Hoorah. I finally got around to sorting out my new log in!
Watch this space.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Saturday, March 11, 2006
In Canterbury, Kent you can experience the visual and auditory delight which is
The Rob John Gambell duo.
Check out Caseys, The Cricketers and Scribes, all studenty type alehouses where you can hear the extraordinary talents of Rob and John as they sing original material and carefully selected eclectic covers. They also run open mike nights in Caseys and The Cricketers.
Monday, March 06, 2006
A Child's View Of His CF.
Dealing with the every day routine of CF from the point of view of a four year old boy who has just started school.Why: To express how it might be for a child with CF
Hello, my name is Robert and I have something called cystic fibrosis.
My best friend at school is called William. We play Star Wars. He is always Luke Skywalker and I am Darth Vader. “Come over to the dark side.” I tell him. He always gets away because the force is with him.
I wish the force was with me. Then I wouldn’t have Cystic Fibrosis and I wouldn’t have to take my creons every day and have physiotherapy in the morning and at bedtime. I have to take the creons because inside my body, near my stomach (Mummy drawed me a diagram) is thing called my pancreas. My pancreas is supposed to make these things called enzymes which digest the fat in my food and help it work properly, Mum says, only it doesn’t so I have to take the creons which have the enzymes in them.
Mummy has to work out how many creons I have to take by seeing how much fat is in my meals. If I have a Big Mac and chips I have to take about five. I don’t need to take one if I have an apple because apples don’t have any fat. When Mummy makes my packed lunch for school she puts a note in to tell the teacher how many I have to have today. I have to learn to start swallowing the whole capsule soon. Mummy usually opens it and sprinkles the little tiny balls onto some Soya pudding for me and I swallow that before eating the rest of my dinner.
If I don’t take my creons I will get tummy ache and runny poo which smells very, very bad. Mummy was glad when I was out of nappies. Sometimes, she said, she felt like putting a peg on her nose!
Sometimes the other children tease me at school because I am quite skinny and small. I get tired a lot and can’t concentrate very well. Or maybe it’s because I have ginger hair.
I get tired when I have a cough. I get coughs quite a lot. That’s why I have to have physiotherapy. Because of the Cystic fibrosis my lungs get filled up with some sticky old stuff and Mummy has to lay me on my beanbag and bang my chest and back for about fifteen minutes in the morning and before bedtime. She says that when I am a little bit older I will learn some other things to do for myself to help my lungs. Exercising is very good. This is great as I like jumping on my trampoline and running and climbing. When I am bigger I will play football and go to the swimming pool lots on my own. Maybe I will play for Arsenal one day.
I have to go to the hospital sometimes to something called a clinic. The nurses make me stand on some scales to see if I have got heavier since last time and I stand by the wall chart and the see if I have got taller. I don’t like it when they put the tickly stick down my throat and scrape some spit off. Mummy says it’s to see if I have bugs. If I do then I have to take anti biotics. This is some medicine which is yellow and it doesn’t taste too bad. We have to keep it in the fridge.
The best thing about cystic fibrosis is that I get to eat lots of sausages, burgers and icing buns. I need lots of fatty food and chocolate for energy. I can have salt on my chips too.
Oh yes, I have to have salt because that’s another thing my body doesn’t do properly and I lose too much salt in my sweat. You can taste my sweat and it tastes salty. In the summer I sometimes have to have salty water added to my food. By the way, William’s pancreas works properly but he is special too because he wears glasses.
Author Explanation: My grandson is nearly five and was diagnosed with CF at two weeks old after undergoing two bowel operations. He had an ileostomey for a blocked bowel and for nearly three months we had to change the ileostomy bag instead of changing a nappy. My daughter and I took turns going up to London and staying with him at the hospital. The op was reversed when he was stable on his creons and feeding. At three months old my daughter was allowed to take him home from the very excellent Brompton hospital in London. He is a very lively and imaginative little boy and makes no fuss about his meds and his physio. He loves school and is obsessed with Darth Vader and Daleks. Last week's clinic went very well and they were very pleased with his progress.
Dealing with the every day routine of CF from the point of view of a four year old boy who has just started school.Why: To express how it might be for a child with CF
Hello, my name is Robert and I have something called cystic fibrosis.
My best friend at school is called William. We play Star Wars. He is always Luke Skywalker and I am Darth Vader. “Come over to the dark side.” I tell him. He always gets away because the force is with him.
I wish the force was with me. Then I wouldn’t have Cystic Fibrosis and I wouldn’t have to take my creons every day and have physiotherapy in the morning and at bedtime. I have to take the creons because inside my body, near my stomach (Mummy drawed me a diagram) is thing called my pancreas. My pancreas is supposed to make these things called enzymes which digest the fat in my food and help it work properly, Mum says, only it doesn’t so I have to take the creons which have the enzymes in them.
Mummy has to work out how many creons I have to take by seeing how much fat is in my meals. If I have a Big Mac and chips I have to take about five. I don’t need to take one if I have an apple because apples don’t have any fat. When Mummy makes my packed lunch for school she puts a note in to tell the teacher how many I have to have today. I have to learn to start swallowing the whole capsule soon. Mummy usually opens it and sprinkles the little tiny balls onto some Soya pudding for me and I swallow that before eating the rest of my dinner.
If I don’t take my creons I will get tummy ache and runny poo which smells very, very bad. Mummy was glad when I was out of nappies. Sometimes, she said, she felt like putting a peg on her nose!
Sometimes the other children tease me at school because I am quite skinny and small. I get tired a lot and can’t concentrate very well. Or maybe it’s because I have ginger hair.
I get tired when I have a cough. I get coughs quite a lot. That’s why I have to have physiotherapy. Because of the Cystic fibrosis my lungs get filled up with some sticky old stuff and Mummy has to lay me on my beanbag and bang my chest and back for about fifteen minutes in the morning and before bedtime. She says that when I am a little bit older I will learn some other things to do for myself to help my lungs. Exercising is very good. This is great as I like jumping on my trampoline and running and climbing. When I am bigger I will play football and go to the swimming pool lots on my own. Maybe I will play for Arsenal one day.
I have to go to the hospital sometimes to something called a clinic. The nurses make me stand on some scales to see if I have got heavier since last time and I stand by the wall chart and the see if I have got taller. I don’t like it when they put the tickly stick down my throat and scrape some spit off. Mummy says it’s to see if I have bugs. If I do then I have to take anti biotics. This is some medicine which is yellow and it doesn’t taste too bad. We have to keep it in the fridge.
The best thing about cystic fibrosis is that I get to eat lots of sausages, burgers and icing buns. I need lots of fatty food and chocolate for energy. I can have salt on my chips too.
Oh yes, I have to have salt because that’s another thing my body doesn’t do properly and I lose too much salt in my sweat. You can taste my sweat and it tastes salty. In the summer I sometimes have to have salty water added to my food. By the way, William’s pancreas works properly but he is special too because he wears glasses.
Author Explanation: My grandson is nearly five and was diagnosed with CF at two weeks old after undergoing two bowel operations. He had an ileostomey for a blocked bowel and for nearly three months we had to change the ileostomy bag instead of changing a nappy. My daughter and I took turns going up to London and staying with him at the hospital. The op was reversed when he was stable on his creons and feeding. At three months old my daughter was allowed to take him home from the very excellent Brompton hospital in London. He is a very lively and imaginative little boy and makes no fuss about his meds and his physio. He loves school and is obsessed with Darth Vader and Daleks. Last week's clinic went very well and they were very pleased with his progress.
SLAPPING ON THE JAM
Listen to us, we two banging on about
dirty dishes and dirty socks on the floor.
Ah my sister and what do we really mean eh?
That our life is shit, that we feel empty, wanting, wanting………. ……………
.someone to come along and take us away from all this?
“He snores.”
(I want a toy boy who will keep me awake all night, play with my hair, suck my toes)
“We don’t communicate.”
(I need a man who will speak to me of poetry, the moon and the stars)
“I’m tired.”
(Bored more like. Searching the eyes of strangers for a clue to myself)
Look at us, for goodness sake. bare faced,
hair scraped back.
It’s practical, like wearing a cardigan over pyjamas, all day.
Oh my friend, it’s not really anybody’s fault.
We just drifted here.
Life, life…………
brought us to this backwater at forty something.
“I ache today.”
(Avoidance wears me down. I am a shadow)
“I got these vitamins.”
(As if a few handfuls of C and E will make everything rosy)
“Why don’t we.”
(Plan to do something radical, cheer ourselves up. But we won’t: .too much effort.)
We speak in circles, knowing, that really,
it’s not so bad,
this middle aged married treadmill
of cleaning, cooking and caring.
At least, at least…………
we get a bunch of flowers at the weekend
and breakfast in bed about once a month
and that’s something to be thankful for………..
“He washed up last night.”
(He thought he might be on a promise)
“He told me he’s getting a raise.”
(Thank God, now I won’t have to get a job)
“I suppose I love him really.”
(Yeah, well, better the devil you know
and anyway, who else would want these wrinkles?)
We laugh.
If only they could hear us
moaning into our coffee cups, munching our toast,
slapping down our men as we slap on the jam
seeking a plan.
We might, we might…………
go out tonight, we say.
Rummage in the bottom of a draw for some
old lippy and a bit of mascara,
shake out the wrinkles in our dancing gear, affix our silly grins.
“Isn’t that film on later.”
(Don’t really want to make the effort)
“The one with….”
(It hurts to be mutton dressed as lamb)
“Tell you what. I’ll come round with a
bottle of Mavro Daphne and we can watch it together.”
(and dream about firm young bodies and smile, no need for words)
“More coffee? How about a doughnut, they’re apple ones.”
“Cheers, isn’t it time for The Archers?”
Listen to us, we two banging on about
dirty dishes and dirty socks on the floor.
Ah my sister and what do we really mean eh?
That our life is shit, that we feel empty, wanting, wanting………. ……………
.someone to come along and take us away from all this?
“He snores.”
(I want a toy boy who will keep me awake all night, play with my hair, suck my toes)
“We don’t communicate.”
(I need a man who will speak to me of poetry, the moon and the stars)
“I’m tired.”
(Bored more like. Searching the eyes of strangers for a clue to myself)
Look at us, for goodness sake. bare faced,
hair scraped back.
It’s practical, like wearing a cardigan over pyjamas, all day.
Oh my friend, it’s not really anybody’s fault.
We just drifted here.
Life, life…………
brought us to this backwater at forty something.
“I ache today.”
(Avoidance wears me down. I am a shadow)
“I got these vitamins.”
(As if a few handfuls of C and E will make everything rosy)
“Why don’t we.”
(Plan to do something radical, cheer ourselves up. But we won’t: .too much effort.)
We speak in circles, knowing, that really,
it’s not so bad,
this middle aged married treadmill
of cleaning, cooking and caring.
At least, at least…………
we get a bunch of flowers at the weekend
and breakfast in bed about once a month
and that’s something to be thankful for………..
“He washed up last night.”
(He thought he might be on a promise)
“He told me he’s getting a raise.”
(Thank God, now I won’t have to get a job)
“I suppose I love him really.”
(Yeah, well, better the devil you know
and anyway, who else would want these wrinkles?)
We laugh.
If only they could hear us
moaning into our coffee cups, munching our toast,
slapping down our men as we slap on the jam
seeking a plan.
We might, we might…………
go out tonight, we say.
Rummage in the bottom of a draw for some
old lippy and a bit of mascara,
shake out the wrinkles in our dancing gear, affix our silly grins.
“Isn’t that film on later.”
(Don’t really want to make the effort)
“The one with….”
(It hurts to be mutton dressed as lamb)
“Tell you what. I’ll come round with a
bottle of Mavro Daphne and we can watch it together.”
(and dream about firm young bodies and smile, no need for words)
“More coffee? How about a doughnut, they’re apple ones.”
“Cheers, isn’t it time for The Archers?”
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Well. Forgot to blog there for a coupla months. Been a teensy bit involved with family stuff.
Hey, it's summer again. This is a morphed pic of a sunset over Seasalter beach in Kent.
My poetic muse has somewhat deserted me over the last few months too. Trying to chase her on the vague winds of time.
Of to the start of Broadstairs Folk week tomorrow and then boot sale on sunday to raise funds for trip to Somerset. Amazing that people will pay money for any old stuff you drag out from the back of cupboards and the deepest darkest recesses of a crumbly old cellar.
Last week I sold
One large blue glass paper weight (£2.00)
James Bond video (£1.00)
Bamboo steamer (£3.00)
Parmesan cheese grater (£2.00)
Troggs cd (£1.00)
Ceramic elephant (£1.00)
Beany teddy (£1.00)
Three black and silver tiled edge
mirrors (£3.00)
Horse ornament (£2.00)
Quills (video) (£1.00)
---------------------------------------------
£14.00
---------------------------------------------
Paid half cost of pitch (£3.50)
and bought
Yves St Laurent shirt (20p)
Assorted boys clothes for grandson
(eight items for 20p each) (£1.60)
A hot dog (£1.00)
A cake (£1.00)
Twenties broach in the shape of the
empire state building (£1.00)
Flashy light pendant (£1.00)
Two books (50p each) (£1.00)
Miss Piggy (10p)
£10.40
Profit + getting rid of some junk and having a fun afternoon (honest)
£3.60
This week I will do better....it's a bigger sale in a posher area and I am taking more collectables.
spidey
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Monday, August 09, 2004
Remember the staring game?
Hour upon hour,
still bodies under perfect command.
Taught limbed anticipation,
fingertips hovering
just above skin.
I felt I could walk along
that invisible line and
dive into your soul. I told you,
“When I die I want to be looking at your eyes,then I won’t be scared.”
Sometimes I saw pictures,
in your eyes, in my head.
Once, a yellow house,
a woman waiting and the word Dar.
You said it meant house in your language.
“How did you know it,” you asked
“a word like that, a world like that?
Incredible,” you said. I told you
“ I saw it in your mind, maybe your past, maybe, our future.”
Do you ever think about my eyes,
and when we lay,
fully clothed
on your bed,
surprise and awe flooding through us.
“Why me, why, us, why now,”
You would always ask this and I would laugh.
“I don’t know, just accept, it is a gift, let us just, be.”
I saw your visions.
Why could you not see mine?
Hour upon hour,
still bodies under perfect command.
Taught limbed anticipation,
fingertips hovering
just above skin.
I felt I could walk along
that invisible line and
dive into your soul. I told you,
“When I die I want to be looking at your eyes,then I won’t be scared.”
Sometimes I saw pictures,
in your eyes, in my head.
Once, a yellow house,
a woman waiting and the word Dar.
You said it meant house in your language.
“How did you know it,” you asked
“a word like that, a world like that?
Incredible,” you said. I told you
“ I saw it in your mind, maybe your past, maybe, our future.”
Do you ever think about my eyes,
and when we lay,
fully clothed
on your bed,
surprise and awe flooding through us.
“Why me, why, us, why now,”
You would always ask this and I would laugh.
“I don’t know, just accept, it is a gift, let us just, be.”
I saw your visions.
Why could you not see mine?
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Oh Lordy. I have reached the ripe old age of fifty! Got a new guitar for my birthday. Cool beans. Having a party on Sat for about 70 adults and 20 kids. Help! Got to go and get food today.
A coupla poems.
JEALOUS GUY
You drove a little spike in with your jealousy.
You asked your questions one too many times.
You hammered home your point into the heart of me
When all you’d ever talk of were my ‘crimes’.
Did you think that I could ever love another?
Did you think I’d really go behind your back?
You even saw me walking with my brother
Instead of asking me you went on the attack.
I grew so tired of turning all my friends down
And watching every word in case you blew.
The way you’d look at me each time I put the phone down.
The accusations about lovers that you threw.
I could not frequent the local pub with girlfriends
In case I flirted with the guy behind the bar.
Oh yes, I fell for all your tricks and all your mind bends
But now you’ve taken it a step too far.
You really thought I’d hidden someone in the bedroom
On the night you came home early for your tea!
You looked so angry when you burst in with the yard broom
Then I laughed. My big mistake. You clobbered me.
So my darling I am going to have to leave you.
Though it breaks my heart but now I clearly see
That this really is unreasonable behavior
So, I’ll leave before you are the death of me.
CHEESY DREAMS
My love is like ripe Roquefort, strong and steaming.
His presence permeates my mind when I am dreaming.
His creamy skin a Philadelphia delight.
I spread him on my cracker late at night.
A triangle of cheesy spread, he greets my morning.
I peel his soft foil layers as day is dawning.
My soft white slices waiting with breath, bated,
to receive a filling of his cheddar grated.
Ah but the cheese which brings to mind my lover true
Is Danish, creamy, crumbly, strong and veiny blue.
LUST
“Coffee?” He said.
Never made it to kitchen
Or even to the bed.
Heart hammering
Stomach churning
Chest heaving
Head spinning
Hands tearing at clothes
Buttons flying.
A pause, “are you sure?”
I answered, breathless
“Never more.”
Kisses deep and long
Arms strong.
This is where I belong.
Is it so wrong?
Hurtling headlong
Into passion all night long?
No shy caress.
No gentle climb
You tore my dress.
Body shaking
Ball breaking
Belly aching
Hands clawing
Lips bruising
Limbs thrashing.
No stated aim.
You die a thousand deaths.
I stake my claim.
Fingers stroking
Tears choking
Sweat drenching
Carpet burning
Groin throbbing
Breath gasping.
“I never knew.” I said.
That on this night.
I’d lose my body and my head
Enjoy
Ali
A coupla poems.
JEALOUS GUY
You drove a little spike in with your jealousy.
You asked your questions one too many times.
You hammered home your point into the heart of me
When all you’d ever talk of were my ‘crimes’.
Did you think that I could ever love another?
Did you think I’d really go behind your back?
You even saw me walking with my brother
Instead of asking me you went on the attack.
I grew so tired of turning all my friends down
And watching every word in case you blew.
The way you’d look at me each time I put the phone down.
The accusations about lovers that you threw.
I could not frequent the local pub with girlfriends
In case I flirted with the guy behind the bar.
Oh yes, I fell for all your tricks and all your mind bends
But now you’ve taken it a step too far.
You really thought I’d hidden someone in the bedroom
On the night you came home early for your tea!
You looked so angry when you burst in with the yard broom
Then I laughed. My big mistake. You clobbered me.
So my darling I am going to have to leave you.
Though it breaks my heart but now I clearly see
That this really is unreasonable behavior
So, I’ll leave before you are the death of me.
CHEESY DREAMS
My love is like ripe Roquefort, strong and steaming.
His presence permeates my mind when I am dreaming.
His creamy skin a Philadelphia delight.
I spread him on my cracker late at night.
A triangle of cheesy spread, he greets my morning.
I peel his soft foil layers as day is dawning.
My soft white slices waiting with breath, bated,
to receive a filling of his cheddar grated.
Ah but the cheese which brings to mind my lover true
Is Danish, creamy, crumbly, strong and veiny blue.
LUST
“Coffee?” He said.
Never made it to kitchen
Or even to the bed.
Heart hammering
Stomach churning
Chest heaving
Head spinning
Hands tearing at clothes
Buttons flying.
A pause, “are you sure?”
I answered, breathless
“Never more.”
Kisses deep and long
Arms strong.
This is where I belong.
Is it so wrong?
Hurtling headlong
Into passion all night long?
No shy caress.
No gentle climb
You tore my dress.
Body shaking
Ball breaking
Belly aching
Hands clawing
Lips bruising
Limbs thrashing.
No stated aim.
You die a thousand deaths.
I stake my claim.
Fingers stroking
Tears choking
Sweat drenching
Carpet burning
Groin throbbing
Breath gasping.
“I never knew.” I said.
That on this night.
I’d lose my body and my head
Enjoy
Ali
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