The thing about a little Surrey supermarket is that you do sometimes get interesting people popping in.
That Prince Albert of Monaco nipped in the other night – pleasant little chap. He rather shyly bought a packet of Durex – and a copy of The Daily Mail to hide it under, which I thought was sweet. He asked me quietly if he could get a refund later if he didn’t need them, so I just told him to keep hold of the receipt and that seemed to make the little fellow happy.
Rupert Murdoch was in. All he bought was phone top-up cards, which I thought was unusual, but then he has lots of relatives in Australia, doesn’t he, so he must be on the phone all the time...
Whenever I see The Queen going down the aisle, I always say hello and see if she needs a hand. She’s got to the age when she's starting to forget things – she’ll ask where the Marmite is when she’s standing right next to it, bless her – and she’s always asking me to get her a can of Basics tuna off the top shelf. She just can’t reach up there, the little dear. I do think supermarkets should consider the needs of short people more. Don’t tell anyone, but I put through her two cans of dog food but only rang one up on the till – well, you’ve got to help the old folk a little, haven’t you? She always gives a little wave as she leaves, which is nice.
Well – time to go, I guess. Oh - we might see Nick and Dave in the shop today. It’s so good, I think, that we’re so relaxed about gay couples now that a pair can govern the country and no one makes any comments. Nick will get his champagne, and Dave his six-pack of Stella... Nick always seems to pay though.
See you later!
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
A string of consciousness
25 Jan 2009
Use your mind.
Sometimes we echo newspaper headlines to be accepted in a group. Be careful to keep knowledge of reality. Weigh truth on your hand. Lightly, with wonderment and respect. You can dash it to the ground, or just let it slip off carelessly, or treasure it.
Every good boy deserves favour, for all children enchant.
Good God, there’s an orchestra playing in my head! (Ah - I’ve got my headphones on.)
My hip hurts. Never fall off a ladder. Never fall - off a ladder, in love, under a spell, from grace... There’s always at least a bruise, and sometimes it gets worse with age.
My ankles itch like crazy. Dry skin, or wrong wash powder. ‘Scratch my back’ we say. I literally used to for a partner - there was a spot low down that needed a good doing over now and then. Then she ended up doing me over and is now just an itch in my mind. Life’s a circle, eh?
Or maybe it’s a string (or a superstring)? I guess DNA is a string - so life literally is a string! I wonder if it’s tuned? Is that why music exists? The harmonic resonances resonate with our DNA? It’s not the music of the spheres but of the string... And though we're tied to our past, as our lives unravel we're pulled forwards...
Take more time, listen more carefully, and filter out the noise for the real music of life. It is there. I can hear this orchestra... in my head...
Sometimes we echo newspaper headlines to be accepted in a group. Be careful to keep knowledge of reality. Weigh truth on your hand. Lightly, with wonderment and respect. You can dash it to the ground, or just let it slip off carelessly, or treasure it.
Every good boy deserves favour, for all children enchant.
Good God, there’s an orchestra playing in my head! (Ah - I’ve got my headphones on.)
My hip hurts. Never fall off a ladder. Never fall - off a ladder, in love, under a spell, from grace... There’s always at least a bruise, and sometimes it gets worse with age.
My ankles itch like crazy. Dry skin, or wrong wash powder. ‘Scratch my back’ we say. I literally used to for a partner - there was a spot low down that needed a good doing over now and then. Then she ended up doing me over and is now just an itch in my mind. Life’s a circle, eh?
Or maybe it’s a string (or a superstring)? I guess DNA is a string - so life literally is a string! I wonder if it’s tuned? Is that why music exists? The harmonic resonances resonate with our DNA? It’s not the music of the spheres but of the string... And though we're tied to our past, as our lives unravel we're pulled forwards...
Take more time, listen more carefully, and filter out the noise for the real music of life. It is there. I can hear this orchestra... in my head...
Down The Roker Hotel...
17 Dec 2008
“By, but Howard Wilkinson was a barmpot, though!”
“There was ower much abstruse dialecticism in his half-time talks, man - not enough tea-cups being hoyed aboot”
“Aye - abstruse dialecticism is a bugger, mind.”
“Well, there’s a time and place, man, bonny lad...”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Wee do yee fancy, like?”
“Oooh, that Penny Lancaster... legs up to me ears”
“Nah, nah, man - for manager?”
“Oh aye. Why Martin Jol would be canny, like. He’s done areet with the jormans.”
“And he’s Dutch, so he’s bound to be relaxed, eh?”
“By, we weren’t half relaxed when we went to Amsterdam!”
“Horizontal, man.”
“Nah that was later”
“Oh aye”
“Or maybe Gerard Hoooooulier? Canny name to chant that, mind.”
“Worth considering just on that basis”
“Mind... Penny’s got better legs.”
“Oh aye. Never did like frog’s legs, like, me.”
“Nah.”
“Nah.”
“My round, then”
“There was ower much abstruse dialecticism in his half-time talks, man - not enough tea-cups being hoyed aboot”
“Aye - abstruse dialecticism is a bugger, mind.”
“Well, there’s a time and place, man, bonny lad...”
“Aye.”
“Aye.”
“Wee do yee fancy, like?”
“Oooh, that Penny Lancaster... legs up to me ears”
“Nah, nah, man - for manager?”
“Oh aye. Why Martin Jol would be canny, like. He’s done areet with the jormans.”
“And he’s Dutch, so he’s bound to be relaxed, eh?”
“By, we weren’t half relaxed when we went to Amsterdam!”
“Horizontal, man.”
“Nah that was later”
“Oh aye”
“Or maybe Gerard Hoooooulier? Canny name to chant that, mind.”
“Worth considering just on that basis”
“Mind... Penny’s got better legs.”
“Oh aye. Never did like frog’s legs, like, me.”
“Nah.”
“Nah.”
“My round, then”
Monday, 21 November 2011
'All these worlds are yours - except Europa. Do not land on Europa.'
Studies of data from Galileo appear to show a huge lake, not far below the surface, and it's mixing with the ice above. All apparently very good signs for potential life there.
europa
Will Arthur C. Clarke turn out to be 'on the money' yet again? The quote was from 2010, when a re-activated HAL conveyed a message from the beings responsible for the black monoliths, who had seen emerging life on Europa - and did not want it interfered with.
So my question is - do we have a right to potentially muck up life on another world? This isn't a tribe in Africa who are just going to want TVs and Man Utd shirts anyway, even if we try not to spoil their current native lifestyle. No - this is life (if indeed we find it) that has evolved entirely off this planet (assuming panspermia is not correct). Extra-terrestrial life - which could be changed/damaged/destroyed if we send probes there, contrary to HAL's warning. Haven't we ceased colonial ways of thinking? Should we not tread very carefully? Or do we have a right - or even a requirement - to spread our human seed on other worlds?
europa
Will Arthur C. Clarke turn out to be 'on the money' yet again? The quote was from 2010, when a re-activated HAL conveyed a message from the beings responsible for the black monoliths, who had seen emerging life on Europa - and did not want it interfered with.
So my question is - do we have a right to potentially muck up life on another world? This isn't a tribe in Africa who are just going to want TVs and Man Utd shirts anyway, even if we try not to spoil their current native lifestyle. No - this is life (if indeed we find it) that has evolved entirely off this planet (assuming panspermia is not correct). Extra-terrestrial life - which could be changed/damaged/destroyed if we send probes there, contrary to HAL's warning. Haven't we ceased colonial ways of thinking? Should we not tread very carefully? Or do we have a right - or even a requirement - to spread our human seed on other worlds?
Thursday, 17 November 2011
Autumn
04 Nov 2009
Autumn just seems to arrive one day. As if there were a knock at the door, you wonder who it could be, go to answer and... ‘oh - it’s you’. Like a sudden splash of cold water to the face, it’s not completely unpleasant, even a bit refreshing, just a slight shock.
To be honest, a week or two before, as I walked for my morning bus, overhead a v-shaped flight of geese headed steadily away to the South. I thought ‘Ah-ha! The geese are flying South. This means that either our paratroopers are dropping into plucky little Belgium tonight to meet up with the Resistance, OR summer may be over...’ I forgot it then, but two weeks later, suddenly, one morning it was autumn.
The sky was a paler, insipid light blue. The jacket collar came up for the first time. Two Surrey dinkies kettled the windscreen of their little car in our quiet street, laughing softly, intimately. With my hands in pockets and my breath steaming at the bus-stop, I watched every car driver go past, hunched forward to peer through that one area of the windscreen that had properly cleared. (Do we all do that? Like picking our noses at the wheel at traffic lights?) The bus stopped, the door opened and the driver was wearing a cute little woolly hat.
‘Autumn - appearing now at a street near you...’
The driver actually said ‘Hi, Cliff!’ as I got on. Rather surreal, but - hey - I do surreal, so that’s fine. It's the season for changes, anyway...
I don’t think of years ending at the end of December, but rather when autumn shows up on my doorstep. The warmth of summer is finally lost, the plants will die and the world loses a little joy and sparkle. This is really when the year is expended and nearly done. I don’t mind - autumn has a beauty of its own. The wonderful variety of leaf colours. The childish pleasure of kicking up the leaves on woodland paths. Walking with a chill on your cheeks, but simultaneously cosy inside under a quilted jacket and scarf.
But there was one more surprise that morning. As the bus pulled up over a small rise into Cranleigh, low across the common, there was suddenly a massive nuclear explosion that flooded my vision with white, yellow and orange light before I blinked and averted my eyes, the incredibly bright light still ghosted on to my retina. The low early autumn sun shone right in, along the bus, sudden and startling. Why that day? Why do you suddenly notice so many things on one day? Autumn - it catches you out, I tell you.
I wonder if more relationships die in autumn too? Do we sense the time for change?
The very air is different today
A flock of geese flies honking away
Through autumn sky of pink and lead grey
Haze round the streetlights dulls every ray
And warmth ebbs away: this is the day
No talk of weather: I have my say
Love thought immortal was naught but a play
Whose scenes are done and so I must pay
Emotion flies South, cold reason holds sway
Seasons must change, so go your own way
Though long delayed, autumn came today
Yet the birds had known as they flew away
That this was the time, this was the day.
To be honest, a week or two before, as I walked for my morning bus, overhead a v-shaped flight of geese headed steadily away to the South. I thought ‘Ah-ha! The geese are flying South. This means that either our paratroopers are dropping into plucky little Belgium tonight to meet up with the Resistance, OR summer may be over...’ I forgot it then, but two weeks later, suddenly, one morning it was autumn.
The sky was a paler, insipid light blue. The jacket collar came up for the first time. Two Surrey dinkies kettled the windscreen of their little car in our quiet street, laughing softly, intimately. With my hands in pockets and my breath steaming at the bus-stop, I watched every car driver go past, hunched forward to peer through that one area of the windscreen that had properly cleared. (Do we all do that? Like picking our noses at the wheel at traffic lights?) The bus stopped, the door opened and the driver was wearing a cute little woolly hat.
‘Autumn - appearing now at a street near you...’
The driver actually said ‘Hi, Cliff!’ as I got on. Rather surreal, but - hey - I do surreal, so that’s fine. It's the season for changes, anyway...
I don’t think of years ending at the end of December, but rather when autumn shows up on my doorstep. The warmth of summer is finally lost, the plants will die and the world loses a little joy and sparkle. This is really when the year is expended and nearly done. I don’t mind - autumn has a beauty of its own. The wonderful variety of leaf colours. The childish pleasure of kicking up the leaves on woodland paths. Walking with a chill on your cheeks, but simultaneously cosy inside under a quilted jacket and scarf.
But there was one more surprise that morning. As the bus pulled up over a small rise into Cranleigh, low across the common, there was suddenly a massive nuclear explosion that flooded my vision with white, yellow and orange light before I blinked and averted my eyes, the incredibly bright light still ghosted on to my retina. The low early autumn sun shone right in, along the bus, sudden and startling. Why that day? Why do you suddenly notice so many things on one day? Autumn - it catches you out, I tell you.
I wonder if more relationships die in autumn too? Do we sense the time for change?
The very air is different today
A flock of geese flies honking away
Through autumn sky of pink and lead grey
Haze round the streetlights dulls every ray
And warmth ebbs away: this is the day
No talk of weather: I have my say
Love thought immortal was naught but a play
Whose scenes are done and so I must pay
Emotion flies South, cold reason holds sway
Seasons must change, so go your own way
Though long delayed, autumn came today
Yet the birds had known as they flew away
That this was the time, this was the day.
Underpants in Guildford
19 Nov 2009
I went into Guildford to buy new underpants. It’s not really such a big day, is it? Not really up there with ‘my first sexual experience’ or ‘the day I met Eddie Izzard in a lift in Boston...’ It was a problem though. I mean for decades I have always bought whatever pants my current partner liked. My ex-wife, of a lifetime (and a house) ago, liked boxers, so it used to be those. Mind you I was never that comfortable - they always seemed to be the loose, floppy insubstantial kind back then, and after a lifetime of things being held snugly in place, it almost felt like stepping outside naked.
My next long-term partner had a preference for slips and targas and the like and they did the job for her, which was fine by me, but years later this 59-year body looks a tad ridiculous clad like a lad from The Chippendales. So now, on my own, with no one to please, interest, (or make laugh) - what to buy? Well, working class habits die hard, and there was a deal on boxers, so that made the decision. It turns out these are the snug kind now anyway, so I’m quite happy with that. At 59 I discover new underwear - the world continues to astonish, eh?
Since when did most shop assistants start wearing all black? I noticed that nearly everywhere I go that is now the regulation uniform. It’s ok - just odd that it seems to be across the board, and it seems a bit... um... ‘military’. The security guards I see wear all black, too, and is it mandatory that all security guards have shaven heads? It’s like an audition for ‘The King and I’...
Where do birds go to die? I walked under a bridge on a path by the riverside and passed close by a sad pigeon huddled there who barely moved as I passed him - I nearly stood on him. He didn’t look too grand - and it made me wonder why I never see dead birds. The towns are always full of pigeons, sparrows (though fewer these days), starlings, etc., and gardens have their blue tits, robins and others, yet I can’t remember the last time I saw a dead one.
A white van goes past with ‘TRW Solicitors’ on the side. It has a roof rack with an extension ladder lashed to it. For a firm of solicitors? What next? A motorcycle delivery man for La Senza? Would he have to wear black leather boxers, then? Actually, I think both my ex’s would be happy with that... probably Eddie Izzard too...
My next long-term partner had a preference for slips and targas and the like and they did the job for her, which was fine by me, but years later this 59-year body looks a tad ridiculous clad like a lad from The Chippendales. So now, on my own, with no one to please, interest, (or make laugh) - what to buy? Well, working class habits die hard, and there was a deal on boxers, so that made the decision. It turns out these are the snug kind now anyway, so I’m quite happy with that. At 59 I discover new underwear - the world continues to astonish, eh?
Since when did most shop assistants start wearing all black? I noticed that nearly everywhere I go that is now the regulation uniform. It’s ok - just odd that it seems to be across the board, and it seems a bit... um... ‘military’. The security guards I see wear all black, too, and is it mandatory that all security guards have shaven heads? It’s like an audition for ‘The King and I’...
Where do birds go to die? I walked under a bridge on a path by the riverside and passed close by a sad pigeon huddled there who barely moved as I passed him - I nearly stood on him. He didn’t look too grand - and it made me wonder why I never see dead birds. The towns are always full of pigeons, sparrows (though fewer these days), starlings, etc., and gardens have their blue tits, robins and others, yet I can’t remember the last time I saw a dead one.
A white van goes past with ‘TRW Solicitors’ on the side. It has a roof rack with an extension ladder lashed to it. For a firm of solicitors? What next? A motorcycle delivery man for La Senza? Would he have to wear black leather boxers, then? Actually, I think both my ex’s would be happy with that... probably Eddie Izzard too...
A day at the seaside with Sue
11 Feb 2010
Unseen beyond the sand hill
The wind-raged sea is heard
Groaning and moaning
Growling and rumbling
You stagger up the mound
While the caged beast
Is thrashing on the other side
At the top now -
- And senses swing to overload
Foaming, churning banks of angry waves
Crash and smash before you
The wind strains your hair with its force
Pushes your head sideways
Salt spray lashes your tongue
As you turn, gulping to catch breath
Laughing, gasping,
Straining, resisting,
Exulting in agreed surrender
Raw and hungry nature
Roaring with menace - only just held back
Heaving and pounding and alive
The sea - and you.
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