Monday, 30 September 2013

GLUM... I've just found...

this strange new word.
Well to say I've just found it
might imply I'd lost it,
which of course common sense tells
me I can't have done.

Which ever way you look at it...
inside out, upside down,
back to front...
there's no getting away from it...
it's a jolly good word.
Four letters to boot.
On the face of it,
it more than tells you what
you need to know.
It doesn't ask for sympathy,
a toothsome word, 
an honest word,
not requiring
People just get it.
In fact on hearing it this morning 
and feeling exactly that.
I adopted it, nay, I nicked it.
I carefully put it in my pocket and
walked off with it. 
Gently glum sat in my jumper, 
cosy and content.

 Cosy and content?

Perhaps not, because with
each step, it seeped out of my top,
slithered down my leg and fell
to earth, keen to get away.
I'm wasting my time here,
I'll look for pastures new.
It now sits on the path waiting
to hitch a ride.
If it's you it chooses
do what I did,
give it temporary residence
and move on.

Sunday, 29 September 2013

Idly plucking the...

odd stray hair,
carefully waxing the pins,
I get to thinking...
the double standards
of women...
or to be more exact...
this woman.

Fickle is the word that
springs to mind.

When it comes to men
my bΓͺte noire is male vanity
the proliferation of men
dying their hair to hide the grey.
Hair transplants.
Comb overs
Eye lifts
Face lifts

Comfort in their own skin
oozes sex appeal

Grey hair makes a man look more distinguished
Dyed hair... a prat.

Wrinkles signal they've been around the block...
experienced in the ways of the world.

Lines around the eyes...
sunbeams from the solar warmth

Face lifts...
Try reading a lifted face...
Mills and Boon.

Untouched visage...
a tome...
War and Peace... 
worthy of a toothing.

a muff by any other name.

Comb over...
words fail me!

Saturday, 28 September 2013

Surrounded by memories...

I'm in a happy place

Black and white photo's
of yore threaten like quicksand to
spirit me away

Every photograph, as if by magic
transports me back

I picture the scene
I smell the smells
I taste the food
I live the life

Doris hovers
Doris lives again
Every breath I take is
My blood is her
My skin
My bone
My life
She lives on
in me

Friday, 27 September 2013

Men... a strange phenomenon...

where would we be without them?

My thoughts and feelings about these 
wonderful creatures...

Why do they walk purposefully
up to the village each Saturday and
Sunday morning to get the papers.

Who suggested that beer
might be a good beverage 
for them to quaff?

Why do they always lie
when you ask...
'Does my bum look big in this?'

Football, cricket, golf...
is it the balls?

An obsession with remote controls...
A Freudian answer... 
possibly around

Who came up with the idea than
women should be swathed
head to toe in fabric?
Not a woman surely?

Why do decent men feel the
need to pick up the tab when
out on a date?

What bright spark suggested to
men that it's not a good idea
to talk about your
thoughts and feelings...
Stiff upper lip and all that stuff?

How come it's okay for a woman to
say things that a man never could?

Why are men better poets 
than women

How come men of all ages
know all the moves of 
Daddy dancing?

Why do men try not to cry?

Any to add?

Wednesday, 25 September 2013

I'm between a rock and...

a hard place.
Perhaps you can help me?

All my life I've spoken my mind,
sometimes not always with an air of diplomacy.

I try, oh how hard I try, not to say what I think, 
with or without the addition of knobs on.

I just don't know what to do for the best.
Should I put a sock in it permanently and try not to say 
what I think or feel?
Trouble with that is, I'm not being true to myself.
As I value truth over just about everything else,
the bottom line is I'm stuffed if I do, and 
I'm stuffed if I don't.

What do you think?

Sunday, 22 September 2013

I've got a galloping case of...

the hijab heebeegeebees.

Call me old fashioned and Oh how
wrong you'd be... you want to
see me from this side: 
added to which my biker boots have 
just come out of summer hibernation;
so I can't be that decrepit.

I feel it so strongly that some women
are expected to swathe themselves
in fabric from head to toe...
It begs the question...
is that what they want?

Since I've put on a pound or two,
there's nothing I'd like better than
to throw the old candlewick
bedspread over my head, with a slit for my eyes
and waddle around to my hearts content, 
secure in the knowledge that folk wouldn't
know of the flabber-flubber beneath.
No worries, it'd have to be a King size,
all the better to accommodate
the Fortnam and Mason's hamper that I could
secrete about my person, to feed the
inner woman.

Let's think about suggesting to our
men they dress to please us.

'Keep it covered lads!'

For the tall and slim men they could
wear the green plastic rotary line cover that you can
buy in these funny catalogues that sell everything from
hernia supports to incontinence pants.

Tubbier men could customise a

By the same token, in this country we have gone
completely the other way.
Girls think nothing of going out dressed in skirts
no bigger than curtain pelmets.
And puke-a-huweey-huweey!

The world's gone raving mad.

Monday morning...

On a more serious note, I ought to say I applaud the fact that as women we can wear exactly what we feel happiest in.  Although I do wonder whether this proliferation of niqabs is healthy?  In my mind it begs the question as to women being perceived as second class citizens.  Are the women deciding to don this apparel as a way of thumbing their noses at the anti-Islamic feelings that are sweeping the world.  If they are, in my book they are cutting off their noses to spite their faces!  With the same token, girls today are bombarded with the thoughts and pictures that impossibly thin is the way forward. They are imposing a huge strain on themselves in the same way women are that wander around in a mountain of cloth.  With just their eyes showing, can it be safe for them to manoeuvre through the trials of everyday living?  Added to which the logistics of  conversations and essential things like eating, not to mention the heat generated.  Having a pee in a public lavatory must be a nightmare, having to hitch that lot up from the not altogether clean floor.

The thing that really worries me is, that it is men leaning on their wives, girlfriends in order for them not to be looked at.  I honestly think the opposite is true... they get looked at far more than they would if they just dressed demurely.

Friday, 20 September 2013

Those of a delicate...

disposition best look away 

Just recently I have been taking an elderly
neighbour to hospital to have a monthly
 eye injection.

I escort him to the clinic, then I'm at 'large'
in the hospital, content to while away an hour or two,
having a coffee, reading my book and generally
watching the world go by.

My first port of call usually is the restaurant,
where I am sometimes tempted to have
a cheese scone with my mug of tea.

This time my itinerary varied;
thank goodness it did,
 is all I've got to say.

The loo in the hospital had a mirror on the door...
'Who's the fat friend that has sneaked
into the lavatory with you today Linda?'

'Bloody hell it's ME!'

As I adjusted my dress, I couldn't take my eyes off
just how things have got out of hand.
You, I'm sure have heard of metal fatigue,
have you heard of brassiere and knicker fatigue?
I staggered out, walked up to the counter and had a full blown
conversation in my head about the merits of cheese scones.
I looked at the time...
 9.25am and said to myself... 

'If you're at home do you have anything to eat during the morning?'

'Of course I don't, you daft tart, what sort of conversation is this?'

I chose a mug of tea and went and sat down.

The book had lost its appeal as my mind kept turning over...

'How the flying figrolls has this been allowed to happen?'

I wandered out of the cafe, my consolate had never felt more

My usual sitting in the foyer had somehow lost its appeal...

'How have they got themselves into that state?' smugly
used to flit through my mind.


I slunk out of the main entrance,
limbo dancing on the linoleum, in the hope 
me being low to the ground, nobody would see me. 

I marched around the hospital perimeter,
grump in every step, overlaid with a sprinkle
of self-pity.

By the time I wandered back, my lovely man
was ready for our trip home.

We had talked at great length about
his wife not wanting to take any more pain killers
for the cancer that was slowly eating its way
through her body.

'I'll come in and sort her out!'

As you might of guessed, I do tend to call
a spade a ruddy great shovel.
And she always says I'm a tonic.
They are both from the North East
and they get my straight-talking...

In I swept, as only a Challenger tank can.

Alright this isn't probably a Challenger tank!
I just wanted you to get the feel of my MO!

And challenge her I did.

We had a good laugh and joke and 
the main thrust of my 'gentle'
attack hit the target.

As I drove away,
my thoughts turned to how thin she was,
and what a spoilt self-indulgent lump I am.

Thursday, 19 September 2013

Do you meet a...

better type of person on twitter?
Or are they all on instant gratification?

Must rush my life is so busy winging oft
pointless drivel in only so many words.

Social intercourse of the face-to-face kind is so old hat...
added to which you may get some awful disease.
Antibiotics are becoming less effective, so when some
bright spark finds a way to inseminate through 
cyber-space, then the job will be a goodun,
added to which you won't get all that
bodily fluids carry-on.

Our faces will take on a squarer, flatter mien;
looking on the bright side those more impressionable
amongst us, won't be able to inject poison into 
 the flat screens we call our face. 
Our digits will become more nimble,
our heads will tip forward, not because we 
suffer from spondylitis, just
because we are reversing the evolution chart...
from man back to monkey. 



Wednesday, 18 September 2013

'A year ago you would...

never have had the patience to
sit and sort that out!'

says Ted.

And don't you just hate them,
 when they say things that you know
in your heart is so frigging

Anyway, I sat and persevered.
To be honest I can't believe I did.
I must be improving in my old age...
No surely not!

Thanks to Carol in Cairns I have got my
Doris blog linked in.  I haven't done anything
with it yet, mind.  No worries I will.

After much soul-searing I have decided
on telling Doris' story.

Sunday, 15 September 2013

Meniscoid tears filled my eyes...

my heart slowed and soared
with exquisite anguish.
New thoughts floated free
as tears escaped their quivering
Salty snail trails slowly 
criss-cross my face.
Sofa-snug I sat happy in my
newly acquired state.
I'm free of my self imposed
scolds bridle.

Thanks to a comment on a past post,
suddenly my inner turmoil
of wasting time seems to
have been put in perspective.

Comments are the lifeblood of bloggers,
so for all of you that have and do...
thank you, 
especially to the one who
has made me stop and think.

Friday, 13 September 2013

'Phillip, just wing orft an email to that...

nice Mr Putin to order the loan of
 my state crown for the opening of Parliament
a week next Thursday!

Be a love and explain I would have sent a letter,
but the heart's gone out of me, since the
ghastly German's (Oops! sorry about that Phil) have bought my mail!

And while you're about it get a horse and cart
sent down from Sandringham with wood for the fire
as we now can't afford to buy oil and gas.

I knew I should have put my foot down when those
 snivelling Prime Ministers came with yet more ideas to flog orft
our Nation's treasures.

It broke my heart when the French
unseated my Household Cavalry
by buying all their trusty steeds.
Worse than that, then selling the resulting 
beefburgers back to us, for the hoi polloi to buy
at inflated prices.

The country's gorn to the dogs,
and that reminds me, have you seen the corgis?

And as for those Billionaire Romanian gypsies 
having bought the Tower for a
Pickpocket Training Academy.
Is it any wonder the ravens gave notice to quit?

Darling boy, we are not amused!'

πŸ‘Ž πŸ‘Ž πŸ‘Ž

'When was it

EXACTLY that laziness came 
and bit you on the bum LL?'

Every cotton-picking morning I wake 
with a head full of schemes
and plans.

Every cotton-picking day
I'm just too idle to get my arse 
into gear.

The days pass in a daze of
jobs planned, but never executed.

The studio is now free of a
 summer of 
itinerant visitors...
so my work space is clear.
So no excuse there.

After an action-packed working life
my hands are not to
put too fine a point on it...

'How come?'

Well seeing as you're asking...
spinning, knitting, sewing, crocheting.

'Hardly hard work LL!'

All of the above, working flat out
to sell, to earn money in order
to scratch a living off the land.

Peat digging, winkle picking,
digging by hand a huge veg. plot,
grinding corn, kneading bread,
milking goats, 
beach-combing huge bolts of timber

Then farming...
driving clunking tractors,
stacking small bales by hand in a field, 
then onto a trailer,
then off at the other end.

Shovelling the proverbial,
forking silage in the clamp,
then out to the cows,
levelling concrete delivered by
truck (the driver couldn't believe just two
of us were doing it!)
forking out hay,
hands inside a cow, sorting out a calves feet
to enable it to be born.
Cooking for all comers.

Next chapter...

Training as a cordon bleu chef.
Working some 14+ hours in a
busy household, in the main 
without help.

Now if I tell you my left hand is constantly numb
and my right thumb joint is worn away,
perhaps you can get an idea?

Is it any wonder I'm worn-out,
not in spirit, mind.
And on occasions look like this...

Blogging is the way forward...
 I'm content with my life...
not a bad place to be.

Thursday, 12 September 2013

Doris is back from...

from the greengrocers...

Is that a teddy in her lap?

With rosy cheeks like polished apples
her trip has obviously been successful.

Goodbye, until tomorrow.

Wednesday, 11 September 2013

I may be gone...

some time.

I'm up-grading my equipment.
I will return...
fresher, newer, younger... Nah!

Just the same old me...
but faster, sparkier, brighter...
more circumspect and sensible...

Get a grip LL
it's not the miracle shop you're going to
just the greengrocer!


Tuesday, 10 September 2013

Doris says...

for me to ask you...
are there any advantages

to Google+

if so what are they?

Your thoughts would be very welcome.

Julie, Elaine et al
this is Doris*

* A full explanation (much against my better judgement, I might add) courtesy of Nilly on my post of last Friday

Monday, 9 September 2013

One chill night...

and aspiration withers on the vine
The hope 
the expectation 
seems now no more 
than a passing fancy

With sprightly step I did
this morning what I've done every morning
for many sun-filled days
I proudly walked the plot
marvelling at Mother Nature's bounty

Suddenly death and decay dog my every step
The air seems different...
menancing not mellow
Forlorn not fecund

Carrying the tumbling tiger tomato
into the greenhouse...
the baby I nursed from incubator

to the great outdoors

Tottering under the weight
of 'little' Tommy I hardly
dared show my disappointment

This sole survivor
my pride and joy 
never really rewarded me

Where did I go wrong?

Tart fruits with tough skin...
and after all the love and care
this is how I'm repaid...
a bitter pill to swallow

Shakily I walked away
back to the empty cottage
Lettice happily slumbering in her bed

The memory, just that
a memory 
of warm fruit filled days
seems in
the blink of an eye...
to have gone

Sitting by the fire on a winter's day
planning from the colour filled
now just a distant dream


Sunday, 8 September 2013

With seagulls calling, the music...

strikes up and instantly we still
hear the dulcet tones of 
Roy Plumley.

Mr OW is looking for subjects
to interview, I have it on the best
authority thumb screws will not be used,
due to paragraph 2, section o.u.c.h.
of the Geneva Convention.
If interested in taking part
put your digit right here

Flirting (I seem to do a lot of that lately)
with the idea
I thought shall I have a go?
Now there's nothing folk i.e. me,
like better than talking
about themselves, some might think 
I do too much of that here,
and they'd be right, I'd never admit to it, mind!

This led me on, to the time I was asked
to do a Radio Kent type
Desert Island Discs.
Imagine my joy at the thought!
I carefully choose my eight records,
with the reasons why.
Needless to say I thoroughly
enjoyed myself.
Setting off home with a copy of the 
programme I was happy.

On the next visit of Aaron and family, just
as they were roaring off back to York,
I gave him the copy of the programme to listen
to on the journey.
My thinking: kids asleep in the back
Aaron and Claire might like to hear
my choices and for why?


Next time we spoke I at the last,
 dropped into the conversation the question
that I ought to say, was burning a socking great hole
in my mind...

'What did you think?'

'Err... we didn't get around to listening to it!'


I think the moral of this story is, there is only one person
who is interested in you and that I'm afraid to say is...