Ode To Adam Fresco

He wouldn’t let us eat him, or drink him during break

He never let us beat him, or bake him in a cake

But never once did we wish to cut off his legs

Or impale him on a stick

We wouldn’t dream of killing him, for fear of making him sick

He taught us how to act, had passion for plays

Knew all about the theatre, made us crave the stage

I think he understood us, like great teachers only could

And I think we understood him, like only mothers could

Now Adam’s in New Zealand, doing all of the same things

Encouraging students writing

And inspiring all their dreams.


(I wrote this at age 27, when I discovered my hair was going grey, or more to the point, white).

Help! Isn’t there a pill I can take, a book I can read, a cream I can put on? No-one warned me about this, no-one told me how it would make me feel, the colour so bright, so dazzling white, like a beacon stretching for miles in the night. Why didn’t anyone tell me, that it would be resistant to dye, resistant to just about anything? This new hair colour has super strength.

It’s impervious



I’m getting old. What do I do, keeping dying my hair, with super dye, every month, so that the little bastards can’t get through? Have to keep chasing the follicle from now on. Did I worry so much? I’ve got white hair, pigment is AWOL, lost, gone on strike. Help!

Of course, I don’t feel the same now, twenty years later. I’m matured , so it hardly matters. To be honest, I don’t really care now but I cared then. I can always dye it blue…or green or tawny brown but the main thing is, I’ve realised that grey hair and white hair look gorgeous too. I know that now. I’ve seen women who wear it extremely well, but more than that, they are confident in their own skin. It feels good/relieving to look back on things that upset me when I was younger, understand why, and realise that they don’t upset me anymore.


I know a snowflake, pitter patter snow

Gets easily offended, by everyone I know

Sensitive as flowers, in the blazing sun

Trampled underneath, never having fun.

I know a snowflake, will take you to the brink

Delicate like crystal, not as special as they think

Selfish, selfish, selfish, anything but wise

Feels entitled to a lot of praise, and don’t dare you criticize

Be the ‘best version’ of yourself, Is the snowflake’s cry

Never ever people please and don’t eat humble pie

Can’t see the wood for the trees, so taken up with woes

You are wrong and they are right, I think that’s how it goes

Politically correct, they’ll do it just to spite

And if you have a different view, they’ll scream and stomp and bite

Two meanings to the word, like the ‘special’ of old

Which can mean the opposite, of what we are told

If someone was called ‘special’, back in older days,

It could mean different things, it could go different ways.

We are all unique, and burn with different flames

Cut from the same cloth, but our clothes are not the same

But by labelling people, as we go,

It can sometimes help to make it so

I know a snowflake, now who could it be?

What did you just say, the snowflake’s me?

I’m offended!

Blessed By Books

I’ve got four books on the go at the moment. I’m currently reading at various times of the day;

  1. The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald (I like to read this one late at night. I love Nick Carraway’s casual yet intense observations and the theme of obsessive love)
  2. Gather Together In My Name – Maya Angelou (Unputdownable for the most part and effortless reading. She has led such a full life)
  3. Star Trek First Contact – J.M Dillard (Interesting , character driven, lighter reading for the mornings, when I need to relax)
  4. The Brothers Karamazov – Dostoyevsky – Vol. 2 – (I haven’t read Vol. 1 and it starts at page 383, but it’s dark, tense and suspenseful. It also makes me wonder how many times can you drink to Russia? It seems, infinitely).

I don’t usually have so many books on the go at the same time. It’s usually just one or two, but lately, I am blessed by finding great little bookshops in unexpected places and being able to buy some wonderful books. This month, I’m feeling blessed by books.

Quote Of The Week

‘How extraordinary. I have known Prince Philip all these years. I did not know he had a guilty secret. He likes poetry. Poor man. How dreadful.’

-The Queen Mother discovering that Prince Philip likes poetry. From Backstairs Billy: The life Of William Tallon by Tom Quinn