Blow this weather...

But torrential rain does have its good points.
Like.

Taking time out in my small over-stuffed conservatory to listen and to watch.
Listening as skyfulls land on the leaky grey roof sounding like each well-needed drop is booted in silver tap shoes.
Dancing precipitation.
Cool.

Watching as coats of the stuff land heavy, fulsome, leaving in their wake that just-washed, brand spanking new, straight from the heavens look.
Big rain.
Awesome.





Goodwetnight:)

Ummmm...

It's sunny and I have a lot to do and I don't know where to start.
I'm all in a dither.
I might risk the pollack.

Sunshine with more than a hint of ice.
And so today on my travels into the Essex countryside I will wear umpteen layers and my new boots. But no socks.

But before I do all that I must say Happy Birthday to Jerry from the West coast. A fellow writer whose everyday activities are made bearable by his excursions into other lands. None of which are on any real map.
Keep going Jerry.

Which brings me on nicely to poetry.
I have an idea for a poem which, if I can drag myself away from mundane matters, ought to be worth reading.

Back to now. Today.
The sun is magnificent and graceful even when being shoved and nudged by clouds of cold-hearted warriors. Warriors? Yes I like that.

Chatting Like A Parrot

Decided to pop out after promising myself I wouldn't.

Down to see the refurbished charity shop in Mansted Gardens and a pleased-as-punch Joan. What a laugh we had.

As I staggered from rack to shelf to dump bin and then back to rack, old Joan, and she is old, shouted to me about: Men. Elastic. Thongs. Holidays with husbands. Boredom. Vicars and excessive weight in the hip area.
Laugh? My head fell upon her mighty shoulders and we laughed like a couple of drunks. And then I handed over my purchase. One seriously bright red jumper. Price £1:25
We then giggled about all things red.

After paying for the jumper she tried to persuade me to buy some of the stuff which was in the window but I said she couldn't have any more of my money on account of my needing to buy a lettuce for John...
She laughed like a drain then grabbed me, squeezing my shoulders till I thought I heard them crack.
She's lovely is Joan...
I wonder when her day off is:(

I then bought the lettuce of love and walked home very slowly in stunning midday sunlight.

A Winter's Day in May

Teeming with rain. Dull skies. Jeans and jumper. How unlike yesterday. Dry. Clear skies. Straw hat and azure blue t-shirt.
Therefore on the menu today: Beef pie, mash and beans:)
Now I splash my way to work:(

Birds and Pensioners

Just seen a robin going bonkers in the bird bath.
Looks like better weather for the weekend.
Going to London to see the old dears.

Ssh! It's Sunny Don't Breathe A Word...

Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's sunny:)

And as I blink my brain awake I'm hopeful that it's going to be a corker of an Autumnal day. But 'twixt you me and the gate post Autumn doesn't officially start until the 22nd...but I won't say anything if you don't.
There's something safe and snugglesome about walking down the road to buy a nice cabbage wearing a woolly (that's me wearing the woolly, not the cabbage). And so as I tiptoe past the church I'll screw up my eyes because the sun is mighty too and that's fine , although it doth make more lines cometh.
Got a good feeling about today.

So I'll dress for Autumn, which means a white woolley, brown skirt and sensible shoes and off I'll go...
But then I'll come back and pull the blind down in the kitchen on account of the sunlight mixing it up with the batterie de cuisine which is hanging from my curtain track which makes psychedelic patterns on the wall thus sending Monty absolutely bonkers in the nut. Crazy.
So to avoid having the cat go beserk I'll do the right thing and cook in darkness!

Talking of which on the Horsehound menu today: Beef Cobbler, steamed cabbage and carrots and washed down (what a stinking phrase that is) with Lemonade:) For pud the very very very last puddle of Trifle:( I know I know, it's sad isn't it?

I see Andy Murray got beat up by Mr Federer, can't say I'm surprised. But credit where credits due, the Scot did well to get so far. But how on earth he ever got the better of Rafa in the semi-final beats me into a cocked hat. I expect Rafa had a tummy upset or something. Anyway, there's no doubt the boy (Andy) did well. So congrats to him. But no hug!

What else?
Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's still sunny....:)

Democrats All The Way

The Democrats Convention in Denver is top of my list of priorities today and for the rest of the week.
It's being shown on the the B.B.C's Parliament channel, so for a political enthusiast like me the next few days are going to be heaven. I'm eager to see how the Americans handle it, how they do it, I've seen clips of their conventions before of course, but to see the whole thing (sort of live!) is going to be a real treat.
The Americans are natural showmen so I'm not only looking forward to lots of shouting and colour I'm also looking forward to hearing great uplifting speeches, and seeing tons of flag waving and oceans of white teeth. I wonder if I'll see Barack's running mate Senator Joe Biden. I do hope so. See pic above.
Love it, love it, love it.

But other things will be vying for my attention today and this week; namely which poem to read out at the Bandstand in Priory Park next Sunday. I've been informed that poets will be alternating with a Brass Band to entertain the few people who are brave enough to turn up to a beautiful park at the end of a typically British summer. But rain or shine I'll be there with sheets of paper clamped in my hands.... and a brolly.

A few titbits before I sign off..

*I've nearly finished Bibi's reply to Michael. Should be up on Thursday.
*Monty slept with me last night, he looked like a big black drunken sheep. What a good kid he is.
*It's clouding over, summer is all but finished, nearly gone, autumn is hanging around like a faithful friend waiting to bring us back to a calm normality.

Bad Man! Bad Weather! Bad Poetry!

Andy Murray has admitted he acted in an 'unprofessional manner' during his brief spell at the Olympics. The Scot shouldn't have bothered to traipse all the way to Bejing to play for Team G.B as his heart clearly wasn't in it, and as for his mind, that was obviously concentrating on much more lucrative endeavours... The U.S Open starts next week.
This admission has reinforced my opinion on the Scot, he's a bad 'un.

What else?
Oh yes, apparently we're enduring a normal British Summer, so shut up say the weathermen, get your brollies up and nail your sheds to a tree or something. Because someone's shed got swept away on account of all this terrible wind.
I still want a shed.


I like Thursdays and I love to write good poetry.
Only one of those sentiments is...true!

Rain or shine this day is mine
to play with as I will
I'll trot up the hill with a ten pound note
and yak to the waif on the till

I'll chat to a pigeon if he'll give me his time
and gaze as he jabs at his seeds
I'll resist the urge to catch him in a sieve
and just apply myself to his needs

I'll slurp mugs of tea whilst cradling Monty
and regard him with tons of wonder
I'll then brush his hair with my best friends comb
and excavate his ears with a biro.

Thank You!