A lump of concrete in my chest.
Blinded by tears and fears as I stared soilidly at frozen tv dinners not really wanting one, but it was a clear space and I needed space.
Then like a weakling........
Cried when nice lady cashier asked how I was. Barbie held my hand her red painted nails digging into my palm. I like Barbie. She's alright. My age probably but far more secure. I'm sure.
Then.
Stood in middle of the half filled car park looking up at screaming seagulls. The sky was religiously wondrous, a vast canvas daubed wishily washily in watery blue.
The noisy birds swarming overhead wreaked fear into the hearts of other more sedate birds.
The sun thereabouts, in then out.

Home slowly to tea and riot news.

I'm A Twit With An Artistic Streak

Let me tell you why.

Most people with bulbous knees would refrain from hauling furniture from one dusty spot to the other but not me. Yesterday, with joints aflame, I dragged a badly painted bookcase from the hall into the kitchen and all on account of a seagull clock.

The wonderful charity shop find (CLOCK) was very at home on the windowsill but something wasn't quite right. Something about its stark in yer face position rubbed me the very wrong way so, with artistic hat on I dreamt up something new.

I know I thought, I'll put it by the chipped pillar, only thing was I hadn't a thing on which to mount it. That's the clock not the pillar.
After limping around the kitchen looking thisaway and thataway I came up with the brilliant idea of
the hall bookcase.

I love it when my mental lights come on and all manner of crazy ideas inhabit my head and, without a thought about knees, the bookcase was soon in place.
But at a price.

Right in the corner by the 'window with no purpose' and the 'pillar which holds up the ceiling' is Monty's Armchair and he was sprawled upon it like a miserable old man shagged out by downing too much wallop, but I needed to shove the chair a little to the right to get the bookcase in.....Monty's head spun and his likkle eyes took on a bemused what you doing this to me for look. I did it anyway.
Bitch Mum.

And there, after knocking it into position with my hips, stood the empty old bookcase. But it wasn't empty for long.

On it's three shelves were placed all my recipe books, well maybe not ALL, but a good majority, if I were to place ALL my tattered food books on it, there'd have been no room for the SEAGULL CLOCK.
And it does look cute and sweet and ever so slightly Nordic especially as I've also arranged some blue and white objects amongst the books. Blue and white jugs and vases and a broken blue flowered teacup, this teacup is handleless but so in love with it am I that I won't chuck it. Even when something one loves is of no use any more one would need to be a monster to abandon it.
By the way John did his bit by staying in the front parlour...

Today no such extreme physical activities will occur unless one calls making a tray of Tiffin physical activity.
An Everest of ironing will be looked at likewise a Snowdonia of felled branches. But I am not Superwoman and neither is John except maybe when he takes an interest in my lipstick, so today's agenda is of a more cerebral kind. A little gentle home cooking followed by the reading of my comments.


Ta ta!

To A Seagull.

Eye to eye I fell for you
no sense in love at all
Could we, that's us, that's you and me
live on rocks and on the sea?

Breast to breast I fell on you
no sense in love at all
Could we, that's us, just you and me
swagger on cobalt waves all day?

Head to head I fell for you
no sense in love at all
Could we, that's us, that's you and me
strut our feathers along the parade?

You with your swank, your arrogance and prance
peck out my heart, my beater
and me, like a mad woman, dips in the chair
You show-off, you bragger, you bully.

And then after you'd feasted
you left me
sweeping up malty tear-sodden crumbs
But eye to eye I'd fallen for you
no sense in love at all
Could we, that's us, that's you and me
live on rocks and by the sea?


Angela Norris