Sorry

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Sorry Anna. Swindon does not have 'the beach'. And I think we should eschew the swimming baths (although this may be an excellent facility) because I don't think you would like the noise of these places and maybe the taste of chlorine - also, they frown upon nude bathing.

However, there is so much else to do in this fine town - both day and night - and I am sure we shall not be bored.

This is just a short comment because I am about to engage upon some manual work, having offered to mow the lawns for Mistress Bulstrode. (she has promised me an extra helping of her dumplings at dinner)

Can't wait for our re union.

George

I am within the mood for love

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I am thinking Georgie that your friend Mr Russell sure spat a bootfull there regarding love - you  can tell him from me when you are next perhaps seeing him.


As you are well knowing, Anna have pursued the pathway to love no matter where it may ever be leading. And it has lead into some queer bloody places I can tell you. Never mind.


Looking forward to weekend whence one may be putting all his Easter Eggs into the one basket - if you  are getting my drift. (this is other idiom I am picking up). 


Does town of Swindon have beach? Shall I pack small swimwear? Or perhaps has nudist beach - which is even better.


Must go now because have the essay to write on subject of phenomonology. Thank good for the Google is what I am saying.


Your loving Anna

Good times coming

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“Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither in a wayward course, over a deep ocean of anguish, reaching to the very edge of despair.”

This is Bertrand Russell talking, Anna, but it could just as easily be me.

He continues…

         

          “I have sought love first, because it brings – ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of that joy. I have sought it next because it relieved loneliness – that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought if, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what – at last – I have found.”

So you see, Anna – it is possible. 

I am a bit down in the dumps at the moment - clinically fed-up, one might say. But never mind. I am looking forward to Easter when you will join me in a small hotel - and yes, it will be a single room. Let us throw caution to the winds... or as the song says '...let the devil take tomorrow...'

They talk about 'safe sex' but as our friend Ronnie said, 'Life is a sexually transmitted disease, with a 100% mortality.' So...since we lose in the end anyway, we can give ourselves the luxury of winning beforehand.

No, Ronnie didn't say that last bit... somebody else did. Read 'The Black Obelisk'.

Let me know the time of your arrival - I shall be awaiting you on the platform.

Your George

A LONG WEEKEND

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Well, Georgie, this place of Victorian origin sounds fine to me for a weekend (not dirty of course). My term will be finishing for the Easter holiday soon and this would be good time to get lungs full of  sea  air and stuff.


But why the necessitating of the two rooms? Why go to such expenses when we can share room without having the sexual encounter? Just as the friends. Innit. (see how I pick up current idiomatics of the chav person)


Perhaps you are thinking - if I am confining myself in small sleeping room with Anna my passion will rise and be out of control. But Anna will curb passion saying 'down boy' we are come for nice restful weekend and not bonking all time.


(Of course, if we have rested well and have time on hands, so to be saying, then we can be playing it by the earhole as you say - which might include the bonking or might not.)


Anyways, I am looking forwards to be hearing from you about rooming arrangements which I strongly suggest should be one not two.


Cannot wait to get under pier.


Your Anna

DANCING TOWARDS THE DOLE

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DANCING TOWARDS THE DOLE

(Headline in the Independent )

… The Northern Ballet Academy may have to lose 10 out of 40 jobs because of spending cuts…

I can imagine them hanging around on Monday morning, along with the regular clientele, waiting for the Dole to open: Leotards and Arabesques meet Shell Suits and ASBOS.

“What you lookin’ at mate? Fancy a trip daahn A&E, do ya?”

(I don’t know if ballet dancers really do speak like that.)

Anyway, it isn’t called the ‘Dole’ anymore: it is now the ‘Benefits Office’…

 ‘A rose by any other name…”?

I wonder if the unemployed dancers will get ‘Jobseeker’s Allowance’. What kind of jobs would they be seeking? Is ballet a transferable skill? And, if so, transferable to what?

“Unfortunately, we do not have any vacancies in Ballet at the moment.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“Err… You look a fairly fit young man. How about something in the building trade? Plenty of fresh air, exercise, that sort of thing. Now, Barrett Homes have a vacancy for a brickie’s labourer and- “

“Messing about with BRICKS! Have you any idea what that would do to one’s hands? A dancer’s hands are as important as his feet. Artistic impression. It’s all in the hands, you know.”

“Okay. Well, how about Postman? Again it’s out in the fresh air, and they give you a bike and- “

“A BIKE! Now you really are joking. Wreak havoc with the calves, that would: pedalling some stonking great machine up and down the highways and byways? Be serious, lovie.”

[Sighs] I’ll just put you down for Jobseekers Allowance.”

And would the ladies fare any better?

“I’ve got this vacancy for a female lavatory attendant at the town-square toilets. It’s mostly just sitting in a little cubicle taking their 20p and giving them a ticket. Of course there is some cleaning too, but you will be issued with rubber gloves and– “

“Excuse me – did you say rubber?”

“Yes.”

“Impossible darling. I’m allergic to rubber. I found out by accident one night when I…  Never mind. But I just don’t do rubber.”

“Well, ASDA are looking for shelf-stackers. I could–“

“LIBRARIAN!  Now I think that might suit me.”

“Oh - do you have any qualifications?  Experience?”

“Well no. But it can’t be that difficult: stamping books and keeping kids quiet.”

“Alas, there have been swingeing cuts in that field too. Do you know, I get library assistants in here looking for jobs as dancers! Some in their fifties too. Sad really.”

“Well, perhaps I could- “

“Tell you what: I’ll just put you down for Jobseekers’ Allowance.”

We no longer make anything in Britain, so the one-time employees of the ‘manufacturing industries’ are well used to ‘signing-on’. But when the recession hits the Entertainment and Leisure Industries things are indeed becoming rocky.

The CIRCUS for example: The only things CLOWNS are good at are honking motor horns, falling down and frightening small children.

As for LION-TAMERS – forget it.

And what about JOCKEYS? Little men who ride horses. What are they going to do if the Racing Game gets clobbered? I suppose they might get some seasonal work – in pantomime: Snow White and the seven jockeys?

PROFESSIONAL  FOOTBALLERS?  Oh dear!

Ironically, TELEVISION CHAT-SHOW HOSTS might not do too badly. With their incisive, probing interviewing skills they would be ideally suited to working in the Benefits Office which, because of the current crisis would need more staff…

The ‘ill wind’ that blows up the tutu also fills the sails…

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On MSN I saw a photo of David and Victoria Beckham, with the information that this couple and other 'A-listers' had been at some function 'partying the night away.'

And I thought, it would be nice to be an A-lister. I think I'd like that. But how do I get to become one, Anna? Tell me that, if you please.

I'm not a footballer, a pop-star, a celebrity chef or any of that stuff, so what do I have to do to get on the 'list'? Any list, for that matter. I'd settle for being on the B or even the C list.

I bet it's good to be famous - or failing that, infamous. I wouldn't mind being hounded by the paparazzi - or having my phone hacked.

Perhaps if I had the money to employ that PR bloke - Max Clifford, I think his name is - he could get me onto one of the lists. But then again, if I had that sort of money I'd probably already be an 'A lister', and I'd be paying him to keep my name OUT of the papers.


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I am planning a short sojourn in the Principality of Wales. I don't think you have had the pleasure of this land before, so I am inviting you to come and stay the weekend.


You can get a train from Leicester and change at Crewe for Llandudno. This is a fine Victorian resort which I am sure you will enjoy.


I know a small family hotel where I often stay (if you are a friend of mine you get an extra sausage - when you're least expecting it). We will, of course, occupy separate rooms (on the same floor)and share expenses.


I suggest you arrive in time for luncheon on Saturday - there is a splendid fish restaurant called 'Tri-Bells'. In the afternoon we can go for a walk on the promenade, and perhaps watch a performance of 'Professor Codman's Wooden Headed Follies'


For our evening meal I suggest 'Home Cookin', a family restaurant which boasts a varied menu - reasonable prices. There are many fine public houses serving a selection of real ales, so you will be able to fill your Swedish boots.


Our evening could end with a romantic stroll along the pier.


What do you think?


George

Small boy on tricycle

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Today (Pancake Tuesday) is the umpteenth anniversary of that boy having his appendix removed in an emergency operation. He was ten years old - a bit older than on the photo which I think was probably 4 or 5 years.

Notes from my childhood #5

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Isn’t it funny the games you played as kids. I remember one called ‘Vlad the Impaler’. I don’t recall much about it, ‘cos I was only little, but I know it involved those big, spiky iron railings at the end of Froggit Street.

We didn’t play it for long though, because the police somehow got involved… and then Social Services. And Daft Eric (the lad who invented the game) went away. And he never came back. Then they pulled the railings down.

Happy days.

Too many irons; too many fires?

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 I am a very busy man, Anna. But I ask myself: have I got too many irons in too many fires?
Perhaps I would be better with just one iron - in one fire?

Yes, I am sorry we did not - as you say - consummate our meeting. You know that normally I would not begrudge paying £60 for a couple of hours in a Travel Lodge with you, but, as you know, fiscal problems loom large at the moment.

And please note that Mrs Bulstrode and I enjoy a simple landlady/lodger relationship.

I am impressed with your taking the high road to education. Also your choice of degree. I think I have told you that Sociology was the gateway to my career in academia. One never stops learning - that's my philosophy.

You say you intend to follow the same career path as myself. Go for it, girl. Naturally I will give you all the help and guidance you need and I will be proud when you become a 'blue stocking'.

You know I told you I was worried about my son Sydney. Well I still haven't heard from him - not since he was remanded in custody. Has he perhaps written to you? You were always his favourite.  I know he is most grateful (and so am I) for straightening him out - regarding his sexuality, I mean.

You asked me why do I write?

Well, There’s a lot to write about.

Someone asked Magritte what was the relationship between his life and his art. He said that he couldn’t really think of any, except that “…life obliges me to do something, so I paint.”

If someone were to ask me why I write, I think my answer would be very similar, except that I might add “… and there’s a lot to write about.”

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. I still have a couple of those tiny diaries aunts used to give their young nephews; you could only get a few words in the space allowed for a day, but I managed to get something down most days.

A few years after we had been married, my wife found a diary with an entry… “Doped Vanda’s wings.” For some reason she found this hilarious, but when I read it I was transported back in time. The ‘Vanda’ was a glider (I was a very keen aeromodeller) and what those three words told me was that on that particular day I had applied two coats of water-proofing 'dope' to the model’s wings. Not only could I smell again the heavy ‘pear-drop’ vapour, I could feel the brush in my hands, hear the lovely shushing sound it made as it stroked the thick gluey liquid onto the fabric, see the finished model in all its glory

That, for me, is the wonder of words, the power  of writing: to capture images, to preserve them.

Of course it is much more than bringing back the past, re-living memories. It is about expressing what I feel about the present, about what is happening to me, right here and now. It’s also about looking towards the future, setting down hopes and dreams.

I have heard it suggested that some  people are too busy doing things to write about them, and that others write about things instead of doing them. But why cannot one do both? That’s what I says. You can then get a secondary pleasure writing about what you’ve done – or what you are going to do. I also think that writing about what you have done helps you to understand why you did it – sometimes. And writing about what you are going to do may help you to get it straight in your mind – you might also decide that it’s not worth doing. Or you may decide that you really have to do it.

So I write.  And I hope somebody gets something out of what I write. Even if it is a small circle of friends.

Books (and poems) have helped me to understand that I am not alone… that my thoughts are not crazy… that someone else has thought like this… had these problems… shared this fear…laughed at this… cried at that.

So I write and I write...

It's half-term. Why don't you come down here and we can have a few days together. I know a charming hotel in Swindon. I expect you are now in receipt of your student loan?

Let me know, soonest.

George

Me again

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Whyfore do you not speak about our meeting in the McDonalds cafe? Instead you are posting all these peculiar poems - is this what you are learning from hanging in with writing people groupies?

It was so good to see you after all this time has collapsed. And to dine with you. I notice you still favour the chicken nuggets while I satisfy myself with a quarter-pounder. This is good that we have different tastes in nourishment.

I am concerned about the state of your mental health at the moments. You always was a bit of a funny bugger - as you English are saying - but your moods is so variable as to make me worry. You say you have the depression in your jeans. This I do not think is the case. In fact now I am doing the Sociology it is seeming to me that environment plays big part - in everything.

Georgie, you need to examine most carefully the life you are leading presently. Ask yourself - am I perhaps engaged in the toxic relationship? Like you were with Georgina before I rescue you from it. Ask yourself - is this landlady of mine - Mrs Bulstrode - a suitable refined lady for oneself or some old slapper what has eye on the main chance? Go on, ask yourself that.

Now I must be closing this post because I am having the homework to do. I am certainly burning candle in the middle these days.

Anyway, I hope to see a SENSIBLE post before long.

Your - soon to be reunited - Anna