok.
Alex: Maybe I could get some like Cristiano Ronaldo's.
Shane: Or maybe those black and silver ones that were about eighty pounds cheaper.
Alex: Yeah.
Shane: Good man.
Back at home, we found Jim conducting a review of home security.
Jim’s report featured:‘…a strong recommendation for increased cat rations, commensurate with the intensive perimeter monitoring that is a necessary response to the severe threat posed to food supplies by neighbouring domestic animals…’
He seemed to know what he was talking about.
At 1pm, my parents arrived. We lunched, then walked and talked. My Mum seemed happy, though Dad occasionally struggled – he was nursing a back injury. We talked about his older brother, who retired recently.
I had already chosen to not share with my Dad what I’d learned of his missing younger brother. My sister was sure that this was the right choice, for now. Given his relative fragility (no pun intended), I had to agree.
We went to a pub for an early evening meal, and were joined by Emma’s parents. Though it was all very pleasant, from where I sit, it always strikes me that Emma’s and my parents live highly dissimilar lives – in ways that make me wish for more for my parents. Emma rebukes me for such thinking.
At 6:30pm, Emma, Alex, and my parents and I headed for a ‘Fireworks Extravaganza’ – the kind that comes with a fairground and a small pop concert.
.
Alex had a good time as my parents headed for the concert stage to watch QEII (Queen tribute), McFli (McFly), Cher Tribute (Cher) and Ded Hot Chili Peppers (Red Hot Chili Peppers).
.
As Emma, Alex and I rejoined my parents, they reported having had a very good time watching the concert. I regretted that I’d missed the opportunity to see what Cher would have looked like, outdoors on a cold November evening.Shane: What did Cher look like?
Dad: (pause) Like Cher.
Mum: She was hardly gonna look like Meatloaf, was she?
Shane: I suppose not.
Emma: (suppressed smile)
Then there was a countdown.
.
And then 15 minutes of:
.
There were big ugly fireworks:
But much more prettily:
Back at home, we drank hot chocolate. Alex was revelling in having such a late night. He headed for the fridge, and joined us carrying a plate of chocolate apples.
Mum: Wow! Who made those?
Alex: Me and Shane, last night. Do you want one?
Mum: Ohhh, I shouldn’t, but ok then - just the one.
Alex: (straight) That’s ten pounds please.
Mum: Oh, very funny.
Alex: No, really – they’re ten pounds – Shane and me decided.
Mum: But I don’t have any money on me.
Alex: That’s ok – Shane can pay for you.
Mum: What a good idea. (Takes apple) Thank you.
Alex: You’re welcome. (To Shane) You owe me ten pounds.
It was all very warming to see my Mum and Alex bond over the matter of shaking down Shane for a cool tenner.
My parents returned to the North East on Sunday. Upon their return, my Mum sent me a text:
Thank you for lovely weekend. Have got upset stomach. Had to stop twice on way back. Think it was choc apple. Mam.X
I have referred the matter to Alex. He refuses to respond until he receives payment for the chocolate apple. This will not be happening. Thus, impasse and a black mark to the Customer Relations Department.
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