Thursday, 24 December 2009
Linford is a tortoise.
I was told that Linford is not allowed to hibernate, much to his chagrin.
Mrs x tells me that it is important that the little fellow stays awake for his first winter otherwise he might develop some problems. I would imagine that keeping a tortoise awake against his wishes is going to cause some pretty serious psychological problems let alone the foul temper.
Mrs x went on to explain that she gives it hot baths regularly as well as allowing the children to prod it, sing to it, dress it up and decorate it.
I took a look at Linford; he did not look happy.
just very, very sleepy.
But, on the bright side he is one of the very few tortoises to have seen a christmas tree or felt the splot of a snowball on his shell.
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
Being housebound with only the bag lady for company has led to the inevitable; we are at each others throats. Neither of us will dare drop our guard lest the other attacks with a broken bottle or carving knife.
I hear her late at night sharpening things. There is a book on poisons open on her bedside table. Open at the chapter on nicotine poisoning.
She is Googling 'hit men'.
I believe there is some kind of symbolism in her choice of flatware that she bring my lunch on.
I for my part am hoarding apple pips having read that they are (in large doses) deadly. How I am going to get her to consume 8 Kilos of the things is something i have yet to work out.
I must escape... I thought of going to France but the Eurostar trains have all broken down, B A is on strike, the airports are all closed due to asuggestion of snow and traffic is at a standstill on the roads.
I must find refuge!
Saturday, 12 December 2009
There was a cauliflower in the coldbox so I decided to make cauliflower cheese. I thought it a good one; made with a good bechemel sauce, bacon and 3 kinds of cheese. Then sprinkled with breadcrumbs and parmesan and baked in the oven.
Moll (who's tastebuds have deserted her) thought it bland and inedible.
To me it called up my schooldays and was redolent of headmasters (Eric Forrester) study as he brought out his cane for the first and only time in our relationship.
'I am going to have to give you six'. He said. 'It will I am sure give you no joy and hopefully an amount of pain. On the other hand I shall derive a great deal of pleasure from it'.
My crime? My crime was to have written CUNT in weedkiller on his lawn a few days earlier. Is it my fault that I am dyslexic and was only attempting to demonstrate my knowledge of early British kings.
I feel sorry for the kids these days who have to explain FCUK to their dyslexic teachers. But at least the teachers are not allowed corporal punisnhment and they must look after their pupils as they are probably their coke dealers as well.
Is it not ironic that it is now our educators who have the learning difficulties. They have problems understanding that there is no point in an education any longer.
Best to keep drones in the dark.
Ironically he has been forced back to working in the American pork products factory on the outskirts of his village.
'So'. said the overseer when he went back to work in the pig fat rendering vats. 'I see you are no longer waving Fluente but merely drowning'!
I feel that the worst is over and I shall soon be in full command of my faculties
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
while there I had a beer or two with an old friend Tiger. In fact we had too many beers and I told tiger there was no way he was driving.
'That's cool.' He said. 'I've got a driver.'
He climed into the passenger seat, started the car and while steering with his left hand pressed the accellerator pedal with a golf club.
The result was inevitable.
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
But ours didn't break when the old man left
It broke much much later than that.
When the old man left things were hard
Mum worked in bars and pubs, did cleaning; anything she could find to keep us.
We lived in a one bedroom flat
Mum slept on the sofa in the living room
My sister and I slept in the same bed in the tiny bedroom
Head to toe.
I spent twelve years in that bed with my sister
Head to toe
I came to know her feet intimately
I knew every inch, every pore, every crease, every nail, every callous.
I learned to tell the seasons by the colour of her toes
I learned to tell her moods by the colour of her polish
I loved her feet
They were the first thing I saw in the morning
The last thing I saw at night.
We did everything in that bed together
Head to toe
Homework, super Nintendo, reading, hobbies, laughing, crying
I taught her to whistle
She taught me to knit.
I gave her hand knitted socks each Christmas
She whistled in admiration.
She taught me chiropody
I taught her reflexology
I gave her pedicures for her birthday
She cured my acne
I loved her feet.
Then one day, mum was out and that awful thing happened
The police called
There had been an accident, a girl , thought to be my sister had been knocked down by a truck
Would I go, in my mothers absence
To identify the body.
At the hospital the body was still in a bed covered by a sheet.
The doctor pulled back the sheet to reveal the dead girls head.
I exhaled with relief and said: No this is not my sister
My sisters head is at the other end of her body.
She never did come home though. Not after that.
But I found comfort in her shoes.
Monday, 30 November 2009
He said: Many years ago, when I was in my youth, I lived with an older woman; she was very beautiful and in demand. but I too was beautiful and in demand back then so everything seemed harmonious.
Until I said one night in bed: 'I love you.'
Don't say that she said. It is just a licence for me to abuse you.
why is that? I asked. Although I already knew the answer.
'Because'. She said. 'The first person ever to tell me he loved me then went on to abuse me and I now associate love with abuse and abuse with love... I would rather associate with shallow people who have no real feelings for me because they are safe and I am not obliged to form a real relationship with them.
'But you will get old'. I told her. 'And be alone and unwanted.
'So what'. She said. 'I will just commit suicide!'
'No you won't' I said. 'you will continue to behave as if you were a young woman and you will continue to ignore the people who really love you because they will not lie to you. And the eurotrash company you crave, because you buy into that shit, the eurotrash company will move on to the next generation and the people who really love you will have given up in exasperation.
And of course your father will be dead by then and by then it will be too late.
'Too late for what?' she asked.
'Too late to tell you I love you.'
Friday, 27 November 2009
This is the last time that I saw the thing was when it was being manhandled by a karate expert from Calgary.
It was being given the chop!
Thursday, 26 November 2009
The first time I saw her
She has been unlucky
She was the most beautiful girl in the clinic
The second time I saw her
She had been careless
The beautiful girl in the clinic
The third time I saw her
She was promiscuous or worse
That girl in the clap clinic.
She was the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic
The fourth time I saw her
Stupid me, she is a doctor.
I approached her then and said
You are the most beautiful girl in the clap clinic.
I'm not a doctor
But I feel that is about to change.
We left the clinic hand in hand
Separated by the thickness of a surgical glove.
Later, much later as we lay
Her head on my chest her hair in my face
the scent of hibiscrub filling the white room.
I said I love you
And she said don't love me
I am unlucky
I an careless
I am promiscuous
And nothing has changed.
I shall be there of course. If only to heckle! http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/event.php?eid=197528849848&ref=nf
We wrote to each other once a week. We did this for years.
Bill told me that soon there would be no need of letters (he was what you would call a bit of a geek), that we would communicate electronically through the ether. And would be able to have real time conversations.
I said: Bill. you are full of shit. That will never happen in my lifetime.
We stopped writing soon after that.
I wonder what became of Bill?
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
What do you think Moll? I asked.
It's African isn't it. Nice. she replied. As she sorted through old Christmas decoration catalogues.
She then found a Feng-Shui plan for her appartment. At present I am sitting in the marriage area. Intelligence is in the lavatory... Can't say that I believe too much of this hokum.
Friday, 20 November 2009
She said: Look son. You are 54 years old. You are going to have to leave home one day.
Friday, 13 November 2009
I decline Moll's offer of her pink umbrella and suffere the consequences as I attempt to travel across London by means of public transport; the tube system is truly awful and explains the miserable demeanour of it's occupants.
On the street I no longer get any satisfaction from splashing through the puddles although my preference for Converse in all weather probably has something to do with that. Moll is on at me constantly to get some work boots with steel toecaps...
Surely the toecaps will rust in this climate.
Somewhere near here. She says, passing me an old poloroid of two sisters standing fully and impeccably dressed on a beach.
I glance at the photograph then look again in shock. Moll notices my hand trembling. What is it? she asks.
I am too distressed to tell her that it is a photograph of Tilly and Buddy, daughters of a woman named Agat who had been my muse many years ago . I had once possesed an almost identical photo (probably taken the same day) of the girls.
Agat had traced me and sent the photograph with a note that read:
'The girls at Dungeness.'
Thursday, 12 November 2009
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
A month ago he told me he was helping a group of friends make a film.
He did not tell me it was like that.
the film won the jury prize in the competition and now Tristan's arse is the talk of the town.
I said: For heavens sake Tristan, fishing in the Serpentine is illegal.
He said no-one bitched at Marlon for Last tango in Paris.
But Tristan. I replied. Marlon was not fishing in the Serpentine.
For christ sake Tristan you were within sight of the princess Diana ditch. Have you no respect.
Only for my bait dealer. He said.
I sensed the tension that already existed between the Spiders; they may have been ready for life on Mars but they were not ready for fame on earth. We thought it a good idea to write a song together, the mesquite helped we guessed, Mick was already paranoid about being let down and dying in penury, Woody wouldn't stop playing with his sideboards.
David wrote some words, passed them to me. I ripped them up in disgust, handed them back.
Angie shot me a cautionary glance.
David gave me that toothy grin and said: There's something here Jan. He laid out the torn shreds of paper randomly on the coffee table and picked up his guitar...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXq5VvYAI1Q&feature=related
All I could say was..... David. Put on those red shoes and let's dance.
Iggy came round and said: Hey man there is panic in Detroit. David picked up a notepad and said: Do you spell Detroit with a capital D?
Iggy. I said. I'm bored.
I said: Iggy. I'm the chairman of the bored...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGDb8X8limY
Iggy said he missed the MC5.
Tuesday, 10 November 2009
What HAVE you been up to dear boy? I ask.
Oh! He replies. This and that, but mainly that... That which results from spending the week foraging for mushrooms.
And what is that? I ask.
Listen. He says: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgEk4A-t1k8
Saturday, 7 November 2009
I had been walking through Snowdonia for lack of something better to do. One evening I found myself some distance from the nearest hostelry and rather than tempt a broken ankle in the dark decided to make what I could of a derelict farmhouse.
On closer inspection i saw that it was not as abandoned as I had thought and the glow from an open fire lit one of the windows.
I knocked and entered to find a man seated before a hearth lit by nothing other than the glow from the fire.
Good evening I said. May I please join you, I am miles from my destination and it is an unhospitable night. I gave my name and offered my hand in greeting. He did nothing with either; just sat there in silence.
'Careless' he almost shouted some minutes later. I begged his pardon.
Careless he repeated. Then went on: Careless is my name... He turned and looked at me then and gave me an almost toothless grin. He said:
"It was over thirty years ago when I got that name. I've forgotten my given name and my mother died two years ago without reminding me. But thirty years ago not far from this place my brothers talked me into trying some magic mushrooms they'd been picking on the hillside. We lit a fire out there and sat around waiting for something to happen and before long something happened and I began to take more than a passing interest in the flames and hot coals of the fire.
I leant in to get a closer look and as I leant in my teeth fell out into the fire, and being plastic they burst into flames before I could retrieve them.
Careless bugger said Ifan.
Careless bugger laughed Daffyd.
Careless bugger roared I.
That's why I'm called careless."
He never spoke another word that night. But sat looking mournfully into the fire.
Thursday, 5 November 2009
Are they edible she asked.
I tried one.
What happened after that is at best a hazy dream to me now.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
The house is tucked away in a valley a mile from the road surrounded by rolling grassland and woods. Pheasants litter the garden and sheep dot the horizon. There are deer hereabouts but I have yet to catch sight of one. As I write this a posse of beef on the hoof ambles accross my line of sight and I think of Rusty.
Monday, 2 November 2009
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
No Fluente I said. I'm going for the sombre not the sombrero!
We compromised with the stetson Rusty had left behind. Let's just say it was a frightening spectacle.
Fluente produced from his man-bag a bottle of tequila and some limes, then raided my 1960's cocktail cabinet for the crusty bottle of triple sec last opened for the funeral of Winston Churchill for my Maiden aunt who had a penchant for 'stickies' day or night.
'Aye yai yai yai yai' Fluente shouted. 'Margherita time!'
The party now beckons...
Blogs may be sporadic for a while until I get the virus geeked out of the other machine. Let us hope that it is easier to remove than Hank.
Hank was a male au-pair that my first wife Joy insisted on after the incident with the naked Danish girl in the laundry room.
Hank fancied himself as a photographer and insisted on making a photo-documentary of the life of a British housewife; this required him to photograph Joy at all times of the day, performing her everyday tasks. This seemed harmless enough in essence while she was removing casseroles from the Aga and suchlike but when I found him snapping away as she reclined in the bath I felt that things had gone far enough.
It took three more months to get rid of Hank and Joy soon followed him.
I learned some time later that Hank and Joy were living together in Harmony Nebraska. Rusty had bumped into them at a pie baking contest. Joy wasn't feeling too well.
She had a virus.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
I have lost my yellow plastic spoon; it was a very important part of my life and work, it helped form me and inform me.
It was a teaspoon I picked up at the Hayward Gallery when having a coffee after seeing the Bruce Nauman exhebition some years ago. I had gone with a woman called Jane. I cannot remermber what colour spoon she stirred her coffee with.
Please, if anyone knows the whereabouts of a yellow plastic spoon, let me know.
I must return to the Hayward to see if I can replace it but deep inside I know it will not be the same...
Sunday, 25 October 2009
As I looked into the skip a womans head popped up; a mass of glorious curls redolent of the fragrant nurse Caz.Hello dad! She said. She rummaged in a sequinned evening bag then handed me an object wrapped in paper. It is 93 year old birthday cake she said.
I told her I only like the icing.
That's all right she said. Just eat the icing and lie about the rest.
That''s what every-body else does.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
On the back he writes:
This is where it all started. this is where I got my name; Lula-Mae and me had been down to see Richard Brautigan one summer and we all decided to go skinny dipping by the bridge. Lula-Mae laughed when I stood naked in front of the red metal and she said: Far out Billy-Bob, you are so sun burnt I can't tell you from the bridge.
Richard laughed and said: "I guess Billy-Bob's just gone rusty, and it ain't even raining.
the name stuck after that.
Rusty wrote this part of a Brautigan poem at the bottom of the card. In place of a name:
It's Raining In Love
I don't know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl a lot. -Richard Brautigan
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
I found the balls in the back of a rubbish truck in Notting Hill. The bowl was a gift from a woman who knew that I didn't have one.
What worries me is that this image would be quite happily considered 'ART' by those who think they know best.
It is nothing more than a bowl of balls.
Saturday, 17 October 2009
Each time I visit I am encouraged to paint an image of my latest dream.
Last night I dreamt I was a child. It was a stormy autumn evening and I had been milking pomkin the goat who had lashed out at me with her hooves annd rendered me unconscious for a while.
Groggily I returned to the house and entered, but somehow I had gone in through the wrong door and found myself neither inside nor outside. there was a wall of raining teaspoons clouding my view of the walnut tree and of the three beakers on the window sill; my mothers red one, my dead fathers black one and my yellow one. Each time I reached out for my beaker (I was very thirsty) my hand was stung by the falling spoons.
I gave up in the end and finally fell asleep.
I awoke some time later on the straw in pomkins shed.
If it is possible for a goat to sneer, pomkin sneered.
Doctor F chuckled and clapped her hands on hearing the dream and seeing my painting and then ushered me out of the room giving me no explanation as to what it all might mean.
Friday, 16 October 2009
Sunday, 11 October 2009
We decided not to talk about it.
Instead I went to make cheese on toast for us all. I could hear Rusty and Babs talking and laughing in the other room as I grated cheese and then a finger. I burned the toast and Rusty came in to criticise.
I was about to throw the burnt toast in the bin when he pushed me to one side. He then grilled the bread on the other side, cut off the crusts and sliced the slices horizontally. once toasted on the cut side he had made 4 pieces of melba toast.
Here he said; presenting it to Babs.
What's that she asked.
Why is it called that?
It is named after Dame Nellie Melba, who, when not eating peaches liked to eat this stuff.
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Saturday, 3 October 2009
And I think is that a view of a mountain or a view from a mountain and Babs says that the sky is as high as an elephants eye.
And I say you are lying Babs
And she says I know, I heard it in a movie. And eveyone knows that the movies lie.
I left that sleeping dog to do the lying.
Friday, 2 October 2009
I said no. Personal experience is like horse shit; it needs to stand around for a year or two before you dig it into the garden. Otherwise it is too caustic to do anything other than kill everything.
So you won't be writing about me.
Oh yes! I'll be writing about you, but only the stuff I make up.
He said, as he eyed my larder, she may be a nurse Jan but the only thing she is nursing right now is a hangover. He went on to say: Women teach us a lot of things Jan but all she done teach me is that I'm way out of my depth, and she aint teaching me to swim.
He found eggs, strawberries, black pepper and cream.
Heck, if we aint got a prairie omelette. He said.
What is in a prairie omelette I asked.
Whatever you got left in the chuck wagon at the end of a drive. He said.
Do you know, a strawberry and black pepper sweet omelette with cream is quite extraordinarily delicious.
Hey Rusty I said as we licked our fingers, let's go rent Brokeback Mountain.
Aw shucks. Said Rusty.
rusty came along shortly after the photo was taken and shot the thing with a Colt 48.
I said Rusty you can't do that and he said Jan, the constitution says I can do what I damn well please with my gun.
I said GULP.
Thursday, 1 October 2009
Tristan has a 'gig' (nasty word) coming up and requires my help for read throughs and rehearsals.
He is reading 3 poems with films made for the event at the Tabernacle, Powis Square on October 10th. Ditto TV are putting on the show... Probably best to be there. Just in case.
Babs says she will attend.
Swine flu. Pigs flying. what's the difference?