Black Opium

Two days of absolute crap, continual costing and share deadlines and presentations were beginning to make my life unbearable. My girlfriend was constantly nagging about the lack of attention I paid to her, but then again she has never been happy, I dont think she knows the true meaning of. Her radiance that attracted me has gone dull, the rewards of my extra income are now too familiar to her. Perks like the handbags with labels on and the free-flowing Champagne at the ‘every day parties’ she gets invited to, still wont bring back the once look of contented, now she has a look on her sallow wizened fizhog, not unlike a wilting salad with a past its sell by date.

She never stops, the repetitious moaning, the bad scratch created is now getting too much for me to bear. Either way I am going to snap or her bloody neck will. Breaking the news to her that I wanted this evening to myself was going to be a tricky one. Even worse, tomorrow was her birthday, and that alone in itself presented an even greater problem, what on earth do you give the bitch from hell as a gift when she already has everything?

One solitary glass and a bottle of Bollinger was to be my comforter, this was the perfect hour, apart from the jealous persistence of the phone ringing and the answer machine kicking in, over and over, and over yet again …. ‘Oh why on earth, dont, you, just, fuck off !’

……. Teetering between consciousness and infinity, my tortured mind attempts to pick up some strands of a life once lived or dared to have wished for ……………I am led, pushed and dragged along by at least two people, my wrists are tied tightly behind my back, my blindfold is loose and I can make images. I stumble on uneven cobbles, my feet are bare, now ripped and sore, there are lots of people around me, jeering, and screaming obscenities. I can smell the dirt and filth of human waste which is underfoot.

‘What have I done to deserve this treatment? This cannot be happening, it must be a dream, but, it’s definitely not mine surely, wake me up someone …….. please PLEASE!’

I am near the river’s edge, the rancid smell of the exposed shore line as the tide has ebbed, its ozone permeates deep into my nostrils and the constant hammerings of nail into wood resonate in my head, men shouting and chanting as they unload the cargo off of the trader ships moored alongside after navigating the dirty river, ‘is it the Thames?’

Boats from foreign shores full of spices, silks and any contraband worth its weight in gold are bought ashore, this has to be the dock areas, Limehouse! The language that surrounds me is sharp and fast, Chinatown, Chinatown? ….. What is this I am experiencing?

Raucous shouting, laughter and singing comes from the ale houses, these tiny rooms in slum terraced houses are close to the unloading bays, horny sailors cavorting with sluttish whores, any tricks in the books are available, and the disease that transfers itself between these copulating couples is rife, the sweet smell of cannabis is abundant, horses pull carriages with wealthy gentlemen in suits and top hats looking for immorality with easy men with underground tendencies, constantly parading the streets with the sullied mantra “I can resist everything except temptation, it’s all here … and its right in front of me’ whilst looking for their prey.

Suddenly we stop, three loud thumps as the metal knocker strikes the fixed metal plate. The sounds of the hollowness on the wooden door are in unison as a strong arm punches his fist between my shoulder blades, now falling forward over the steps and up onto a wooden floor, eventually I gather my own balance. I feel my way down at least ten wooden narrow treads, the walls are close, the place feels slimy and damp although a strange warmth emanates. Hushed whispers abound, the bandage that is my blindfold is removed, the light stings, albeit subdued.

I make out a large room, red opulent drapes hang from the ceiling tied to the sides by long black feathered tassels. Candles upon tall wrought iron stands are in each corner, these four sources of light give an ambience of debauchery, ornately engraved brass and silver lamp holders containing opium spew heat upwards, already my head is starting to spin in this hedonistic hell. Two large elderly bosomed ladies of the night stand in front of me, their hair badly piled high, poor attempts at ruche’d bustles followed behind their once trim, now fat girdled waists, provocatively, through rotting smiles they beckon me forward, they turn me around and push me down onto my knees ….. They laugh.

The incense smoke which hangs low magics a vision, slowly through the haze of the sweet smell a person appears. The Emperor emerges from the clearing, he sits firmly in his golden state throne. Three carved dragons are either side of his head, they twist and gyrate and breathe fire, through darkened slits he observes, his eyes are like red-hot coals, swiftly burning deep into my persona. His arms sit uneasy at his side, dirt encrusted curled nails protrude from long spindly boney porcelain fingers which firmed white from clenching the chair ball ends.

His thin black mandarin style moustache tail ends drip continuously with sweat and saliva, it marks a stain on his emerald-green silk coat. A gold trimmed hat matches the black velvet collar which stands high toward his chin-line hiding the scars of hungry worshippers and blunt needles, the silence is terrifying, but at the same time almost deafening….. maxresdefault Female attendants in black silk suits stand guard either side of him, my eyes catch one of them, direct we exchange a glance, I think .. I know this person! ….

…… My heart pounds out of control as I pull myself out of the bed, ‘phew, thank goodness that’s over’ I mutter. I compose my shaken self, and after making a mug of tea before settling back to sleep. I start to think …. ‘that person I thought I recognised, when, where, why, what & who on earth was she?’ …….

I spent the remainder of the night staring at the ceiling and contemplating all kinds of rubbish, I raise myself out of the pit. Checking the digital clock on top of the stand I notice I am way late for work, almost tripping out of my flat as I dress and getting my shit together I have the sudden urge to look around. Everything was not what it seemed, nothing was in order, infact the whole place looked like a party of a grand scale had been staged.

Work was being a complete and utter bastard, I unleashed my imaginary shackles from the desk and pushed myself away from the electronic abacus, swiftly grabbed a coffee and fled down to the shopping arcade under the banking-house. So many outlets to choose, I was in turmoil, almost by magic I was drawn toward the Perfumery, like an exhausted fish, hooked and was reeled in, I didn’t fight. Inside was like a minefield, I had no idea what scent my girlfriend liked, she had far too many bottle of the shit, and whatever I actually purchased would probably clash with her own natural bacterial odour. I was on a hiding to nothing, I was doomed,

Like a candy shop I could concentrate, spinning like some thing out of control. I hadn’t looked up, the perfumer asked in a most beautiful voice “Perhaps I may be of assistance, are you interested in this?’

A Black box with a black bottle inside, “smell” she says.”and again”

I looked up at her, our eyes met, suddenly it was de-javu, smiling with a knowing look she pressed a card into my hand, it read:- The Basement Club, Narrow Street, Limehouse, London E14.

Day 3hree …. The Bird’s Nest Fern

This Birds Nest Fern should really be growing high up in a tree, or so I read from my Wikipedia site and I tend to believe the information quite seriously. My rock garden follows my steps down to the road, situated on a gravel bed with boulders and falls a gradient of approximately forty degrees. The site faces North and only receives the late summers evening sun and the water from the down pipe off of the roof.

I’ve been watching this plant grow steadily and have had no desire to remove or destroy. Why should I? After all, this is another of natures miracles. Located between two huge boulders, it has tunneled a way out from the damp and darkness seeking a light source. If I wasnt so sure as to its actual species, I would of considered it not too dissimilar to a long leaved iceberg lettuce or even a seaweed plant.

The latter which has clambered up the cliff face in desperation to seek a sex partner, to mutate as seaweed does, often, on a regular basis … Allegedly, Scientists, whilst looking through a microscope describe it as “a bit like a nightclub scene” <grins> I bet you didn’t know that? … (I certainly didn’t)

Reads more like an abandoned paragraph from ‘Alice in Wonderland’ I wonder if Charles Dodgson had considered that?

Day 2wo …… One Step in Time

I am not a rampant weed or a flower without a head, I’m small and green with much envy, every gardeners dread.

I climb walls and steps and sometimes hang upside down, for I am quite the dare.

I sit and stare at who often comes to visit and sometimes I think “who goes there?” And when I’m very happy I procreate with other weeds, and then once our baby seedlings are strong they too can spread their wings.

In fact some other weeds could say “he doesn’t really care” But that couldn’t be further from the truth, for me, I like the finer things in life and that includes grassy roots.

Now I’ve been growing on these steps for far longer than I care to tell, I’ve seen children walk up them and as they have gotten old, being carried back down as well.

Just recently, well perhaps about ten years or so ago. What started off with fast agile feet and two jumps at a time, now ascend one step quite slowly on aged heels with soles that feel on fire. So holding onto the rail going down is important and chance of tripping is now a no desire.

Well, certainly not LSD my dear, those days are now long long gone, but often souvenirs of dancing get in my head and I try to get back into step, so slow-slow-slow down it is, and the ‘quick’ well, that has steadily gone and now not a chance of getting in a strictly final and hugging the glitter ball, it’s now just memories of Tess and the munchkin both watching Pascha and his tiny little feet instead.

Many dog paw’s once trundled back and forth across these slabs and cold snouts sniffed deep into my many crevice looking for bugs and spitting them out, and although it’s nice to have clean steps, strong bleach now really isn’t pleasant.

Please keep it green, and not obscene, and growing tidily and neat in the corners, but surely not pesticide all over my edges. For life on these steps these days are pledged with sunshine and laughter with just a few select friends and my so beautiful daughter.

And now that we have become un-hurried and preparing for the hereafter, don’t spoil it by running, sit down on the cushions, warm your bum and take in the view. Raise a glass, say “cheers” and be part of life and its relaxed cycle, after all this modern day living is far too fast, be sedate like these old steps and share secrets and memories and the many adventures of our past.

Day 0ne ….. Where the Wild Roses Grow

This is where the Wild Rose grows, she hangs precariously over a dilapidated rotting wooden fence, and desperately reaches toward the sun and follows its path of light. Nature steadily inhales carbon dioxide from the atmosphere through her pores, the beautiful petals and the stamen. The leaves and stem yearn for its energy and even as far down to the roots in the form of photosynthesis. This marvel of nature gives her such strength and beauty which in turn gives us more oxygen for us to breathe. A sadness hangs alongside these blooms that give a tainted perfume and make the world look bright, fruit brambles try to strangle the growth of this wonderful creation, and the ever rampant Honeysuckle attempts to squeeze every ounce of energy out of her it can. She never gives up, no matter how hard life is for her, she still appears each Summer, spreading her ever lustful tendrils and radiates her cerise blooms with pride like a Tafeta bustle on a Victorian dress. I admire, and tell her to enjoy the miracle that is the sunshine whilst you can, although summer is not finished yet, try to hold on tightly to your elegance as it gently fades, just like we fade with age too. Unlike us, you will be beautiful again, and that wont be long as this named season will soon return.

~~~~ O ~~~~

‘On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow, the wind was as light as a thief I kissed her goodbye, I said, “All beauty must die”

Exracted from “Where the Wild Roses Grow” …. Nick Cave 1996.

Ten plus One years ago ….

Pic taken, Puerto Pollenća, Mallorca 2005, me on R, my lower left arm in plaster after falling off a ladder.

Most of my working career involved planning and project managing, so since I retired some fifteen years ago I’ve kept a fairly tidy routine with most things ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Needless to say, if I encounter any problems along the way, any paperwork or items can be easily found, with those same said items in their correct place and strangely enough, able to remember dates and times of momentous happenings, all of this data is stored in my brain analogous to a central processing unit in a computer.

Late July of 2015 I was asked by my best friend Chris as to whether I had considered doing anything special for my big birthday in September of the next year, (that then, was a year away) Sixty is after all a big one, so, perhaps something rather extravagant and momentous. To be honest, I’ve always been one jump ahead of any game plan, a bit like the fictional character Monica Geller in NBC’s TV series ‘Friends’ as she had already planned her wedding day as far back as she was a child, not that I had MY wedding planned like that, after all, mine was a total disaster, but, I have always had some form of a strategy with plans and many ideas. Considering that for Chris’ fiftieth, I surprised him (he hates surprises) with an all-inclusive week in Mallorca at Puerto Pollenća our favourite resort, the night before our departure I sprung a surprise soiree for him whilst the sun was setting at a neighbour’s cliff edge home, so you can imagine how flabbergasted he was at this event, and with catapulting the curve ball at him with just three days notice that we were travelling certainly opened the emotional flood gates, I’m happy to say, although, a grimace said it all. The weird and strange thing about it was that I carried all the chairs from my house, the catering and the drinks, every step I walked was taken past his window where he sat that same day, oblivious, he just thought I was having a busy day !! ……. I guess I can be quite ruthless and sneaky at times, but not in a bad way, those days are long gone, ……

Puerto Pollenća has been a favoured escape of ours for many years and we tend to alternate between there and Calpe, Nr Benidorm on the Spanish mainland, as we have both been enjoying all things Española for over forty years, and tend to be of the opinion, if it aint broke, lets not try to fix it, Así, España es! (so, Spain it is)

I digress, Well, upon questioning, I suggested maybe Las Vegas or even San Francisco? Play the slots, see Cher or Elton, both possibly. Visit our dearest friend George aka *Four Bums* in SFO, walk up Market Street to the Castro or what about New York or Paris? We could shop until we drop or until we deplete ‘your’ credit cards? (sadly my short stumpy legs couldn’t take the continued traipsing between Broadway and the elegant designer shops on Fifth) Visit the Empire State Building or the Freedom Tower or we could cruise down the stinky Siene, maybe eat patisserie at the top of the Eiffel Tower until we could eat no more. ……..Mmmm! Then again, there’s the option of sailing TransAtlantic with Cunard to The Big Apple, a stay in Manhattan for a few days and return business class home! ……. No ……… (Schh! That’s in the Blue file for 2021 for my sixty-fifth).

Sadly, all of these destinations had held very bad memories and experiences previously and those I did not wish to repeat, yes, they were unsuitable destinations, attempting to turn disastrous relationships back into perfect one night stands proved completely irrevocable, jealous lovers and idiot friends in strange cities did not make sense, hindsight huh!

I certainly did not want to be reminded of all that again, and as the ‘dog time factor’ was bought into the equation I just let it go. We would have to consider asking our dear German friend Alex to dog sit, the fact he lives in London, now a British citizen and ever so slightly crazy, zany, dippy and all kinds of wonderful, it’s great he adores our ‘pups’ as much as they do him. Working for the MOD he’s not always available and coinciding same dates was always going to be a nightmare. I should know, the previous surprise I arranged three years ago & the structural skills juggled proved positively torturous. So, I shoved the idea into a Green envelope in a file right deep down at the base of my cerebral cortex. Why green I hear you ask? (I’l tell you later). Anyway, if and when needs be, I would normally be able to pick up any pieces at the last-minute and systematically organise everything in just two days. I might even be able to accomplish same said request even quicker dependant upon wherever the eventual destination was to be or if it was ever to be at all. (given the opportunity I could probably organise and attain world peace).

The day of my fifty ninth birthday passed quickly, a booking for a quiet dinner for two at the French styled restaurant Le Pierro Bistro in Torquay had been made ages ago, however, keeping the actual date followed a last-minute decision to go. The day previous I had received emergency treatment and laser surgery on my right eye, a term of events following a head butt from Willow my Cocker-Jack, part detaching my retina. However, the evening was lovely, a few sherbets, (beer, NOT cocaine) Chris had pushed the boat out, sadly I was not in focus, he has always been such a considerate guy.

I knew this was serious and taking the Doctors orders, I rested for a whole week, Chris spent most of this particular day staring into his iMac and I languished on the day bed, being left to recoup on my own is my best way of getting better, no fuss, no visitors and with all the mutts cuddled up somewhere on same comfortable bed was a great tonic and comforter.

…. ‘So’ he says, grinning, …… ‘its all confirmed’

‘What’s confirmed?’

‘The Daina, Front balcony Sea-View room, all-inclusive, depart 5th September from Exeter’ …. Seats booked, inflight meals too, all paid.

‘Show me, show me … Let me see’…. as I lift up the virtual eye patch and winked at him!

.. ‘Thinks’ …. I couldn’t have planned it any better myself if I had tried.

And now almost twelve months later, we are just TWENTY days to go.

Crazy or what?

It is said if you love and trust someone enough to look after your dogs, and they yours, then you have a friend for life, especially when they trust you with either of their debit or credit cards to use. I have been blessed to have that such person in my life, I am not quite so sure that I personally could trust anyone else like that as much, apart from that same person. The fact that my life insurance came into force last week has nothing to do with todays events, but, just for the record, if I should disappear under strange and mysterious circumstances, then remember, if any of you Jessica Fletcher or Columbo type wannabe’s are on the case ….. Remember, you read it here first, the clues are in the words.

Early kick off today, a text just before 08:00 informs us that the new silver appliances for the kitchen arrive in twenty minutes. My plan to treat Chris to breakfast will now come to fruition, a time space we can use between installation of “non white goods” and the estimated time of grocery delivery. A steady perambulate from our homes, down toward the coastal path which directs us to the outdoor seawater lido. Shoals, is a new establishment, specialist dishes containing freshly caught local fish, the café on the lido stands on an elevated position facing slightly off North, affording great views and inside features comfortable surroundings, its quiet this morning, just two other customers, we settle in our seats, fixated by the beautiful contrast of the calm azure waters of the pool and the wildness of the sea beyond. Choice of soft pan-fried scallops, black pudding and streaky bacon in a sweet Brioche bun, Orange Juice and filter coffee are made, this is pleasant, it is also peaceful, a perfect start to a perfect day, life doesn’t get much better than this.

… Enter Parker, again. Most of you will remember that Parker is our trusty steed, and when let loose, will be as naughty as he is allowed, he’s also tends to lead one astray.

One of the albums I have recently downloaded from the big iLibray in the sky is Patsy Cline, her strong warbling voice resonates as if it was her last ever performance at the Grand old Opry, now transmitted by a technological marvel known as Bluetooth which attempts to extrude her voice out of the speakers like a terrible party political broadcast. Like any government in power if it (bluetooth) works, it does it well, if it doesn’t, well then you’re stuffed and today, Parker is as reluctant to oblige as lemon spray at a mosquito fest, he’s far too busy monitoring tyre pressures and communication with EE …….

Normally I would only listen to her whilst doing the ironing (as if) and drinking Gin or contemplating suicide, (not really) as some of her tracks are synonymous to her sad and depressive, now depleted lifestyle, however, … I’m in a jolly frame of mind, my persona changes as I adjust the rear view mirror and put my seat into a comfortable laid back F1 driving position. Flexing my fingers backwards, my horn stumps break surface just above the temples, I select drive, flip sports mode, my right foot hits the boards, soon everything seems to be flying past me, or are we flying past them? I warned you about Parker, he’s a beast.

I lip-sync with her to “Crazy” as she shares my drive out of Fishtown just as if we are in a car-pool karaoke club, bemusing many strange looks from oncoming drivers. Should I turn the sound down? Maybe I shouldn’t have all the windows open! Someone once told me that fuel consumption improves when the air-con is off, so go figure that one, but I don’t care. Not ten minutes ago that handsome blue Barclaycard was shoved into my grubby mitt, I have an important task, I was off, I tried hard to say “are you sure?” but, as hindsight, that’s an old gesture I didn’t want revoking.

The small piece of paper on it scrawled the words, ‘two ends for work-top (black), screws (black), two flexible pipe ends for tap, sealant (black), blank plug for sink, and a general peruse, at the bottom it read (don’t forget anything)’ B&Q is my destination, these parts are urgently required to finish renovating my honourable mates kitchen, list now firmly tucked inside my credit card wallet. Now there’s a claim for non truth of a trades description act, as I don’t have any credit cards left myself, all are either maxed out, part paid and also enduring the humiliation once of having one cut up in public with not a hopes chance in hell of it ever being restored to normal service means a definite NO.

Hastily we speed along the only vehicular artery worth taking toward the next town, which once had the proud honour to host a Woolworth store and Timothy Whites. The former now a pound shop, the latter yet another charity outlet with a cross above the door, not that I have anything against them, but, honestly, what’s the percentage chance of me buying a red sweatshirt with the words NEXT in blue for one pound, and turning up to pick my offspring up wearing same and my ex-wife giving me the daggers look as *it*, would you believe, had actually been hers! So, instead, I just tend to purchase once thumbed through autobiographies and lavender joss sticks from those kind of establishments, and if I should see anyone selling pick and mix, I get flashbacks of being slapped on my thigh by my mother after fingering the all-sorts.

Not an hour earlier I had mentioned I might like to purchase a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses for our holiday in September, and before I had the chance to describe what style I wanted I was sternly informed that I already had one pair, but hey, (that was rich coming from the male equivalent of Imelda Marcos, at least eighty pairs of footwear once adorned his shelves and cupboards) one pair would be for long distance, the other, reading, well, that’s my excuse, perhaps that was the reason I was given his card? Perhaps not!

The town centre is crazy, not a sign of a place to park, not even a double yellow line to abuse, its Friday afternoon, everyone seems to be of the opinion its hip to be seen to be out. A tight squeeze is made between a grey muddy Volvo and a Transit. I depart from the parking scene pleased that my reversing skills are still on form, I decide its time for a short back and sides whilst im out, after inaign chitchat about politics, (Eu’k) and weekend activities, and the usual “did i want anything for the weekend’ I depart the establishment much tidier around the follicles, my eyebrows trimmed so my vision is better and my hearing slightly more in tune, getting older punishes reward of strange places for hair growth. I notice in the morror just how aged I look, … ‘thinks .. must do something about that’ Exchanging cash for a tissue I wipe loose strands from my face and aim my feet towards an old haunt.

Recognised immediately by the attendant as I entered the Tanning salon, her skin now golden and slightly burned, the result of continued top ups of her free daily allowance, she bounces around to the piped music, vivaciously keeping order of her ‘beach side kiosk’, and after my many months of absence she rewards me with exchange of lip against cheek, knowing that not all her clients receive the same salutation as myself, I feel privileged. Such is as a civilised and modern greeting as Europeans tend to do. (Oh! Just a thought! does brexiting the EU mean we can’t do this anymore?) That’s bound to cause such a kerfuffle with the lovelies and the many thesbians (Sorry, I mean thespians ) …. Honestly, don’t you think it’s all gone PC mad now?

There’s now a queue a mile long, well not quite, just a few people, they like myself require our dose of Vitamin D from a fluorescent tube, we vie and laugh position for cubicles to vacate. I’m quite the happy bunny, I’ve been entrusted with an umpteen thousand pound piece of plastic in my pocket, and, to be honest, im not afraid to use it! …..

I dream of a million miles away, suddenly my raffle ticket is drawn, I’m on, it’s showtime. Time to singe my bunz and gyrate to some traditional sounding Ibizan beach folk music, and no, you cannot twerp on a lay down bed …. Or can you? … Perhaps next time! I’m now in holiday mode, its just nine weeks away ….. and a sixtieth birthday to look forward to, watch out Mallorca, I do hope I make it?

‘Hi, I said. ….. Staring, Chris replied ‘see you had your hair cut and your fifteen minutes of fame then ….

… Forget anything?’

“d’Oh!”

Circle of Life

Amazing just where our passage of time goes, before you know it, not just five minutes ago our children were just that, constantly learning and asking questions, and now, twenty five years on, they are now almost as old as I was when they were then.

As previously written, I explained there was to be a Christening in the family on Sunday just gone, a private service in the Church where myself and most of my cousins were christened too, the traditional “them and us” happened, them being the in-law side of the family and the friends we did not know, we positioned ourselves in a Dragons & Dungeons style start of campaign like two waring armies in the pews opposite each other, divided by the central passageway, muted comments were made about the Ladies-wear and hats and shoes and the general discord hung low like a very bad fart in a Zulu situation.

My Aunt, the matriarch of the family made comments which obviously were heard by those who were not wearing their ears for beauty and fits of giggles enthused, oblivious to the conversation I had eyes elsewhere, and passed comment that my cousin John looked like my Father and my other cousin looked similar to his uncle, my Dads brother. Well, Matriarch is was matriarch does and she, quite seriously and constructively said, well, of course, thats because of your noses, all the noses run in the Stamp family, (there is a joke in there somewhere).

Strangely, during the course of the ceremony, I noticed a lack of mobile phones being used to take photographs, it would seem, only by my observation, that the selfie seems to be dying a natural death, and lo and behold, a solitary digital SLR and a video cam were being used, so much more civilised now don’t you think! Long gone are the days of the Grundig reel to reel tape recorder stood on a chair with a microphone placed discretely behind, or in a display of flowers recording the whole event, apparently, it was technology to the max in the late ’50’s.

The main common factor was that the newly christened baby, Holly May, was wearing the family robe, seventy plus years of care and intermittent storage bought this beautiful artefact out into the twenty first century and then reminded us youngsters that we too had been given our first names wearing same such outfit, more giggles bought shushes and frowns from the elders, sharply reminding them that I, as the youngest of, my title is heir apparent to Patriarch. Finally, a crown to wear, even though I am not possibly liken to King or a Queen.<grins>

Purposely I left my iPhone at home, and during the many conversations throughout the afternoon at the bun-fight I was asked when I last heard from my own offspring, surprisingly, during this space of time, my dear little fruit bat had left a message asking to be picked up from Exeter Airport at stupid o’Clock the following evening …….

So, in true Dad style ….. The school run I never took part in now becomes the late night old man rush bus!

….. and so the circle of life continues ….

Under The Influence

Its been sometime since I was last on here, and they say retirement is supposed to be relaxing! …far from it, goodness knows how I managed to keep not one, but two jobs going when I was actually working, talk about being pulled in different directions, that’s North, South, East AND West, oh, and the extremes of heat as a candle is burned at point Zero, between the cracks right under my ass.

Today starts a new chapter in my life, at almost sixty years old, and finally with the aid of a gracious monetary gift I have been able to order a bespoke iMac, it has arrived, been unpacked and here it now sits in front of me, pouting and sending love and virtual hugs to you all out there in WordPress land and to all of my dear dedicated followers on the many social media sites I tend to loiter and frequent.

I’m taking a few days off from the manic scenario that seems to have exploded on Berry Head Road recently, my mates flat is having new carpets, a new kitchen is being fitted in-between everything else going on, our normal routine has gone awry and everything scheduled on our busy social Calender has been shunned to one side to set this thing of beauty up.

This Saturday evening brings a still calm sea, Brixham is awash with visitors this Bank holiday weekend, Brixfest is being hosted in town and tomorrow I air my new suit again as the latest addition to our family is christened, family gatherings are rare these days especially as I have disowned my maternal family, so, its good that the paternal side seem to be breeding like rabbits which makes a good excuse for a decent bun-fight, being manhandled with tight (for goodness sake let me go I cant breathe) hugs, polite hand shakes and lipstick kisses on foreheads.

Hearing the latest news and gossip is always good, well, what other real reason is there to attend, apart from making sure that you let everyone else know that you are still very much alive!

James Morrison plays “Undiscovered” …… all seems good with me, mine and those in my world.

May 28 2016

Tails of the City …..

Once upon many a long long times ago …..

In the early part of this Millennium, to the west of the great city of London in the county of Middlesex, lies an ancient settlement named Hayes, there the seventh pup of a litter was born, probably of a seventh son, sadly, he was the runt, weak and totally different from his siblings, and, years later still, the same dog is now thirteen years old, going on eighty-four, his name is “Spike” aka Mr Griffin. He bears tiny bow front legs, twisted paws, snow-white coat with champagne coloured patches, his Furmother was a Jack Russell, his Furfather a Corgi …… He himself believes, as we his Daddies also, that he is of Royal descendence, a King in the making, with all the refinements of a true drama Queen.

He would tell you if he could just how difficult his first eight weeks of life were, to be honest, his doggy parents’ humans took no notice of him, he had to fight and scrap his way through for food, this was a tough patch for a tiny and timid weakling. Children constantly wanting to pick him up, the screams from little girls whilst pulling and tugging him who couldn’t get their own way would make him cringe. There was no escape, slowly and steadily one by one the litter got smaller, and then all but one of his siblings were left, … he thought ….. where had the others disappeared?

Another morn awoke him, his furmother strangely snuggled into him, hugging tightly to comfort his whimper, almost as if she knew that today was the day to say goodbye to her special little baby. Around lunchtime the terrible noise that often broke the silence happened, someone was ringing the doorbell yet again, he knew this was another stranger coming to look at the diminishing circus, this had to be his chance to get out of this hell by being strong. The gentleman visiting had come to purchase his sister, not him, instinctively he knew that this man was very special and very different from the many others, just as he knew himself was.

He had to make an impression, as far as he was concerned, today was his ticket out to his forever home, wherever that was to be. He pulled his cheeky face on and adjusted his charm, his mother nudged him hard and in true showbiz style he strode right out there into the middle of the sodden pee stained pen straight toward this towering man, looking up, his eyes met his looking down, immediately a bond was formed, suddenly the little man was tucked inside his warm coat, the reward for a quick exchange of a few greenbacks ….. “see ya suckers“, he whispered very quietly to his new Daddy, who replied “C’mon then, let’s get the fuck outta here my beautiful boy” …. a sad mummy watched her special baby leave, she turned away and gently cried, … “Your turn next young lady” she said to her remaining daughter.

Not bothering to glance back they headed straight to the train station, the carriage rattled its way East toward his new home, his proud new Daddy showed him off to a few Eastern babes who jumped the train en route, he even stood on the table, he seemed to like these young ladies with beautiful make-up so much so, he even showed them HIS lipstick. This puppy was a showman in the making, he had them in the centre of his paw and in just that short time he had already wrapped his new daddy around his tiny little dew claw. Arriving at Paddington to change to the underground, his Daddy told him how special this place was going to become a big part of his life, as he was soon to be a regular traveller on Mr Brunel’s super railway down to the seaside, little was he aware that, that name was also going to be the name of his new furever friend.

Spike! Spike SPIKE !… what is this strange noise I keep hearing, is it for me? If I do as they say when called, I’ll surely get luffs and treats, biting my Daddy isn’t funny and although I love him a plenty, I really should be nice in return, well, that’s one of the many things my Furmum told me about.

This little bundle of gorgeousness had been given his name many years previous, it was his Daddy’s wish to have a dog called Spike, and now at forty years old, his wish had come and been made true. The tiny terror learned his name quickly and in many routines he showed his Daddies how clever he could be, yes, that is correct, TWO Daddies.

He was given a castle made out of an old cardboard box to live in, a big squishy cushion made comfort for him, and he soon learned, this was his domain, woe betide anyone who tried to invade, it sat beneath the computer, raised off the floor like it had its own moat, and from there he surveyed his land, often when the dialup internet made its connection, he intercepted and made calls to the dog planet.

Living on the south bank of the Thames in an area called Kings Reach, passing the Tate Modern, the wobbly “Minellium Bridge” the Globe Theatre and Borough Market, onwards a replica of the Golden Hind, Southwark Cathedral, under the new London Bridge and down toward Tower Bridge, each and every day he trotted along side his Daddy on his Hi-Viz lead with his Black collar taking in the views, sniffing posts and leaving secret pmails everywhere. He noted all the distractions of life in general and receiving plenty of attention from residents, the many stallholders in the market and the visiting public, he was becoming a local celebrity, and then soon, one evening, his full title was announced. He was to be known as Spike Griffin, Kings Reach Sir Humpalot, so, you can guess what his daily party trick was can’t you!, after all, you always give the one you love the most, especially, your all.

His new Daddy was a right tough cookie, and could hold his own in any fight or an argument, he had many mates who came to visit and they checked his prized new pup out. You can imagine the surprise when he heard one of them laughing out loud about a skinhead having a tiny puppy. “My daddy is a skinhead?” “Wow ….. They ARE roughty toughty people, hope I get to grow up to be big and strong like him then!” …… “Guess that makes him MY bitch!” <wink>

And so the master class began ….

The All Mitie Strikes Again …..

The past twenty four hours have been rather strange, not in a bad way I must add. We have all heard about and talked of lines and paths crossing, well, today, everything that is going on in my life seems to have all fallen rather nicely into place, so, to put you into the picture here is a brief synopsis of two very big events that are about to happen to me within the next six weeks.

Firstly, on May 8th I am to be confirmed into the Christian Faith, a path set by my parents nearly sixty years ago, and secondly, as a member of a Friends group of my family church, St Mary’s, we are hosting an open weekend including celebrations for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth’s 90th Birthday, the event, a brain child of myself and my friend Hilary.

We have banged our heads together and come up with a planned schedule of events, making up a steering committee of six members, we have started to steam steadily ahead, delegating tasks to individuals who have used once and many a tried and tested routine and driven many an unbroken wheel that never appeared to need fixing.

Opening my wooden blinds this morning I am greeted with a beautiful day, tall bright blue skies, the air is clear and I can see many miles toward the horizon, the sea is calm with what I am sure is to be a crisp chilled breeze on my face …. Spring is definitely here …. it IS stunning.

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From my wardrobe I pull out a shirt from my corporate days, it is as blue as blue as the sky, a firm favourite of mine and always seemed to give me luck when I used to wear it, how right was I to be today of all days? All wrapped up, we set out of the door, Chris and I make our way to our Parish church, that is All Saints. I have a letter for the churchwarden, enclosed is a small gesture in appreciation of her spending hours searching through the 1956 records of baptism and eventually unearthing and producing my certificate, that of which I had never ever seen, however, the black, grey and white photographs of myself in christening robes do prove so, not to mention the embarrassment for me.

Tuesday morning hosts Eucharist with blessings, this is a service I enjoy tremendously, a small chapel off the main church offers an intimate and personal gathering, less than a dozen attend, in the background an aged kettle can be heard climbing slowly to its boil ready to provide tea’s and coffee’s for fellowship soon after.

We offer one another a sign of peace, one very elderly lady, who I have never seen before in my whole life makes a bee line toward me, she cups my hands, smiles, and asks if I have arrived by boat. Brixham is a major fishing port and has its own Pilot station, she had assumed I was a mariner, since a child I have always had my feet in the water, being taught to respect its strengths and dangers, playing sports as a teenager and later owning my own vessels as an adult, my grandfather was one of Brixham’s pioneers in the fishing fleet in the early part of the last century. Strangely, her few words of kindness and a chance meeting gave me the feeling what actually confirmed, not that I have ever doubted, but that I now belonged to this community, after all, my grandparents, grandparents parents are buried in our 15th century graveyard.

I receive my blessing, my sins have now been forgiven. I keep myself out of the direct sunlight streaming through the faintly stained glass windows, not in fear of spontaneously combusting and bursting into flames, but to stop being blinded by the intensity of its strength, well that’s my excuse at least.

Attempting to drown the fly paper and thin pink sandwich wafer biscuits in my coffee, which is so strong in depth, it might be easier to chew instead, as it is far too thick to swallow .. I think to myself. I stare around and up into the dizzy heights of this ancient building, almost every conceivable surface is dark wood and everything in-between adorns the colour gold. At the opposite of the Altar at the far end of the nave stands the large stone Font, I get strong feelings of de’Javu, a vision of a large family appear, all proud, they are gathered around, can I hear a faint cry from a baby?, suddenly, my bumps goose and the heckles on my neck stand to attention.

Heading down the steep hill toward where two ham and cheese croissants have our names on them in the new retro coffee shop I see my dear cousin, we hug and kiss, its been ages since our last meet. I have been trying to corner her for ages, a very successful business woman and a such a kind kind person. I go straight for the jugular and ask for sponsorship for floral displays at the church open weekend, she is carrying a loaf of freshly baked bread, food is always a good sign. I normally approach people and businesses for any donations just after lunch, everyone has been fed, its a great levering point and as we all know a digesting belly is a happy belly, a smile brings a yes. We now have a whole weekends worth of flowers, to add to that, looks like her other business partner is prepared to cater certain items free gratis too.

“Hi, Paul here, Advertising banners?” I ask my lifetime friend. We’ve known each other so long, our parents were best friends before we both popped along, he now runs his fathers printing business, ……….You get the drift, two exterior banners displaying the words “Welcome to St Mary’s“ are on the press as I speak.

One more sponsor on the list to go, well, for the time being at least.

Lucky shirt, beautiful day, wouldn’t you say?

19th April 2016

particular writes of passage

sharing remembered lost memories, gripes & off the cuff remarks.

Author: Rockleigh