Thursday, September 18, 2014

Styler's hair horror!

Our words over at 3WW this week are breezy, monstrous and hairy

A know a guy who plays in a rock band. His name is Stuart but he calls himself Styler. That’s because his hero is Steven Tyler, but whereas the Aerosmith front man plays stadiums, he does his shrieking and strumming in back street boozers. He’s tried to get the look right too; you know the kind of thing; hairy, baggy shirts, mile long scarfs and skinny jeans. Sadly however, in Styler’s case the effect is more monstrous than magnificent!

I was taking a short cut along a scruffy backstreet the other day. It was quite breezy and the rubbish that normally lurks in the doorways and gutters was bowling along the pavement. Walking towards me came Stuart- sorry, Styler, leaning into the wind with his hand on his head. “Hi Sty” I said and I stuck out my hand to give his a shake. He took his hand from his head in order to respond, and suddenly his hair blew into the air and flew down the street!  I spun round to see where it was heading (pardon the pun!) and I saw darting back in our direction at high speed with four tiny scuttling legs poking out of it!  A little way behind, an old fellow was tottering along shouting “Tinkerbelle, Tinkerbelle, heel, heel girl”


I don’t know which was the funnier sight; Styler’s expression or his never-before-seen shiny bald head! Or the hapless dog owner, or the animated wig. Anyway, without saying a word Styler suddenly took off in pursuit of of his crowning glory. I haven’t seen him since. I wonder if he got it back!

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Harvest Home

The theme at Poetry Jam this week is Harvest Time.




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Fields of swaying oats and barley
reduced to brittle stubble
as the heady days of summer
give way to the evening that is autumn  

Greens become red
then orange then brown.
Skeletal hedge rows and mighty oaks
point barren fingers at an autumn sky

A gentle breeze
sends rustling leaves scurrying
and constantly rearranges
nature's carpet of many colours

At the day’s end
a setting sun gives way to a ghostly mist
laying low across empty furrows.
A damp chill fills the still air

The time has come
for the earth to rest, to hibernate.
To protect and nourish natures treasures
'til spring wakes them from their winter slumber.



Picture based on a photo I took at Butts Brow, Eastbourne, UK

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Pevensey Marsh

I have stayed close to my home for this week's Wordless Wednesday. These pictures depict some of the numerous ditches (known as dykes) which criss-cross Pevensey Marsh on the East Sussex coast, a large wetland and grazing pasture which once formed the seabed.






Sunday, September 14, 2014

Rosey gets herself in a bloody mess!

It's The Sunday Whirl time again!










This week’s Wordle words reminded me of something that happened when I was with my friend Rosey a couple of years ago. I was having a beer with a few friends in the Bicycle Arms when in staggered a clearly distressed and slightly inebriated Rosey. We all gasped when we saw her. She was wearing a white blouse with a massive crimson stain on the front. We all stared open mouthed. At first she said nothing and neither did we, but then the words starting pouring out. “It’s blood, it’s blood, it’s blood” she screeched as she hopped from foot to foot. “Do you want to go have a pee?” asked James as he watched her frantic footwork. Rosey suddenly stopped hopping, adopted a straight face and a mild frown. “No” she said, and then reapplied the agonised expression she was wearing seconds earlier. Presumably anxiety was getting to her because she was shaking like jelly.

I asked her where the blood was coming from and she said she didn't know, then started peering down the inside of her blouse. I asked if I could have a look which in retrospect was  probably not the right thing to suggest as she stopped hopping and gave me penetrating stare. Jenny came to my rescue by suggesting she take a peak. Rosey calmed down. “Oh dear” said Jenny “It’s a bit of a bloody mess down there”. “Watch your language” said Rosey “this is not the time to start swearing”. “No” said Jenny, I meant it‘s ‘bloody’ as in….oh, never mind”. James suddenly poked her in the ribs; not hard but enough to make Rosey squeal “Ouch”. “Sorry Rosey, I was just carrying out a medical examination!” he said, and then he started laughing which was totally inappropriate given the circumstances. “Actually, no it didn’t” said Rosey “But it could have done”.

James said we should take her to the medical centre for some tests. I reminded him it was closed for the day and suggested we went to the hospital emergency ward instead. Rosey whose constantly changing expression suddenly reverted to serious said she didn't want to pester them. But we all insisted. Fortunately it was in walking distance; driving was out the question as we had been in the pub necking alcohol for a few hours.

As we walked down the street I asked Rosey where she was when whatever had happened had happened, and she pointed across the road to the Gourmet Grill  & Wine Bar. “So you had a meal” I said. Suddenly thoughts began to float around my head. “On your own?” I asked. “Yep” she said. “Did you have any wine?” I asked. She said she did and I asked which wine she'd had. “I managed a whole bottle of Merlot…hic.” she said as a satisfied if slightly wonky grin appeared on her face. “So you had red wine for a change” me. “Yes” her. “What did you eat?” I inquired “A big fat juicy burger” she said followed by a licking of her lips. “And did you have any relish with it?” I asked. “Of course” she said “Oooooodles of tomato sauce”.

A few minutes later we were back in The Bicycle Arms with our friends. Rosey had gone to the ladies room with Jenny to clean the tomato sauce from her chest and rinse some of the wine stain from her blouse. We ordered more beers for the lads, something revolting and green for Jenny, and a strong black coffee for Rosey bless her!

You can read 50 more stories about My Friend Rosey by clicking HERE!








Saturday, September 13, 2014

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Beachy poetry!


The topic at this weeks Poetry Jam is The Sea


MY SPECIAL PLACE

I sense silence. Yet all around I hear the sounds of nature. The shingle crackles and grates under my feet, the rhythmic whoosh of the waves fills my ears and the shrieking of a hundred gulls gives a voice to the deserted shore line.


Here I am alone. Yet my companion, this hidden secret beach, is here to wrap me in splendid seclusion. I am alone but I share my very being with the raw edge of nature.

Here I hear my own voice, though silent. Here my thoughts surround me. Here I am at one with myself yet enveloped by a greater force, one which allows me the freedom I crave whilst lifting me out of myself and cradling me in glorious isolation.

The beach is ever changing. Some days filled with wrath, others tranquil and calm. Some days the sea is an enigmatic aqua, another as grey as granite. I look toward the horizon and see my life uncharted. What lies beyond? Who can tell?

But here I can be myself. Unquestioned, unchallenged. Here I can think, consider, compose.



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I thought I would also throw in a poem I wrote during a snowy week a couple of Winters back!




DIFFERENT


The beach looks different today

The sea the sky the waves are grey

Pebbles now are hid from sight

The shore a sheet of dazzling white


I hear a laugh I see a child

throwing snowballs running wild

There a puppy leaping high

chasing snowflakes in the sky


I look around, I love the way

the beach looks different today


Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Saint-Vallery-sur-Somme, France

It's Wordless Wednesday time again!

I live on the south coast of England in what is known as 1066 Country. It's the place where William the Conqueror landed and fought the battle of Hastings.

I thought it would be interesting to find the place in Normandy from where his fleet of 776 ships set sail, and so last week I crossed the channel to the medieval town of Saint-Valery-sur-Somme and had a look around.









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and to end my day...........

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