Friday 29 April 2011


Speaking of hopes. I do have some, but didn't want to climb all over W & C's special day. My hopes. Well, world peace and harmony, of course; jobs for all with decent pay; and a debt free, housed, society which has the time and energy to enjoy life and all who sail in it. And I haven't written a poem because this isn't Miss World. Then there are the hopes that the people I love can have the health and the riches they deserve (and I don't just mean money but you know, in for a penny...). And for me some scarlet ribbons. No chance. OK then... that Megan and Jackson will stop spinning and settle in that far off galaxy, which is the publishing world, with some star who loves them and who wants more, and who will twinkle on their behalf. I know. Too much to ask. Pie. Sky. Bridge. Far. River. Deep. But you know, if there were no hopes and no dreams, where would we be? I am capable of simpler hopes, by the way. That a cake will rise (Ha! As if); that I can manage my targets at the gym (ditto); that I can stop the rats eating the blackbird's eggs (and that's not going to happen any time soon). OK. Maybe not so simple. Easier to go for the biggies, I think, and just dream that they'll all come true one day, and leave the cake making etc to someone else. Going away now. To dream. To hope.
I may be some time.

A right royal I do

What is it about pomp and circumstance? Don't know, but it does for me every time. It's the music, the voices, the height of that abbey, it's how little people look in its immensity. And that makes me think they're just two human beings getting married. We've all dressed up and found fascinators to look silly in and ties to look strangled in. So come on, you cynics. This is their fascinator and tie. Anyway I like the royal razzmatazz, the red-flocked carriages, the trumpets and horses; I like the flounces and feathers, the bridle, bit and brasses. Even the avenue of trees. Em. Not so sure about those, but hey. Why not? I loved it. Unashamedly. And you want to know why? It's to do with hope. You just hope, basically, don't you? For the greater things and the smaller.

Friday 15 April 2011

just a song

So I've been holed up in our friends' cottage (swanky, I know) just a stone's throw from Bamborough Castle and how lucky am I? Very. Not a holiday, but a rather feverish week of song writing and snatched meals. Well, sort of snatched. In fact not snatched at all. I'm just trying to sound like a consumptive poet in a garret. We had very nice meals in fact, cooked in the main by Colin, who can turn his hand to most tasks - even whilst fading one thing, sliding another, balancing this and thumping that (sound-engineering and percussion, in case you're wondering). He rustled up Thai curry, fish soup, and something with rice, not sure what, but it was gorgeous. As for me, my famous ham and lentil soup and a rather dodgy looking but tasty sausage, bean and black pudding mess, with enough left over to have on toast next day at lunchtime. Odd combination, but hey! If all else fails I could market that. We didn't attempt the belly buster breakfast in Seahouses. In fact, who does? Half a pig, a plantation of tomatoes, a mile of sausage and anything else you want to try, all thrown into a stotty the size of Kielder. Who can eat all that? The mind boggles. We had the mini version, which was just fab and it made a change from brekkie at 'home'. Great place, by the way, the cottage. Guinea fowl in the garden, peacocks on the lawn (well, not our lawn, exactly)with that weird call of theirs, and just over the dunes, the sea with a deserted beach. Bit cold for a plodge, mind you, but an early morning canter over the sands and an early dusk amble across the fields to the pub (rather more of the latter admittedly) was just about enough to keep us together over the days. My friends wouldn't have recognised their neat little cottage in the dunes after we'd festooned it with leads, trailed it with wires, plastered it with blank pages and turned it into a recording studio. Never worked so hard! Nonetheless exhilarating. And years of lyrics collecting like cobwebs on my desk and in my computer swept out and put to use with the excellent tunes of Tony S. Now though, back home, I feel like my brains have been scrambled. The next step is mixing down ( I know the terms, get a load of that!). Hmm. Is it mixing up...? Anyway that's going to take someone a very long time to do. So be patient, dear reader. (You are out there, aren't you?) And if I ask you to become a 'dear listener', if we can persuade ourselves to UTube some of this, would you do me the honour and give us marks out of ten? No. On second thoughts, just listen. I wouldn't want any of that Simon Scowl judgementalism aimed at our songs. No siree.