I've Thumbed A Ride...

...On the Poetry Bus! Not too sure of the etiquette, but I heard its revving engine and before I knew it, I'd hopped on board. Apparently, to purchase a ticket, passengers have to write a poem on a given subject, which this week centres around 'Signposts'. So here's my special rate, OAP fare for a Sunday runabout through the lanes of Blogland.

What Next?

The sign on the post just says 'Footpath'.
I think someone's having a laugh.
There's nothing ahead but a big field of grass
where surely no right minded person would pass
without a large map and a compass.                      

There's a dodgy old style to climb over,
and no sign of a green, four-leafed clover.
If this is the country, then give me the town
with people and traffic that roars up and down -
till it stops and gives rise to an impasse!

Oh, no! Now its raining and that's the last straw!
The pastoral scene is more dire than before
when the heavens are pissing all over the place
and the weeds grab your feet in their loving embrace.
The countryside's gift is a real coupe de grâce.

************************************************

On a completely different tack, after so many of you had commented on the word 'Thwock' in my post about the delights of Wimbledon, I was a trifle non-plussed to discover, thanks to Google, that the Urban Dictionary gave this as a slang term for penis. This knowledge caused one bright spark called Christine to email me with the following ditty, which I feel obliged to share, as it's too clever to pass unnoticed!

In Blogland we must not defrock
A blogger for innocent use of t****k
The reaction should not be to jeer
For working the onomatopoeia

Collins, Oxford, Chambers too
Provide on t****k no simple clue
They all record the feisty thwack
To mean a thump, or bat or smack

In pursuit of beauty we all strive
Keeping our lyrical language alive
You shouldn't snigger or snort or mock
When ladies of letters throw in a t****k

Eureka!

Eureka is an exclamation used as an interjection to celebrate a discovery. It comes from the Ancient Greek, Εὕρηκα/Ηὕρηκα - Heurēka/Hēurēka, meaning approximately 'I have found it'.

Just now I found the following lines tucked into a folder, and thought I'd share them today, ready for the next time you feel as though everything is going wrong!


Good Advice For A Bad Day 


If one day you toss a pancake 
and it flips upon your head
and makes you feel that probably 
you should have stayed in bed;
or if passing under ladders 
leads to accidents, unplanned,
don't start to imagine 
that you're voodooed out of hand.

Although life can be fickle 
and sometimes throws a punch
that knocks you, for no reason, 
so hard you hear the crunch,
stick out your chin and take it 
to prove that you are tough,
and don't collapse and wither 
'cause the going has got rough.
Laugh at silly mishaps 
and see the funny side,
say rhubarb to the sceptics - 
say you came just for the ride!
Show you are a sterner mix 
than jelly or marshmallow.
Soon everyone will slap the back 
of such a jolly fellow.

Playing The Game

Anyone For Tennis?

Wimbledon fortnight, white lines on green
where players bat balls,and let loose their spleen
as they battle each other, testing unseen
reserve stores of energy...Know what I mean?

The 'Thwock' of each stroke: the rise and the fall
of the crowds approbation (they applaud one and all!):
the umpire's voice as he makes a good call
to dispel any doubt, "That's a good ball!"

These are the sounds that fly through the air,
chasing the aces. They lead to despair
in the soul of the player who, tearing his hair,
misses a shot for not being there

in quite the position to return a serve
with all the aplomb that he keeps in reserve
for just such a moment.Though he doesn't loose nerve
but bounces right back with vigour and verve.

When I wrote these words yesterday I had no idea how apt the last two lines would be as an epitaph at the end of a day in which records were broken in the most dramatic manner. Isner and Mahut, who began playing at two o'clock on Tuesday, had to resume play on Wednesday after nightfall had stopped  their game at two sets each. But exactly the same thing happened again Thursday, and , after a ten hour epic battle, they finally reached a score of  59 - 59 in the fifth set before waining light  once more halted the game... I can't wait for them to resume play this afternoon.

You can watch the video here, if you have the time and the patience!  http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/tennis/8757259.stm 

Post Script: Isner has finally won at 70 games to 68 in the fifth set, after playing a game which lasted 11 hours 5 minutes, and the Tennis Association present the players and the umpire with special awards in recognition of their achievements.

Summer Solstice

I heard a news reader mention Stonehenge this morning, and the idea of this being the longest day has rooted itself in my mind. It has given me  a false sense of security, but I now realise the afternoon has crept up on me, complete with all the annual delights of The Wimbledon Tennis Championships. No prizes for guessing what I shall be doing as soon as I've clicked publish!

I shall therefore beg your forgiveness for being AWOL, but will leave you with the result of my Sunday's playtime, when I sat and dreamed of where I would like to be...

One Step Forwards, Two Steps Back

This is what seems to have happened this morning. When I sat at the keyboard, I couldn't stop my mind from seeing the illustration I posted two days ago, on Thursday. It had come out of nowhere, part of a larger Paint doodle experiment that, once on screen, I decided to crop. Rather than my imagination making IT, IT made my imagination see its potential - if you can understand the distinction. 

But that was not the end of it. After some more playing, I had completely altered the whole feel of the thing by simply intensifying the colours. like so:-

With two versions of the same thing for me to cogitate, I began asking myself "What's the real difference?" On one level, the answer had to be "None."
But part of me cannot agree with this statement. I believe that the theoretical Time of Day is the point at which they become separated. The first has an early morning feel, the second a brash, noon time brilliance.

I wonder what you think?

Morning And Noon

Morning light dances with graceful steps
across the distant hills, sprinkles the sea
with starry,diamond points. Like grains of gold
they ride the wavelets lapping on the shore,
and add their gleaming to the waiting sand.
What better natural partnerships are found
than sky and sun above bright sea and sand?

But noon intensifies both heat and light
and burns the scene upon each wondering mind
even as  branding irons leave their mark
of ownership on unsuspecting flanks.
So our senses bear the mark of beauty
once seen, a vivid blessing given freely
by a universe beyond our knowing.

Because It's Friday

Today there will be a lot of people visiting Mr Know It All to offer up their words of Flash Fiction for Friday. Thanks to a comment made by Rinkly Rimes on my previous post, I got a flash of inspiration to join in the shenanigans again myself, so here's mine, all 55 of them!


Tongue Tied?

"Its on the tip of my tongue", we say.
Don't let it get away.
Spit out those words
that we've not heard -
let's hear them all today!  

You may have something special
that's waiting to get out,
so let it loose,
give it a whirl -
maybe with a shout?   

But first, I'll block my ears!

A Thoughtful Thursday

  

Legacy

Inspiration comes unasked; it seems
to blossom freely when and where it will.
We grasp it eagerly, a passing dream
which lights our darkest night and makes us thrill

with great anticipation. With the dawn
a nascent thought may turn into reality.
We artists, labouring till our child be born,          
invest it with a spark of true humanity

as we interpret with our brush or pen
its fleeting image, transcribed on a page.
If lost, such ideas may not come again,
but, once ensnared, continue to engage

the mind. And who can tell how long a time
life's pulse will live in picture or in rhyme?   

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!)