Dark are the lights

Switches turned to off

Talks of ghosts & frights

Torches down to not on

Shadows creep behind ones own deep thoughts

Who cares he shouts …. I’ve had enough

Of this malarkey of ghouls and empty souls

Buckets of misery and empty bowls

Spines a tingle, fingers they do roam

Up behind ones neck and many more erogenous zones <grins>



Modern Technology Sucks

I’m laid out prostate on my bed and i cannot move for my back has seized, so I thought I’d make my fiancé’s day by surprising him with a FaceTime session, he answers my request with a Victorian attitutude of obnoxiousness and tells me to ring back later as he’s watching the television …

How fucking rude is that!

VC2/30 Bats in my head


The bats in my head flutter about as i try to establish how to publish my recent deep and sad dark thoughts. For every downside there is an up, and so as the balance of nature and its equilibrium and every hope of reality being restored, a decision to portray my rollercoaster ride will hopefully make you cry tears, or roll about with extreme laughter, exactly in which order I have no idea.

VC1/30 Sleeping with the past

One of the many things that plague me are the dark matters that follow me with the passing of time during the festival of the decade change.

Sleeping most of the first day of 2020 isn’t good unless you are mentally and physically eradicating demons from years previous, nineteen hours of the first day is more than three quarters of the travelling year,

2019, has been the worst year ever for both our troubled souls, negativity swirls around like two silk scarf spinning opposingly  creating a vortex as it gets bigger.

My medication really is for mad men and monsters, my head spins like Kylie, around and around. Physical twitches and involuntary limb reactions never fail to move me.

A different perspective …


Kirsty Allsop gave me this inspiration, she mentioned on one of her inaign property programmes that to get a different perspective of the size of a room, was to lay on ones back on the floor of same room and stare up at the ceiling.

I went one better, it works amazingly if one is sufficiently fuelled with alcohol.

(Lays on floor and looks around, clockwise, or is it anti-clockwise)

“Looking upside down from under the stars. A Wolf howls up at the moon. Goldfish live forever in glass bowls and candles burn light many years from Mars. Cactus and wash buckets each side of the mantle and Dilbert stares out further than he can handle.

Digital clock & temperature rise, humidity stays stable and the wren and shell and mouse stare hypnotised with stupidity, Silver birch & floral trees, (honey) bees with hairy knees transferring pollen, golden oaks, fine hunny trees and sunshine a golden.

Crystal glaze & Doulton Blue, figures of porcelain and pots, held by glue, ceramics, old and new, ancient, dug up, repaired, cared for. Shells full of badness and worries, others empty full of sadness, a hymn framed upon eye level, synonymous of town and much drivel.

Dogs ears broken, pup faces smiling, thirty individual perforations framed infinity delivers great Cathedral cobwebs, party fairies, wooden poles and wafer thin glass, radiators bursting with joy, their heat and job, deployed.

Log burner burns, insignificant electric logs, rotations on a cycle, heat it does not! Second hand mirror, baroque and pale, displays the future, of those who ail and deep down behind in the silver, images of those dead it can deliver.

Italian marble all carved to perfection, grimy with years of lives imperfections, it stand almost as high as my clavicle, a true debate of minuscule debacle.

Wood toothpicks await their fate, of digging out detritus of plaque and hate, and when its time to switch the lights off, press a remote button, the night darkness is high, doff your hat and say goodnigh goodnigh.

Black, brown or candle stick grey, Imagine structures both thick and tall, clay moulders hands and delicate actions, eyes closed”

Crazy huh?

Todays observation …

From my window I can observe ….

Fishing boats, divers in orange RIB’s
Buoys & seagulls, paddlers in the midst.
Spring has sprung, Summer to come.
Guys & gals with rag ruts in pram’s & scoffing chips all salt’d with vinegar’d layers on.
Fish swim deep far from anglers.
Sammy the seal dodges & waves at the tourist, across the bay, on a boat journey paid.

Back packing walkers and hikers resting, pointing at objects, interesting.                                  Dogs and puppies on leads, persons of all age, odd matching clothes and strange fashion  patterns, a trend they setting.                                                                                                                  Big trawler steaming heading to fishing grounds, where black cuttle and Turbot abound,  canoes and ‘nooists caught in the wake, they go up and they go down, holding on tight, for  heavens sake.

This is the view im content with sat here, glass of red wine chilled, not, sadly I fear.                For housework certainly should needs addressing, distractions and attractions, are not  often a blessing.