Tuesday

The view from Pauline's bedroom - through the net curtains.

Urgent business has taken me away from the keyboard - but I shall be back

Good morning world

***************************************

Of course, you lot in America will still be asleep - or just waking up!

Never mind - have a good day.

(do not ask what the day will do for you; rather, what you will do for the day!... where have I heard that before?)

It's raining in this small corner of a small island, on a small planet, in a small universe.

The scientists tell us there are thousands of universes like ours; other planets like ours, and other life on those planets.

That's all very well, but it doesn't help me in deciding what I'm going to have for lunch. I could cook some pasta or I could travel into town and visit the cafe of the lovely Italian lady. Decisions, decisions.

(just thought: there could be an identical person to me, somewhere in another universe, facing the same decisions)

Here's a book I can recommed:

Paul Boghossian is Silver Professor of Philosophy at New York University.

Well, he was when he wrote the book. For all I know he may now be delivering Pizza.


Thought for tomorrow

What is really important is not so much the 'answers', but thinking of the right questions to ask.

On a train bound for nowhere

***************************************

How do you know if you need a new knee?

I only ask because I met a friend I hadn't seen for years and, when I asked how he was, he said - Well, I could do with a new knee.

I have another friend who is shortly going into hospital to have a hip replacement. I was surprised to learn this because I had not noticed him limping - but he is usually sat on a bar-stool when I see him.

Maybe there is a correlation between how much pain and discomfort you are in, and how much you fear surgery. A sort of threshold.

Anyway, I will leave that topic for a moment.

I am on a train heading into the city. The sun is strobing through the trees and I can feel warmth through the window. Usually, when on public transport, I like to just look out the window or watch the other passengers - but today I am jotting down some thoughts.

The train glides into a country platform. Then it's off again - two minutes, I think they are allowed. (I once did some part time work for the Post Office. On a mainline station, loading and unloading sacks of mail. That's how I know about the two minute rule.)

I could fall asleep here, rocked by the rhythm of the rails.

Now we have arrived at a little station in deep cutting. I know this station well; I used to get off here when I worked at a factory, half a mile up the road. But don't get me on the old nostalgia trip - they were happy days though (mostly).

Still, as someone said, 'King Charles' Golden Days are here and now' (I think it may have been King Charles.)

Oh, now we've stopped just outside a bigger station. It's the one you get off at for the airport. It's named after a famous Beatle. Strange having an airport called Dung.

Look at all the backs of houses flying past. I always wonder who lives in them; what sort of life they have: their hopes, dreams, fears. Perhaps they are thinking - I wonder who is in that train. Well, it's me!

I'd like to live in a house backing onto a railway line. I did once. Well, it was a flat. But my wife didn't like the noise of the trains - amongst other things. So we only stayed one week! Looking back, it might have benefited everyone if I had put my foot down with a firm hand.

Blue sky over the rooftops. Not a cloud in sight. The weather people say we are in for a heatwave - in October! That'll be good.

I see a cathedral. This city has got two. Now that's what I call planning - having a back-up cathedral. I don't know how many mosques, but it does have a dance-hall called 'MECCA'.

We've arrived. A man with an orange baseball cap walks down the aisle, trailing a dog on a leash. I had an orange baseball cap. It was given to me as a present - but I can't find it.

I also once had a dog. Her name was Wendy. But she got run-over by a bus.

Anyway, to the job in hand. Let's get going.

Thought for the day: There are some people for whom appearance is more important than the reality. In fact, for them, it is the reality.

Answers

*****************************

The answers lie in the brain - not the supernatural.
But it is the brain that raises the questions in the first place, so where does that leave us?
Perplexed.

Grey are the skies, motionless the trees. It's as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for something. But what?

I've had another night of messy, disturbing dreams. What do they mean? Do they mean anything at all? Some do, I think.

And now we have Ebola to worry about - courtesy of West Africa and air travel.

That reminds me: I was YouTubing again and I came across another conspiracy theory. It was being suggested - backed by the testimony of various 'experts' - that no planes crashed into the World Trade Centre, but that it was done with holograms, and the buildings exploded from the inside. How can this be? It sounds barmy, and yet all these people were coming forward: airline pilots, engineers, mathematicians, all saying it could not have happened like we all believe it happened.
As I say, it sounds barmy, but I became so engrossed I was late for my drum lesson!

I could do with a holiday.

They tell me Tangier,
At this time of year,
Is a pleasant enough place to be;
And Rome is alright
(Just to stay for one night) -
But I'll probably go to Torquay.


Oh, by the way, Hector's left. I heard the gravelly roar of his Harley at 6am this morning. He left a note saying he was sorry but that he had been 'summoned on matters of national security.'
He's a liar.

 Mrs Bulstrode is heartbroken. But she can't say I didn't warn her. The man's a cad, a bounder, a blackguard. I am ashamed to call him my (half) brother.
But if my landlady thinks I am going to take his place in her affections - or her bed - she can think again.

It was the same when we were boys. Being the elder he always got first choice of toys. And when he tired of something: a teddy bear, a train set, a bicycle he would pass them on to me. Well I'm having no more of his cast-offs.

 I shall go and get my breakfast. And you won't catch me crying in my cornflakes; good riddance - that's what I way.

'... A soft answer turneth away wrath' ?

... or so says The Bible... or is it The Quoran?... Or maybe The Upanishads? Or Bardo Thodol? Anyway, it's one of the instruction manuals on 'the art of living'.*

Well, in my experience a 'soft answer' inviteth increasing wrath, and giveth the impression that thou is a softie and deserveth all thou gets.

* Yes, I know this quote is from the Bible - book of proverbs.


Scenes from Pub Life - #143

I raise my glass - not to toast absent friends, but to check if the beer is cloudy. It isn't. So I drink.

A tall girl - made even taller by her stiletto heels - standing at the bar, gives me a friendly smile. I think I know her. She used to live in my road.
I smile back. I ignore the two beer-bellied men at her side.

The barmaid, a plump blonde sucking a lollipop, hands me my change. I never check it. Funny that: I check for the beer being cloudy but never inspect my change. I go and sit down. I don't like standing at the bar. I mean, if you've paid for your drink you deserve a seat.

A leather-jacketed, willowy blonde (another one) glides into the lavatory - which is opposite to where I'm sitting (no, I don't choose this seat deliberately!) and I catch a whiff of perfume as she passes - very nice.

I reflect on what a wonderful place a pub is. Nobody asks you any questions and they will go on serving you until your money runs out. Not that I ever stay in a pub until my money runs out - although I have a friend who does.

Back to the bar. This time it's the brunette with the black goggle-like glasses. 'Those glasses suit you.' I say. 'Yes, everybody says that.' she replies.

Back to my seat.

It's very pleasant in here. And I think, this is a good planet to be on, despite all the bad stuff.

Clip-clop. High heels. Another young lady trots to the bar. The barmaid asks her something and she clip-clops back to check with 'Dave'. What a macho name, 'Dave'. No wonder she is prepared to go to the bar for the drinks while he sits there thumbing his cell-phone.

Clip-clop. She's back again to further check with Dave. She obviously wants to make sure she's got it right. I bet Dave would give her an earful if she got it wrong.

The beer is starting to get to my legs. The legs are always the first to feel the effects. The head comes later. I wonder just what is happening in this chemical factory I call a brain.

Here is a poem, dedicated to Barmaids, everywhere:

On the Pull

This barmaid has a life

When she goes away from here –

What d’you think she’s pulling

When she isn’t pulling beer?

Perhaps she’s pulling wool

Over unsuspecting eyes –

Perhaps she’s pulling rabbits

Out of hats – as a surprise.

Perhaps she’s pulling up her socks,

Resolving to do better –

Perhaps she’s pulling out the rug

From under from under some go-getter.

Perhaps she’s pulling ropes

To make the church bells ring –

Perhaps she’s pulling tails

On cats – the naughty thing.

Perhaps she’s pulling faces

To make her boyfriend smile –

Perhaps she’s pulling up her skirts

To climb some rustic stile.

Perhaps she’s pulling on the oars

Of rowing boat or skiff  –

Perhaps she’s pulling out her gear

To roll herself a spliff.

Perhaps she’s pulling up the weeds

To make her garden pretty –

Perhaps she’s pulling crackers

And reading jokes, so witty.

Perhaps she’s pulling down her blind

Before she goes to bed –

Perhaps she’s pulling out the corks

And watching wine flow red.

Perhaps she’s pulling out all stops,

Some gentleman to please –

Perhaps she’s pulling muscles

And dislocating knees.

For there are oh so many things

A girl like her could pull –

So when she’s finished here tonight,

I bet her life’s not dull.

  

The security to be free..

****************************

'Freedom's just another word
For nothing left to lose...'

('Me and Bobby Mcgee'... Kris Kristofferson)

Well, you could be right there, Kris.

I also think that freedom is only possible where there is security; this was discovered - regrettably too late - in Iraq.

I admire Pacifists - but I think that you can only be a Pacifist in a country where there are enough people prepared to fight; fight to make that country one where you are free to chose Pacifism.

Sunday morning

Bird in tree as seen through window

I don't know what kind of bird - or what kind of tree. But I do know the window is double-glazed. (circa 2010)

[note for future historians - the window is in Llandudno library]





I think this blog has lost something with the departure of Anna: levity? frivolity? irreverence? or just plain silliness?

She will be back.

Meanwhile, I tackle the major issues of the day - and there are many of these.

I have been doing some research on the spread of Islam; the aims of ISIS and all of that stuff. But I don't feel up to tackling these subjects so early in the morning. Later.

Yesterday I went for a spin on the motorbike. Ended up at a pub for a late lunch of gammon, egg, chips and peas; plus a pudding and a glass of Guinness.

Some light rain on the return journey but not enough to cause any worries.

I think I would know it was a Sunday, even if I were in the middle of the Sahara or the sub-arctic wastes of Alaska. There is something about the feel of a Sunday.

Anyway, I am going to sort myself out (what a strange expression) and then journey to McDonalds for Sunday luncheon.

Early portrait

I accidentally put my T shirt on back to front this morning.  I thought of leaving it tha way, as a protest against the sameness of life.

(The Ballad of Lucy Jordan is not about a 37 year old suburban housewife - it's about the quiet desperation of all those for whom life has not lived up to its promises - or their expectations.)

But it felt uncomfortable - so I took it off and put it on the right way round.

I am drinking a cup of Green Tea. It was recommended to me by my granddaughter. (yes I know, I appear far too young to have a granddaughter - but remember, I was married very early - to my first wife - and naturally, being a virile type of guy... well, there you are.)

The early morning rain has cleared and the sun breaks through, so I am going for a spin on the motorbike. Hector has offered to let me have a go on his Harley, but relationships between us are strained at the moment; his nocturnal activities with our landlady have been disturbing my sleep. I have told them both about this and suggested they move the bed slightly away from the wall. So far there has been no response to what I consider to be a reasonable request.

Yesterday found me sitting on a seat on the city railway station concourse. A young man was sitting next to me and a woman was standing talking to him. Eventually the man got up and walked away. And it was only then that I realised they were not together.

The woman, turned to me and, smiling apologetically, said, 'I know I talk too much when I've had a bit to drink.' I noticed then that her young, rather pretty face, had that slightly vague, but amiable look of someone who is companionably drunk.

I felt a sympathy - and indeed a sort of envy. She was real. No attempt to stick to the rules, and refrain from striking up a conversation with a stranger in a railway station. She was completely without artifice, and yet was not being aggressive or indeed impolite.

She said something else, which I didn't catch, and then offered me her hand. I shook it and wished her all the best and told her to look after herself. She smiled, and wandered away.

I wonder who she is? Where did she go? What happened to her? And I feel a bit sad; ships that pass in the night and all that. No, it's more than just that, but I can't put it into words - at the moment.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPk8jYiyhtU

'Somewhere the sun is shining...'

**********************************

...And it's here! In this small corner of a small land on a small planet.

I went for my dance lesson last night. It was strenuous but exhilarating. It makes a change for me - I spend so much time in my own head.

It's a question of balance... so they say. But if you are always balanced you never go anywhere. When you take a step you are off balance... you take another step to regain your balance, and you're off balance again. And this way you move forward.

A perfectly balanced person goes nowhere.

And I want to go somewhere. I'm not sure where, yet, but I know I don't want to stay in one place.

I'm moving now - to get my breakfast.

Education

****************************

In the corner of the schoolyard
Stood a tree -
What kind of tree
(Class, type, make, model)
Was of no concern to me -
It was just a tree.
Then I learned about trees
And so was able
To give this tree
A label,
But the label washed off
In the rain, and now
It's just a tree
Again.