A Bit Mutton

Most of it I got, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what the fuss was about skin care products.

On Saturday I took part in a protest march. One that I had been anticipating for some time. I was there.
As I draw nearer to claiming my pension I don’t really want some politician who is younger than I am, mocking me with a task resembling that of Sisyphus. Not when the boulder is near the top of the hill.
And of course I was nobly representing the interests of my younger colleagues.

There was also an element of recapture of youth. I went on several Marches in the early eighties. Jobs not bombs. Gay pride. Solidarity with the miners…
“Maggie Maggie Maggie Out Out Out!”
Not that the old milk snatcher paid any more attention to me than I honestly expect this lot will but it is important, if you can, to stand up and be counted I think.
As I wandered down through Covent Garden to the Embankment I could see that this was a big one though. I should imagine that motorists subject to congestion charging were quite justifiably, well…. charged I guess. They certainly weren’t going anywhere fast. Or even slowly. Or even anywhere at all really.

The crowd was huge. The police presence appropriate and very light of touch. The atmosphere was festival like and full of good humour and music. There were witty placards everywhere and lots of chanting. Leaflets were distributed and recycled. Drums were beaten. Marching bands marched. The horsemen of the apocalypse stalked Whitehall in theatrical display. Balloons were released. The tories were once again proclaimed evil incarnate. We hissed and booed the gates of Downing Street.
Eventually a crowd of quarter of a million people poured in to Hyde Park and queued up in a civilised fashion for the toilets!
It was in fact a privilege to be there as a participant and I shall hold the day fond in my memory. Baldrick indeed had a cunning plan

Most of it I got on some level.
Cut the nukes not the NHS.
Bring the troops back from Afghanistan.
Fight like an Egyptian.
Save fuel burn the rich.
Dykes in black say no.
Sophie and Lawrence against the cuts.
There were loads…..

The one I couldn’t figure though
As I passed by the house of parliament I swear I could hear them chanting.
“Leave Nivea alone”
I mean what was all that about……..

Modern Languages

So yesterday morning I hot hoofed it off up the valley, being careful to budget time enough for breakfast in everyone’s favourite superstore.

My writing tutor summoned me during the week. The class that I had enjoyed towards the end of last year starts again on Saturday. Same time. Same pack drill.
I found it fun and very useful last time.
The discipline of sitting for three hours and having to produce and read work. It helps.
I remember an old friend, alas long passed, a writer himself. He maintained that part of the discipline was to practice to sit and write, regardless of what came out. Eventually something worthwhile would arise.

As well as the special low cal low cholesterol mega special with extra fried bread and two bacon I decided to purchase a new writing book.
She Of The Townhouse has been tidying up back at the ranch. A necessary evil. I don’t like having to ask where my stuff is though. So when she tidies up I lose things.
My old writing book is vanished I know not where.

I was amused to see that one book they had was a little black one. It tipped my decision. Although it only has about eighty pages it might be of use if the other one mysteriously turns up.

So clutching my canvas, I headed off to Aisle 13. My usual paystop. It’s the girl there you see. She never says much but A fellow can tell. She goes a funny red colour from the neck up. You can see a pulse in her temple and she has a hard job with simple words….you know its funny. Now that I think, I wonder whether she may not have had her shift changed. I haven’t caught her lately.

So they body swerved me to the scan it yourself co we cant be arsed section.
“Please select your language”
Now it had never barked that at me in any previous incarnation so I decided to be bold. Ever eager to increase my knowledge of household products in the foreign I asked it…

“please could we converse in Serbo Croat?”

And a kind hearted sole in a uniform kindly tapped the English option for me as opposed to the Welsh one.

Later I was bemused. As I scanned the advice on my purchase I noted the following.

“Poznamkovy blok A5 spiralovy 80 listov – linajkovy”

Not a dickie bird yn Cymraeg……

Foreign Birds

Pulling up outside the reputedly haunted Elizabethan castle I was charmed to observe peacocks strutting across the road towards the woods on the other side.
She Of The Townhouse and I were staying in the Kings Suite, a generous gift from her sister.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
As we entered the lobby area a curious peacock sitting on the roof of the gate house called after us.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
While we enjoyed a refreshing cup of tea the earlier bird greeted us in a similar fashion though at greater length.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Then later on as castle gardens were explored.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Looking across the water meadow to the nearby town
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Out for a meal.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Returning to the Castle.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
As darkness fell.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Deep in the wee small hours.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
Greeting the sunrise.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
In celebration of breakfast.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
During our extended private tour of the castle interior.
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
And as we bade our generous hosts farewell
PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW! PEEEEEEEAAAAAW!
And then as we left the car park I am afraid tragedy struck. I accidentally ran over a peacock.
Still it doesn’t seem too broken.
I wonder how it tastes.
:-P