Author: basgallop

Seagulls

SEAGULLS!! .. 3 – 1 Fab game!

at home to Newcastle

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oh, also went to the first ever european game, tho we lost to AEK Athens

pint and a pie with son

torrential rain on way home, got soaked waiting for the train

finally got on the platform, for train headed to Lewes and under a roof

video of the brighton bound train, water gushing down the hill and onto the track, they were drenched

our platform would chant ‘we are the dry side, we are the dry side, doody doody dooo’

then they’d respond ‘we are the wet side, we are the wet side, doody doody dooo’

excellent bants

gorge on courgettes

audio of text

gorge on courgettes, man and his marrows… tomatoes refusing to ripen, understandable, soggy drek day
yawn, slightly sleepy… tons o’fun stuff 10 days at buddhafield, daughters graduation! xx

RIP, had almost forgotten this fabulous song

Nat: Ahh didn’t see you at buddhafield!

Shame! A familiar tale, what with the bonkers weather, so many old friends glimpsed but briefly across the field… but, ha, a glut of glorious connection and hugs galore… So can’t REALLY grumble… Hope yours was a good un xx

buddhafield bound (1)

oh… and finally… the hazel medicine is with me today…. one of my favourite Christy Moore songs, an irish ballad… its a late at night round the fire type song, don’t listen now,… its actually a beautiful W.B Yeats poem… about a man finding then losing his fairey lover… lots of hazel lore in this one:

The Song of Wandering Aengus
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Source: The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)