howell road… our first student house… from mary
aw mr husseys house of horrors! prison next door… looks less dowdy than i remember!… mum and dad lived just up the road for a few years, so i was often meandering along the hoopern valley then down memory lane to number 82
oh and met up with timbo in a veggie squat cafe in vauxhall a month or so back… enjoy cornwall xx
welsh mountains
aw was going to go with ‘River Deep Mountain High’, but ultimately, and obviously, it was all much more poodle haired Rock….
Nothing to see here (yet!). he sows seeds by the sea shore… A few days before the full moon is apparently a good time to sow for many seeds… Sheer chance and never planning in my case!
super hands? i shoulda been goalie for engerland… he’s a keeper
Which way up??? flummoxed with first born, which is every father, and possibly parent, ever! What we have to take them home?
from the 90’s trove… Finn looking super cute, certainly wouldn’t be hoiking the lummox around like that nowadays… not with me lumbago!
…. n.b always presumed lumbago was some sort of beano disease? hoping nobody actually suffers from it, whatever it be
… apropos of nothing, i do adore that phrase! Howard Jones!! sure there are some fans of early 80’s soft electro synth pop out there (mbe 1)… with bonus mime artiste?
i was picking up mum from heathrow very early this morning, popped to the loo and this song was billowing about the bogs
there was a dubious haunting air to the tune, sounded like it was being played on a casio tone? which led me to suspect that actually it was live
Howard Jones has been stuck in the khazi at the airport since mid 83? hence explaining his complete disappearance from the face of the planet
commenting on my own comment… ancient anecdote… i am reminded of once upon a time hitch hiking through Deutschland, somewhere near Bayreuth, Wagner Götterdämmerung!
i was stuck overnight at a motorway service station, zilch lifts, going nowhere… it was freezing cold, so i had to traipse inside, ended up trying to kip sitting on one of the toilets
bland piped pop music all night long, bleaggh, woken from my semi slumbers, by the thunderous farts of germanic truck drivers in the cubicle next door, all accompanied by Wham cheerfully warbling ‘Wake me up before you go go go’
R.I.P Rest In Pieces. Macklemore the Sycamore
I killed a tree this morning, not said with bravado and aplomb… and despite the obvious comedy (it’s Facebook)… a fair amount of remorse and guilt
broadly it’s a small backyard, he would have grown far far too large, wrong tree/wrong place
if i’d left it a few more weeks, the leaves would have come out and it would have been impossible
I should imagine the time to chop a tree is autumn when the sap is falling? spring is a terrible season, but at least if you squint you can pretend its still a half dead stick stuck in the ground
as penance i hand sawed him into small chunks, will season for a year or so then find a suitable wood burner. anyone need some lumber for a viking ship burial?
Should imagine the stump will grow back, but, sigh, will deal with that then
I had a good ponder before i began and gave him a fare thee well hug
Not wishing to be too sentimental, I appreciate that my mere existence on the planet in this society will have decimated i don’t know…
a small copse? an area of the Amazonian Rain Forest one thousandth of the size of Wales? (one Wales is the standard unit of measurement for amazonia, plus its St Davids day!)
in younger days i also personally hacked many a wilderness in my folks garden
but the point is, Macklemores decimation was all so unnecessary! as a good mawkish victorian moralist, i know the time to chop him was the first year
uprooting a teensy sapling is nothing, chopping down a 5 or 6 year old tree, a much harsher deal
but of course the first few years i took the Romantic Poetic approach, ‘look how can a tree grow there?’
the next couple of seasons it was sloth, depression and busy-ness… and the last 2 years its been ‘oh no i have to kill a tree’
basically, framed as a bellocian cautionary tale deal with your stuff before it gets too big… otherwise ‘James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree’
oh not him you know the the one who wandered into a lion cage and died from eating bits of string??
Carpe Diem… I can never remember does that mean ‘sieze the nettle’ or ‘snog a trout’?
both. do it. now
gawd, yet another suspiciously glorious day, here at the usual dreg end of February, wishing ya all well on it!
i’m bizarrely compelled to post yet more snaps! apols, not imagining they’re particularly fantastic, will return to 1000 stanza gobbledy gook poems, else slomach back into the bliss of silence soon, ha
think i’ve taken more pics over the last few days than i did in my first 30 years… which is an utter shame
like most peeps i’m profoundly ambivalent about technology, but having a camera on a smart phone, that’s fun and engrossing
on with stuff!
