A Lover In Winter

Another winter now scores our years
But my gaze falls ever gently on you
Like the slow soft snowfall outside
It gently glides down your hair, your cheeks
Then melts away on the warm loved curves of your body
Be mulled this winter by love and passion
That make you tingle and be cosy inside
May you need no gloves but my cupped old hands
Nor wine to make your head spin and cheeks flush red
A look should do, a crinkled smile,
Eyes still bright and just for you
In this season for gifts and wishes
My humblest gift is just this
Be loved this winter
Beloved forever.

Ear Hairs... And Worms

As we ...ahem... ‘gain in maturity’, why is it that hair stops growing where you want it to, and where it happily always used to, i.e. on top of your head, and instead starts sprouting out of completely new and utterly pointless places - your ears and nostrils? And - why does it have the consistency of pubic hair that’s been taking steroids...? After these 1000's of years of evolution, why has nature deduced that one solitary curly black wire growing out of the edge of an ear-lobe is a ‘good idea’? And the tufts out of the nostrils - just why? To keep your old nose warmer in winter? Could they all be, in fact, examples of ‘negative natural selection’ to make us (i.e. the older, past- the-genetic-sell-by-date human Ford Zephyrs) less attractive, and therefore discourage potential mates who should be looking for younger partners, to better keep the species going?

Hmmm...seems to be working, then...

And do you ever get ‘ear worms’? Tunes that tunnel into your brain, and keep repeating themselves endlessly in your head, and you can’t make them stop, round and round ... like the windmills in your mind, like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning... stop! stop! Stop! ...all the dancing, give me time to breath... argh! The (splendidly-named) Martha and the Muffins recording of ‘Echo Beach’ ...far away in time, Echo Beach, far away in time... is always likely to lodge in my brain for a limited run, like Panto at the local theatre, but sometimes it can be a tune that I don’t even like - now how maddening is that? They’re like musical squatters in your brain - you just can’t evict them. Mental hiccups in the key of C. Maybe the ear-hairs act like wireless antennae picking up Radio 2, like old record player stylii used to?

Ah record players... 'far away in time...' That's it now.

I dare you:  echo beach