Basgallop Blog

harken to the sea sound! part balter, mostly lullaby
an undulant mothering tongue, of swoosh, babble, seethe
telling you your beautiful… and that its chips for tea*

*and avocado

‘pebble with fingers’
i love the way pebbles just loll about doing nothing… forever… obdurate gobstoppers of eternity!
this eye like beach find, nary a blink in all the years i’ve had it
beach smoothed, soused by waves, jostled with its kin, until silken to the touch, finger invisible but for the gentle weight of its heft and clout
ah the natural human necessity for story, to tether all things in the weave of narrative… stones tho cheerfully endure and out live these concerns…
‘doing ma thing, the big no thing!’
can imagine our forebears, loitering on these shores, waist deep, sea waded, harvesting mussels and barnacles into reed woven baskets
one stops, stoops, plucks just such a stone, to take back to the shelter.. there is never a why… this definably human characteristic, discernment,
‘that stone, no need for others’, beguiled by intrigue, creatures of slender delight, beauty and whim
…. oops late for work, but do enjoy the opportunity to bilge! ha… laterzzz

Replies to comments:

‘obdurate gobstoppers of eternity’… lawks where was my head at… a phrase to roll around the mouth, like a pebble, or, erm a gobstopper
are all languages so synesthesia onomatopoeic? try saying the word ‘boulder’ and not touch/taste/feel a huge globular stone nestled within your yawning maw

ha! thanks!… i think… i know there’s is a always a dictum/homily for ‘plain speaking’, yet if your nature is to be an obfuscator-y psued, well then, best embrace it!
… preferable to being an obscure prude?
if you have nowt to say, then cover that bluster with a grandiloquent crescendo
tho, as the world is frequently about patterning, more like a beaky beady crow, here see these words lined up in a row? peck, scuttle, peck… rearrange them… just so
anyway hope your enjoying these blackberry and elderberry filled days! xx

i was actually thinking about buddha, zen gardens, the stones all Reiki-ed into rows

my kids usually just smile kindly and indulgently, whilst muttering ‘doofus’ under their breath… often an appropriate response

‘i am the egg man, i am the walrus, goo goo bidoop’?
barcombe mills, river sleek… away from the familiar dunking in the sea, I had forgotten, the altered buoyancy, the different feels of river water
swam meandered around the bend, found an ash tree, limbs leaning out halfway across the water
embrace, yawn back into the ‘Y’ stretch of her branches, feet up, as tho in a bath… gently humming ‘islands in the stream’
damsel and dragon flies, their irridescent zip and flicker, whilst thronging the riverbank, pink flowers of himalayan balm
a microcosm of wonder!
only… leaves and sky above, the gentle tug of water below
flow. everything will pass

a traditional afternoon paddle in the kayak, with RP up to the anchor inn for a pint, a serendipitous bumping into karen,
celebrating her birthday weekend (me wearing my sri lanka t-shirt)
then back in a sorrily half deflated craft
a roam up to the fort, then home for peanutty tofu gloop and a fiendishly fun and ingenious virtual escape room!
a deeply pleasant day!

exuberance over vanity! ha! occasionally i scrub up well… in twilight, from a suitable distance…
but here i look entertainingly battered… actually its not me, see, nothing like my profile picture… erm it’s my great uncle… bulgaria!
crikey, on a large monitor its even more disturbing!!
age folks, it’s a’gunning for us all
grok the joy of being ourselves, a deeply beautiful thing

all together now… tho can’t decide if i’m more kenny or dolly! what a choice!…

replies to comments

thanks guys!…was pondering earlier, whilst coding, just what it is that makes the riparian environment so warm and comforting?
astonishing how the brain whilst ostensibly busy still finds space to mull over more interesting things!
of course, the personal resonance from childhood, i grew up near the River Mole, usually docile, at times almost plodding
a river, somehow quintessentially ‘english’, not in some dreary patriotic way, just that i think of celtic streams being more of a gush, rush and babble!
cultural, almost archetypal associations, stretching back through the obvious ‘wind in the willows’, hammy the hamster(!), blakes ‘clod and the pebble’
an environment, seemingly unchanged for millenia
people have always pottered and dawdled the afternoons away on a sunny river bank… why would we not?
as i was telling my sister, oh i do love to pontificate, many of our river names stretch back to the neolithic, and are some of the most ancient words in the cultural kitty
tho having said that the wonderfully onomatoepeic ‘ouse’ is a more recent celtic word ‘usso’ meaning water

as always its mostly about the trees, the serene trinity of Alder, Willow and Ash, the uplifting feeling of just speaking their names aloud
they hold the space, strengthening and cosseting the banks, proffering up a dappled shade, encouraging a rich, prolific diversity beneath their aegis
when your low on the water, the horizon is blessedly contained, everything is intimate
sound scape of the slap and plash of the paddle, the lip smacking plop of a fish, greedily surfacing for a mouthful of insect
oops…waffling about nowt…
tho i have heard the reverse opinion, truth that is turned about, like a glove pulled inside out:
that flowing water loves to be cool and always summons shade
like some potentate, accompanied by a eunuch bearing umbrella, else reclined in his sumptous palanquin… words, words, like the river, forgotten the where and the why to hurry!
enuff

saw a seal the other day. Rottingdene, Finn and i out for a sunset stroll… 10 yards off shore… the usual bob n’gawp, languid eyed, she ducked her head, sea silk, then glided below
heart yearn and wonder, but not enough to coax her come back… for sure, in places, they are common, i remember a posse, blubber coated, lolloping along the strand in dublin… but seldom glimpsed around here (‘cept a couple of times on the ouse)
wanted to type lachrymose (lachry-morose!), but few animals are prone to tears, with the honourable excetion of doves (who am i to quibble with the diminuitive, sadly deceased, pop genius)
if any animal were to cry tho… surely it would be the seal… salt tears into the sea… who would we be to know?
too fleeting for a photo… so, but a now, ninja womb alien selfie… nothing extraordinary nor exceptional
bit flummoxed by today, tumbled into the weekend bereft of plans… no festies, no classes… and weather that promises nowt but sogginess
still glugged turmeric juice… a banana, strawberry, chococolate and peanut butter wrap (yum!)… do some yoga, bask in the subtle integrity and cohesiveness of body… have a lovely one whatever you be up too x

crikey… i’m the spit of ‘old aunty pat’ who did a crystal ball reading for us all when we were kids… i was ‘going to be an accountant’, my brov a parachutist… such the premonition and power of 1970s clairvoyance!

flaps: theres still time

aw one can but dream of what might have been! a black belt in double entry bookkeeping…. representing piddinghoe at the nationals in ‘adding up more things than you can count on your fingers and toes’… sighdid i mention she was the spit of barbara cartland? anyway you’ve interrupted my vinyassa flow… 2 more sun salutations then finally sivassana snooze x