All Change

Life itself is all about change, but when it comes to computer programmes, the word change takes on a whole new meaning.

Some time ago, I was revelling in the possibilities that my (then) Windows XP version of Paint allowed, and  I created an imaginary scene. I was exploring how to use a mouse to do so, as opposed to my usual, pen, pencil or brush.

The resultant image remained in a folder, going nowhere, but I felt unable to simply delete it, after the time it had taken to create. Yesterday I opened it with Arcsoft, and played with editing options.

The fairytale woodland path you see here was the outcome. I had no idea how it would translate to a blogpage, but translate it did, with a quality all its own.

I think sometimes in our own lives, when changes happen, and we have no idea of the eventual outcome, there is a similar, surprise element as things unfold. Perhaps at such times, we have to allow the Universe to have it's say, and merely follow where it leads. Being open to new possibilities is one of the best gifts change can give us.

Good Morning, Blogland

This is the scene through the square window this morning, playmates - blue skies,  sun, and a brisk, envigorating breeze making the buddleia wave to me. It's nothing new for me to be up with the lark, as the saying goes, but the birds assailing my ears just now were far less poetic. Their rusty cawing sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to rush to the WD40 to oil their vocal chords.


rooks raucous voices
shatter early morning calm
disturbing sunshine

Thanks For The Feedback, People

And especially AC, for pointing out the advantages of using Verdana as a font for Blogpages. I see its capital 'I' has its own chunky serifs, which identify it more easily when it's followed by a lower case 'l' - a fact which would placate Rhymes With Plague, Mr Brague, and his 'Illinois' readability argument. I tend to agree with him, that a serifed font is often easier to read, and I may well revert to my first choice, Georgia, for my posts at some point in the future.

From experience, I know glitches are to be expected when Blogger is trying anything new! I'm quite happy being a guinea pig, who can then pass on anything I've learned- like the fact that, if you are trying to alter the colour of your Post Title within the design feature, you won't find the option under the 'Advance' label for Post Design! Too straightforward! It is apparently controlled by your choice of  'Links' colourways! Bizarre, but okay once you have it sussed, I suppose.

Blogger's 'Compose' page seems to be coping with translating everything to my chosen design features, so that's a plus, and has thereby removed the pressing need for using Live Writer. (Sorry son - after all your hard work, too!)

Or maybe not!  Trying to give you a calm, happy Buddha to contemplate, should your frustrations be showing, I have encountered a whole new set of imponderables which Blogger has thrust upon me. I now can't wait to see what a hash he's made of this composition today, once I dare to push the post button. I may need to do a lot of pondering on Buddha myself before the morning is out...

Right!  I'm taking a deep breath, heading mousewards to the publish post button, and here goes...

The Verdict Is Still Out

On Blogger's new design feature...

I have just reset the 'old' to the 'updated' editor on Blogger Basic, and his tiny mind is obviously overloaded and shocked at the change. I hope he will calm down eventually.

Meantime, there is a particularly annoying flaw that has become apparent. I wanted to change the post's typeface from Gorgia to Arial, but Blogger has, in patches, tenaciously held on to my original choice. Now I've clicked on 'remove formatting' option as that seemed a good place to start, but the result has been diddly-squat as far as I can tell at the moment. When I finally decide to push publish, I shall be holding my breath. If my blog looks like a compositor's nightmare for a while, I apologise in advance. I may be back later today, once I see what has happened to this mini moan post... Onwards and upwards!

Just a few minutes later...

Hip hip hooray! I must have done something right. Now I've checked, and Arial it is on this post proper. No excuse now for not getting back to some creative blogging - except that  I am a lazy cow it is Sunday morning, and the brain is in freefall weekend mode.

Even Stevens

 I thought today I would share a photo of my adorable No.1 Daughter in her mermaid finery. It's a good excuse for introducing today's dose of Tales From Jinksy's Past, and after posting one of No. 1 Son, is only fair.What was the occasion? A street party! But I can't tell you which one, for we ended up having three all together- one before, one during and one after the Queen's Jubilee Year. Our Close didn't like doing things by halves...We had a proper,party committee, and no details were overlooked.

The first year, I was in charge of the flag making crew, I remember, which was probably why, rather than all boring pennants, we made several flags shaped like knickers and pants, and spent a hilarious evening stringing them together, ready for the chaps to hang them from house to house across the road. They did stirling work, (the flags, not the chaps)for they survived all three of the shindigs! Though come to think of it, the chaps did stirling work too, as well as us chap-esses.

The police allowed us to close the Close (!) for the day, and we had an early start getting everything ready. One householder set up a sound system in his front garden, another turned her garage into a silver, bacofoil-lined, Grotto Bar, and a conjurer and a Punch and Judy man were booked for the afternoon, once the fancy dress parade (adults and children!) had finished.

Daughter's costume was so tight fitting she couldn't walk properly once she was in it, and a kindly neighbour carried her to the judging area at the appointed time. You can just see his shoulder being clutched...And yes, that is one of two scallop shells there - I used them to make a wonderful bikini top for my little mermaid.

By mid afternoon, trestle tables line up on the grass, groaned with the food we'd prepared, and the party really got going, with organised games, then fun, feasting and frolic late into the night.

I wonder how many of you have celebrated an occasion in such grand, communal style?!

Evesdropping?

I do believe Blogger has been listening to my threats of decamping to Windows Live Writer to compose my posts, for what should appear before me today, but a new 'design' option on my dashboard! Being one of life's curiosity cats, I had to explore, and have been cajoled to click me some clicks and alter the mix...as is now apparent on my blogpage. (Well, it is showing as changed on my computer- I have yet to see whether you all get the new, wide screen version of jinksy jabber as well. I don't trust Blogger quite yet...I wonder why?!)

The excitement of a new look has gone to my head, and my ditty box has already churned out a little something on Fridge Soup, so may I direct you to it's cauldron, if you wish to sample today's tasty morsel of doggerel, jinksy style...I feel like I'm hatching...

How’s this for a happy face?

Say hello to my Number.1 Son who is now much grown!

This is by way of my saying a big thank to him, for guiding me through the delights of installing Live Writer this evening, while I was busy eating my dinner.

In all probability, I will be picking his brains again before too long, for who wouldn’t choose to make the most of an IT guru when they have one for a relation?

But I little thought when I took this photo of his merry little face with it’s mop of curls, that he’d grow to into such a knowledgeable person, in what now seems to have been the twinkling of an eye. Am I a proud Mum? Not half!

You Need Feet To Walk To Scunthorpe

So says a song recorded by Bernard Bresslaw many moons ago. What it fails to mention is the fact that you would also need a pair of comfortable shoes.

This morning I have been taking photos of a pair of Birkenstocks which fall far short of my required comfort scale. One has a pleat in the leather lining in the exact location of my big toe joint, and despite my wearing cotton socks, it manages to rub a sore, red place on my foot each time I wear the shoes. I think I've only worn them three times since I got them!

Now I've sent an email winging with a cry for help, and photos attached. I wonder whether NatÜrlich Footshop GmbH customer care services will have any helpful suggestions of how to resolve my problem?

This shows the start of the wrinkly lining, which is building up to a crescendo by the time it reaches the area in line with my toe joint! Honesty bids me add the left shoe is absolutely fine, but unless I can learn to walk on one leg, the pair of shoes will remain in my no-go area.

***A kind of afterthought...here's a ditty I've just written, for good measure!***

When cavemen were wandering round and about,
I guess their bare feet must have let out a shout
when they walked on a pebble or rock that was sharp,
until one decided it might be a lark
to invent clothes for tootsies as fast as can be.
But who named these shoes, is a mystery to me.

What ever you call them, suffice it to say,
we can't do without them in our modern day
where cities and towns, with their mud, grit or soot,
mean no one with sense would walk there barefoot.

More Of The Same?

Can anybody tell me the name of this blue and purple delight? It blooms twice a year, and manages to eke out an existence in the cracks between the paving slabs in my so called garden, where it self seeded, just to surprise me.

I thought today, that I'd stick with a colourway which compliments my crochet, you see!

Ho Hum!

All Change!

Heaven be praised that crochet can be
so very adaptable, because you see
the project I started has come to a halt.
Not, I assure you, because of a fault

on the part on the stitches or pattern as such,
but simply because it does not please me much!
My aesthetic sense has begun to rebel,
and my urge to continue is waning as well.



The fabric’s too bulky, too hefty and stiff,
so I plan to sideline it with never a whiff
of regret at my folly. So, Blogland look out!
It seems as though Jinksy is once more about!

And after this shambolic effort from Blogger, I can see me hotfooting it to Windows Live Writer as fast as my little grey cells will let me go.

A No Post Blogpost

Thanks, people, for apparently missing my waffle. I'm fine! Only thing I'm suffering from is not having more than two hands, or more than 24 hours in a day. I'm sure you all know what it's like?LOL! As soon as I can mimic an octopus or two, I'll be back... Meantime, I'll leave you with a hug...

A Dismal Day

Damp Doggerel

It's a wet and gloomy morning
and the temperature is chill.
It must be time to write a rhyme,
be that for good or ill.

But I'll not give way to curses!
I'll dispel the air of gloom
by cranking out some verses
from this corner of my room

where the monitor is shining
in lieu of Mr Sun
who is currently in hiding.
Isn't he a thoughtless one?

He beamed away so brightly
for several days, it's true,
we thought summer was upon us,
as anyone would do.

However it was not to be.
Now we're back to feeling chilly,
because he can't make up his mind.
Mr Sun is such a silly!

Personal Opinions

Do you see things as black and white?
Are some things wrong and never right?
Or do you allow shades of grey,
leave room for doubt within your day?
Can justice play a vital part
and let you have a change of heart
on something which first, in your sight,
was seen as wrong - until hindsight
made it clear another view
was possible, and could be true?

Blogger has wiped out half of my draft before I got to posting it! Perhaps it is fitting, as I was holding forth on the subject of injustice. There follows an approximate Take Two of what I had in mind...

Today I feel as though I have been treated unfairly by a friend who tends to see things in black and white. When I had the temerity to mention I believed in shades of grey, they became angry with me and terminated our telephone conversation without further discussion. I was not allowed to express my own opinion without incurring their wrath. I call that injustice.
(Of course, this black/white/grey analogy is a simplified interpretation of the actual subject matter of our conversation, but it serves for illustration purposes.)

Then I realised, in a global setting, the same kind of dogmatic thinking, with no possibility of civilised discussion to find middle ground, is the root cause of world unrest.
Personal opinions are a basic right, but as soon as they tip tilt into an 'I'm right, you're wrong' attitude, then dictatorship looms. The only sensible option is rational discussion until a solution can be agreed upon.

I'm staying with my black and white theme, to include another of my Paint doodles, as I promised (threatened?) yesterday. I called it 'Bending The Truth.' I wonder if you can see why?

(In an effort to remove a big blank space at the end of this post below the image. I've just decided to try a bit of editing!)
Sadly, it hasn't worked - sorry folks!
...Ooops ...now it has... ain't life grand?!

P.S. For anybody coming to this late, Broken Biro has today (Thursday) written a wonderful poem entitled Grey Areas, over on Fridge Soup. Do go and read!

Exploration

Thanks to Fletch I am being tempted to explore Windows Live Writer. I may need time to ponder and wonder for a while, before embarking on the stormy waters of yet another sea of possible disasters in the oceans of Blogland.
But meanwhile, I've realised many Blogpals have yet to discover the theraputic joys of playing with Paint - the program, that is, not the medium. I may inflict you with some of my doodles, in the hope of inspiring a few of you to dabble, maybe for the first time?
This was one of my first flights of fancy, utilising a lot of freehand drawing with my mouse, but there are easier options, using pre-determined, automatic line drawing, like this:-
Why don't you surprise yourselves, and indulge in some play time aimed at the inner child, or the latent artist in you?! I may be back with more tomorrow...

Oh What A Tangled Web We Weave

The spider builds
his fragile web
creating spangled universe
with self as the centre.

What thoughts go spinning
through his head
as spinnerets
send forth their threads
of glossy, tensile silk?






Now I'm getting daring, you see? Way back, using my Arcsoft+Paint program, I played with an early morning photo of this unsuspecting spider. The original picture was no great shakes, but once I got the blue effect here, I liked the way the background resembled a beach, more than a boring road and pavement. The whole atmosphere changed. I tucked it away in some odd corner of my computer, and there it has languished, forgotten.
But now I've broken my fundamental rule of no photos, I've decided to throw a few more variations into the melting pot. For a long time, with this Windows 7, I couldn't fathom out how to get anything from Paint to my ordinary picture folder. Then No. 1 Son explained how - attach the chosen pic to an email sent to myself, then I could save it in any folder I liked.
How come I never thought of that? Don't all shout at once!

History Is Being Made

I'm incuding a picture!
Because I have been holding forth on my lack of green fingers, I thought I'd give you all something different to ponder today.

This photo is piece of a shrub which decided to show its face in my garden. I believe it may have been trying to escape from next door neighbours, who'd abolished their own specimen... although possibly it simply sowed one of its own peacock coloured seeds on my side of the fence.

Be that as it may. Its rate of growth was prodigious, and for the first couple of years it provided a splash of life in what was then my barren back yard. Young leaves grew purple coloured, then turned to the green you see in the picture. If bruised, they smelled atrocious, but the white, starry flowers that appeared at the height of summer had an exquisite perfume, and the bracts and seeds were pretty in their own right, as you can see. I kept trimming lower shoots off the main stem, until it resembled a small tree, though I am sure it is actually a shrub, and set out on a long quest to discover its name.

Eventually, once I'd acquired a computer, thanks to the Internet I found the telephone number of a Nurseryman of some repute, according to his web pages. I rang, spoke to a minion(!) and asked for the boss. I was going to enquire whether I could post him a specimen for identification, but once I began describing my mystery shrub, he laughed. "I'm looking at one right now!" Talk about happenstance, eh? Of all the friends I'd asked, all the books and web sites I'd trawled through, the longest shot paid off fastest!

I can now tell you with absolute certainty it is a clerodendron trichotomum fargesii.
Aren't you glad I broke my 'no picture rule' just for that? What a mouthful!

Not Exactly Green Fingers

A Gardening Confession

I've been scrabbling in my garden,
though that's too grand a name;
it's more a 'normous patio,
or something of the same.

It's a little urban jungle
with paving slabs galore,
but shrubs and weeds now flourish
where they never did before.

I'm an intermittent gardener
and not one of the best.
I'm inclined to stand and daydream
each time I take a rest.

My mind supplies the pictures
of the plants I'd like to grow,
if space were not a problem;
I'd have flowers, row on row

and ornamental grasses
and lillies on a lake
and hoards of flowering fruit trees
of every kind and make.

Instead it's more a wilderness,
with, at least, no lawn to mow.
The plants, all tough and hardy,
let me ignore, 'em, though,

until... Today I notice
things are getting out of hand,
and I have to grab my secateurs,
go out and make a stand

against the creeping leafy things
before I'm overgrown.
But underneath I'm grateful
that they grew all on their own!

Good For A Laugh

Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo, that is. Not so much in itself, but in its treatment. At least, when said treatment is carried out by a Spanish Doctor with a hilarious sense of humour.
After finding my notes on the computer, and ascertaining my Diz was still in place, he eyed up the couch in the consulting room, then suggested we wander round to the other side of the surgery, where there would be a proper hospital couch, on wheels, and with rise and fall mechanisms.
We marched in a convoy of two past all the curious patients awaiting their turns, and you could see the puzzled looks on their faces. " Why the route march?"
On the opposite, newer side of the building, the treatment rooms are better equipped, and Doc quickly pushed pedals, pulled levers, and got the trolley-type couch into the middle of the room. An animated computer diagram showed what was expected of me; the Epley manoeuvre.

"This is a series of four movements of the head; after each, the head is held in the same position for 30 seconds or so. Basically, they cause the posterior semicircular canal to rotate in such a way that gravity moves the otoconia fragments out from the posterior canal and into the vestibule, where they then settle, and cause no more symptoms."

So says the leaflet. The practice is a little more nerve wracking. Head to the right - room sways, then steadies. Head to the left - room sways violently, but eventually steadies. Roll over to left side and all hell breaks loose, giddy-wise. I am convinced I will fall off narrow couch onto floor. Doc reassures me by saying "It's all right - I will drop you gently!" Ha Bloody Ha.
I have to roll even further to the left, and fling one arm out towards the floor tiles, as I feel sure that's where I will end up. Meanwhile, Doc continues to assure me his legs will stop me from rolling off, and he clutches my hand in a vice like grip so's I know he's not aiming to drop me just yet...
Then in his beautifully accented English, he says "All we need now is for somebody to walk in the door!" My eyes are shut tight to combat Diz, so I can only imagine his posture, but it must have been strange, to say the least. We both start laughing. He says "It's a bit like a circus act", as he tries to stop me hooking my right foot over the back edge of the couch, as a kind of anchor.
At this point I laugh twice as much, and suggest he calls in a few of those grim faced patients we walked past, and charge them for the show.
When the last count of 30 seconds has run it's course, he hauls me up sideways to a sitting position, and I wait for the world to catch up with me.
Eventually he trusts me to walk back round the room to my chair, and he prints off three sheets of info, and books me in for 7.45 next Tuesday, for our repeat performance. "We will do that in the car park", he jests, "and charge everybody three pounds fifty for a ticket, to add to my retirement fund."
I have yet to see whether the Diz has gone for good. but don't you wish you had a doctor like mine?

Big Thank You Time

To everybody who left little ditties and kind wishes, many thanks. As I looked at all the comments this Sunday evening, I needed to write a few lines to mark the day. You are a great bunch of blogpals!

Blessings

We tend to take for granted
the days when life is good,
and forget to be as grateful
as perhaps we should.

If we start to count our blessings,
they can chase the blues away,
and create a shaft of sunshine
on an otherwise dull day.

For time we spend complaining
only makes our spirits sad.
So here I am, proclaiming
let's cheer up and be glad!

Blondes Don't Have Exclusive Rights To Dizzy

The Diz

At times I could be dizzy,
though not a blonde since youth,
but the Diz that got me recently
was certainly uncouth.

My head was like a fishbowl
with water sploshing round.
Diz whirly-pooled those fun ideas
which normally abound.

I swallowed lots of different pills,
but Diz managed to hover -
mostly after sleeping
as my head crept from the cover

and I had to stand up vertical
to face the coming day.
Begone, unwelcome vertigo!
I want the Diz to go away!

But worse than feeling sober-drunk,
pills damped creative juices,
and being minus jokey Muse
has left me feeling useless!

So far, I've consulted four doctors.The latest, Spanish by birth, showed me on a computer the kind of complicated manoeuvre he suggested I book a double appointment for next time. (I mentioned the Spanish bit, because, though he has a delightful accent, when he gave the three very long words naming my complaint (!) they didn't register in my consciousness, other than making me think 'How sweet that sounds!')

He wants me to book a double appointment, so that he and A. N. Other (yes, it will take two) can move the examination couch away from the wall to allow me to hang my head off the end, at which time I will have to move it swiftly right to left, before the two of them haul me up sideways to a sitting position. He said it will make me feel awful - as if I didn't know that - but apparently, it's the way to clear the little grainy crystals in the labyrinth that he thinks are the cause of my Diz.

Perhaps this is a good time to put out a plea to Blogpals to write some fitting ditties to help chase the Diz back to wherever it came from? Then maybe I won't have to undergo his torture regime...

Definitely Not Love At First Sight

But what a lasting impression! I'll get to that in a minute... First, I need to set the scene.

I'd only gone to post a letter in our 'old' Post Office - old because it's now a sorting office and the Post Office Counters are in the back of a shop in town - and as I stood waiting to cross the road to come back home, a trio of people on the other pavement caught my attention. I must explain, this particular area of Havant is one of its bygone days' former glories, for on the corner opposite the once thriving Post Office, is the Old Town Hall (there's that Old word again) which is now a jumbled mix of museum, theatre, cinema, art centre and cafe, lately renamed 'The Spring - Arts and Heritage Centre.'
At ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, it's not what you might call a hive of activity.

The Post Office corner has a huge yew tree which makes crossing the main road a slow process, as you have to choose your spot carefully. A few yards to the left, as you stand facing The Spring, a humpback bridge over the disused Hayling Billy railway line keeps oncoming traffic out of sight until it's almost upon you, as you stand teetering on the kerb. To the right, a curve in the road impedes the view of traffic coming from Havant, while before and aft, two more minor roads crossing almost a right angles, mean you need eyes in the back of your head, as well as front.

The whole point of this preamble, is merely to explain why I had several minutes to study the group opposite me, heading to The Spring. A sudden string of cars kept me rooted to the spot as I waited for my chance to cross, so the three figures were objects of interest.

They appeared to be a family group; Mum, slightly dishevelled looking, walking close to daughter, and both talking animatedly, turn and turn about with son, who was striding along a pace or two in the rear due to the narrowness of the pavement.

He it was who captured my imagination. He was like a time warp character, in his own little bubble. Although unprepossessing, his image captivated me. His was a slight, stooping build, narrow shouldered and young - at most late teens, early twenties - as his slightly gingery, thin moustache suggested. His complexion was pasty, and nondescript-brown, lank-hair spikes splayed on his shoulders did him no favours. A few bleached strands at the front only served to make him appear even more washed out in his all black garb. His long, fitted over garment, falling to just above the knees, gave the impression of an old fashioned frock coat, and two or three inches of white cuffs peeking from the sleeves bore rounded corners and added to the dated look. Shiny, black winkle picker shoes with turned up toes complimented narrow black trousers. Pale hands grasped a long, spiked, tightly rolled umbrella and he changed it from his right to his left hand, and began swinging it in time with his steps, as he tried to keep pace with the two females ahead of him.

Having written thus far, I 'phoned my 'listening ear' buddy, who kindly lets me read my waffle to her, prior to posting, and as luck would have it, she had a brochure detailing The Spring's forthcoming attractions. Today, at 2.00pm and 7.30pm, there is a Community Variety Show advertised. I have a sneaking suspicion that the vision of loveliness I described for you above, may well be explained away by this unexpected revelation! Have a nice weekend.

Horses For Courses

If only this could be applied to today's election, so the powers that be could make certain who ever wins will be the party we need to keep the country afloat in a style to which we are rapidly becoming unaccustomed, if you get my drift.
But enough of depressing political stuff. Let's stick with the first word of my title, 'Horses'.

Yesterday afternoon, on my way to having a smashing time at my nearest bottle bank, what should I see coming towards me as I approached the cross roads junction by the main road, but a horse and trap. It's not often we get to see one of those around here, and even less often from a full frontal angle.

Not being in the least a horse connoisseur, it was never the less obvious that the one before me would never win any beauty competitions, or horse shows, come to that. A rusty, golden brown animal with white stripes or patches here and there for a bit of light relief, it trotted closer while I watched in fascination at the strange way its front legs moved. They almost appeared to dislocate at the joints, then fall back into place with each step. Perhaps a head-on view of any trotting horse always looks the same - I wouldn't know.

It was very well behaved, and carefully stood still and looked both ways before turning into the main road, just as a child might do when waiting to cross. It gave the impression it was in charge, not the young lad driving alongside his mate in the trap.

My mind immediately made an association with BBC's Listen With Mother programme, where the following ditties would be sung occasionally, back in the days when my kiddywinks were tiny. I only wish I could sing them for you, complete with the Radio Workshop's best sound effects which always accompanied them...

This is the way the ladies ride

This is the way the ladies ride,
Trit trot, trit trot, trit trot, trit trot
This is the way the ladies ride,
Trit trot, trit trot. Trit trot.

This is the way the gentlemen ride,
Gallop, gallop, gallop, gallop.
This is the way the gentlemen ride,
Gallop, gallop, gallop.

This is the way the farmer rides
Jiggety-jog, jiggety-jog,
This is the way the farmer rides
Jiggety- jiggety-jog.

This is the way the old man rides
Hobble-dee, hobble-dee, hobble-dee, hobble-dee
This is the way the old man rides
Hobble-dee, hobble-dee, hobble-dee - and down into the ditch!

The clattering coconut-shell hoof beats that always accompanied this last line, used to send my two into giggles without fail, and the programme would be rounded up with the following little song- probably after a short, horse related story. Those were the days!

Horsie horsie don't you stop

Horsie horsie don't you stop
Just let you feet go clippety clop
Your tail goes swish
And the wheels go round
Giddy up we're homeward bound

More Animal Talk

The book which supplied me with the hippopotomus poem is full of other animal related gems written by all manner of people. This morning, my attention was caught by the following one, as it reminded me of the happy times I have spent, both at work and play, talking on the telephone, though switchboard operator duty did occasionally leave a lot to be desired.

Eletelephony
by Laura E Richards

Once there was an elephant,
who tried to use the telephant -
no! no! I mean an elephone
who tried to use the telephone -
(Dear me! I am not certain, quite,
that even now I've got it right!)

How'er it was, he got his trunk
entangled in the telephunk;
the more he tried to get it free,
the louder buzzed the telephee -
(I fear I'd better drop this song
of elephop and telephong!)

Off Shoot From Earth Day

Some of your will remember, on Earth Day, I posted a copy of Flanders and Swann's Hippopotamus Song. Now I give you a poem by Arthur Guiterman on the same subject - simply because I like it!

Habits of the Hippopotamus
by Arthur Guiterman

The hippopotamus is strong
and huge of head and broad of bustle;
the limbs on which he rolls along
are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
like ice cream, apple pie or custard,
but takes to flavour what he eats
a little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotomus is true
to all his principles, and just;
he always trys his best to do
the things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
in taxicabs or omnibusses,
and so keeps out of traffic jams
and other hippopotomusses.

The Kindness Of Strangers

I never knew an angel could drive a taxi. Today I know it's true; I was in his cab. Let me go back to the beginning.

Last week, my doctor promised to send a prescription to my local Boots Chemist for me to collect. Come Saturday, Boots denied all knowledge of any such thing, and I spent all weekend minus the anti-seasick pills needed to keep me on a even keel, to use an appropriately nautical turn of phrase.

Now, don't get me wrong. I've not been reeling around like a drunken sailor since Saturday, but nevertheless, the deck has not remained as stable as I might like. It's all due to the gyroscope in my head - it can't always be sure which way is up, once its equilibrium has been disturbed.

Anyhow, a 'phone call to the surgery proved the missing prescription was still within its hallowed portals, and I ordered a taxi to transport me thither post haste. I asked the driver to wait outside for the return trip, which he obligingly did.

On the ride back to the town centre, I told him the tale of the mix up, with the result that he offered to take the forms into Boots, so's I'd not have to hang around the dispensary when I called in later today. Bless him. I sat in his car, parked outside of St Faith's Church, while he trotted off to the chemists with them. But when he got back, he told me they'd be ready in 15 minutes and if I was OK waiting, he'd go back and collect them as well! Talk about kind!
He pootled off on a little errand of his own, and reappeared eventually with the bag of pills clutched in his more than helpful fingers.

Like I said, I never knew an angel might be found behind the wheel of a taxi cab...but I bet his wings got awfully crumpled inside that black leather bomber jacket.

I Cannot Believe It!

It's now ten to four in the morning. After a couple of hours or so of slumber, the wide awake hat had ensconced my head and eventually I gave up and came down to say "Hi! Blogland!" Like you would. Like I did.
Okay. So I caught up with emails, but decided sleep was still not on the cards, so I let my mind do as it liked to my fingers on the keys. Imagine my surprise, when, after about a quarter of a hour, the following piece sat on my screen notebook. I idly counted, and yes - you guessed - it's fifty five words, and today's Friday! G-Man has a lot to answer for. He even takes over my sleep deprived mind without a by your leave...

I'm Not Counting Sheep

Three o'clock in the morning;
other people sleep,
but I sit at the keyboard.
What strange hours I keep!
I went to bed and nodded off,
but woke up two hours later
and spent a long while fidgeting
and peering down a crater
devoid of dreams or sleep or rest.
Insomnia is such a pest.

And it Is still Earth Day - second edition

After my original fun post today, a serious note crept in, and I've just composed the following lines to maybe make you think about this day in a different way.

Ashes To Ashes

The silent skies, with clouds of high rise ash,
towered above unsuspecting Earth,
causing weary passengers distress
by dashing hopes of speedy journeys home.
Aeroplanes remained forlorn and still,
as stringent measures clipped their eager wings
and ringed these metal birds in safety's cage.
Unpredictable volcanic plumes
held the world to ransom for a time,
while people watched and had to pay the price
of insouciant reliance on the air
to ferry heavy planes from place to place.
Earth's supremacy to Man is very plain;
her rules will govern in the final stages.

Earth Day?

No connection with birthday, just a plea for folks to be aware of how they can help stop the Earth ending up as one huge landfill of rubbish. But in the Jinksy mind, where thoughts seldom stray too far away from the Piscean love of water, Earth soon becomes equated with Mud.
So for my Earth Day Post, I call upon the brilliant Flanders and Swann team to provide the words which will allow you to sing their poetic rendition of the famous 'Mud, mud glorious mud' verses... look on YouTube if you want to hear them singing - the title is:-

The Hippopotamus Song

A bold hippopotamus was standing one day
On the banks of the cool Shalimar
He gazed at the bottom as he peacefully lay
By the light of the evening star
Away on the hilltop sat combing her hair
His fair hippopotami maid
The hippopotamus was no ignoramus
And sang her this sweet serenade

Chorus:
Mud, mud, glorious mud
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood
So follow me follow, down to the hollow
And there let me wallow in glorious mud

The fair hippopotama he aimed to entice
From her seat on that hilltop above
As she hadn't got a ma to give her advice
Came tiptoeing down to her love
Like thunder the forest re-echoed the sound
Of the song that they sang when they met
His inamorata adjusted her garter
And lifted her voice in duet

Chorus

Now more hippopotami began to convene
On the banks of that river so wide
I wonder now what am I to say of the scene
That ensued by the Shalimar side
They dived all at once with an ear-splitting sposh
Then rose to the surface again
A regular army of hippopotami
All singing this haunting refrain

Chorus

(Extra verse:)
The amorous hippopotamus whose love song we know
Is now married and father of ten,
He murmurs, "God rot 'em!" as he watches them grow,
And he longs to be single again!
He'll gambol no more on the banks of the Nile,
Which Naser is flooding next spring,
With hippopotamas in silken pyjamas
No more will he teach them to sing...

Chorus

Nosey Parkers

...The lot of you! Wanting to see me in war paint? Nary a one sparing a thought for poor little me having to maybe suffer the consequences of itchy eyes, bright red rash or itchy skin!! Me and make up have a long history of incompatibility, so pardon me if I decline to satisfy your curiosity, dear Bloglanders. And as for Suldog and his body butter hint - well! Enough said! Mind you, if Hilary were a close enough neighbour to drop by with her camera, it might be a different story - I'm sure I'd trust her to take an elegant photo of me in any circumstances - buttered up or not.
I shall leave you to fantasise over that horrific prospect for the rest of today, while I go away to contemplate organising lunch for one of my real life pals. Don't let your imaginations run away with you too much...

Human Error

This can be quite endearing, in an odd sort of way; a kind of unspoken battle between man and machine. Fast thinking computers may still be outwitted by a human being's input, though perhaps I mean undermined, rather than outwitted.

Let me explain how I came to choose this subject today. Last Wednesday, I placed an online order for - wait for it- some Body Shop Body Butter (their description, not mine - I'd have called it simply a creme moisturiser) in - wait for it again - cherry blossom flavour! Okay, I'm currently obsessed with cherry blossom.

So yesterday, when I was upstairs deep in the process of attempting to restore order in one of the bedrooms, 'Bang, bang' rapped somebody's knuckles on my front door (they ignored my dangling bell rope), and I had to quickly rush to the window so's they'd realise I was at home, even if no where near said door. Too often, parcel deliveries end up being undelivered, because the man with the van is too impatient to await my answer, and I get to the door in time to see their tyres squealing away in a cloud of dust. (Do they imagine people in houses are always no more than two steps from the door handle?)

Man in brown uniform waits patiently until I get downstairs to receive small packet and sign on his little machine screen. At this point, I could tell it wasn't my Body Butter, but thought it might be another purchase expected from Amazon.

After the usual fight with super strong glue on the padded brown envelope, I finally reached the contents: one pot Mineral Cheek Pink Quartz: one pot Eye Shimmer Silver: one tube Mascara Super Volume and one delivery note, purporting to be for a person living in Templars Avenue, London. Unless I had been transported by aliens in the night, I was still in Havant, and not in the least interested in silver eye shadow, mineral rouge or black mascara. Yes, it was from The Body Shop; but that, and the label printed with my name and address, was the limit of its correctness.
There is obviously opportunity for many a slip twixt printer and parcel, thanks to Human Error...which is where this post began.

A swift telephone call resulted in apologies, permission to keep the items in question, and an assurance of another delivery as per original request. If there are continuing mistakes, I might be opening a Free Body Shop branch in my living room before very long... Mascara, anybody?