Monday, 18 September 2017

A Drizzle of Drivel.

the garden/yesterday

You know what?


This blog is full of rubbish. 

It’s crap!


Ah, there I beg to differ, it HAS sense, it’s just rubbish.

I beg you to stop!

Really? You’d be out on a limb mate.

I’d have more respect.

What do you mean?

People associate me with this drivel.

Drivel is important.

No, that’s driZZle, it’s not the same.

Drivel… drizzle…. You’re right!

I’m always right.

I thought you were left.

I vote socialist, that’s true, but I know my drivel from drizzle.

We need more socialists.

We need more drizzle.

Saturday, 16 September 2017

Incoherent Limes.

the festival/august

This lime juice tastes like….


It does now; I think initially you forgot to add the juice.

Hot-water then?


I have a lot on my mind.

Really? Like?

I’m late.

The other day you said that you are never late.

It’s not my fault.

You are late and you are blaming someone else?

It’s natural.

My lime juice is hot water because someone else is late?

That’s it.



I’m being polite.

Ah, by the way – have you noticed that each time we write lime juice the grammar check signals it as a fault, and each time we correct it to limejuice, as the grammar check recommends, the grammar check signals the correction as incorrect.

Are you trying to change the subject?

No, well strictly yes, limejuice IS the subject.

No, you being late IS the subject.

What I mean is, an incoherent lime juice will help you through times of no time, better than an incomplete grammar check will help you through a time of no limes..

Friday, 15 September 2017

The Healing Angel in Blue Dungarees.

the festival/August

I want to get this down before I forget.

Are you sure? It wasn’t great.

I need to remember some of it; some of it was beautiful.

Beauty in pain; you are speaking of her aren’t you?

An angel.

You’re biased.

Maybe, but she came on her bike, she didn’t need to; in fact I had told others not to say I was there.

Where were you?

On the ground looking up at the tree.

So you saw her face first of all.

Her smile. I felt better almost at once. She put her bike against the railings and sat down beside me.

On the pavement? By the traffic lights?

I hadn’t been able to cross; it was a frontier too far. The police dog barked and the handler stared at me, but said nothing.

How long had you been there.

Thirty minutes, an hour… it matters not.

What did she do?

Talked. About the day, about dance, about the tree. She healed me.

The healing angel.

In blue dungarees.

Tuesday, 12 September 2017

Capisculen Cherries.

the village/August

Seems like summer is still with us.

No, it’s autumn but autumn is glorious.

Did you see the moon the other night; it too was glorious?

It was almost full; the meadow was awash in moonlight.

A sea of capisculen white.


It might not be a real word, it bubbled up in my brain.

A brain bubble.

They are often dislodged whilst running.

Have you been for a run this morn?

Not yet, and I errored.


Error-ed, I committed an error.

How so?

I ate my muesli, added some yoghurt and a slice of melon, I need to digest.

Ah, melon. Autumnal fruit behold.

Speaking of which, you know the little guy in the market who sells fruit?

Claude? I know him well, shakes my hand every week.

He won’t be there next week.

What! This is bad news.

He has finished for the summer.

Oh no!

We won’t see him again until he appears with a table of cherries sometime next year. Cherries, then a couple of weeks after cherries and apricots, then the cherries dwindle though first they change colour, then the apricots get bigger, then the peaches and the nectarines move in. And now he said goodbye.

This is my last tray of peaches?

It is, try to make them last. There are 19.

I wonder why he doesn’t grow melons.

He’s a specialist of tree fruit.

Melons are ground crawlers.

But tasty!

Sunday, 10 September 2017

Tricky things with pins.

the garden/late august

Funny you should ask, I’m sitting outside it right now.

I thought you were in the office.

I’ve moved the office.

You’ve moved the editorial office?

For today, it’s an ambulant editorial office anyway.

This is radical.

It’s great, look – you can see all the people walking up and down the street; the church bells ring sometimes and there’s a great cup of tea.

What are you drinking?

Christmas in Peeking.

That’s a tea.


Peking has changed her name.

My tea hasn’t.


No it’s warm.

No, I meant this exhibition.

Quasi-religious erotic embroidery; it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

I don’t suspect Christmas in Peeking is either. By the way, I need your advice.



I advise you to try this tea.

No it’s about My Mue.

Ooooooh; does that make me a creative consultant?

It does, but I don’t have a badge for that.

I always give you badges, i even gave you a bike, but that’s ok, what is it?


No, I know that – but WHAT is it?

It’s an unexpected donation.

Was it on the photocopier?



Where was it?

In the car park.

And WHAT is it?



But the advice I am searching is - should I display it like this, or like this? 

I don’t know; where are you going to put it?

I thought it looked good on the noticeboard.

Where is the noticeboard?

On the wall at the side of the café.

The Mue has a café?

Of course it does! I told you this at least once before.

Sorry, I forgot. What does the Mue have in the café?

It would be nice if you could say ‘what do the Mue have in the caf?’ wouldn’t it?



What do the Mue have in the caf?

Ginger juice.

Ginger juice?

It’s good. We do smoothies too but some of the staff are new.

You have staff?

We have ‘helpers’ and they are not trained. They make it up as they go along.


And the other day they made a smoothie but left the peach stone in and blended it.

What happened?

The guy who drank it said it was really good but a bit bitty.

A bit bitty?


A bitty bit gritty.

A little bitty bit gritty.


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