NYE

So. What are you doing New Year's Eve?

Riches

Gray radiation beyond
a grey time.
Coughing spits and last rites
can't count as a unit of measure.
Three years is not long enough
to count, yet we're still counting.
Glasses raised from beyond where they may be now.
Crackers, party hats and two line jokes.
A fitting memory to a legacy paved with green, golden leaves and a river
that only one pair of lovers envisage at one time.
Two queens.
Obtainable beings out of reach like
mist but we laced their boots each morning.
Two rivers cross and a canal runs dry.
Placing footsteps and ashes,
oars stroke and feet hang over
the edge, just touching the water.
Friends know nothing of none of what is lost.
Hands numb from writing what might've cracked a smile.
Felt collars can't be held
but they should be grabbed,
thrown into a fire.

Highs & Lows

The past twelve months have been turbulent, full of turmoil and euphoria in equal measures. All I am seeing in newspapers and on the internet is the top ten or top one million things of 2011, so I thought I'd write down the highs and lows of my year.

The good bits, in no particular order -

Reading Festival - So, okay, it rained and Muse were playing, but the combination of the Saturday's sunshine and having an absolutely unforgettable giggle with two of the funniest people I know - can't be beaten. Elbow's set was ethereal, Jarvis Cocker is the coolest fifty year old in the world, Madness got everyone dancing, OFWGKTA were just plain scary, Yuck brought back 1990's shoe gazing with a bang and The Strokes were their usual business like cool. I'm just not fucking camping next year...


Running a half marathon - unseasonable warm weather for the Basingstoke Half Marathon had runners dropping like flies from mile six onwards, but despite being 830th out of 1271 finishers, my main victory was BEATING JIM, who is a good friend of mine, by 230 places. Smug, yes. We're booked onto the Reading Half Marathon in April.. Game on.


New job - can't say too much about it, but it's been an eye opening experience for me from day one. There's so much I have to learn, but it's coming to me quickly and I've got the trust of the staff, so I'm halfway there. It is incredible how much after hours glad-handing that I'm having to do.. The Christmas Carol Concert held last Monday had about five television celebrities, the Lord Lieutenant of Berkshire, the Mayor and various other local dignitaries in attendance. Champagne and canapes at The Forbury Hotel afterwards sealed the deal with wanting to stay with the organisation.. Not that I'm easily swayed by these kind of things, of course.


Millenium Trilogy - reading these books coincided with starting a daily hour long commute to my new job and they couldn't have come at a better time. They've been around for a while, I know, but I'd not picked them up, despite being told to, on numerous occasions by someone who is irritatingly right about these kind of things.


My big fat Danish wedding - July took me and my friends Peggy and Dave from Gatwick to Billund to the tiny village of Harndrup to celebrate my friend Charmaine's marriage to the lovely Jan. A wedding like nothing ever experienced in England; so friendly, relaxed, laid back and incredibly enjoyable. We were incredibly blessed with the weather, the people and the travelling. Strangely though, the real highlight was getting to know Dave better than I ever imagined I would.


The hot British Spring - Can you remember that far back? I happened to have taken two weeks off of work at the exact time that Mother Nature decided to roll back the clouds and throw open Spring to an early glimpse of Summer. I made the best of it by being out on my bike pretty much solidly for fourteen days and wondering around various towns. I watched "Norwegian Wood" at a cinema in Guildford (by myself - try it sometime) and whilst sitting outside having a coffee, I distinctly remember feeling as if I was in a square in Barcelona I'd sat in before. Global warming is blurring the lines between the seasons - which is deeply troubling - but every now and again, I don't mind ignoring the inconvenient truth.


Yuck - "Yuck" - by far the best album of 2011. Twanging reverb coupled with genuinely touching lyrics made for the soundtrack to my summer.

I Want My Hat Back - I've done this one to death on this blog, but go out and buy it. It makes me smile every time.


The Lake District - I'd not been until I visited with my friends in July / August time and nothing can quite prepare you for the unbridled volume of breathtaking scenery. We were blessed with three days of beautiful weather and I decided to go canoeing for two of these days. With the exception of getting burnt feet, it was one of the best adventure trips I've ever been on in my life.

The Sea Inside - The Spanish film starring Javier Bardem as a paraplegic had me reaching for the Kleenex and nodding my head in quiet agreement about many of the nuggets of wisdom that the film maker has to say about our attachment to life. (And yes, I know it's from 2004 - I only saw it in November.)


Wilderness Festival - I was fortunate enough to win tickets to the inaugural Wilderness Festival in the rolling hills of Oxfordshire. We didn't have enough time to organise camping but we travelled there each day to the beautiful site and enjoyed the sights and sounds. If things had been different (read below "Losing someone") - it would have been an even more incredible experience; but I can't take away from the special time spent with someone at one of the most relaxed festivals I've ever been to.


Cornwall - I'd only passed through Cornwall before I visited at the end of October, but I was once again transfixed with the beauty that England has to offer. Country lanes opening up into spectacular vistas, tiny paths running down to almost deserted beaches, incredible food and lovely people.

Emily King - "Seven" - Her song "Down" came to me at just the right time... The rest of the album is hearty soulful soup.

My new jacket. (That's not me, by the way.)

Learning about myself - I've learnt a few things about myself this year which had been holding me back for quite some time. Thankfully, it's all behind me.




The bad bits, in no particular order -

Jen moves to London - The bestest best lodger I've ever had (Jen) moved to London this Spring and I've missed her like hell. Fortunately we still see one another; only now she's not covering my spare room in make up and Cava. Love it.


My (fucking) car - it decided to roll off a harbour / quayside whilst in Cornwall owing to my hand brake cable snapping, despite £400 having been spent on it the weekend before. Another £250 went on insurance excess, then another £650 on a service, MOT and various other bits a few weeks later. I'm getting a VW in February...


Losing someone - well, they're not lost as such; they're just not in my life anymore and they probably won't ever will be again. A train crash of a relationship ruined one of the most meaningful bonds I'll ever care to have.


In the tradition of music or film critic sites, this year is getting a rating of one point six "Thumbs Up" out of a possible two "Thumbs Up". The point sixth of a thumb is just below the knuckle, by the way.

You can't look backwards without having some consideration for the future. There's lots to look forward to in 2012... Inter-Railing part deux (I might try and be organised this time), Bruce Springsteen in July with my Granddad, moving to Reading, Graduation in January, OU course in September (?!?), buying a new car and just generally fucking enjoying life :)

I hope your 2011 has been as memorable as mine and 2012 brings you adventure and love. x

Twenty fifth

Elbows smash tables
listing smoke signals.
Semaphores that others
wouldn't comprehend.
Heavy metal slides across the
table, cutlery clashing.
Music echoes like lead.
Shiny foil reflects tinsel
and cats scowl at their owner.
A book, a card, a ticket,
a poem and a pair of socks.
Fifty two cards separate winners
from losers
but nobody cares.

Miaow 2

Please don't call the RSPCA..

Oh. Dear. Lord. I have just learnt that 'The Only Way is Essex' (TOWIE to their friends') have their own line of perfume. I can confirm it smells like Bacardi Breezer and Chlamydia.

Miaow

Nothing says Merry Christmas like a fluffy festive cat.

Click.

Cold steel pressed

methodically against the temple.

"Yes, yes, YES.

I still do."

Festive spirit

There's nothing like giving four homeless people a roof over their heads and some food in their bellies just before Christmas to get you in the Christmas spirit.. An absolutely exhausting, draining yet incredibly fulfilling day. To cap it off I got home to find eight Christmas cards on my doormat; including one from somewhere I used to volunteer which had a £25 gift voucher inside - speechless.

Not feeling as much of a Grinch as I did the beginning of the week.

Nostalgia

For a brief moment whilst sitting in the bath last night, I considered rejoining Facebook. After about three seconds of contemplation, I decided against it. My original reason for leaving the site was because I felt I was allowing a website to dictate my personal and social interactions with a vast swathe of friends and more tragically, family members. Also, I spent a disproportionate (but probably not as much as the majority) amount of time looking through old posts, photos and statuses; reminiscing or feeling nostalgic.

There is a comforting warmth that comes with looking over tastefully edited Instagram photos, comments from friends and happy statuses.. But when this becomes a full time hobby; what value is given to nostalgia? Before Facebook, ("B.F." as it'll probably be referred to by future generations) did you spend every evening going through all of your old photo albums? I doubt it. The real question is how can you move forward and look forward to the future if you spend so much time looking backwards? Social media is not as a history lesson. The new Timeline feature on Facebook (which I haven't used but I've seen a demo of online) looks spectacular, but only serves to further meet the needs of the starry eyed.

Nostalgia is not what it used to be..

(This story on the Gizmodo site reinforces some of my points quite eloquently..)

Happiness > Revenge

"That's the best revenge of all: happiness. Nothing drives people crazier than seeing someone have a good fucking life."

Sometimes

Sometimes I cry with a smile.
Asymmetric grooves line my face
as the moment cracks and smoulders.
Crows feet tread gently on
tears, welling.
Translucent teeth.
Bluebells nod their heads in the wind
less than me.
Knuckles whiten.
Look down at the tap tap tap tapping shiny black chukka boot.
Loosen my tie
and make my excuses.

Ain't no easy way

An oldie but a goodie.

BRMC - Ain't No Easy Way

Parallel tracks

Rotting feathers peel from the grey mangled body
Laid between parallel tracks shiny by enormous pressure
Brakes screeching
Red twig legs

Four eyes meet as wheels clip shoes
Directions change avoiding
Collisions
Colliding for a perfect moment
Dimples and a scratchy black beret
Numbers exchange overhead and in hands
Promises

the night will always win

I miss your* stupid face.

(*her.)

The fastest way back home (con'td)

I forgot to say that I was listening to this song, on my way back home..

And here is the link for Two Rivers Press. It's probably bad form to reproduce a poet's work without permission, so instead, here is a link to Paul Bavister's website. His poem "Earley" (yes, that's spelt write) envokes memories of walking around Earley and Lower Earley as a child "when it was all fields...". Unfortunately, that particular poem isn't on his site, but I know exactly where he writing about in his poem "Changing Names". It eloquently describes an area of east Reading, where two roads meet at Cemetery Junction.. Victorian terraces are held back from the river by the motorway bridge, which separates a business park from empty marshland and onto Sonning further east. Many friends of mine have lived here and some still do.

Poetry, to me, has always been about expressing an emotion or a moment in time - a look from a stranger or a sunrise, the longing for love lost or anticipation of a new love.. Reading words about places which I am so intimately aware of is a novel yet incredibly satisfying experience. It creates an instant connection between the reader and the writer through shared knowledge. I want to learn more.

The fastest way back home

After doing a very unscientific and slap-dash calculation, I have conclusively worked out that there are more orange people per capita in Reading than anywhere in the country outside of Essex and Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Whilst browsing in Waterstones, Reading redeemed itself from this dubious accolade.. In the poetry section, I spotted a book which I thought was entitled 'reading poetry'.. In fact in was called 'Reading poetry'. Inside I found a collection of poems written about, inspired by or written in Reading. Two jumped out at me immediately - 'In Reading' and 'The Forbury Gardens' - both of which encapsulate their subjects perfectly. I'll put them up here, along with the link to the (Reading based) Two Rivers Press publishers when I'm home and not using the Blogger app.. Which, incidentally, is useful but lacks a lot of the functions of the new (and vastly improved) Google / Blogger interface.

Unknown

I do not know what I want, but I know what I do not want. Looking backwards helps make better informed decisions about going forward.

Despite these statements, which I hold to be true; a small but powerful part of me wants to ignore it all and throw caution to the wind.

Gutted

Somehow, I've managed to delete three years worth of a message thread on my phone and I can't restore it. It was a diary of the events of my life along with one particular person's thoughts and feelings towards me. You can't replace the physical experiences but it was good to be able look back at those times, even if only in text.

Blind desire

What makes us lust and desire for those people and activities that are so bad for us?

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
These are just a couple of my cravings
Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger
A little bit thicker, a little bit harmful for me

If I should buy jellybeans
Have to eat them all in just one sitting
Everything it seems I like's a little bit sweeter
A little bit fatter, a little bit harmful for me

And then there's those other things
Which for several reasons we won't mention
Everything about 'em is a little bit stranger, a little bit harder
A little bit deadly

It isn't very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Sitting here remembering me
Always been a shoe made for the city
Go ahead accuse me of just singing about places
With scrappy boys faces have general run of the town

Playing with prodigal sons
Take a lot of sentimental valiums
Can't expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy
While running on empty you little old doll with a frown

You got to keep in the game
Retaining mystique while facing forward
I suggest a reading of Lessoon in Tightropes
Or urfing Your High Hopes or dios Kansas

It isn't very smart
Tends to make one part
So brokenhearted

Still there's not a show on my back
Holes or a friendly intervention
I'm just a little bit heiress, a little bit Irish
A little bit Tower of Pisa
Whenever I see ya
So please be kind if I'm a mess

Cigarettes and chocolate milk
Cigarettes and chocolate milk

Word of the day

'Scuppernong'
noun
1. a silvery amber-green variety of muscadine grape.
2. the vine bearing this fruit grown in the southern US.

Small talk

Award or prize giving ceremonies usually bore me to death or turn my stomach. The thought of making small talk, laughing at a local Councillor's shit jokes and generally being nicey nicey to smarmy business types makes my skin crawl. This evening however, I've been pleasantly surprised. I attended The Hilton Community Foundation's £10k Giveaway ceremony, unsurprisingly, at The Hilton in Reading.

Small talk was on the menu, but on the whole everyone in attendance was from an organisation or small charity were interesting, engaging and were doing some fantastic things for children in Reading. The story of The Red Balloon Learner Centres, who work with children who are experiencing severe bullying, brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. They were successful in getting funding for tonnes of new musical equipment which will be used for increasing the confidence of the young people they work with. A local music shop came forward and helped the cause by offering their experience in selecting equipment and would also maintain their instruments for free. An great example of local collaboration between a small charitable organisation and a small local business being supported by the clout money from a large multi-national company.

The organisation I work for was successful in getting a big cut of the £10k to provide accredited qualifications for 16-25 year olds who have been affected by homelessness. We were lucky enough to be joined by a young lady who had recently left our services after two successful years. She spoke with eloquence and passion about how the organisation had shaped her life into what it is today, after the turmoil she experienced whilst she was homeless. Although it wasn't a competition, we definitely got the loudest round of applause.

There were 8 other really worthy charities, who shared the rest of the £10k... Happily, there weren't any long speeches and that was left photos, a sip of champagne and a smutty joke with the Mayor (she's a good sport). I was home and eating a bowl of Shreddies by 8.15pm.

UPDATE - Got sent this link earlier today - http://www.getreading.co.uk/community/s/2105089_hiltons_10000_christmas_gift_to_reading_children AWFUL photo.

In less charitable but more exciting news, Tennis release their latest 7" "Origins" and "Deep In The Woods". Along with Yuck, these guys were the soundtrack to my summer - so I had high expectations.. Which have been met with abundance. Their latest offering of twinkly piano'd, starry eyed pop songs whisk your thoughts off to warmer climes on even the frostiest of days. Get involved.

Calling

Blogging has become an incredibly enjoyable, expressive and cathartic exercise over the past few weeks, which partially explains the sheer volumes of recent postings. If it's not being read by a single soul and I'm bellowing into an empty wilderness - all the better.

I found a poem which, according to the date tag on the file, was created on 9 January 2010.

A new England

After seeing Frank Turner a few weeks ago, it's only right that I start listening to the original protest-come-love-story-singer-song-maestro - Mr Billy Bragg. If you recognise it, but not in this guise; it was  made famous by Kirsty MacColl (albeit with an added verse as KMcC thought it too short) in 1985. The lyrics tales of romantic loss were inspired by two passing satellites in the night's sky... Not sure about the "space hardware" rhyme, but the lyrics speak volumes to me.

I was twenty one years when I wrote this songI'm twenty two now, but I won't be for longPeople ask when will you grow up to be a manBut all the girls I loved at schoolAre already pushing prams
I loved you then as I love you stillThough I put you on a pedestalThey put you on the pillI don't feel bad about letting you goI just feel sad about letting you know

I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl
I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl

I loved the words you wrote to meBut that was bloody yesterdayI can't survive on what you sendEvery time you need a friend
I saw two shooting stars last nightI wished on them but they were only satellitesIs it wrong to wish on space hardwareI wish, I wish, I wish you'd care

I don't want to change the worldI'm not looking for a new EnglandI'm just looking for another girl

A week..

..in photos

Unmistakable handwriting, which hasn't improved much over the years. In 1991 THE must have item for Christmas was Dark World for any discerning six year old. Not sure what was going on with the request for an Arsenal shirt?

"Great Dane's cheekbones..."

 Isn't she just?

As close to a Christmas tradition as I'm going to get... Christmas Pudding Truffles.

Sweet potato, peanut butter and cinnamon baked fries.

Robin

Are Red Breasted Robins brave, tolerant or wise?

La la la la la means I love you

Billy Bragg - The Saturday Boy

Gomez - Getting Better

(The snarling vocals make it an acceptable Beatles cover..)

Pan Am

Serving cups of coffee, asking "chicken or fish?" and checking that the tray is folded and the seat is in an upright position might not sound the dew point for female empowerment. Yet, the creators of Pan Am have created a platform for telling the story of a turning point in social history through the tales of four stewardesses and the world which they carve out.

The world of Pan Am is one full of Technicolor glamour and understated elegance. It is plain to see why parallels have been drawn with the HBO series Mad Men, with the nonchalant cigarettes, sartorial grace and mise en scène straight from a sixties Eames catalogue.

Despite the style, it is not a world full of societal intelligence or understanding. Subplots of racism, sexism and ageism litter the episodes. The issues are sometimes dealt with a hammer blow and other times not at all. A young black man is beaten in public for holding the hand of a white female as she stands by him receiving abuse. Yet, stewardesses are routinely harassed by drunken passengers and then their actions defended by the First Officer.

Amongst this world of injustices, the four women display power that comes from the responsibility of being charged with a planes full of passengers, worldly experience, their sexuality and relative increasing equality. These factors enforce the freedom which the programme showcases eloquently.

The subplot of Kate's subversive recruitment into the CIA in the time of the Cold War is a fantastical idea; yet crowbars Kate into a world which is used to male domination. Laura, Kate's younger sister, enters the Pan Am after running out on her wedding day, dreaming of a life outside of the kitchen and shopping mall. Christina Ricci's character is the embodiment of confidence, with a poise and grace that is incredibly alluring.

Respect, affection and comradery is deeply rooted between the flight crew, which translates into deep affinity for the characters from the viewer's perspective.

There's nothing currently on TV which can match it for glamour, societal reflection and pure entertainment.

Winter sun

At this time of year, the darkness of the morning clears so quickly above misty fields. Purple and orange haze greets me through a rain stained window.

Unmissable

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City (or "Being Flynn" as it's referred to on the poster... The former has more appeal to me.) It looks unmissable.

Christmas waltz

Christmas has come early... Someone get the mistletoe.

She & Him - The Christmas Waltz

Yes Man

I love my friends. My plans tonight included eating some tofu, watching Top Gear and going for a run. Instead, after a phone call and a minor amount of arm twisting, I'm on my way to Southampton Guildhall for an evening of musical frivolity. Tomorrow's going to be inter-westing.

A stranger smile

Nothing lifts your spirits like when a total stranger catches your eye, looks away as if it they've been caught, looks back and then smiles.

Oceans

If only life was a stew made of the ethereal overtones of the song and the dreamlike, soporific video.

Oceans - Pearl Jam

Hold on to the thread the currents will shift
Glide me towards you know somethings left
And we're all allowed to dream of the next

Oh, oh the next time we touch

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

You don't have to stray the oceans away
Waves roll in my thoughts hold tight the ring
The sea will rise please stand by the shore

Oh, oh, oh, I will be, I will be there once more

Today has been a day of contemplation about the past. There is an overwhelming feeling of longing and desire filling my every breath. It won't leave me alone for a moment. This is not a primal sentiment, but a calm or soothing semblance which I haven't felt for a long time. If I could forgive and forget a spiteful faux pas, I know what I could and should do. That is beyond me now though. The story has been written in the sand and the waves have washed it away.

Bravery and courage comes from engaging in action, despite our fears.

Well, that was sweet of them...

http://freepoemsonline.blogspot.com/2011/11/prayer-by-harry-mckeown.html

Staying awake until the sun rises is my new favourite thing to do. Big smiles.

Everywhere I go..

..I get dragged around a Cath Kidston shop. This women, person, company, brand, whatever - is taking over the world or is stalking me. Enough's enough.

Fields of June

Emily Barker & The Red Halo - Fields of June (free download)

Delightful strings and tales of loss.

Frontal damage

This morning, finally, after three weeks, I have my car back. The poor little mite took a nosedive from a Cornish car park, over a six foot wall and nigh on into the sea. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. The handbrake has been fixed and the front looks shiny new. Regardless, I shall be selling it soon enough and getting something less chavtastic. It will be sad to see it (or 'Arthur' as it's/he's been named) go, as it's/he's been with me for five long and interesting years. The attachments that grow towards inanimate objects bewilders me. Despite my bewilderment; I struggle with throwing away magazines, let alone getting rid of a car. Struggling with letting go of inanimate objects is one thing, letting go of a real live, living, breathing person is a different kettle of fish.

Share

Last night reminded me that life should be more about sharing moments than individual achievement. If you're lucky enough to get both, take these experiences with both hands and smile.

Try-athlon

1km Swim, 20km Cycle and a 5km Run. This hurts.

On a positive note, the marvels of shuffle on iTunes bestowed my ears with a version of "This Charming Man" from the Hatful of Hollows album, which I've never heard before. It's far softer.. More upbeat. It almost had me grinning, despite sombre lyrics and the excruciating pain in my calves.

Oh. I forgot to say. I still want my hat back. I shouldn't have lost it in the first place.

If It Be Your Will

Driving through a misty midnight, this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "If It Be Your Will" - The Webb Sisters feat Leonard Cohen.

The Zeigarnik effect

Since leaving Facebook and Twitter; so much more of my time has been taken up by reading, writing, running and sorting things out in my flat that I've meant to do for such a long time. I read earlier that "even after one stops actively pursuing a goal, many mental processes remain focused on the fail (e.g the Zeigarnik effect), potentially occupying limited attentional and memory resources". Useful to know. The dishes will be done, I'll call my friend I've been meaning to call for ages and that "To Do" note on my list at work for three weeks has been "To Done".

A few songs have crept into my playlist this past week. Shuffle on iTunes has an uncanny ability to reach into my mind, pluck out some songs and bring a lump to my throat at an idle moment on the train.

The story of The Last Five Years is told through the voices of two characters - Cathy and Jamie. Jamie tells the story from the beginning of their relationship, to it's demise (as heard in this song), whilst Cathy tells it back to front. This song (Goodbye Until Tomorrow / I Could Never Rescue You) in context, is probably the saddest song in my collection. The hope in Cathy's voice and the sadness, grief and sound of loss in Jamie's is such a sorrowful dichotomy.

This one is self explanatory.

Gil Scott Heron came into my consciousnesses after he collaborated with Jamie from The XX, producing a colourful explosion of spoken word wisdom overlaid with youthful exuberance (a.k.a. some heavy bass). Apart from The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and few other 70's tracks, I'd not listened to any of his non-Jamie XX collaboration sounds. After having an urge to write about running yesterday, I remembered that Gil Scott Heron wrote a song called Running, which I adored in remixed version. The original is dark, stripped back and industrial. GSH seems to be standing on the corner of a snow covered street corner, as a fire burns from an empty oil can in front of him, reading straight from his book of words. The skills of Jamie XX have to be marveled at for finding the sound heard on the remix.

Prayer

Life passes underneath the
grit beneath my feet,
easier than it should.

Rain drips down my brow
as the fog lifts away from
sprinting thoughts.

As if the beads of sweat are
life's burdens, my mind
clears as the taste of
blood returns and a
deep mist bellows from my lungs.

The place I go to,
without hiding,
where nobody can find me.
Thoughtless yet mindful.
Deep solitude amongst
passing cars, spray painted postboxes
and abandoned trolleys.

Where the leaves crunch,
twigs crack and the tarmac
is a black lake set against
rows of false trees.

Never running away, as
no such place exists.
There's nowhere to run to
and nothing to run from
except myself.

Flaw

"You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know." A Picture Of Dorian Gray.

It's gaze met the eyes of passers by
from the wall for many years.
Dust gathered at the edges
creating a bottle neck of brown where
there should be red.
With his one eye,
he cherished that painting.
It radiated red and life.
He could not see the cracks,
scars, light faded patches.
For him only delicate brush strokes, perspective and clarity.
Sunlight streaked in behind the curtain
as she blinked, for the first time.
With cracks and scars persisting,
their gaze met as dust filtered through the shaft of light.
For him, that radiation remained.
Tears roll down his face as he dropped to his knees, smiling.
She shook her head, looking directly at his eye.
Turning away, resolved, back into paint.

Words

If we were words, I hope that we would rhyme.

A sweet sound

Something for a Sunday morning.. http://www.emilykingmusic.com/ Get involved.

Shark Ridden Waters (Gruff Rhys)

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usGdERPWoPU)

On my way

"Thank you my darlin'." says the burly woman serving Lattes and bacon butties in the train station cafe. There's been a leaf stuck to the top of my velcroed shoes since I stepped out into the rain. Like horses waiting for starter's orders; competitive suits standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, edging towards the best position for THEIR seat in the carriage. Postman Pat's theme song bursts into life as I giggle and look at my phone, wondering if anyone else can hear. The train jerks into view, driven by a despondent bearded man in an ill fitting jacket. "Please mind the gap between the train and the platform" is said with such autonomy that you know she doesn't care. A tall tree in the distance turns out to be a church spire, then back to a tree, settling with a church spire. Suburbs turn to trees, fields, muddy piggies and back into suburbs. Stifling dry heat is replaced by a cool breeze as a window thunks open. Graffiti begins to litter the bridges and the race for the door gets underway.

Piggies

Muddied pink tails
Swilling button noses
Cactus pricked white hairs
Yellowed apples
Browning cabbages
Stinging nettles
Wooden planks
Mud mud mud

Don't pop the cork, she says
As he twists the neck,
Mouth wide open.

Fizzzzzzzzz.

Ricocheting into the kitchen,
Rolling away in an arc.
She accepts the flute,
Softly brushing his hand.

I want my hat back

I want my hat back.

Diversify

If there's something that is going to annoy small charities, it's politics getting in the way of their mission statement. The local Con. council in the area where I've recently started working is just about to release their Homelessness Pathways strategy, which includes the provision of support services which are going to be made available to substance misusers, alcoholics, those suffering from mental health issues, domestic abuse victims and all manner of vulnerable people in between. It appears that there will be more losers than there are going to be winners.

Organisations are having to provide more for less with ever increasing levels of bureaucracy, VfM and performance indicator monitoring whilst trying to achieve the highest level of support for their clients. Fortunately, these organisations are built around foundations of altruism, philanthropy and charity; not on profit or politics. It is unfortunate that those who control the purse strings are the politicians who more often than not are personally driven by profit.

The impending strategy puts our organisation in a good light and will likely extend the services beyond those that we are already providing, however; there will be losers. Valuable services who currently have a thriving client base will lose out because they are merely meeting their targets and not offering added value through taking a little bit off of the top of the cake and making something else with it.

If there's one lesson to be learnt from the past four weeks is to diversify, diversify, diversify.. But, don't ever forget who you are and what you set out to do in the first place.

A memory

Eating ice cream from a plastic cone with a ball of bubblegum at the bottom outside B&Q as a child. It's a sunny day and the sound of the ice cream van's tune is tinkling away. Small conifers lined up neatly outside the door. My sister's face covered in ice cream, smiling. Other children pestering and pleading to their Mums and then their Dads for a lolly or a Choc-ice. My Dad wearing a black baseball hat sitting in the driving seat of our brown Cavalier estate (C952 FGS) and my Mum smiling, holding my hand.

She sits and ponders the meaning of the waves,
Crisp linen and Monaco scents fill her desires,
Quiet thoughts of endless landscapes escape her reach but are within her reach.
Ribbons fall like rain from her handlebars and the breeze flows through her,
The salt in the air is enough to lead her cartwheeling accross the sand
Enveloping her dreams and becoming part of her.
The turnstile of dandelions and high grass rush between her bare feet,
Skipping as if a child once again.
The jewelery of her life post on her wall,
Sieving through the water claiming what she needs,
Few miss the net,
Again and again
Swimming away,
The rest caught but released back into the blue,
Ready for the next catch.

Bubble

There hasn't been a time in my life where I have been so incredibly happy. The dawn has broken and I am basking in the sunlight. Everything feels right.

If there are any sudden movements, I feel that this little bubble of happiness might burst. Try not to sneeze, okay?

The main reason for all this happiness is that an amazing person has blossomed into my life. Sudden bouts of heart palpitations hit me every time I see her beautiful face and a warm fuzzy feeling overcomes me every time she speaks to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for this girl.

Reading will soon once again be my home town after a five year hiatus along with a new job. The organisation I am going to be working for have such an incredible ethos and values. The colleagues I leave behind will be sorely missed but onwards and upwards and all that good stuff.

Hygge

Windmills stand like lollipops in
Fields of blue flowers.
The thum-thum-thum of the blades
Echo like a Nordic god drumming
Along to the changes of the seasons.
Calm water boarded by towers carrying contented families from
Island to island,
Jellyfish float aimlessly underneath invoking curiosity.
Open air and open
Minds breathe calm breaths
in the company of loved ones you know but never really knew or felt they could re-New.
Swords lofted high inviting a fresh beginning
to a story which already has many chapters.
A Ukelele, whipped cream, a spinning pig and New York, New York troubling the neighbours.
Morning breaks along with formalities and rest, rest, rest.
A second home that will always missed but the translations will always be set like Rosetta's stone.

Nearly

I was reminded that I had this blog again tonight (I told you about my memory) - I nearly forgot about it.

If the person who I wrote about in my last post is reading this, I want to say I do trust you and I know you care about me; as I care about you.