Just discovered I now have a hundred followers. It’s taken me a while to get here, slow and steady I always say, oh yes. Thank you followers, likers and readers, I really do appreciate the support. You are very kind and generous and beautiful. I have much to learn and a long way to go, in this warm, friendly and talented community. I’m looking forward to this journey with you. Thank you again.
I’m at the cinema and the movie is on, but when I look down, the popcorn is gone. People are leaving, the seats are all tipped, the soda and cola haven’t been sipped.
Wait, I was dreaming, fell asleep you see, I don’t like thrillers, bore the pants off me. The film went on, forever it seemed, but I quite liked to think
it was the end
in my dreams.
And then I went home to find kitten at play, with a ball of wool she’d had her eye on all day. The unravelled thread, I followed along, ‘soft, strong and very, very long’.
Out in the garden, the wool did extend. It was just the beginning but I thought it was the end. While tracking the string, U.F.O fleet I spy, orange and red, in indigo sky. Aliens fly to me, with guns all aglow,
the end is nigh, they say,
in their own lingo.
It’s war of the worlds, army from the stars, thought my number was up, invasion from Mars. I thought it was the end, intergalatic death ray?
No.
It’s just the World Firework Championship Display
When times were tough
We took a bite
Out of our Scouse Dummy
This staple lunch
Was all we had
It was better than our mummy
It’s cheap and cheerful
Comes wrapped up nice
In paper bag and grease
Flaky pastry makes it tasty
You eat it on the streets.
Quite a small and meagre meal
Doesn’t get you fat
When mother wants to shut you up
she says, ‘Have a suck on that.’
It’s all you need to fill the space
That gnaws deep within your belly
‘Til fish and chips
Or beans on toast
In front of soapy telly.
(At this point there are two alternative endings to this poem, depending on whether you like the Sayers or Greggs Scouse Dummy and are environmentally attached or adhered to the area, or not. I pay homage to them both. Just as there are people in the same family who support different football teams, there are people in the same family who have different preferences for the same items of food, but in different eateries/snack bars. For the record, my personal preference is for Sayers).
What is this we eat, upon the hoof?
This golden rod of meaty dregs?
This Scouse Dummy is no mystery
It’s just a sausage roll from Greggs.
(And now for my personal favourite)…
What is this we eat, upon the hoof?
This golden rod of meaty layers
This Scouse Dummy is no mystery
It’s just a sausage roll from Sayers.
My husband’s Auntie Winnie was a lovely person. She was one of the first people he introduced me to and she warmly welcomed me into her family, twenty seven years ago. She was a much beloved sister, wife, mother and grandmother. Winnie sadly passed six weeks ago. Throughout her life, she was a prolific poet and writer. This was one of her very many poems, which was discovered after her passing.
‘What is it that beholds an air
A footstep on the stair of life
A whispered thought still in my mind
Of what I’ve lost and cannot find
Still I will seek until the day
My melancholy slips away
And when that comes
And heartaches cease-
I will know at last
I’ve found my peace.’
by Winnie Stephenson
(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
Impenetrable
Conspicious
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.
Here’s my plan for the coming week.
We can all dream… But we can also make it happen.
I’ve got four books on the go at the moment. I’m currently reading at various times of the day;
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.
I’m going to be turning fifty, this year. I don’t feel it. I don’t know whether to grow old gracefully or disgracefully. I’ve always been indecisive.
I looked up stuff about age last week (because I am sensitive about age now) and I learned so much! Some of the things I learned were…
You’re not allowed to say ‘elderly’ anymore. ‘Senior citizen’ is out and ‘retired’ is out the door. You can’t say ‘geriatric’ and I think that’s quite fair. ‘Pensioner’ is outdated and ‘advanced age’ – don’t go there. ‘Old people?’ No, can’t do that, as it euphemizes age. And that euphemism is negative, if you’ve lived a lot of days. So, what are we to do, to show respect for all the years? How do we put a stop to all our politically correct fears?
A lot of these words were bandied about, in certain times and phases but now ‘fossil’, ‘fogey’ and ‘codger’ are out, they’re not P.C phrases. ‘Older adult’ or ‘older person’ is the acceptable term these days, or simply ‘man’ or simply ‘woman’, followed by their age.
It’s about time, the PC World (not the computer store) said something nice about me, so if I’m an ‘older adult,’ then that’s what I’m happy to be.
I love you
Because you’re unexpected
Unpredictable
Just salty enough
Tangy enough
I spread you close
Lather you up
Against the butter
Against the toast
But not too much
Less is more with you
You come finely housed in curvaceous glass
Not everyone likes you
But if they like you, they love you
And if they don’t like you, they hate you
And can’t stand the smell of you
Let alone eat you
Some people are taken in by your cunning disguise
They see you all brown and sticky and gooey and think
you are a chocolate spread
And then they eat you, one big mouthful
You’re a nice surprise or a nasty shock
Depending on your outlook and tastebuds
I once was a little frightened of you
And once, I hated you.
But now, I love you, Marmite.
I overheard a conversation on the tram this week between a man and woman. This is how it went:
WOMAN: (LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AND POINTING): She’s a diva.
MAN: (A LITTLE LOUDER): A beaver?
WOMAN: (A LITTLE LOUDER): A diva.
MAN: (MUCH LOUDER) A beaver?
WOMAN: (VERY MUCH LOUDER): No! A diva!
MAN: (VERY LOUD) What’s a diva?
WOMAN: (LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW AND POINTING): She is. (SIGHS & THEN QUIETLY) Oh, she’s gone now.
Things In My Head 