Author: basgallop

Man on Wire is on bbc iPlayer, well worth watching again, beautiful, flamboyant, poetic, crazy … french.. and at its heart, between the main characters, all very different in their personalities, it seems to me to be about love and friendship

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00m0mbt/Storyville_20082009_Man_on_Wire/

Beautiful Women everywhere
Often astounded by how many I know, a blessing
I love to saunter through the north laine on a sunshine strewn day
having come from yoga, or singing or meditation, from midst the serenity of the buddhist center
slightly exalted, yet tethered, born anew into the flow of sight, sound and touch, this sensual sparkle
pop into infinity foods to sniff the herbal tea bags, flirt with a shop assistant, buy a solitary beetroot
later i will see the kids, or meet a friend for coffee, else off to dance
coming from something, going somewhere, yet somehow, to surf, here, on the cusp, allow the spaciousness to blossom,
nowt to do, but my, we are mighty with potential
beautiful women everywhere
of course everyone knows the strong love, the whole hoopla, where you are skywards flung in joyful pole vault (fosby flop!?)
aye, but then some people forever sit heavy on our heart, the gnaw of bones, beauty midst the ancient sadness
but nah, a gentle touch then move on, love diluted through playfulness, world is a meadow of smiles
words that flourish through the spontaneity of their own saying
so i set my stroll, my heart, for the sea
love that wants nothing but the joy of its own unfurling
beautiful women everywhere

england beat san marino. gasp! bbc news tells me. again? rather a flash back to the 70’s typical late night mid week match i’d be listening on my binatone clock radio and someone like Norman Hunter would lumpen burly home the winner late in the second half, the san marino keeper was always a postman. why? are mail delivery folk particularly good shotstoppers? do they have a panache for wearing table tennis bat pimple style gloves? but sheesh san marino, i reckon you’d be just as hard pressed to beat hersham comrades under 13’s (hersham conrads?)… the obvious suggestion would be to round up all these tiddly countries, you know san marino, andorra, the faroe islands, collect the milk men, the seal herders, the dishwasher operatives and put them all in one fabulous harlem globe trotters superfly team… you could call them scotland

finally made it for a swim down the baths today after a 6 month respite, as my shoulders were grumbling at being continually brawny and tense… the lovely woman on the turnstile was as chatty as ever… and only charged me senior citizen rate, ha, at least the 2 quid saved can go towards oh i dunno a vast vat of lugubrious anti wrinkle cream, else a douse, a 30 secs frolic in the flame of eternal youth. bit like in the movie She?? in the pool it was just me and a couple of grannys all a dawdle breast stroke. i powered past ‘eat my wake ethel’.. 100 lengths. hither then thither. a plod. the long sojourn of lengths. amazing how swimming gets your endorphins (dolphins) flowing. of course it would be perfect to allow thoughts to gently subside, to think nothing, to feel only the whale song softly pummeling from the depths, that which is always there? that which abides? …but nah i’m a sparkle splash about in the shallows fellow, a continual babble of thoughts sound rebounding about my space helmet… mostly i thought of the things i love about the world, in no particular order… my kids, hugging, yoga, dance, the himalayas, poems, trees, my family, snorkeling over a coral reef, jogging, purple, pink, green, orange, india, spain, prague, brighton, meditating, the feel of wood, the touch of a lover, grover washington jnr, washboards, the simpsons, singing, silk, cake bowls, football,spring, summer, autumn, chess, cheese, toboggans, smorgasboard (?), festivals, kahlua, aloha, fractals, dogs, whistling kettles, old uncle tom cobbledy and all! crikey! do i like pina coladas getting caught in the rain? dunno. just dunno

ooh i wore my purple thai fishing trousers this morning, bagginess abounds, they always make me feel happy, wrapped myself in a blue blanket (from joya!) and feeling much like Fu Manchu meditated in the equally blue glumness of morning light… mostly attempting to let go of my relentless desire to self dramatise. ha. indeed
…isn’t it amazing how some magical garments always lift our spirits, when i was 8 it was a pair of leopard skin y-fronts.. loved those pants!

full moon, a washed out, astonished light
finally leaving the warmth of the fire (at half past gawd knows!), ambling back to my tent
slivers of cloud, hugging the ground, snake wraith dancing down the broad swathe of valley,…beautiful
… thanks for all the vibrant connections, whether during flung about boisterousness at the ceilidh, sensual caress in biodanza, hula hooping, else just the good natured gabble stewarding at the gate, a delight x

blackberries! the juice is such a colour, not purple, no, yet it refuses to be blue or red or even black
fascinates me the way that nature harmonises
the flower blossoms are washed through with a purple-ish pink premonition of the fruit yet to come
and the ruddy stained colour of the tendrils. Fanged. Barbaric. Snaking
hmm scratched forearms, its not the obvious, avoidable, barbs and tusks which do the damage, rather the small thorns (sleeping beauty?) with their continual rowdy prickling as you go to pick a berry… them and the venomous hidden sulk of nettles
… oh i do horrible love words ….
Somehow the human scale of blackberry picking, its comfortable inevitability
for sure our supple soft minds can …solve quadratic equations, juggle, speak latvian
but mostly they evolved whilst we were wallowing in bushes, eyes grubbing out the ripest fruit, then: nimble of limb, the yogic stretch, to deftly pluck… then greedy stuff and quaff of berry guzzle. yeah!