Wiki photo
Grey and pretty, frilled and scaled,
with blood around her head,
at first I couldn’t ascertain
if she were live or dead.
“Some bastard hit her”, I did cry,
“And left her on the road to die.”
Continue reading “Henley the Bearded Dragon (Poetry Competition)”
Looking out on another blustery grey day, I remembered this:
Hope you like it!
I wasn’t the full ticket this morning. I had been up in the night and didn’t sleep well. I sat down with my pot of tea and gazed out of the window which overlooks the front garden in a rather unfocused manner, wondering if I could face breakfast, wondering how I may fit in the jobs on my list before the guests arrive – until something caught my eye. The sun was out and all along the long strappy leaves of crocosmia there were pinpoints of lighted raindrops, suspended and glistening.
It was difficult to get a good picture as the angle I needed, ideally, was from the inside, but the window, where I needed to open, it is a fixed one. So I went out in dressing gown and slippers.
More water for the competition
I don’t know the physics of this: the reason that the drops were held at the tips of the leaves. I assume that there are tiny hairs which work with the surface tension. But whatever the physics, what a wonderful way to bring me back to full wakefulness.
My guests will be here soon. I’d better go and get a few more jobs done.
Now and again you watch an individual performance on the football field that takes the breath away. Andrea Pirlo, take a bow. If England fans think that Steven Gerrard is world class what must they think of you? Pirlo is the type of guy who plays the game without breaking sweat; he never seems to be running or under pressure. Although the quarter-final tie between England and Italy went to penalties that the Italians won, Pirlo was majestic throughout, even dinking his penalty kick over the falling, didn’t do his homework properly, Joe Hart.
The word in the community is that Pirlo makes Xavi look ordinary. For those that eschew the folly of the oval shaped game, here’s a little video tribute to the maestro or as some in the community call him- the Hammer of the English.
Perhaps the worst game of rugby that I have ever attended!
Our hopes were raised for a couple of spectacular events, our Baby Boks started proceedings at Newlands (Cape Town) on Friday night, they beat the Baby Blacks 22-16 to claim the IRB Junior World Cup in an absolutely awesome game of rugby. This after progressing through a difficult group (England, Ireland, Italy) and a tough semi (Argentina.)
Saturday started well enough, (members may recall that I was an invited ‘VIP’ courtesy of Castle Lager, the title sponsor) a gathering at a local sports club, transport to the brewery and a super lunch.
It went quickly downhill from there.
Our tickets were awful, (on the goal line, front row ABOVE the boxes.) If I’d known I would have kept my original ones and binned these.
The VIP area was a well structured tent, adequate, plenty of beer and grub (burgers, beef or chicken!) with inadequate seating and no service or refuse bins!
As I’ve said, the match was awful, our viewing position didn’t help but not a good game, the English were understrength (not their fault) and we should have torn them apart, Continue reading “Boks vs England – June 2012”
A friend bought us this shrub. It is so pretty that I’d like to plant a couple in the ‘new’ garden. But, I have no idea what it is called and my friend can’t remember its name either.
Any idea, anyone?
It doesn’t happen often, so I’m taking advantage. Scotland has won all three matches on its Southern Hemisphere tour. I know we didn’t face South Africa or New Zealand, but I don’t suppose it was Scotland that drew up the schedule. Scotland did beat Australia.
Sorry Christina, but Wales lost all three of their matches, so I hope you’ll forgive the triumphalism.
As I was walking back from the shops just now, I had my first encounter with the new rules of the road for the Olympics. I was approaching a crossroads when a gaggle of Police om motorbikes motored up and closed off the intersection to vehicle and pedestrian traffic alike. I had to wait at the pedestrian crossing in a gathering crowd for five minutes or so until a group of three vehicles bearing the Olympic logo came through, and then another coule of minutes until the last of the escort had passed through and we pedestrians were allowed to cross while the traffic was held until we had all done so.
I think I’ve written before about how annoying that could be in Moscow, with their ‘VIP’ lanes on all the roads, and now we will have it here for the next month or so. It could get interesting. The reaction of the pedestrians who had to wait – lots of them, of course, on their way home after a day at work – was interesting. I wonder how the ‘VIPs’ in their limos felt to see a crowd of angry commuters all shaking their fists and shouting insults? Not that they could hear them, but the body language would have been expressive enough. The poor old cops weren’t too happy…
It’s called Sankt Hans Aften here, the evening before Sankt Hans, 24th June – alias St. John the Baptist whose birthday it purports to be. As usual the locals do it the evening before, like Yuletide, a kind of celebratio præcox, I suppose. And as usual there’ll be no trace of religion, even though it was nicked from the pagans yonks ago.
So we’re going north to stay with friends in Kerteminde on the island of Fynen, to do the hygge thing around a bonfire next to the fjord, although we probably won’t burn the effigy of a witch, the last of whom was so dispatched here in 1693.
And as in North Britain, it won’t be dark until well into the small hours and we’ll skim stones across the water into the setting sun, making a wish or two for the second half of 2012.
Despite delivering a cavalcade of superb fictional novels (Money, The Information, London Fields) the great Martin Amis has never won the Booker prize. His latest offering, Lionel Asbo, will probably not appeal to this year’s judging panel either. This doesn’t make it a bad book.
A constant criticism of Amis is that he can’t write good stories. Jealously, critics barb that stylistic writing and fancy metaphors can’t hide weak plots. Maybe, they ask for too much. When every paragraph is peppered with a variegation of exotic gems, the storyline does sometimes need to take a breather. Continue reading “Latest Amis”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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