PLASTIC GRASS

Get your plastic grass fantastic,

Is the market trader’s cry.

No more mowing, no weeds showing,

No hosepipe bans apply.

 

No daisy roots, fill your boots,

Lay it instead of turf.

Always green, looks pristine,

And it doesn’t cost the earth.

 

Except the faking, in the making,

Creates yet more emissions.

The planet heats, there’s less to eat,

Soon it’s drought conditions.

 

Then contemplate, as folk pass your gate,

On the foodless road to famine.

Your square of green, will be seen,

Not so much smart, as damning.

[Poem - 22 September 2023]

Henry Normal

My Friday night jaunt to Barnard Castle should provide inspiration for today’s writing session.

At the Whitham Theatre, Henry Normal gave us an hour and a half of poetry mixed with observational humour that had us alternately nodding in appreciation and hooting with laughter. The fact that the venue was only half full reflects Henry Normal’s under the radar profile. He occasionally appears on the Radio Four six-thirty comedy slot, but ought to be better known having written scripts for The Royle Family, Mrs Meeton, and The Mighty Boosh.

The evening was worth much more than the ticket price of £15, with an extra £10 for a signed copy of his latest collection of poems.

[Authentic selfie - 15 June 2023]

Mind-clearing Walk

I am still feeling the mind-clearing benefits of yesterday’s walk with an old friend. Old in both senses, age (like me 70+) and duration (50+ years as friends). Starting in Slapewath we took the Cleveland Street path that connects Guisborough Priory and Whitby Abbey winding through fields paths as for as Skelton. Lunch on a bench then a half mile of tarmac to get onto the Cleveland Way at the splendidly and appropriately named Airey Hill Lane for a walk back to Slapewath, where adjacent to the Fox and Hounds a coffee shop awaited.

That was the only disappointment – why does anyone warm a scone up before serving it?

[Authentic selfie - 8 June 2023]

Incomplete Works

My suite of reading material generally includes a breakfast book. The main criteria for selection as such is the capacity to stay open unaided on the kitchen table, hands free, so to speak. So, generally it has to be a hardback.

The current choice is a thick one-volume edition of the works of Jane Austen, and I am up to Emma. In fact, I am up to Chapter 21 of that novel, about page 660 in the tome.

However, this morning I happened to glance forward a page or two to gauge the chapter’s length and did a double-take. Two pages forward was page 697 and Chapter 28. The book has a 30-page, 7-chapter gap! A hiatus!

I am off to the library to borrow a copy of chapters 22 to 27!

[Authentic selfie - 27 April 2023]

Green Ink

As I prepared last night’s meal, Radio 4 was broadcasting Just a Minute, and one of the subjects the panel had to expound upon was the four-colour biro.

I paused in my cooking to listen. As a devotee of the four-colour biro, I was more than a little interested in how the contestant, whose name escapes me, could confidently explain how at school each colour had a designated role – black for formal writing in exercise books, blue for notes to friends, red for forged marking of homework, and green? Well, if you used green you were weird.

I added, shouting at the radio, not if you’re an auditor. In fact, at the City Council, we forbade any other officer to use green ink in their ledger.

[Authentic selfie - 20 April 2023]

Humming

On my mind this morning is that I am humming. Not due to a lack of showering but due to immersion last night in the glorious tunes of Bizet’s Carmen at the Darlington Hippodrome.

A late decision after lunch secured me the last remaining ticket in the stalls and, taking up my place, I quickly learned I was not the only one attending alone. Both neighbouring seats were also taken by singletons – maybe not that surprising as opera is a bit ‘marmite’ and a partner may well bale out.

Back to the tunes. They are catchy, as I explained to the neighbour on my right as she complained at the end of Act One that her neighbour to the right kept dumpty-dumpting along with the cast. It was noticeable, too, in the interval, the number of folk who passed me  whistling, toreador-ing, or like me, humming.

[Authentic selfie - 16 March 2023]