CHARLEY

Every time I switch this computer on it says I have files waiting to be burned to disk. I haven’t. (Perhaps someone else has – other people use the computer). Then another little box appears telling me some programme wants to update itself. I ignore these messages. I don’t mean to be rude - I just don’t know how to respond.


That's a problem in life generally: knowing how to respond. To a situation, a person, a remark. Well, it used to be, for me. Now, I do just whatever comes into my head.



Last night I asked Freddie if I could take his dog for a walk. Evenings are the worst for me. I don’t know what to do with myself.

Freddie’s dog is called ‘Charlie’. I think all dogs should be called ‘Scamp’ or ‘Rover’ – they were in the books I read when I was a lad. Or ‘Patch’, if they had splotch of different colour over one eye. ‘Splotch’! That would be a good name for a dog.

But Freddie’s dog is called Charlie. Charlie is a spaniel. He has huge paws, and long ears that brush the ground when he walks. He always has his head down, sniffing at everything. I once read that a dog’s sense of smell is many times more sensitive that that of a human. That is why they sniff so much when you take them for a walk. Smell is their world. A dog’s reality is different from ours.


We think we know ‘reality’, but all we have is a perception of reality; a perception formed by our senses. The hard wiring of our brain. That is why Huxley, Laing and others experimented with LSD and other ‘mind altering’ drugs: to fiddle with the wiring and open the doors of perception.

Maybe that’s what I need: a mind altering drug, to oil the hinges so I can kick open my creaking doors of perception.

I took a plastic bag with me in case Charlie wanted to do his business. He didn’t – but he had two pees.

I have heard it said that dogs see us humans as sort of extremely clever and powerful dogs. Actually, I don't think a dog knows it is a 'dog'. 'Dog' is a label:  a human construct. I doubt if a dog ever thinks about it. A dog just IS.


But Charlie is a very friendly dog – he didn’t bit me once.


Oh, and Purple Cow - I told Clive what you said about having his own blog. He thinks it's a great idea. And because of your interest in his work, he wants to share one of his more 'serious' poems with you. He says he wrote it for his grandson, on the day he started school. Here it is.

FIRST DAY AT SCHOOL

You stand before me -

Short trousers, grey;
White shirt, all neatly pressed;
And your first tie
(on a string).


And I smell again the polish,
Hear nervous plimsolls
Squeak
On shiny wooden floor.


Taste dusty milk,
Warm, from being set out too long
In thick grey beakers.

Again I fight
The waves of fear, that rise
And threaten to drown me
In shame.


‘Be a brave soldier’.
They said.
I swallowed hard –
And tried.


What can I tell you, Thomas?
I just swallow hard.

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Where are you Anna? I know that you are there, somewhere – but I can’t get to you.

Your lonely
George