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Poem about where I live
Jul. 23rd, 2021 10:47 pmFor just two weeks the sun has ruled, the nights have very rarely cooled. I’ve sweated, sworn and cursed the heat, with puffy legs and swollen feet
No matter, a storm is coming
The plants I grew with so much hope, have shown me that they cannot cope. Their leaves are shrivelled, brown and dry, I have to laugh, else I would cry
No matter, a storm is coming
The little dog, so old and frail, has lived two weeks in doggy jail. In darkened rooms, no walks no fun, she must have wondered what she’d done
No matter, a storm is coming
The hordes have come to spoil the peace, their parking wonders never cease. And when they flee for their abodes, they block up all the bloody roads. I hope they have enjoyed their fun. I hope they soaked up all that sun. For those that live here day by day, now wish for cold and wet and grey
No matter, a storm is coming
The skies are dark before it’s night. It IS a rather scary sight. But those who live here understand. A storm is set to hit the land.
Hopefully, no matter what, a storm is coming…
No matter, a storm is coming
The plants I grew with so much hope, have shown me that they cannot cope. Their leaves are shrivelled, brown and dry, I have to laugh, else I would cry
No matter, a storm is coming
The little dog, so old and frail, has lived two weeks in doggy jail. In darkened rooms, no walks no fun, she must have wondered what she’d done
No matter, a storm is coming
The hordes have come to spoil the peace, their parking wonders never cease. And when they flee for their abodes, they block up all the bloody roads. I hope they have enjoyed their fun. I hope they soaked up all that sun. For those that live here day by day, now wish for cold and wet and grey
No matter, a storm is coming
The skies are dark before it’s night. It IS a rather scary sight. But those who live here understand. A storm is set to hit the land.
Hopefully, no matter what, a storm is coming…
Honey, I painted a house!
Jul. 1st, 2021 06:26 pmFor those that don't know, I rent an apartment within a building that used to be a shop, right on the seafront on the English South coast. (The following picture is of the shop in it's heyday sometime during the '80's)
The landlord (I'll called him 'LL') is an elderly Indian gentleman who's family once ran the shop. LL is a very easy going chap to whom I'll be forever grateful for providing me with a home at a time that I really needed one. He has no qualms about me doing whatever I like decor-wise, and I've spent the last four years lovingly renovating and sprucing the interior to my liking.
The building is divided into three. I have the entire upstairs, a staircase and a downstairs utility room, the 'downstairs neighbours' have a large place beneath me and to the side is a bedsit occupied by an elderly neighbour (I'll call him 'EN').
Until last September, my 'downstairs neighbours' were very pleasant foreigners, 'Miss Lativia' and her partner 'The Mad Pole'. (I'll call him TMP). TMP was potty as a box of frogs, an extremely likeable 'Jack of all Trades' yet master of none. TMP had done all sorts of crazy things around the place and as a newcomer to the scene, I was unwilling to intrude. Sadly, last year after twelve years together, Miss Latvia and TMP parted ways and the minute he moved out, I started to attempt to right all his wrongs.
TMP had painted the building's exterior several times during his residence. Unfortunately, on none of these occasions did he use a high-quality paint and many a time, he'd water down his cheap paint in order to make it stretch. That's fatal in a place such as this that needs all the weather protection it can get. TMP had no thoughts about protecting the building, he just painted because he was bored.
In October last year as the new 'downstairs neighbour' moved in, I decided to stamp my seniority on the place and announced my intention to re-paint the entire building. October was not a good time to start painting a house, but nine months later, I wonder if any such time actually exists.
You might well ask why painting a house should take nine months. Admitted for half that time I was actually working my paid job, but the project DOES seem to have taken forever. The weather has rarely been with me. There are certain things you can't do in inclement weather. You can't paint during sea storms and you can' t use filler if the temperature is lower than five degrees. Sod's Law of course, ALWAYS decreed that my days off coincided with the worst Satan could throw at me, whereas my work days would remain calm and fine. Other tasks were time dependant. One thing that REALLY niggled me was TMP painting this pretty little metal-framed window with water based paint, sealing in the rust (and also using a different colour to the rest of the wall). Before I could make good however, I had to apply more putty which takes weeks to cure, remove the rust and prepare the surface. The difference between the pictures is about five coats of paint and two months.
The thing went on and I finally saw good results in April when I managed to paint the front of the house. This part of the project had to be carefully managed weather wise and I was all too concious of being exposed to the all-seeing world. I painted like a demon during the morning hours when most of my neighbours were not at home to laugh at my efforts. The pics probably don't show the effort involved which included bucketloads of filler and cement to make lots of bad things good, but here is the before and after:
The landlord (I'll called him 'LL') is an elderly Indian gentleman who's family once ran the shop. LL is a very easy going chap to whom I'll be forever grateful for providing me with a home at a time that I really needed one. He has no qualms about me doing whatever I like decor-wise, and I've spent the last four years lovingly renovating and sprucing the interior to my liking.
The building is divided into three. I have the entire upstairs, a staircase and a downstairs utility room, the 'downstairs neighbours' have a large place beneath me and to the side is a bedsit occupied by an elderly neighbour (I'll call him 'EN').
Until last September, my 'downstairs neighbours' were very pleasant foreigners, 'Miss Lativia' and her partner 'The Mad Pole'. (I'll call him TMP). TMP was potty as a box of frogs, an extremely likeable 'Jack of all Trades' yet master of none. TMP had done all sorts of crazy things around the place and as a newcomer to the scene, I was unwilling to intrude. Sadly, last year after twelve years together, Miss Latvia and TMP parted ways and the minute he moved out, I started to attempt to right all his wrongs.
TMP had painted the building's exterior several times during his residence. Unfortunately, on none of these occasions did he use a high-quality paint and many a time, he'd water down his cheap paint in order to make it stretch. That's fatal in a place such as this that needs all the weather protection it can get. TMP had no thoughts about protecting the building, he just painted because he was bored.
In October last year as the new 'downstairs neighbour' moved in, I decided to stamp my seniority on the place and announced my intention to re-paint the entire building. October was not a good time to start painting a house, but nine months later, I wonder if any such time actually exists.
You might well ask why painting a house should take nine months. Admitted for half that time I was actually working my paid job, but the project DOES seem to have taken forever. The weather has rarely been with me. There are certain things you can't do in inclement weather. You can't paint during sea storms and you can' t use filler if the temperature is lower than five degrees. Sod's Law of course, ALWAYS decreed that my days off coincided with the worst Satan could throw at me, whereas my work days would remain calm and fine. Other tasks were time dependant. One thing that REALLY niggled me was TMP painting this pretty little metal-framed window with water based paint, sealing in the rust (and also using a different colour to the rest of the wall). Before I could make good however, I had to apply more putty which takes weeks to cure, remove the rust and prepare the surface. The difference between the pictures is about five coats of paint and two months.
The thing went on and I finally saw good results in April when I managed to paint the front of the house. This part of the project had to be carefully managed weather wise and I was all too concious of being exposed to the all-seeing world. I painted like a demon during the morning hours when most of my neighbours were not at home to laugh at my efforts. The pics probably don't show the effort involved which included bucketloads of filler and cement to make lots of bad things good, but here is the before and after:
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Ode To An Old dog
Nov. 16th, 2020 06:52 pmI watched the beauty of your youth
And now I face the awful truth
Don’t die dog.
I watched your legs run on for miles
But now you slip on kitchen tiles
Don’t die dog.
I saw your eyes so bright and clear
Now you’re not certain when I’m near
Don’t die dog.
You jumped on tables, stole the chairs
Now we dread you climbing stairs
Don’t die dog.
Bred for show, they didn’t know
How fear and pain would lie you low
Don’t die dog.
And then we met and fell in love
An angel sent from skies above
Don’t die dog.
I tell myself you’re looking well
Instead of facing certain hell
Don’t die dog.
Please don’t look so old and frail
Please don’t end the fairy tale
Don’t die dog.
I can’t be ready, never will
To think that you might just be ill
Don’t die dog.
You are the life I want to live
The loss of which God can’t forgive
Please, PLEASE never die dog.
And now I face the awful truth
Don’t die dog.
I watched your legs run on for miles
But now you slip on kitchen tiles
Don’t die dog.
I saw your eyes so bright and clear
Now you’re not certain when I’m near
Don’t die dog.
You jumped on tables, stole the chairs
Now we dread you climbing stairs
Don’t die dog.
Bred for show, they didn’t know
How fear and pain would lie you low
Don’t die dog.
And then we met and fell in love
An angel sent from skies above
Don’t die dog.
I tell myself you’re looking well
Instead of facing certain hell
Don’t die dog.
Please don’t look so old and frail
Please don’t end the fairy tale
Don’t die dog.
I can’t be ready, never will
To think that you might just be ill
Don’t die dog.
You are the life I want to live
The loss of which God can’t forgive
Please, PLEASE never die dog.
Pandemic Poetry
Apr. 16th, 2020 09:23 pmOur own world is changing in front of our eyes,
nature has spoken without much surprise.
We couldn’t keep up our superior reign.
while our dirty great footprint was casting a stain.
We lived and we laughed with hardly a care,
we ate and we drank, spending money like air.
We partied and pleasured whenever we could,
whilst those just beneath us were begging for food.
We fought and we voted and then fought some more.
Each one convinced they were right to the core.
We argued and bickered on heaven knows what,
never quite happy with what we had got.
And now things are different, we’re counting the cost.
Seeing the sum of the things that we’ve lost.
The pleasure of closeness and all that it means,
each of us living our lives through our screens.
The streets are all empty, the shops all like jails,
the businesses losing their seasonal sales,
the keyworkers all of them working like mad,
now running the country, the place that’s gone bad.
And the public will clap them to say ‘Thanks to You!’
Simply because there’s not much else to do.
And still they’ll go out there because they are told,
treating the sick and the ill and the old.
Others sit in their houses watching the news,
each of them blaming, somebodies’ views.
All of them desperate and worried and sad,
as they mourn the good lives they so recently had.
And nature herself will look down on us all,
watching us humankind taking the fall.
Seeing us grieving a lifestyle much mourned,
quietly thinking, ‘You can’t say you weren’t warned’.
nature has spoken without much surprise.
We couldn’t keep up our superior reign.
while our dirty great footprint was casting a stain.
We lived and we laughed with hardly a care,
we ate and we drank, spending money like air.
We partied and pleasured whenever we could,
whilst those just beneath us were begging for food.
We fought and we voted and then fought some more.
Each one convinced they were right to the core.
We argued and bickered on heaven knows what,
never quite happy with what we had got.
And now things are different, we’re counting the cost.
Seeing the sum of the things that we’ve lost.
The pleasure of closeness and all that it means,
each of us living our lives through our screens.
The streets are all empty, the shops all like jails,
the businesses losing their seasonal sales,
the keyworkers all of them working like mad,
now running the country, the place that’s gone bad.
And the public will clap them to say ‘Thanks to You!’
Simply because there’s not much else to do.
And still they’ll go out there because they are told,
treating the sick and the ill and the old.
Others sit in their houses watching the news,
each of them blaming, somebodies’ views.
All of them desperate and worried and sad,
as they mourn the good lives they so recently had.
And nature herself will look down on us all,
watching us humankind taking the fall.
Seeing us grieving a lifestyle much mourned,
quietly thinking, ‘You can’t say you weren’t warned’.
Southwood News:
Dec. 16th, 2019 06:22 pmSouthwood News:
As any fan fiction writer will know, occasionally, you have to let your heroes go to bed dirty. When they’ve been busy saving the world, dealing with their traumatic love-lives and are finally left too exhausted to even speak, it seems rather unkind to break their continuity by forcing them to bath or shower, so you send them off to their rarely seen beds unwashed. I’ve decided to employ this technique every time I cook. Today, I cooked with a vengeance. Not only did I get the monthly chore that is THE VEG over with, I also attempted a new recipe. My Weight Watchers turkey taco soup is cooling as I type. Southwood Towers smells like a dumpster, the kitchen looks like a crime scene and my shower for tonight at least, will remain firmly unvisited. I DO hope the stuff tastes better than it smells as I’ve got fifteen portions of it to wade through.
In brighter news, (see what I did there), I also visited the mainland in search of lightbulbs. I rarely use my overhead lights. Being of the ‘cool white’ variety, whilst useful, they are drab enough to remind me of being in the lab at work. One blew a few months ago and with the days getting ever darker due to the dismal weather we’ve been having, I was finally forced today to take action, my Seasonal Affective Disorder going into complete overdrive. Wilco’s it seems, now sell a ‘warm white’ version of said bulb at a hard-to-ignore price so I bought a pack of three. Now when Wilco’s say warm, they really mean it. If the colour of this bulb was a name on a 1970’s Berger paint chart, it would probably be called ‘Saharan Gold’. Whilst I’m somewhat pleased with the effect, I did have a strong urge to Google ‘sunglasses’. Thank the Lord I wasn’t tempted to replace all six with ‘warm white’, (think ‘Only Fools and Horses’ when they painted the Chinese restaurant kitchen with fluorescent yellow paint).
In further bulb news, I also bought myself some battery-operated string lights. I’m very taken with Christmas garlands me, NOT you understand because I like Christmas decs and all that malarkey, but because my room rather lends itself to a bit of foresty-type greenery (you know, fir cones and shit), so the other day I acquired one. It’s a BIT Christmassy, but the intention is to keep it there all year long (without folks thinking I’ve forgotten to take my decs down). Trouble is, it’s been so dark lately I needed some sparkly lights to even see the thing and now it’s become more Christmassy than ever!
Your opinion on whether I’ll still be able to get away with this look in June would be highly welcomed x
As any fan fiction writer will know, occasionally, you have to let your heroes go to bed dirty. When they’ve been busy saving the world, dealing with their traumatic love-lives and are finally left too exhausted to even speak, it seems rather unkind to break their continuity by forcing them to bath or shower, so you send them off to their rarely seen beds unwashed. I’ve decided to employ this technique every time I cook. Today, I cooked with a vengeance. Not only did I get the monthly chore that is THE VEG over with, I also attempted a new recipe. My Weight Watchers turkey taco soup is cooling as I type. Southwood Towers smells like a dumpster, the kitchen looks like a crime scene and my shower for tonight at least, will remain firmly unvisited. I DO hope the stuff tastes better than it smells as I’ve got fifteen portions of it to wade through.
In brighter news, (see what I did there), I also visited the mainland in search of lightbulbs. I rarely use my overhead lights. Being of the ‘cool white’ variety, whilst useful, they are drab enough to remind me of being in the lab at work. One blew a few months ago and with the days getting ever darker due to the dismal weather we’ve been having, I was finally forced today to take action, my Seasonal Affective Disorder going into complete overdrive. Wilco’s it seems, now sell a ‘warm white’ version of said bulb at a hard-to-ignore price so I bought a pack of three. Now when Wilco’s say warm, they really mean it. If the colour of this bulb was a name on a 1970’s Berger paint chart, it would probably be called ‘Saharan Gold’. Whilst I’m somewhat pleased with the effect, I did have a strong urge to Google ‘sunglasses’. Thank the Lord I wasn’t tempted to replace all six with ‘warm white’, (think ‘Only Fools and Horses’ when they painted the Chinese restaurant kitchen with fluorescent yellow paint).
In further bulb news, I also bought myself some battery-operated string lights. I’m very taken with Christmas garlands me, NOT you understand because I like Christmas decs and all that malarkey, but because my room rather lends itself to a bit of foresty-type greenery (you know, fir cones and shit), so the other day I acquired one. It’s a BIT Christmassy, but the intention is to keep it there all year long (without folks thinking I’ve forgotten to take my decs down). Trouble is, it’s been so dark lately I needed some sparkly lights to even see the thing and now it’s become more Christmassy than ever!
Your opinion on whether I’ll still be able to get away with this look in June would be highly welcomed x
All Growed Up (a precis)
Nov. 20th, 2018 05:47 pmOnce upon a time, a new TV program was broadcast on ITV.
At the very same time, a little girl happened to be still up and out of bed and witnessed the said show.
The little girl instantly fell in love with a character in the show and even though she was only eight and a half years old, still managed to have thoughts about the character that at such a tender age she really oughtn’t have.
Years went by and the little girl grew bigger, much bigger. She’d never forgotten the program. Nor had she forgotten the character she’d so loved, the ‘exotic’ looking Ray Doyle. ‘Real life’ however was a bugbear to the little girl, real people who thought little of the Ray Doyle she still held closely in her heart.
The little girl eventually discovered a mystical new world called ‘The Internet’. Here there were lots of folks that understood and agreed with the little girl. They wrote stories and made lovely pictures that mirrored the little girl’s thoughts. She revered them and tried to join them, making stories and pictures of her own.
It was never quite enough for the little girl however. Everyday life in her boring little town didn’t seem to celebrate Ray Doyle as much as she wanted it to, so she tried to make up for it in many sorts of ways. She bought vintage clothes such as those he might wear. She bought a car just like his. She permed her hair and kept it permed.
‘Real life’ was never far away however and Real Life didn’t like it. Real life demanded that the little girl gave more of herself than she was able to give. She cooked and cleaned, cosseted and complimented. She made and mended, helped and hoped. She worked and wanted, pandered and pleaded. She happily laid down for Real Life who took her soul like it was it’s own to take.
It was never quite enough for Real Life however. Real Life hated the little girl’s ideas, the fact that she had thoughts and dreams of her own. Real life tried to take the little girl’s life and very nearly succeeded. The little girl had to grow VERY big to get through it. It was hard and horrible and she tried at all times to keep her beloved Ray Doyle in her heart. She kept her perm (and her sanity) to the best of her ability, but she realised that if she was to have the future she craved, she was going to have to kick Real Life into touch and create a real life of her very own.
Two years after Real Life cast its final blow, the little girl was set free. She had a home (small but safe), she had her beloveds (dogs not humans) and she had her friends, (though she could only talk to them by typing things).
The little girl was ecstatic however. She could watch and draw and dream about her beloved Ray Doyle as much as she liked. After a while however, she realised she didn’t really need to. She had a brand new life and it was a very grown up one. She was her own person who answered to nobody and feared far less.
The little girl would always cherish her beloved Ray Doyle, though she didn’t need him to survive. She didn’t need a perm or a car, she just needed time to be herself and enjoy her life for what it was. She did however take one last piece of him that she could keep forever as her own and as the new Ms Ray, she finally grew up.
At the very same time, a little girl happened to be still up and out of bed and witnessed the said show.
The little girl instantly fell in love with a character in the show and even though she was only eight and a half years old, still managed to have thoughts about the character that at such a tender age she really oughtn’t have.
Years went by and the little girl grew bigger, much bigger. She’d never forgotten the program. Nor had she forgotten the character she’d so loved, the ‘exotic’ looking Ray Doyle. ‘Real life’ however was a bugbear to the little girl, real people who thought little of the Ray Doyle she still held closely in her heart.
The little girl eventually discovered a mystical new world called ‘The Internet’. Here there were lots of folks that understood and agreed with the little girl. They wrote stories and made lovely pictures that mirrored the little girl’s thoughts. She revered them and tried to join them, making stories and pictures of her own.
It was never quite enough for the little girl however. Everyday life in her boring little town didn’t seem to celebrate Ray Doyle as much as she wanted it to, so she tried to make up for it in many sorts of ways. She bought vintage clothes such as those he might wear. She bought a car just like his. She permed her hair and kept it permed.
‘Real life’ was never far away however and Real Life didn’t like it. Real life demanded that the little girl gave more of herself than she was able to give. She cooked and cleaned, cosseted and complimented. She made and mended, helped and hoped. She worked and wanted, pandered and pleaded. She happily laid down for Real Life who took her soul like it was it’s own to take.
It was never quite enough for Real Life however. Real Life hated the little girl’s ideas, the fact that she had thoughts and dreams of her own. Real life tried to take the little girl’s life and very nearly succeeded. The little girl had to grow VERY big to get through it. It was hard and horrible and she tried at all times to keep her beloved Ray Doyle in her heart. She kept her perm (and her sanity) to the best of her ability, but she realised that if she was to have the future she craved, she was going to have to kick Real Life into touch and create a real life of her very own.
Two years after Real Life cast its final blow, the little girl was set free. She had a home (small but safe), she had her beloveds (dogs not humans) and she had her friends, (though she could only talk to them by typing things).
The little girl was ecstatic however. She could watch and draw and dream about her beloved Ray Doyle as much as she liked. After a while however, she realised she didn’t really need to. She had a brand new life and it was a very grown up one. She was her own person who answered to nobody and feared far less.
The little girl would always cherish her beloved Ray Doyle, though she didn’t need him to survive. She didn’t need a perm or a car, she just needed time to be herself and enjoy her life for what it was. She did however take one last piece of him that she could keep forever as her own and as the new Ms Ray, she finally grew up.
I wrote the linked story for a Big Bang challenge in 2015.
I never liked it and still don’t, but I certainly had plenty of source material to work from.
Basically, this story was written about my life. The Ray Doyle character was born from my own feelings. All of the characters in the house were based on real people. All the things that Ray Doyle felt, I felt myself.
The ‘baddy’ character was my husband though I couldn’t face up to the fact at the time.
I wanted to be the Doyle I wrote. I wanted to be thin, devoted and lovely. I was none of these things. I was fat, lazy and horrible.
The story was an omen however. The abuse that Doyle suffered, I eventually suffered myself as I somehow knew I always would. There had always been little signs. Well whopping great big ones if you consider my husband cheating on me and dragging me out of my bed when I refused to leave ‘his’ house and our marriage. It was only at the very last when I was forced to call for police help in order to survive that I finally admitted defeat. Marriage obviously meant more to me than it did my husband.
My shame is, that I took my feelings out on my muse, Ray Doyle. I wrote him completely OOC and try to turn him into a person that he’ll never ever be. (Hopefully, I made up for that error when I wrote ‘My Time’ and wrote Doyle about half right).
The good thing is, I read part of my story the other day (purely by accident) and I didn’t cringe so much. I won’t take it down from A03 as its part of a challenge, but I don’t feel the need to revisit it again.
The Bodie character in the story represents the friends, relatives and organisations that pulled me out of the situation was I in and put me where I am now.
At last I can look at that story and see it as a memory rather than a reflection. I’ll post a link, though I’d rather you didn’t read it if you haven’t before. I’d much rather you read something I was really proud of. I’m not proud of this story, I’m ashamed of it.
I’m not ashamed of myself however, (finally). I’m now in the place I was born to be in. Living on my own, pleasing myself, doing what I love, talking to who I choose and answering to nobody.
Hopefully now that I don’t have to devote half my life to someone who never really cared anyway, I can spend more time studying Live Journal and the fascinating people who frequent it.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136871
I never liked it and still don’t, but I certainly had plenty of source material to work from.
Basically, this story was written about my life. The Ray Doyle character was born from my own feelings. All of the characters in the house were based on real people. All the things that Ray Doyle felt, I felt myself.
The ‘baddy’ character was my husband though I couldn’t face up to the fact at the time.
I wanted to be the Doyle I wrote. I wanted to be thin, devoted and lovely. I was none of these things. I was fat, lazy and horrible.
The story was an omen however. The abuse that Doyle suffered, I eventually suffered myself as I somehow knew I always would. There had always been little signs. Well whopping great big ones if you consider my husband cheating on me and dragging me out of my bed when I refused to leave ‘his’ house and our marriage. It was only at the very last when I was forced to call for police help in order to survive that I finally admitted defeat. Marriage obviously meant more to me than it did my husband.
My shame is, that I took my feelings out on my muse, Ray Doyle. I wrote him completely OOC and try to turn him into a person that he’ll never ever be. (Hopefully, I made up for that error when I wrote ‘My Time’ and wrote Doyle about half right).
The good thing is, I read part of my story the other day (purely by accident) and I didn’t cringe so much. I won’t take it down from A03 as its part of a challenge, but I don’t feel the need to revisit it again.
The Bodie character in the story represents the friends, relatives and organisations that pulled me out of the situation was I in and put me where I am now.
At last I can look at that story and see it as a memory rather than a reflection. I’ll post a link, though I’d rather you didn’t read it if you haven’t before. I’d much rather you read something I was really proud of. I’m not proud of this story, I’m ashamed of it.
I’m not ashamed of myself however, (finally). I’m now in the place I was born to be in. Living on my own, pleasing myself, doing what I love, talking to who I choose and answering to nobody.
Hopefully now that I don’t have to devote half my life to someone who never really cared anyway, I can spend more time studying Live Journal and the fascinating people who frequent it.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136871
