Followers

Thursday 23 February 2023

KNEES UP

 KNEES UP 

By Peter Woodgate 


Jo has got another Knee

The other one was knackered

Up and down the stairs she goes

No wonder she is shattered.

I am too with all this work

It seems a bit like hell

I’m up and down like a Jack-in-the-box

Every time I hear the bell.

It appears Jo is up for another job

One that requires an ology

She thinks it’s fun to pull the chord

And pretends it’s campanology.

She has to wear these stockings

And I’m not being catty

They are black and thick and wrinkled

Just like Nora Batty.

I should, of course, show sympathy

For the pain is the worst on earth

The only other that’s close to it

Is when you’re giving birth.

Of course, I cannot confirm this

Not having had the pleasure

I got to hold them afterwards

All three oh what a pleasure.

I suppose I should be thankful

That my knees are pretty good

They let me run around a bit

Which I suppose I should.

After all before the op

 Jo did the same for me

So I can’t moan for giving care

But I do you see.

I’ve had a taste of a carers jobs

And, in truth, must say,

We don’t appreciate their work

And they deserve more pay.

 

ARE YOU LISTENING Ris

 

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate (January 2023)

Tuesday 21 February 2023

Forbidden Fruits

 Forbidden Fruits

By Len Morgan 


There is a place where we all go at night, fleetingly; perhaps one in a million people realise it.  But following this article, many more may become aware of the existence of ‘Dazetime’.

 

It’s a refuge that opens up new worlds for the few.

It’s a secret place between waking and sleeping.  You might call it ‘Dreamtime’ but that is another thing entirely.

 

‘AWAKE-DAZE-ASLEEP’

 

Now that you are aware of its existance, you can consciously seek it out.  When ever you doze off, you may become aware of entering ‘Dazetime’.

 

It’s when the mind is divorced from the body.  Yes, it can exist outside of the body.  It is pure consciousness.  When gazing down upon your body you become aware of its physical limitations.

 

This out-of-body experience can happen under anaesthesia, during an operation; when the mind becomes separated from the body.

 

Sometimes known as ‘Astral travel’.  Mostly the spirit (for want of a better word) will stay close to the body to protect it, though in reality, it can do nothing… 

 

But, it could travel farther afield and explore its astral potential.  In ‘Dazetime’ The physical world is not a barrier.

 

The Astral traveller can pass through walls, travel to the moon, mars or to the stars in an instant.  The speed of light is no longer a barrier.  Secrets can be revealed capable of advancing mankind’s knowledge and experience but...

 

In the next instant sleep takes us over and everything we have gleaned is forgotten?!

 

No doubt, somewhere, at this very moment, scientists are attempting to unlock the experiences gained during ‘Dazetime’.  Somewhere in China, Russia, USA, UK, Nova Scotia, boffins are attempting to download the secrets of the Universe from subjects, under anaesthetics and/or drugs.  Buddhist monks are engaged in the same endeavour possibly with more success.

 

‘Dazetime’  ~  Forbidden fruits! 

Saturday 18 February 2023

Troy and Caroline ~ (an Essex Tale)

  

Troy and Caroline ~ (an Essex Tale)

By Grace Petersson


David Gordon Phipps never discussed his early life with anyone – not even his wife of twenty years.  He was brought up in central Southend in a terraced house with three sisters and working class parents.  Once he was twenty-one, he changed his name, taking the Gordon from his father and the Phipps from his mother.  Pretentious perhaps, but the name opened doors in the financial sector.

David had a fair education and would consider himself a self-made man, although as the only boy, he was afforded rights and privileges not deemed worthy of his three equally intelligent sisters.  If David wished for Oxbridge, the family made sure he got there. But David Gordon Phipps had a secret.  A secret that would decimate his family.

Stockbroker status was afforded to David. By age thirty he was skilled at playing the market.  His considered choice of a wife, Gloria brought up in Thorpe Bay;  a sincere and honest woman who loved David unconditionally.  The couple had just one child, Caroline, who at seventeen was studying for A levels at Southend Boys Sixth form college with an ambition to study at Harvard USA and serve as an environmental lawyer to challenge big corporates as they may endanger flora fauna in their clamour for money and power.

Gary Taylor was also brought up in a small terraced abode just a few streets from David Gordon Phipps although the two never met.  Gary loved and still adores motorbikes.  He started life as a bike mechanic and eventually bought his own shop before he was thirty.  Gary also had a good head for business and within ten years, the down to earth Gaz had seven shops around Essex; all doing excellently with reliable managers and contented staff.  Gary’s wife Marina became a fashion designer inspired by Zandra Rhodes and Vivienne Westwood.  Her creations featuring studs, spikes, and grungy leather jackets were hugely popular in Gary’s shops; elevating Gary and Marina to a rather embarrassing millionaire status given their ‘humble beginnings.’  The couple had a single offspring, Troy; his name was inspired by Marina’s love for Troy Tempest, captain of the submarined Stingray.  Troy was teased all through primary and high school by his mates who constantly reminded him he was named after a puppet.

Troy and Caroline were destined to meet as they were both passionate about saving the earth and studying in the USA; MIT and Harvard respectively.  They were also fated to cause chaos, uncertainty, and ultimately growth in their parents’ lives.  As children, Troy and Caroline knew of each other at Thorpdene Primary; particularly as Gary would bring Troy to school on the back of his Harley Davidson, causing all the kids, including Caroline to utter “wow” in envious union. 

Troy inherited his love of bikes from Gary, who revered Richard Abry, The Dark Knight, riding the Kursaal Wall of Death in the 1960s.  Once he was seventeen and had his licence, Troy’s parents gave him a Farsta Electric motorbike, which he rode to school each day.  He knew about the bad boy image associated with bikers, but didn’t care.  He was safe and always followed the rules.  Boom!  As soon as he laid eyes on Caroline at Southend Boys’ Sixth Form College, he was smitten.  As they conducted science experiments together, they laughed, had fun and made plans for their future together. 

But to Troy, Caroline was ‘posh.’  He had subconsciously picked up from Gary that posh people were snobs and up themselves.  But Caroline was not like this, taking after her mother, Gloria, who would help anyone.  However, Troy believed he would only be acceptable to David, and happy, when he got good exam results, had Caroline out of Rayleigh and off to the US, where they could both pursue their ambitions without David’s judgment.

Later, as Troy, Caroline, and her folks went to the Roslin hotel for afternoon tea, Troy knew immediately he was right;    As soon as Troy uttered the word motorbike, David Gordon Phipps (what kind of phoney name is that,  he thought), had a face like thunder and Troy knew he was whipped. The moment David and Gloria met Troy, Caroline sensed there would be trouble.  Yet she also knew he was anything but a bad boy.  To her, he was kind, respectful, polite and brilliant.

Then, just one week after the Roslin hotel debacle, Caroline’s world as she knew it fell to pieces.  Her mother picked up David from Rayleigh station as usual and as he entered the house in Great Wheatly’s, Caroline knew something was very wrong. 

“I’m so sorry, baby, Harvard just isn’t possible anymore.”  The words gushed out of David’s mouth and Caroline stopped breathing.  “What?” she softly said nonplussed.  “It’s all gone.  I’ve lost everything.”  David said, “The stock market took a bad turn and it’s all gone.”

“What do you mean?” Caroline frantically asked.  “You have lots of savings right?  You told me I could have Harvard.  All my life you told me and I believed you.”

“I’m so sorry Caroline” David now sobbed.  “I had to use it all to pay my debts and even then it wasn’t enough.  I’ve done so many bad things, bad decisions.  I even had to remortgage the house.”

Now Gloria joined the fray.  “David, are you telling me we don’t own the house anymore?”  He nodded at his wife not knowing what else to do.

All Caroline’s plans were torn asunder.  Hers and Troy’s dreams were shattered.  At school the following Monday, Caroline told Troy the ghastly news.  Trying to keep hold of herself she said,  “You go to MIT as planned, but I can’t come with you.  I’ll go to SEEVIC and see you in the holidays.

“No!” Troy shouted, “I thought your dad had pots of money from the way he talked.”  “Well” said Caroline, “That’s all it was, talk.”

At home, Troy told Gary and Marina the dreadful news.  I knew my parents were a bit skeptical about David’s claims of tons of money, but to their credit, they said nothing.

“It’s a big shame, but not a tragedy,” said Mum “But you can still go to MIT and maybe when Caroline’s dad gets himself sorted, she can join you.”

Feeling like screaming aloud, Troy shouted “You don’t understand Mum, David’s lost everything, literally”.  After a long minute, Gary and Marina looked at each other seeming to know what the other would say.

Gary cleared his throat before speaking, “I’d like to put an idea to you son.  I – we, he looked expectantly at his wife, would like to help you and Caroline financially.  Now before you start your tirade Troy, please listen to us.”

Through his frustration and angst, Troy paid attention without comment.

“What we’re proposing is a loan – not a handout – to fund Caroline’s Harvard fees and a flat for you both.  We’re assuming you two will live together, so in a way, the loan will help you as well, Troy.”

What about the “esteemed” David Gordon Phipps?” asked Troy sardonically.  “What’s he going to say?”

“Well” interjected Marina, “That why we insist it’s a loan.  David is honourable and proud of his ability to provide for his family.”

“That’s a joke.  If he’s so’ honourable’ he wouldn’t be a scumbag shark” derided Troy,

“Now, Troy”, said Marina,  Caroline would be aghast to hear you speak of David that way.”

“Well,” said Gary with a long sigh,  All we can do is try.”

With that, Gary invited David and Gloria to dinner the next night, knowing the registration date for Harvard was looming.

Once the quartet were seated with coffee and liqueurs, Gary put forward his proposal regarding the loan. 

“We can’t allow that,” puffed out David.  “I’ve promised Caroline I’ll get her to Harvard somehow, even if it’s next year.”

Now the usually reticent Gloria found her voice.  “David, darling, it could take years for us to have that kind of money again and I’ll be much less worried about Caroline if she’s living with Troy.”

“As Gary says, “she continued, “It’s a loan, not a gift."  David ran his palms over his balding head looking so dejected that even Gary felt sorry for him.

With that, Gloria asked Gary if she and David could have a word together, alone.  After thirty minutes, Caroline’s parents returned with David appearing less purple and apoplectic.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Gary and Marina for your kindness.”  David uttered quietly.

“Just say yes,” Gary simply replied.

 

Epilogue.    As predicted, Troy and Caroline were exemplary students, passing with honours.  Both sets of parents travelled to Massachusetts to see their children graduate and take up their new positions as environmental lawyer and space researcher.  The lovebirds paid off the loan within two years and now live in a beautiful condominium in Fremont, halfway between San Francisco and the NASA HQ in Silicone Valley.

Meanwhile, Gloria gained Qualified Teacher Status in two years; teaching English Literature at Southend High School for Girls.  David surprised her with his unstinting support; a changed man it would appear, as a result of his fall from grace.

David had always loved decorating their home as a means of escape from his pressurised London career, surprising everyone by renovating and decorating homes for a living.  His first commission was Marina and Gary’s sitting room, for which he took no fee.  Troy’s folks were delighted with the result.

Copyright Grace Petersson 

Thursday 16 February 2023

A VALENTINE MESSAGE

 A VALENTINE MESSAGE

By Peter Woodgate


I could, of course, have bought a card,

Showing other people’s words,

But, in truth, they should be mine

To be of any worth.

A big red heart, a teddy bear,

Just commercialised produce,

This heart of mine, you cannot see,

But that is no excuse.

For it is full of your embrace,

Your love and kindly soul,

You touch so many people’s hearts,

And that should be my goal.

But I can only concentrate,

On one, and that is yours,

It is the only one I love

Unique, of that I’m sure.

 

Peter Woodgate 14 February 2023

Monday 13 February 2023

Wish You Were Here

 Wish You Were Here 

By Jane Scoggins 

   Gwen’s trip to the charity shop started a few months after her husband Jim had passed away. It had been the Macmillan nurse who had suggested that Gwen might like to give some of Jim’s clothes to the hospice shop. Although she had nursed Jim through his illness, and knew that time was short, she had still been completely overwhelmed by grief when he died. The visiting nurses had given such a professional and supportive service to them both. After his passing the nurses had continued to visit regularly through the practicalities and emotional turmoil she found difficult to cope with. For the first few months Gwen found comfort in opening Jim’s wardrobe or chest-of-drawers and  holding a piece of his clothing to her face to breath in any lingering smell of him, or  to stroke a favourite wool sweater. At the point she felt it was the right time to sort out Jim’s clothes she asked one of the nurses what she thought she could do with her husband’s good suit, his sheepskin jacket and the almost new shirts and sweaters. The nurse, sensitive to Gwen’s emotions suggested she may like to donate them to the hospice charity shop. Jim had been cared for several times in the local hospice for short periods to review his medication and give Gwen a break from his care. She thought this a good idea, and the nurse offered to take them when she was ready to pack them up. Time passed and Gwen coped better with her grief. She ventured out more to spend time with friends. During a visit to the town she ventured into the charity shop. She was relieved not to see any of Jim’s clothes on the rails, afraid she might become tearful. Browsing in the shop she chose to buy a couple of books, a CD and a slim glass vase, just right for a bloom or two from her small garden. On the way to the counter to pay, something hanging from a hook caught her eye. It was a cloth bag made from deep purple velvet. It looked homemade and the things that made it distinctive were the badges pinned or sewn onto the front flap. Intrigued Gwen looked closer. The sewn on badges were from Cornwall, Paris, Nice, Moscow, Sri Lanka and Chile. Gwen could only imagine what it was like to travel the world, but she and Jim had been to Cornwall many times in their camper van and it held many happy memories. The pinned on badges were of Greenpeace, CND, Amnesty International and Love Books. The bag and its badges somehow resonated with Gwen and impulsively she took it to the till with the book CD and vase she had also selected.

At home Gwen put on the kettle and the CD. She hummed along to the Songs of the 70’s and examined the bag again. Smiling at her impulsiveness for buying a  rather well worn bag for the badges, she felt her spirits lift. Having made a mug of tea she reached for the sugar bowl and knocked the mug over. Hot tea spilled over the worktop where the bag sat. The bottom of the velvet fabric thirstily soaked up the tea and left very little to mop up. Dismayed, Gwen reached for a cloth and tried to sponge it clean but soon realised that it would need more serious attention. Putting the plug in the sink, Gwen ran the tap and dunked the soggy bottom of the bag in the cold water. After lifting it out Gwen began to squeeze the water out. The base was heavy with sodden cardboard or padding  so snipping away some stitches she reached in to remove it. To her surprise it was not cardboard but a plastic bag with two neat piles side by side of 20 pound notes wrapped in cloth and with a letter:

  ‘Dear stranger,

I am so glad you have my bag and have discovered this hidden treasure trove. It is a gift for you.

 

Yes, it really is. Let me explain. After many years as a free spirit travelling, and supporting good causes close to my heart, I am now housebound and reliant on others for the first time in my life and having to live any unfulfilled dreams  through others. I have decided to give away some of my possessions and treasures. The velvet bag I was undecided about but hoped I would take pot luck and give it away in the hope that someone else would treasure it and discover the hidden money. I would like you to use the money to fulfil a dream. Life is short and we should enjoy it whilst we can. Of course you may decide to pay your electric bill or have the house painted that is up to you. But I hope that if you are the person I think you are, you will take a leap of faith and do something out of the ordinary. The Norwegian fjords, the Northern Lights, The Rocky Mountains are all spectacular. If it is peace you prefer, a Hebridean croft. I have been living in Essex for some time but feel the time is right now to return to my native Cornwall. If you decide to follow a dream I have included a PO Box number. And if you wish, and only if you wish, perhaps you would write and tell me of your adventure.

Wishing you happiness


Rose  

 After Gwen had read and re read the letter she sat thoughtfully for a while before saying out loud

 ‘Well Jim, what a bolt out of the blue this is! But I am not going to waste an opportunity, I'm going to do it Jim. I'm going to do what we always said we would do together; if and when we had the time and money. I'm going to Nepal to walk in the Himalayan mountains, stay in a teahouse and watch the sunrise from the Annapuri Sanctuary. You will be with me all the way, and I will send Rose a postcard. 


 

Copyright Jane Scoggins     

Sunday 12 February 2023

The Prince & Gemma

 The Prince & Gemma

By Grace Petersson


Prologue

  Now after the craziness of movie tube, I am flat and again rudderless.  I have two beautiful children who are my whole life, and a stunning wife who wants nothing more now than to be the first Native American President of the USA.  So, now I am cast in the role of house husband and possibly first man.  Is this really what I want?

****

  I am Prince Thane of Scotland; second in line to the throne.  My brother Harald is first in line.  I am the surplus prince; the spare in case Harald goes AWOL.  My childhood was very entitled with the best private schools money could provide like Gordonstoun, an outdoorsy cold showers 'make a man out of you' type of school.  I am the outdoors type, I love nature, long walks, serving and defending my country.  I hate some of my mannerisms, which when I see clips of my father Malcolm are identical to him.

  However, in spite of all my privileges, my life was not all jollity and bliss.  Firstly, my parents, Malcolm and Marissa’s marriage was not the starry-eyed fairy tale predicted.  I sensed this particularly in my mother for as long as I knew her.  My father is Malcolm XIII.  He at first balked against the XIII numeral after his name, but eventually declared he would not be intimidated by superstition saying “I am the 13th Malcolm and therefore that is how I will be known.”  Adding to the doomed marriage was the fact that Malcolm was actually in love with another, Amelia.  They met as teenagers, fell wildly in love, and had much in common from a love of all things horsey to a love of the environment and classical music.  However, Amelia had ‘been around’ as they say, and therefore deemed wholly unsuitable.  I am glad about this because Marissa was tall and willowy, giving me and Harald our 6ft tall bodies, making us even more desirable to the world’s women.   My mother Marissa, beautiful and enigmatic, couldn’t care less about horses and the environment.  What made her heart sing was a new dress from Versace, dirty jokes and unfortunately for her, Malcolm.

  So in view of Amelia’s unsuitability, a virgin had to be found for Malcolm my father, and my mother Marissa, fit the role perfectly.  Just 19 years old, supposedly shy and biddable, she was deemed perfect.  Alas, Marissa was complex and unhappy as a result of her own mother being a ‘bolter.’  Malcolm was wholly unaware of this, blithely marrying Marissa at the insistence of his dictatorial controlling uncle, Hereward.

****

  My life as I knew it came to a shattering halt when Marissa my mother was shot by a Scandinavian sniper when visiting the Taj Mahal.  She sat looking at the famous majestic building, not knowing this was the last sight she would ever see.  I was 11 and Harald was 16.  Initially, we clung together for comfort and support.  We both knew Malcolm my dad would eventually marry Amelia and I had no problem with this.  He deserved to be happy.  Yet still, I felt angry enough to kill  the world for stealing away my mother. 

  I always felt somehow at odds with the rest of the family.  Also, I sensed Harald was my mother’s favourite and all my life have looked, unconsciously for someone to replace Marissa’s withdrawn love.  Also, I somehow felt more at ease with the marginalised members of society. 

  When I was 17 I hounded my dad for the opportunity to live for a while in the USA, attending Sitting Bull University, a prodigious Native American school, where I learnt much of the plight and tragic history of Native Americans.  Some students even took me home to meet their parents, where ironically I learned most of the real history of these tragic people and I kind of felt they had adopted me.  Even with the constant protection officers, I felt freer.  I believe the students at Sitting Bull were marginalised sort of like me and my mother.  It was here I first met Jemima; a beautiful descendant of the Chinook tribe from what is now called California.

   I was both entranced and mesmerised.  Not just by her obvious beauty, but her ideas, strength and firm beliefs about justice in the world and for her people.  We hung out in the same circles for a while, but I had to return to the UK to take up my pledge to the army, which up until then was the only role making any sense to me. 

   I just could not see myself following the steps of my dutiful brother Harald, the golden boy, who ironically looks like my mother, but is not challenging or confrontational.  I, to my extreme chagrin, resemble Malcolm, both in looks and mannerisms but with striking red hair.  Yet I am a rebel and yet not.  I dutifully joined the army and ‘fought’ in Afghanistan, albeit with several armed guards to make sure I wasn’t a PR coup for the Taliban.  These minders, poor sods, willingly risked their lives for me, whilst I felt I was in a gilded cage, with an opulent lifestyle, but with all eyes on me waiting for me to screw up.

  Screw up I did.  After I left the army, I felt rudderless and lost.  I had a few girlfriends, but they were ultimately scared off by the press intrusion.  Then I met Jemima again, and felt like I had my mother Marissa back.  She loves me and holds me up and I can’t imagine a life without her.  So if she wants congress and a political career, I have to support her if, I want to keep her.  What’s the alternative?  Run back to Scotland and be ridiculed as the bolter prince who couldn’t control his own wife?  Dear reader, what would you do?

Copyright Grace Petersson

 

Saturday 11 February 2023

A trip to the Pictures

 A trip to the Pictures

Grace Petersson


Hooray! A trip to the pictures

Let’s do Wednesday 2 for 1

What a lark we had

 

Aggie, there’s free biscuits and coffee!

A treat of Julia Roberts and George Clooney

Hooray! A trip to the pictures.

 

Look Betty There’s a raffle!

Even with me walking stick – no hassle

What a lark we had.

 

Do you think Julia Roberts is still pretty?

Um…. A few wrinkles.. such a pity

Hooray! A trip to the pictures

 

Well what about George Clooney

 Oh yes..he’s  still my cup of tea

What a lark we had

 

Aggie we can do it all again next week

What’s on Betty… let’s take a peek

Hooray! A trip to the pictures

What a lark we had

 

Copyright Grace Petersson