One I would rather forget
Finally ends here
One I would rather forget
Finally ends here
I realise that
England is a word I use
as much as UK
n.b. Nice work Alexander Johnson and your BXT mates – you got to me in the end too and I am part Irish, part Swedish, part Welsh and part English. The United Kingdom is history. I am proud to be a European; embarrassed to be English while The Great Clown is in Downing Street.
What’s the bloody point
If it ends up in the drink?
“Go straight to Gaol do…”
n.b. Complete the well known phrase from a popular unpopular board game in words of your own...no one has a monopoly on truth.
Out the door with you!
You know it makes sense to go
home and drink alone.
n.b. …where no one can hear you scream.
Tonight I was advised that I could not sit at a pub terrace because of the weather. I could see the setting Moon in a mostly clear sky. A beautiful night to sit out with a pint, but, oh no, if it rains then I would want to go inside, I was informed and that was not allowed.
So, due to Covid regulations and the weather restrictions, I was not permitted to drink on the riverside patio. I had dressed myself with suitable clothing for an autumnal evening, with the express intention of having a drink in the fresh air. Why the Hell would I want to sit inside a pub when the heavens were on display, the air warm and a river decorated by swans ran beneath me?
And chucking out time from the pubs is 22:00 hrs because Covid-19 only operates in the dead of night, apparently. They can re-open at 05:00 hrs.
I kept out of it
Today the echoed footsteps
Were not made by me
Cast aside once utilised
As if elderly
n.b. Don’t let those Tory bastards get away with it.
Sent to Coventry?
Enjoy peace and time alone
It’s a healing place
n.b. If words don’t get through, why not try some non-verbal communication, e.g. hugs, kisses, nods and winks to blind horses.
Like a definition of madness
Echoes refuse to fade
The needle jumps
The table turns
With a subtle touch on the arm
The sunlight of recent weeks has been a boon, but these darker days are more in tune with the current mood. Are they reflective of it, or the cause of the recent shift in humour?
I realise that the lowering clouds, the loss of the greater space beyond, is matched by the thickening of leaves on the trees. Beautifully green and full as they are, for example, the hawthorn bowed with May blossom, the filling out of trees also narrows any available perspective.
When the rain comes, it comes hard and heavy. It is sharp on the window, almost a clattering, almost icy. In the lane loose stones, previously strung out in long trails by the occasional passing vehicle, are swept up and driven downhill. The dust coagulates into mud, collects at the bottom of the fast-formed puddles, is left in sticky heaps when the rainwater has drained.
A female blackbird, (a lively brown creature) lowers itself into the centre of a puddle and uses its wings to splash water droplets on its back, ducks forward and scoops up water onto the back of its head. When the burst of rain has passed the songs of blackbirds are the first heard. The rain is welcome.
April has passed in a blur of statistics and official announcements that announce no material change from the previous official announcements. The government graph does not describe some Swiss mountain to tunnel through to sunny uplands, as the Blonde Buffoon blusters, but represents a wave of accumulating lost lives. Each passing life sends out ripples that will eventually touch us all.
30th April, 2020
Light levels are lowered by the thick cloud cover. All the bright colours of spring flowers are needed now to attract pollen carriers. The warmth of the past week coaxed a greater variety of bees outside. They are most welcome.
This morning along the coast road the marshes are witness to a fierce exchange between a peewit and a crow. The crow will not move away from the nesting area, despite the mobbing from the ground-nesting bird. It is more determined to pursue this target, rather than move on, as a buzzard might.
On the sea side of the reed beds I can see the shadow of a marsh harrier sweeping and turning just a few metres above the ground, always flying close to the top of the reeds. This flight pattern means it will come across potential prey suddenly, giving it a good chance of capturing food, without having to drop too far to catch anything it finds.
The three greylag geese are still by the raised bank watching over the flightless goslings.
The showers have played havoc with a cherry tree heavy with blossom. There is a drift of pink petals piled in the gutter, but my eye is caught by a light blue, speckled egg from which a chick has hatched. I am surprised that this pale blue is so easily seen. Why are some birds’ eggs so brightly coloured, so easy to see?
Further on there are six, or seven woolly calves wandering in a small paddock with their mothers. That is not a field one should enter carelessly. I am reminded of a walker, out with his family, killed in Sussex last year by a cow protecting her calf.
My son in China is working long hours teaching on-line, so it is lovely to hear from him as he ponders what to get his brother for his forthcoming birthday. Before I have had a thought on the matter he resolves the problem himself.
29th April, 2020