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?

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

This post has been deleted by the author.

spidey

A promising day. Birds singing, sun shining, a luncheon appointment.
What could possible go wrong? Erm, live my life and see! Scrabbling around bedroom looking for the 'right' thing to wear, tripping over the dog. Toothache so took co-codamol. Now head is wafty. Hubby and daughter off in a grump cos he was late and would not give her a lift to school. She wanted to get in early to look for her two jumpers as she is wearing a plain t-shirt due to cock up on washing front last night. This is no no at Grammar school so I had to write her a 'To Whom it may concern' note about my failure as a Mother to provide the right kit.

Listening to archive of the Paul Jones Blues show on Radio two. Some rare tracks. Trying to get my notes for latest story into order but won't sweat it now as my lunch date means I have to get out of house earlier than usual today. Need this as I spend far too many hours of the day closeted in office, huddled over keyboard with no contact from outside world.

Watermelon Slim playing now. Just heard some rare delta blues. At least the toothache has subsided now. If you have a wisdom tooth which is impacted and the dentist says lets whip it out, think twice before agreeing if it is not bothering you. They have damaged the nerve in my mouth and all my other teeth are affected.

Was having nostalgia hour last night and remembering when I could have, if I'd wanted to and been allowed, bought 240 bars of penny chocolate for a pound or 960 fruit salads!!!!

My bath is getting cold while I waffle on here. Please do go and see Devendra Banhart on the net. See link above.

Off to beautify self now!!

http://www.younggodrecords.com/Artists/DevendraBanhart/

Saw this guy on Jools Holland the other night. Was astounded that no one else has picked up on the fact that his voice is the re incarnation of Marc Bolan!!!!!
Listen or watch the clip from the Morning Becomes Eclectic show.

I am now and avid fan of this guy!

Visit me here for more writing.
http://www.freewebs.com/rasiera/

The following is a rap written as an anti drugs statement by a young friend of mine.

ED'S RAP

Get high with me, come fly with me, we all like fun and we all like a tease,
take double drop of the ecstasy, gonna get me rushing like a beauty.
Movin’ on to the P.C.P keeps me right away from the P.A.I.N with ease,
safe from the torture, safe from disease. Get high with me, come fly with me
Comin down gonna smoke some weed then come back up fat line of speed
S.C.A.G bad for you but its good for me, get a big rush from Mr C.H.A.R.L.I.E.
Facts true, got a drug head, might feel good might end up dead, fuck me
I need a wee but I cant quite piss cos of all the speed, systems good if you know
what I mean, it’s just I got this tiny P.E.N.I.S it’s like a stump in the jungle yes, yes, yes,
like the NHS, we give you drugs to treat your stress, only problem drugs are best but the sun comes up then you're in a mess miserable from the ecstasy,
fucked head from the P.C.P, got broken arms and broken knees, think I'm safe wiv a little bit of weed but now I've got this lung disease.Fuck the rest cos I cant quite see, take all of this drug, A.B.C. White light coming over me, feels like drugsbut this is for real, God’s face looking straight at me nunna nunna nite in heaven be cos I’m D.E.A.D
and all for free cos heaven lasts for eternity.

Blair and Bush climbed up the hill to topple a dictator.
If Bush falls down and breaks his crown then Blair will follow later.
When up Blair’s got then home he’ll trot for his election caper
He’ll catch on quick that we’re not thick when we put pen to paper.
It’s clear to me he has to do some damage limitation
Or voting slips, our WMD's, will cause his devastation.

Hi, how was your weekend? Saturday evening, 8pm, descended on by daughter Alice (21) and three of her friends: Caggy mad curly haired blonde girl who has been in Aus for a while so it was great to see her looking so well, Henry, dreads and raggedy trousers, fire spinning sticks, a new addition to Alice's commune, and Seb whom I've known since he was fourteen , he used to lodge with us.

Fed them all pizza and pasta so I knew they were fuelled up for the party in the woods which they left for about tenpm in the company of a whole motley band of ravers. Yes, a party in the woods, one of these raves with ambient trance music and lots of mud. They dragged their sorry carcasses home about ten in the morning. I would not let them in until they divested themselves of all filthy, muddy clothes and boots. The clothes went straight in the washing machine(which now has a layer of mud in the filters) and the boots straight out to the shed to dry off. I had to lend Seb a pair of my baggy jeans to wear! They took over the sitting room and I chucked them a load of blankets and they went to sleep while I spent the afternoon cooking a great big sunday roast, (inc veggie sausages for Alice) We had a great evening with additional guests in the form of Jake, Matt and Ed, all lads who frequented my house when the twins (Alice has a twin brother) were living here.
Bob stayed upstairs in the office most of the evening, not because he doesn't like them but , well, it was a bit crowded downstairs! Rohan loved seeing them all and catching up with her sis.

Seb went to collect some books from his Mum's to take back to York and his dad came in for a cuppa around midnight when he brought Seb back.
The dining room was festooned with drying washing and we were tripping over all the baggage but it was a great evening and I finally got to bed around two having sat up with Seb a bit and chatted about philosophy, the world and love! (he was missing his girlfriend)

This morning was fun! Trying to get hubby off to work (Ro is off school with a cough) in amongst the kids feverish packing for the ten am coach back to York. Caggy is staying with her parents down here until she goes to Uni in York in Sept and had promised to come up to visit me. I made them all porridge and packed up some food for their
journey, big hugs all round and a sad goodbye as they struggled up the road to get the Cant train.

Surveying the wreckage of my house, making sure they had not left anything behind I wondered how we ever managed to live here with sometimes eight people in the house.

I have asked all the people who have ever stayed with me to write an Ali's house poem which I will put together in a little anthology.

So, apart from Ro coughing away and playing with her new mobile phone polyphonic ringtones the house is empty again.

Until June when they are all coming down from York for my birthday, son is coming for sumer and the two Czech students some back for the holidays!



Life in Ali's house!!!

spidey

Apparently my eye problem is something which normally happens to people twenty years older than me. That's reassuring (not). Just went to the clinic.
'The steroid drops are working well,' says me.
'Yes, they will but you have to cut them down now, cannt use them for too long,' says the doc. 'Just use the other ones every hour for another three months and then come back to be assessed.'

Ah, right. Oh, and I have to stop taking the St John's Wort because it increases photosensitivity, my eyes hurt in the daylight, let alone the sun. Well, I will stop them but my family will have to bear the consequences. Does anone know of anything else that acts like nature's prozac? Not going back on the chemicals.

Family news, my 35yr old sis is pregnant. News? yes. she remarried, along with her four kids a lovely man called Kevin and had her sterilisation reversed , its worked! I think shes mad but it's what they both want! Hell, I remarried along with my three kids and had another baby at 38, who am I to talk!

Dog just came bounding upstairs and knocked my arm, leapt up at my chair and shook the rain all over me. He was telliing me he had had a fantastic walk and wanted his dinner please. Then he proceeded to dry himself on my bedroom carpet. Shake and Vac in the morning i feel.

Does Rumsfeld really think that saying sorry, it's not like Americans at all is going to make a blind bit of difference to world opinion? I think not.
Awaiting similar from our chiefs of staff but will it come. I think not.

Maybe someone should put Blair and Bush on a leash and let them be photographed dragged around ass naked then say oops, sorry we did not mean it.

Bagsy I first in queue. Oh no, that owuld make me as bad as them wouldnt it.
Off to watch Jonathon Ross

Flowerpot Men Three plastic flowerpots cost: £1.38. You'd think I had bought him the moon! My grandson came to play today and brought his flowerpot man. For those of you not brought up in England in the fifties/ sixties, Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Men and their friends little weed (a large yellow flower) and slogalog (a large tortoise) were the characters in a children's TV programme. They lived behind the shed in a big garden and when the gardener went to the house for his lunch they came out to play I have a video of the original black and white series and it has recently been re-made with a few additional characters. Grandson Stanley (aged three) loves his flowerpot man as much as he loves his Woody doll from Toy story.Same premise! I found him a little weed doll and today we went shopping and I got him some large plastic flowerpots. (Bill and Ben live in flowerpots) Wonderful play value in those three pots. Woody joined in the fun and the game went on all afternoon. One of the pots went back to Stan's house with Bill inside.Stan is an exhausting toddler but well and happy. This means a lot as he spent the first three months of his life in hospital. At two days old doctors at Redhill realized there was something wrong as his belly was distended and he was not passing any stools. He was very tiny, just four pounds. They rushed him to Tooting hosp in London gave him and emergency illeostomy, bypassing the bowel and making an opening in his side and attaching an illeostomy bag. The first op did not work and he had a second. The waiting was agonizing. The docs suspected Cystic Fibrosis but would not confirm till they had results of tests. This took two long weeks.My daughter and her partner first lived in at the hosp then were allocated a room in a parents house just outside the hosp. Claire had had a caesarian so was not too well for the first week but she is one tough girlie and her fight for Stan overcame any pain of her own. I went up to the hosp when I could from Kent. Staying overnight to keep her company when her partner had to go back to work.Stan was hooked up to monitors so could not be breast-fed but my daughter used a breast pump so that he could have the best nutrition. When Stan was stabilized they were sent back to Redhill. We walked in to visit them at six weeks to find a consultant (who had been away_ ordering an ambulance to take them to the Brompton in London. Stan had dipped below his birth weight. The dietician at Redhill had been upping his feeds but not getting the meds balance right. By now CF had been confirmed and he had (Has) to have enzymes to help him to process the fat in his food as otherwise it goes straight through him and he would starve to death. Also he has to have extra sodium because he loses salt quickly. The ride to London in the ambulance was a nightmare. The driver got lost in London. Stan was due a feed and was screaming. When we got there and Claire found that he was in a cot in the ward and not in a side room she was frantic. Any infection would kill him. However, the docs and nurses reassured her that he would be fine in the ward. They cut his feeds down to barely two ounces and upped his creons (enzymes) and got him on some other meds. We had to weigh all of his output, his nappies for wee and his bags for poo!Claire could not breast feed any more as her milk dried so he was put on formula. It was quickly discovered that he had a milk allergy and had to switch to a special milk. From that day though he started to gain weight, slowly, slowly. The physiotherapists showed Claire how to do his ‘patting’, tapping his chest and back to keep his lungs clear. He has to have that all his life. The parent facilities were good. A whole floor of rooms with a kitchen and common sitting room. Most of the babies in the ward had had heart operations but the hosp is one of the main ones for CF children, they are nursed separately as CF kids germinate particular infections and cannot mix.I continued to go and stay at the hosp one or two nights a week, juggling it with work and a production I was involved with in am-dram and looking after the rest of my family. I learnt to do the 'patting' and give the meds etc. I carried him round the ward on my shoulder and sang him nursery rhymes.He did well and we brought him home at three months to their new house they had been in the process of buying when he was born. It was a brilliant sunny day just near my birthday. What a birthday present!One in 2,400 people carry the CF gene. If two people with the gene make a baby there is a one in four chance that the child will have full CF, it may just be a carrier. We have all been tested and it seems that Claire's gene comes down from her father's side of the family as does her partners but no-one in either family ever got CF so nobody knew.The prognosis for CF is, I believe, now about thirty-five years tops, with luck and not too many chest infections, which can cause scarring and lead to heart lung transplants. Twenty years ago life expectancy was about fifteen years oldStan has had a couple of hospitalizations with coughs and the milk allergy (coincidental) it means he has to have all Soya products and milk that are not very high in fat. He should have a high fat diet. He loves sausages though, and chips! As he gets older his Mum will have to work out the creon to fat in food ratio for all his meals and he will be encouraged to swim and do sports to give his lungs a sporting chance.He has long ginger hair and is totally eccentric and lovable.

CRAVING
Oh loathsome little length of poison paper.
How you decieve me in this fatal caper.
Your brothers and sisters lay wasted in a
smouldering heap.
The sight of my own folly makes me want to weep.
You bite my tongue and squeeze my chest.
You dominate my day and steal my rest.
Oh foul filcher of my God given breath.
Begone from my sight, ere you cause my death.

PASSION
Fingertip trailing,
circling,
sending passion’s
arrow speeding to
it’s target of desire.
Tongue tracing,
tasting,
mounting an assault
on reason, now
to set a fire.
Arms enfolding,
Holding.
Belly to belly,
breast to chest,
thigh to thigh.
Urgent needing,
Pleading.
Wanting you inside
to complete me.
Make me fly.

A SHORT STORY

HUNGRY

Watching the hands on the clock tick slowly round as I spoon out their mashed potato and gravy. Imagining her hands on my body. Needing the feel of her warm breath on my neck. I clear the plates and dish up apple pie and custard.
‘Not hungry?’
‘I ate earlier.’
Stomach churning with a different hunger. Aching; wanting her mouth, her skin, her eyes.
‘Good telly night.’
‘I’m going out, round Annie’s. I said I would help her streak her hair.’
Fingers crossed behind my back. Untruths. We would not be playing hairdressers.
Washing up takes most of the space there is left to fill before it is time.
‘I’m off then. Don’t wait up, we might watch a video. Have a girls night in.’

Tension mounts and my skin begins to prickle. Only four streets over. Past the Red Lion, where this began. A party, we got drunk on tequila slammers. Mellow and happy. A cuddle in the ladies. Annie held me a bit too long, too close.

Something inside me sang.

E-mails the next day. Apologies, Blame the drink but I knew. Had wanted it to go on, wanted her to kiss me, there, in the pub loo. Hang being caught out.

Walking to Annie’s house, thinking, breathing deeply. Must calm down, be cool.

Is this me?

We met at the theatre; she did the lighting for productions. Once, I helped her out, up there in the dark, she leaned close, her hair brushing my shoulder as she showed me the sequences. Did I know then? We talked at half time and started to know each other. Over the last weeks she seemed to be there at every turn.
She lives on her own, happy with her divorce, her independence, she never loved him really.
Married for form’s sake, expected. No kids, just a cat and a bowl full of stupid fish.
She called one Ronnie, after him.
Nearly there.Heart bumping against my shirt. Am I insane, do I want this?

Yes.

‘Hi, I’ve brought some wine. I thought, I need to unwind. Bloody awful day. Kids fighting after school and the dog was ill. That's a nice smell.’
‘It’s patchouli, the oil burner. I’ll get some glasses. Relax; I’m not going to bite. Not unless you want me to! Sort out some music if you like.’
A pile of CD’s, I choose some soft soul. Amber coloured candles spill light on the honey walls. Annie appears from the kitchen holding two glasses, puts them down, dips a finger in the wine and traces her mouth with it. Her tongue follows, licking the wine.
‘Mmmmmm, good choice. Should go well with the main course.’
Hands me a glass and I down it in one.

‘Annie, I’ve never done this before. We haven’t even spoken about it, I…………’
In one smooth moment she is by me. Holding me, stroking my hair, looking into my eyes.
‘Shhhhhhhhhh. I could tell, in the pub, that you were hungry. Even before, in the theatre. I wanted you but I needed to be sure.’

She leans in and it begins.

Kisses, soft as rose petals, brushing my lips. Her hands on my hips, pulling me close. I am falling; I am flying. Her lips more urgent. Hands on the back of my neck, trapping me to her. Stroking my face, sliding down my arms, nails raking, buttons flying.
She sighs.
‘So beautiful. Look in the mirror. See, all flushed and needy.’
She’s standing behind me. Reaching round, holding my breasts. I lean back, twist my head to find her mouth again while she strokes and pinches, flicking and teasing.
Fingers snaking down my belly. Kneading flesh, seeking, greedy for my secrets.
My eyes are closed, my breath is ragged.
‘Oh little one, Annie wanted this so long. Come and sit down here with me let's slow down. We have all evening.' She fills the glasses and I fill with growing passion.

This stop, this breather, my nerves are screaming.

I take a deep breath and start to pull her t-shirt over her head. Naked underneath, I cannot stop myself from drinking the sight of her. From realising her arousal. Tentative at first I touch, I bow my head to taste. A sigh escapes her and she lifts my head, holds my face in cupped hands.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’

I spread the toast, Marmalade for one and Marmite for the other. Tea in one hand, I stir his porridge.
‘How’s the hair?’
‘What?’
‘Annie’s hair, you were going to streak it.’
Imagining her hair, spread out on the white carpet. Her hands gripping my shoulders.
‘Oh, she chickened out, we just had some wine and watched a video.’
‘Nice woman. Shouldn’t be on her own. Can’t you fix her up with someone at the theatre?’
I smile.
‘Maybe’

Well, another Tuesday ends. Was going to be good today and not eat any choccie. Failed.
Breakfast:the usual porridge and tea.
Lunch: bowl of marinated tofu with mayo. One Mars delight.
Dinner: couscous, one spoonful of bean stew and some flat bread. tea.
Snacks: two donuts and a slice of fruit bread.
umpteen cups of coffee but no sugar as I forgot to buy any.
Still, bought a pair of trousers on Sat in a size 14,thats one size down since Xmas. Wa hay!

Am giving up meat.
Am trying to find Neuro Linguistic Therapy CD's for giving up smoking. They are in house somewhere.

Last episode of No Angels tonight, sad, a good programme. Earthy, funny, nice to see some new acting faces intead of same old ones dragged out as usual.

Great day yesterday. Was going to be picnic in woods but it rained so we had picnic indoors instead with some good friends.

Incentive for doing all the odds and sods of decorating that I have put off since xmas. Daughter is bringing friends to crash at my house as they are going to a party near here at weekend. One of those raves in the woods things. All psy trance and sleeping bags, dreads and magic mushrooms I suppose. Better get huge amounts of cereal and orange juice in.
At the moment my dog has taken up residence under my pc desk and every time I stretch out my feet he grumbles at me. He is a big dog, Rottie / bull mastiff. Eight and a half stone! called Buster.

Am trying to put together three poems to enter for anthology. I have two but the third eludes me.

Tomorrow if it's not raining I might finally get to strim my garden now I have got a strimmer curtesy of a friend. Will have to avoid the bluebells cos they are really beautiful out there.
Well, a bit of a ramble this evening. Might post a story in a tick too, for your delectation and delight.
I can't bring myself to talk about Iraq. I am too angry.

SHORT STORY

ID cards. They will protect us from criminals, yes?

I‘m walking home, late at night. I’ve been visiting a friend. Footsteps behind me in the alleyway, getting closer. An arm on my shoulder, a hand tries to snatch my bag. I twist round and look the mugger in the face. I try to diffuse the situation with humor.

"Now, before you do this I would like to see your identity card. They are supposed to stop crime you know."

A howl of derision from the baseball capped youth. His eyes are manic. Suddenly I feel very scared. He shoves me against a wall and pins me across the chest with one arm. A knife appears as he tells me

"Lady, ain’t no bit of plastic ain't gonna to save you now."

Later, at the police station, DNA samples of his skin are taken from under my fingernails. These, plus semen samples, are sent to the labs for analysis and cross matching to the National ID register.

I sit huddled in a stark white dressing gown in the doctor's office and wait to be told when I can get dressed. A nurse is gently explaining the advisability of getting tested for sexually transmitted diseases. Oh, and just to screw me up even more, I am given a little packet which contains two pills. Morning after pills.

At home now, curled up in bed, hugging the pillow. Hubby is concerned."Don't worry love. You say gave the police a good description? With that and the fingerprints from your coat they will soon have him matched up with the register. Then all they have to do is wait till he uses his card. As soon as he goes through the retinal scanner it will alert the NIDC. He'll be picked up straight away. You should have rung me to come and get you. I was worried when you were so late. Thought maybe you'd stayed over at Kate’s." His voice fades as sleep finally lets me escape from the trauma of the evening.

This morning, after he has kissed me goodbye, not noticing me flinch, and left for his job at the NIDC, I potter about the house. I'm moving slowly. I ache all over. I jarred my back when the rapist pushed me to the ground. There are bruises on my throat and arms and inside me.... inside me feels like someone stuck a knife in and twisted it round.

I call Kate.

"Oh my God! Does Jake know? I'm coming over right now. Is there anything you need? Milk, painkillers, fags? I know you gave up but..."I tell her to bring me some cigarettes and some paracetamols.

While I'm waiting I get a drink of water and wash down the first of the little white pills that the police doctor gave me. Some words from a song I haven't heard for years runs through my mind."Wash away the pain" I add my line

"Will it make me whole again"

No. Nothing can ever make me whole again. Violation. Always an abstract word before. I’ve read and seen accounts from rape victims but nothing can prepare you for this. I shower again. Last night in the police station they let me take a shower after the examination. The second invasion of my body. The doctor was kind and as gentle as she could be, taking the swabs, checking for damage. I turn the power jets to hot and lather myself in soap. No pore of my being is left un scrubbed.

Kate has arrived and we sit at the kitchen table. She lights my cigarette and guides my hand to my coffee cup. I am shaking as I tell her what happened. Coffee slops out of my cup. I spare her no details.

"Christ Annie, I wish I'd given you a lift home. Do you think they will catch the little bastard? If they’ve got his DNA it's only a matter of time surely?"

I tell her that Jake is going to contact the officer dealing with my case. Oh yes, they gave me a crime number to quote in case I remember anything that might be significant. That's what I am now. A number in another system. Jake works for the National Identity Centre and thinks he might be able to pull some strings. Fast track the DNA matching. Jake has always been a strong advocate of national ID cards. We even have a retinal scanner installed on our security system. Even I thought it was a good idea at the time. I'm more skeptical now.

"He must be local", Kate is saying, "It was after eleven. He must have been lurking around waiting for a victim. Do you think you'd recognize him in the daylight?"

Her words plunge me right back into the moment when he stared into my eyes and told me not to scream or he'd slit my throat. I run to the sink and vomit, not caring that the breakfast washing up is still in there.

"Yes. I'd recognize him. I'm not going out looking for him though, if that's what you’re thinking."

Kate says that's a pity because if I pointed him out to her she would get him in an alley and slice his balls off."

This actually evinces a small laugh from me and I let go of some of my tension. I reach for another cigarette.

"You would have to wear gloves so that your DNA couldn't be traced. I have been thinking like that for half the night Kate. Wondering If I would have the bottle to go through with it but my Gran's phrase 'Two wrongs don't make a right’ keeps shouting in my brain. Mind you, she'd have probably gone out and belted him to death with washing pole if she was still around."

Feeling a bit better now. Kate's company and the fags have helped. We spend the morning together. Kate cleans the mess in the sink and we drink more coffees as we rant and put the world to rights.

Jake is snoring but I can't sleep. He tried to cuddle me when we got into bed but I pleaded a headache. No match on the DNA. Surprise, surprise! It seems that the little shit probably doesn't have an ID card. Well, at thirty pounds each I'm not surprised a scruffy little low life like him wouldn't have one. He's one of those 'not in the system, or NIS' Jake calls them, people who live on the edges of this wonderful new order we are living in. The police suggested a re-enactment on the Crime Stoppers programme; Don’t know how I feel about that. The thought of him seeing it and smirking. Maybe he might find me and really use the knife. Get rid of the only person who can identify him.

Going out with Kate today. First time I will have left the house since the attack. Feel a bit wobbly about it but we are going in her car to the out of town shopping centre. Staying in the crowds. She's still muttering about finding the guy and scaring the shit out of him.

Retail therapy Kate calls it. I threw away all the clothes I was wearing that night. We are in Debenhams shopping for new underwear when we notice the girl. Kate remarks on her scruffy appearance.

"She looks a bit sus. Doesn't look like she can afford to shop here."

I tell Kate she is a snob and she laughs. We watch the girl take three jumpers into the changing room. I choose some plain white knickers and bras. Can't bring myself to get anything remotely sexy.

At the cash desk now and we spot the girl paying for one jumper. She looks a bit fatter than before but we don't alert the sales staff. Don't want to get caught up in a shop floor drama.

We follow her out of the shop and watch as she goes over to a lad who is lounging on a bench by the fountain.

I feel sick. Almost fainting as I realize who he is. Kate is holding my arm and steering me into a coffee shop.

"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"It's him. That boy the shoplifter's with."

Kate's attention is now on the couple. The young man is holding the girl’s arm. She looks upset as he propels her towards the toilet area. I am shaking now. The memory flooding back. Kate has jumped up from her seat.

"Stay there," she orders get a coffee, act normal."

"Normal! My life will never be normal again. I do as she says and order a latte. I find the smoking section and sit, stirring in sugar after sugar. I drink the coffee slowly and chain smoke. Wondering if Kate has gone to call the police.

Still waiting. It's been half an hour and I have drunk two coffees, smoked six fags and read the daily newspaper. Well, tried to read. My attention was not exactly on the article about the new advances in biometric scanning which I skimmed several times.

Kate is back. She looks a little out of breath. She dumps a carrier bag on the floor. I ask her what is in it. She wasn't carrying anything when she left to follow the couple.

"Oh, just some rubber gloves and a carving knife I bought from the kitchen shop. Come on. Let's get you home. Don't have to worry any more lovey. He won't bother you ever again."

What!!!

"What have you done”, I whisper." A hard, cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. Kate had a strange look on her face.

To be continued........

Ok, I confess, no lunch but tea and carrrot cake in coffee shop.
Pesto/pasta, feta cheese in sundried tomato oil and olives for dinner.
yogurt.
tea and coffee.

Usual porridge for brekkie and tea. Coffee. no biccies in house so no prob there!
If I don't buy any...I will buy only fruit.

Horrid morning, hubby and daughter rushing about so that he could give her lift to school because of the rain. He was in bad mood and went off without morning kiss!!
Was drying her PE kit on front of oven and scorched her t shirt so she not best pleased with me either.

Giscard D'estang on radio four telling interviewer that if we do not say yes and sign up for Euro constitiution we wil be outside the union. From next week legal for new Europeans to work in UK so my little czech student who holidayed with us last year is coming back to stay and work this year. I miss him. He calls me his English Mami in his e mails.

Have to go and look after friend's three year old for half an hour today. I love this child! She is so funny. I was her nanny for two years from when she was born. She is very ingenious. She loaded up her brother's spud gun with poo and shot it all round the bathroom!
Cause and effect, investigating what happens if!!!

We will watch Matilda, she know all the words and speaks them along with the film.

My grandson is three too. I brought him an old fashioned spinning top yesterday.

Quite bored lately. Think I need an adventure really badly. Got to get involved with something, theatrical maybe. Or organise a gig. Job advertised for local community centre, bet I don't have the relevent bit of paper. Hubby has done citizens advice work and counselled young people in debt management but because he does not have the paper he has to go on a one day training course to obtain it for his current job.
Great to see the screws turning our Tone in ever decreasing circles this week.

Trouble is, how shall I vote in the next election? None of my kids wil vote, they have no faith in any party. This is a sad state of affairs.

Off to get tidy for going out now. More poems later.

Bit of a rainy start today. I am not feeling too well. My eyes hurt and i have a headache. I have an ongoing eye problem. Aparently I have 'concretions' these are build ups of some sort of stuffage on my corneas. I have to put eyedrops in every hour and steroid drops twice a day. I might have to have an op. Suppose sitting in front of this screen does not help much.

Was supposed to go to a gig and see a friend's R and B band play last night but head was hurting and there was a good tv night so wimped out.
Still have not done cynical story. Woe is me. Inspiration have I none.

I need an adventure! Too long since I did anything reckless. Nothing happens if we don't make it happen. Still recovering after the last one though so maybe not just yet.

I have curtains to make and keep putting it off. Also I want to make a stall full of shoulder bags for an event in town in a few weeks time. We have a Classic Car Rally in our town in May every year. It's great. The streets are closed and filled with the most amazing cars and stalls. There are several stages for live bands and it's a great day for the town.
In June we have a Medieval Fair, being the medieval market town of kings.
In july we have a charity raft race on the creek and at the end of August we have the Hop Festival. We are a brewing town with a tradition of hop picking. The town is filled with Morris dancers, more stalls and lots of entertainment for two days.

It's a very small town with a great sense of community. There are about four different theatre groups, some music groups and a local museum.
One of the theatre groups puts on an annual panto. Another is the one which is going to be staging the first stage production of Dad's Army at the end of June in which hubby is playing part of Pike. My daughter and I are calliing him Stupid Boy all the time now!

Aaaaahhh! Here Come The Sun! de dah de de, it's all right! Respect to Ritchie Havens.

Could not believe the news last night on Iraq. It made me cry. Was watching Platoon later on and thinking , Hmmmm, yes.
Also watched Shariah TV. A forum for British Muslims to question some Islamic scholars.
Very interesting but I wish it had been on earlier for a bigger audience to get themselves informed about what British Muslims are thinking.
I promise I will not sit here all day agin. I promise I will not eat choccie biccies all day again!
So far today
Bowl of porridge with syrup and milk, tea, coffee, some dates and milk, a couple of hob nobs.
Star flower, Q10, vitamin C with iron and St John's Wort.
I go...............

A salaam aliakoum. What a beautiful day.

Small matter of manners
I should say.
Leaving the party when
Things are warming up.

There she was,
Belle of the ball.
Heaving bosom on display
Legs akimbo.

Drunk on some pink
Concoction of rasberries
And vodka.
Alco fashion victim.

Pleasantries exchanged.
Unspoken messages
Spelt out in accidental
Brushing of fingers.

Telegraphed climbing
Of stairs
To the powder room.
Pulse racing, knickers damp.

Sidling stranger
Slinks up in tow
Of the human
Condition.

When push comes to shove
Realisation of
The situation
Lowers expectation.

Disappointed floosy
Adrift on a sea
Of overcoats
Decidedly miffed.

This love that you claim to have for me.
Which cupboard do you keep it in?
You take it out and dust it down.
Pretend that it’s springing from within.

When you feel you need my sympathy
This love that you claim to have for me,
Appears. You don it like a tribal mask
Displayed for all the world to see.

You know I will accept this token love
I receive with tired eyes and ears.
This love that you claim to have for me,
I keep in a box, stained with my tears.

My love sings to you like the music
Of a haunting flute, wistful melody
Begging to be heard above the noise of
This love that you claim to have for me.

Dancing With Fireflies

Swirling, silk, swaying, sultry.
Moving through the chords,
body in tune.
Fluttering fingers, feel the air,
forming shapes from the wind.
Darkness expresses the passion
of guitar’s heart, flowing;
a river of rhythm and rhyme;
sublime.
She twists, turns, bends her body,
arms sweeping, embracing the night,
sensual sight.

Drumbeat, insistent; feet tapping,
Shifting. Stepping in time,
hands mime. The meeting of minds,
the lovers time.
Twirling, whirling, pausing a phrase.
She stands and sways.
Entrancing dancing girl of dark delight,
desert night.
Perfumed incense evening;
smoky fire; deceiving eyes, a mystery,
fantasy woman.

Music corporeal,
guitar, wood and steel;
striking into hearts and bellies.
Sorrow in the dance,
another chance.
Voice lifts the stars, strokes mind
and soul with sweet chanting pace,
beguiling face
beckons and denies.
Here; no truth, or lies.
Shifting, swirling woman
dancing with fireflies.

I have been sitting in front of this damn pc for four hours! I intended to go out early today. Now off towash hair and put on spring clothes, todle into town and find some flesh and blood people to talk to before I go mad!

Where inthe world is someone who can understand my arachnid brain enough to know that I need a soulmate with eight hairy legs. I amnot the mate eating kind of spider, honest!

Hey, give me a subject for a poem. Please...........muy muse has gone a skiing holiday and taken all my ideas away.

Thank you to Pete. Still trying to get the hang of these bloggy things!

My ex husband works at an airbase in Oxford. Some of the English military speak to him and one told him that some Iraqi kids were coming up to the British soldieers and saying 'Fuck you' when asked, through an interpretor, why they were doing it they told the soldiers that American troops had tought them this is the way you say hello in English. Score zero for the diplomacy of the yanks.

I am steaming at the interview I heard on radio four this morning regarding the letter senior British diplomats have written to Tony Blair about Iraq. A government spokesmen called the diplomants a lot of 'Arabists'. I heard another quote saying that the diplomats had been in the Arab states for too long. Surely to God these are the very people who the government should be listening to?

Got cheered up a bit when I cam on line and found this link that someone e mailed me
http://www.jesus-action-figure.com/cantseeit.html

I fear for the future of American children.


Wasting the lovely weather again on here. Trying to think of story for a challenge on the BBC site. Theme is Cynical Island. Maybe, hmmmmmm. Most of my cynicism is reflected from the current Iraq debacle.

At least have now got hot water for bath thanks to nice little plumber. Thought he was going to expire carrying tank upstairs. A somewhat rotund and wheezy little chap.

Am going to start keeping daily food log as must lose weight.
Sunday:
Two slices jammy toast
tea
several coffees, teas.
roast chicken, cabbage, carrots and swede, roast spuds and parsnips.
Tea
choccy biccie.

Yesterday:
Bowl of porridge with golden syrup and milk
Tea.
Tea choccy biccie
Coffee choccy biccie
Tuna and mayo sandwich
tea.
Bar of choc.
Tea
choccy biccie.
one beanburger, spoonful of baked beans, mayo, olives.
tea
tea and hob nobs.
about ten fags (roll ups)



Today so far:
Bowl of porridge with golden syrup and milk
Cup of tea.
Coffee, choccy biccie
Coffee
three hob nobs.
Four fags so far (roll ups)

Ok, so far i get the impression that I must cut out the biccies!!!

http://www.subservientchicken.com/

go here for enormous fun!!!

On your knees boy.
Your cheek astounds.
Does your insolence
Know no bounds?
Oh just keep still.
Don’t make a fuss.
It’s better for
The both of us.

You will obey.
When I command
And lick my boots
As I demand.
I don’t care what
You think you’re feeling.
I think I’ll hang you
From the ceiling.

An hour or two of
Roped up spinning
Will cure you of
Your wicked sinning.
You likened me
To fairground freak?
I was so cross
I could not speak.

I’ve taken out my
Biggest cane.
Now, tell me
What am I again?
Oh, not so bold now
Eh, my dear?
The Mistress makes you
Sweat with fear

But deep inside
Excitement bounds.
Exploding as
My cane resounds.
There, there
My little fawning pet
Punishment done,
You’ll soon forget.

I’ll kiss you better
Stroke your hair
I’ll use the ointment
Here, and there.
Now sit and rest
By nice warm fire.
Don’t stir again
This Madam’s ire.

Is anybody out there? Am I speaking to myself? No change there then!

Sitting here in the wee small hours, wrapped in my blankey. Wondering what on earth is going on. This diary writing lark is all very well but it's not very interactive is it?

Today: woke up on sofa downstairs at six am wondering where I was. Oh yes, was watching film and fell asleep in a tangle of specs, book, baccy packet and phone.
Stumbled to kitchen and ate last piece of jammy custard pastry, shuffled back to sofa.

Was woken again by someone banging on front door. Leapt up in startled rabbit /tousled small child mode and went to door rubbing eyes which evinced an Ahhh, from mate Tony and his daughter who were standing on step bathed in bright sunlight chuckling at my discomfort.
'Need the socket set, car's died thirty miles away and we have to get daughter to interview at one pm.'

Ok, they came in and hubby crawled out of bed , puzzled as my side was not slept in.
All had tea and he took friends to car, with socket set.
More tea and e mail checking till about two thirty when decided I smelled bad after sleeping in clothes all night and needed bath.

Six trips up and down stairs, carting buckets of hot water, (tank still broken)
Dressed and out the door leaving lodger to wash up and hoover.
Daughter wants new flip flops
'These shoes make my feet sweaty Mum, cant i have some flip flops?'

'Put your shoes on, you cant walk round town in bare feet, look here is a nice shoe shop, £20.00 for a pair of flip flops!!!!!!! not today young lady. they are only a tenner in Canterbury, wait till after school on monday'
'But my feet are sweaty now'
'My feet are sweaty too , stop moaning'
'Grumble, moan, shuffle, scuff, moan, mumble'

Box of orange lollies with ice cream middles soon sorted that one out. a pyhrric victory though.
Realised had not eaten all day since jammy custardy pastry at six thirty am so bought ginger and macadamia nut yoghurt coated bar from health food shop. Health food?
9grams sugar, 11 grammes fat!!!
Also realise had fogotten to put chicken in oven for dinner so got two pizzas for a pound at Iceland and some dips. made potatoes cos men are men and there has to be potatoes, and salad. Promise of roast dinner tomorrow.

Friend comes back with socket set after dinner and regales us with Basil Fawlty style escpades with car which is still thirty miles away. Make excuses and go to watch
Casualty with lodger. We have running bet on who will expire each week.

Doodle about on net for a while and then watch excellent film Wag The Dog with De Niro and Hoffman.
After that discover dog has peed on kitchen floor at one thirty am. Growl at him and stamp feet, moaning bout hubby never taking dog out.
Have little cry in garden about futility of being a housewife then went in and read my Qu'ran for a while. felt better.

Was goin to bed but thought would log on and potter about here.
It is now four am. I better crawl into bed. Up early to make picnic for trip to woods with dog and friends.

nighty night

Horrible journey back from York on Weds. Hours and hours on the coach. The only redeeming thing about it is the price! Came back to find my own hot water tank broken after having spent four days a daughter's boiling water for washing as theirs is broken too!
So it's carting buckets of water up my stairs until monday when the plumber comes.

Beautiful day today. So why am I still sitting in front of thsi pc screen I ask myself. Self I say, go out and enjoy the sunshine. It's payday!!!! Wahay!

Dentist says mouth is healing nicely after op. Still bleeding hurts a lot though!
Fluffy white clouds and blue skies, the grass is two feet high. Oh no. You now what this means don't you? I have to go round to all my friends trying to blag a strimmer as mine got nicked out of my garen shed last summer.
Will soon be doing one of my favourite activities, blagging props for a play.

Was once nicknamed Queen Blagger of The Arden Theatre by my am dram group as have the communicative and blagging skills of a polite rhino!

Hubby has landed role of Pike in new stage production of Dad's Army.

Some props I have had to find in the past:
six full sets of Roman armour,
a donkey,
stones,
crosses,
for Life Of Brian.

A large cow(made that),
and evil rabbit,
umpteen swords and
chain mail for Arthur's knights,
mud,
bloodied limbs for the Black Knight,
for Holy Grail.

An oran utang costume,
giant peanuts,
a dragon,
deaths head,
for Guards Guards

Alien helmets,
a time machine,
bags of cocaine
for Inspector Drake

a blow up rubber doll,
a whip,
handcuffs
a telegraph pole
for Fur Coat and No Knickers

The lampost
nine pine trees
bows and arrows,
swords
a wardrobe,
fur coats,
flowers to turn winter into spring,
for The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe.

Love it!!!!!!

A lot of plays involve food: in Dead Funny I had to make a load of custard pies and a trifle for a food fight.
On the first night there were custard pies all over the place, cleared up most of them but did not notice the one on the stage left wall.
It slid slowly down the wall during the night, activating the alarm, the police were called, they found a baby doll in a pram backstage which shocked them somewhat. To this day i have not owned up that it was the pie which caused the incident!

Looking forward to Dad's Army, hope I can be on the crew. Doing an Agatha Christie as crew in July.
Would love to do Birdcage (Le Cage Aux Folles) on stage, but can only find the original stage script in french!
Right, enough rambling, am off to town.

Well, I have been in York since Saturday visiting my kids. They are 21 yr old twins, one of each and live in two flats with their respective partners and friends. Great party on Sat night. We had to come dressed as a colour! I scrabbled around the charity shops and found a lot of dark pink clothes. Mmm, I did look a picture!! I got offered some mushroom tea but declined!
Went out on Monday with the girls to see some music in a pub, daughter's friend sang and was immediately booked for a gig in July.

Sunday, cooked, with a little help, sunday roast for thirteen people, including apple crumble and home made custard. The poor darlings had not had a proper pudding since I was here at christmas. Think the word got around that I was in charge of the kitchen. Those of you old enough to remember will know what I mean when I say it was like Fanny Craddock and the kitchen boys!

Hubby is auditioning for a stage production of Dad's Army tomorrow night. Suppose that means I will get involved and spend the next few months blagging wartime props.

York is a very beautiful city. Youngest daughter who is here with me prized me out of several quids for new clothes and accessories today.
Home tomorrow, another nine hour journey by coach with her digging me in the ribs when I fall asleep and snore.

What is awaiting my return? How many dirty socks and pants will be piled up on the bedroom floor? How thick will the dust be and will anyone have walked the dog?

There is now a guestbook on the website (see below).

It's official, have now been voted coolest mum in the country!!! Think it was the cheesy marmite puffs that swung it!

More poetry when I get back to reality next week and easter hols end so I can have some me time to muse.

Lost my comments button as changed template so now have to go and get another one. While you are waiting go look at

http://www.freewebs.com/rasiera/

Granite and Rust

Spurious pleasure
taken at leisure.
Lovers' artifice
beneath
granite edifice.
Flowers laid.
Now disarrayed.
New plaque shattered.
Grotesque parody
of blood petals,
Rust red metal.
Yellow ribbon torn.
Prophylactic worn.
Dying flutter.
Bedfellows
In filthy gutter.

Sank into armchair with cuppa in front of Eastenders this evening totally knackered.
Had grandson all afternoon. He's three and just a tad hyperactive! I nearly know all of the dialogue in Toy Story now. Pingu is the most visited site on my favourites today.
I have discoverd that Stan does not like cakes with Flintstone cartoons on, just Bob the Builder. The playground was crowded so we did not stay long and in the newsagents a new orange ball with a smiley face on was the chosen in preference to the usual Tweenies comic.
Oh yes, he was slowly getting spottier by the minute and it became apparent that he had chicken pox.

The old doll's house was a hit, placed on a little table in the garden next to the giant cardboard box made into a house. By tea time extremely tired and ratty so waffles, quorn and carrots were decidedly off the menu as far as he was concerned but vanilla soya pudding was ok for his sore throat.

Daughter was a staunch support but by sixpm even she was flagging. When hubby came home and I was explaining why his dinner was not ready, grandson was angelically quiet and docile, reading a book! Of course when his parents arrived to collect him he was stuck into a Little Polar Bear adventure and a final battle ensued to get him into the car, whereupon he clutched his Sooty glove puppet and smiled sweetly out of the window and all my stress melted away.

I was sitting having my cuppa and thinking
'How come I get so tired after just an afternoon with him. I have twins, I used to cope with two three years olds, it was a doddle.'
Then I reminded myself, it was nineteen years ago! I was considerably younger and fitter then!

That was my day then. Mouth still hurting. You know when you go to the dentist and have a filling, all the other teeth hurt for a few days cos they upset the nerve? Try having a wisdom tooth and cyst removed!

Going to Canterbury tomorrow to book coach tickets for York on Sat. Nine hour journey! Daughter will have to poke me in ribs if I embarass her by snoring.
Apparently once we arrive we are to be whisked off to a party, the theme being come as your favourite colour! What? It'll be all nouveaux hippy with incense and candles, tofu and ambient trance music, average age, twenty!
Well, my kids have told me to never become normal. Now what am I going to wear?

Well, Monday night, or rather Tuesday morning. Easter weekend out of the way.
Attempted to make aubergine pate today. Disaster and a bowl of greenish slime ensued.

Got me a website yesterday http://www.freewebs.com/rasiera/ where I can be free to create my alter ego, the wicked spider/sorceress Queen Rasiera.

Think this web stuff is going to my head!! Hubby and daughter will have to drag me screaming and kicking into the light of day soon. Friends phone to say 'What's going on, are you ok? We haven't seen you about for a while.'
Just found out though that I am eligible for a 50plus discount card on National Express coaches in June, yes, I will be that old! Shut up or I won't invite you to my huge party.
Of course, once in possession of that little card there will be no stopping me. I will be flitting about all over the country. I might even turn up on your doorstep!

In the meantime I have a one plus one card which gets me and youngest daughter from Canterbury to York, return, for £48.00 so am taking her to see her big bother and sister on Friday.

Jaw still aching from tooth op. When is supposed to stop? Am being good and taking antibiotics. My neck looks like someone has tried to throttle me now. Got a very strange look in Turkish coffee shop today! Took myself off for a coffee and a read of the paper this afternoon. Blissfully quiet in town. I must point out to the guys in there that my hubby is not a wife beater before they duff him up next time they see me with him.

Bought a whole load of 'classic' poetry books in second hand bookshop on Sat. Thought I better try and edumacate self a bit though I do prefer modern 'free' poetry.

S'ppose I better go and write some now. Doin' all this internet stuff is much fun but has interfered with me flow somewhat.

Loathing

You are fit for nothing,
You pitiful, loathsome
Excuse
for a human being.
The sewage which
is your language;
The detritus falling
from your
Filthy body.
Foul portrayal of a lover.
Go wallow in the entrails
Of the chaos
you have caused
Before dismemberment
of your manhood
shall be my only
Recourse to peace
From your
Perversity.

Ah, woe is me, still looking like a lop sided hampster only now big bruise makes it look as though someone has beat me up!!! Old ladies throwing sideways looks at hubby as we trundle through the aisles in Tesco!!!

The grass in my garden is now a foot high and my lawn mower is still broken from last year. Am making grumbling noises about going to Band Q but hubby says it is hell on earth and to be avoided at all costs on bank holidays. He does not garden! I am going to tell him that I have hired someone to do it!

Last year I captured two Czech students from the town square and made them do the garden !!No, that sounds bad!
Well, there I was, standing in the town square in June with a giant, fluffy green aardvaark head ( no, not my head, a costume one) which I had stuck on a bollard next to an A board to advertise an Ats and Environment fair. The fair was in full swing up at the Railway Hotel car park but we wer'nt getting enough punters in. I took the head and fliers down into town to drum up some support.

Anyway, there I was, shouting out to the milling throng
'Come to the Arts Fair, Salsa band, barbecue, exhibitions of art and sculpture etc' When I noticed a young lad who had ensconced himself by the flower tubs in front of the cinema. He had a pile of backpacks and camping gear and was twirling his diablo and juggling his little balls to try and earn a bit of change.

I struck up a conversation with him, we could use this space to our mutual advantage I thought. I could draw him an audience by giving out balloons to the kids who would then stand and watch him juggle while I slipped a flier to the parents and tried to persuade them to come up to the Railway for a bit of culture.

Turned out he and his mate had been in England for about four days. They were from Czech Republic and had come over to holiday and find some work on farms to pay their way. As they had not organised work six months earlier as is the norm they were not having much luck. The local Chinese restaraunt owner had told them to turn up that night and he would give them some kitchen work (washing up) but they had nowhere to stay.

Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for a sob story. I ended up taking them home with me and telling hubby I had agreed to let them camp in the garden for a few nights. A few nights!!!!!

Marik and Honza they were called. Both eighteen years old, only a year younger than my twins who still lived at home at the time. I already had a lodger, and throughout the hols my house is filled with sixteen to twenty four year olds anyway so two more were not a burdon.
On the first Sunday I cooked the lads a traditional sunday roast. Honza ate it with gusto but Marik only ate the meat and potatoes, politely explaining that he did not eat wegetables. They were, in fact, two of the most polite and charming young men I have had the pleasure to meet. Both from middle class families, they were in there final year of school Honza spoke the better english of the two and translated for Marik all the time. Honza was also the more relaxed, outward and friendly of the pair although Marik's laconic humour and puzzled expressions had us in fits of laughter.

They learned fast and one of there ambitions on coming to england was to go to a 'party in the woods' , one of those notorious raves, with dj's, trance music and chill out zones etc. My kids will laugh when they read this. I probably got all the terms wrong. They took the boys to a party and the czech's were an instant hit with all their friends.

They did not have much money so I let them camp in exchange for clearing my garden and doing jobs around the house. Marik left to go to Scotland in July but Honza was with us till he went home in September!

We now e-mail, Honza and I , he calls me his English mami and i call him my czech son! He is coming back this year, and as his coutnry will be in th EU he will legitimately be able to work here and has organised this already.

So, I have to get the garden spick and span before June as when he left it was with a warning to me to keep up the good work they started!

The Black Dog And Captain Jacks Pride.

All dried up they was. Desiccated, that’s the word the Cap’n used. Like all the blood had been sucked out of ‘em and left their skin stretched tight over their bones. The hands was a layin’ in their hammocks or on the deck and the Captain and his officers was sitting’ round the table in ‘is cabin. All of them ‘ad the same look on their faces, as though they’d seen somethin’ so terrifiyin’ so ‘orrible that it ‘ad froze their faces like screamin' death masks.

Cap’n Jack bade us go and search the ship, sent us in pairs to go and see if any poor sod might be still alive to tell the tale of what’d ‘appened to the crew of the Black Dog.

T’was our sister ship, a fine, single masted sloop. She could outrun the bastard navy cutters and, with her topsail hoisted, she could dance around those treasure galleons, playin' them a merry dance while we slid up on her in our Cap'ns best ship, the Brigantine, Jack’s Pride.

Twenty of us paired off and searched the Black Dog, fore and aft. Not one live sea dog did we find. The Cap’n stood on the quarterdeck a sniffin’ the wind and scratchin’ ‘is ‘ead.

‘Tis a terrible mystery we have here me boyos. All hands as dried as salt beef and not a clue to the cause of such a disaster.’
We all looked to the Cap’n but stole nervous glances round the decks. When we squinted to look up into the riggin’ a few ‘ands made signs of the cross. The ropes seemed to be covered in a tangle of something white. We stared wary like to the open cargo hatch. Keepin’ one ‘and on our cutlasses. A sudden movement at the edge of the hatch and we drew weapons as a man.
‘Hold hard there lads, whatever it is we’ ave it outnumbered,’ ordered the first mate, Ben Stiller. He stepped closer to the cargo hold, his dirk flashing into his hand quick as yer like. In a flash he shot out his other 'and and grabbed’ 'old of somethin’. T’was a man ‘ee pulled out on to the deck, least ways, it could ‘ave bin. Looked more like a bunch o dirty rags with an arm stickin’ out, fingers all white and claw like.

The Cap’n strode over and poked at the poor creature with ‘is boot.
‘What’s your name swab? What are you doing still alive when the rest of your mates are dead and shrivelled all through the ship? Tell us for God’s sake man, tell us what has befallen your Captain and crew.’

Cap’n Jack’s attention was all on the pitiful sight before him and he did not notice, as I did, that the two crimps, Falmer and Babbage ‘ad slipped back into the main cabin. I watched out of the corner of my eye, they were up to no good, I knew that.
Discontents they were. Press ganged at the last port, the best of a lary bunch of convicts and vagabonds which inhabited the small group of islands that served as a pirate haven in these Caribbean waters. Freed slaves, greedy traders and buccaneers. All jostling for the measly bits of treasure that passed from hand to hand by honest transaction or thievery. A ship could rest up here after a raid. The men would find a wench or two and a bath, grog and meat, resting or debauching before the next voyage.

The one live sailor, now huddled in a heap at Cap'n Jack’s feet was gibberin' and cryin’ like a mad man. Through ‘is tears 'ee babbled out 'is story.

‘The island, it was covered with ‘em. In our faces, all on our arms and legs, tangled.........

Six of us went in the long boat for food and to see if any one was livin’ there. We found some fruit, a coupla birds we shot. We ‘eard singin’. Up near the scrawny trees at the edge of the beach, a clearing, women sittin' round some sort of big baskets. They was chantin’. something. That scurvy bastard Bates, he said as’ ow we should take the women, could be weeks before we get ‘ome. Weird women, covered in tattoos, spider’s webs. They didn’t fight an’ we was quick. They just carried on chantin'. It was getting dark. We saw them open their baskets. After we was done we went a bit further in and then……

’Orrible, crawlin’ things. Spiders, sticky webs, clingin' in our ‘air, our mouths. We ran fer the boat, brushin' and battin’ the things away. Fred was bit……….The bosun, ‘ee got bit too, on the arm. Squashed the bugger, huge they was………we got back to the ship, doused ourselves with water. The sawbones, ‘ee looked at the bites, smeared ‘em in tar. Fred and the Bosun, they got a fever and died right quick, that night. We slipped ‘em into Davey Jones locker and thought that an end to it.’

He started to cry and wail again. An answering scream came from the Captain’s cabin.

Falmer and Babbage burst through the door and fell onto the deck. Their faces wore the same ‘orrified look as the dead crew. It was plain that they ‘ad bin after the treasure chest, Doubloons spewed out of their shirts as they writhed around on the planks, clawin at their faces and arms.

‘Bit,’ they screamed,’ we’s bin bit, they’re in there, crawlin' out of the mates’ eyes and mouths, out of the Cap’ns ears, get off the ship, they’re comin'. The two men groped their way to the side of the ship and leapt. It became clear to us that the certainty of drownin’ was better than whatever was comin’ to get us like it had got this ships crew.

A gurglin’ and a rattling noise had us turnin’ to see the swab from the cargo hold in ‘is death throes. We crossed ourselves then as we watch in horror as he skin wriggled and writhed ‘an ‘ee thrashed out ‘is end with a pleadin’ look in ‘is eyes. The Cap’n drew his sword an ran ‘ im through.

Terror struck our 'earts as we saw spiders crawl out of the man and skitter across the deck t’wards us.

‘Back to our ship boys,’ shouted Cap’n Jack. He was stampin’ on the creatures as he ran an’ we followed as if all the hounds of hell was at our ‘eels. The black spiders swarmed over the deck an’ up the railin’s as we jumped and swung to our ship. When we was safe aboard the Cap’n gave the order to make sail and pull away from the Black Dog.

‘Is any of you bit lads? ‘ He shouted. To a man we shook our ‘eads.

‘Nay Cap’n.’
‘No Sir.’

Cap’n Jack shook hi ‘ead and ordered fire arrows to be dispatched to destroy the ship if death and told the second mate to break out the bumboo fer we all needed a drink ta calm us after the horror of what ‘ad occurred.

As I raised my mug to take a swig I felt something itching at my neck, a sharp sting on my face………………………..

Well, wisdom tooth is no more. Long and boring day at hosp. Got there early and paid price of long wait for op as was last on list. Got into bed at 1.30pm and fell asleep till they came for me at 3.15pm. All done by 4.30pm and then had to wait till full senses returned and had done obligatory wee to show system working.

Good friend Kate had been round with soup and flowers when I got home. Hubby and daughter fussed. I will have to do this more often. On second thoughts , Nah!
Throat b sore after being intubated and jaw feels like been kicked by mule.
Hosp staff brilliant and v kind.

Easter hols now. Yay! No getting up at 7.30am for two weeks. Hopefully going to York to see middle two kids, twins, one of each, and give the visiting ma in law treatment to their partners. Lol. Son lives opp York Minster and daughter round the corner.
Sorry this bit bpring tonight but head full of codiene, not condusive to creativity!!

Will write extraordinarily daft stuff tomorrow.

They can't send Luca back to Africa, that nurse has to drop her ..................guard and make him stay. Sorry, little ER rant there. I am not a telly addict, I am not.........

Well, I have new eyedrops now, three times a day, steroids, plus the once an hour liquid tears and the sticky ointment every night at bedtime. Bored of it noooooooowwwwww!!


ONE YEAR ON

Faceless people pass me on the street.
I stare ahead and focus on my feet.
Check my bag; purse, comb and phone,
cigarettes and lighter, a ticket home.
French kids swarming round about,
excited, noisy: teacher has to shout.
The loud chattering, shrill in my head,
they push past me, wish I'd stayed in bed.
Whose idea was this anyway to take
the day off, visit the city, for heaven's sake!
Oh, mine. Seemed like quite a good idea
but now I'm shaking. I've got the fear.
Not really sure what I am doing here.
Thought I was better, now I feel queer.
Stumble into a side street cafe.
Sit down, order , but new dismay.
He is sitting there in the corner seat.
Now my bad day is just about complete.
One year on and still he has the knack
of bringing the pain and love right back.
I wanted it buried deep down inside,
for days then weeks then months I tried
to forget that I ever saw his face
and let him touch me in my deepest place.
One year: I thought the hurt was sealed
but scars are still there to be revealed
in their angry, bitter lines, still livid.
The pleadings and recriminations still vivid.
I get out of the coffee bar, don't know how.
I'm standing on the platform crying now.
One year on and he still has the power.
Just one look, one turn of face, one glower.
Enough to know that I can never return.
His eyes tell me if I speak he will spurn
my overtures of friendship, familiarity.
Am I destined to be denied for eternity?

If you want to see one of the true costs of the American occupation of Iraq go to the Aljazeera homepage. Click on the full story of the Fallujah seige and click on pictures. You don't see them on the BBC. A 500 pound lazer guided bomb to destroy a mosque and 40 people?

pics from Palestine you might not see on our TV too.

Herd the poodles of perfidy into the dark room. Blow up the insane ganglenog of thrippery thrappery lane, he is only after one thing, your Newcastle Brown slippers, quick, before he climbs your drainpipe and splooshes through the tiny opening in your attic window. You wouldn't want your Gran's false teeth to appear on This Morning a chatterin and a natterin to Phil and Fern. If he gets them there's no tellin what he might do next, anything for a cheap publicity shot I'll be bound.

Eat fruit in the depths of a ticket collectors shoe, read books about margarine. Fall slippety slap on the pavement outside your local catalogue bargain shop only to look up and find they have slapped a ticket on you and are selling you off as a decorative table lamp.

Why do all the drunk people falling out of Weatherspoons have marmalade stuck to their trousers? Is this some strange ritual which the ganglenog has introduced so he can befriend the idle, dossing cheap beer at lunchtime drinking scaffy gearys?

How can I become?I have often wondered about the small purple creatures who hide in the long grass at the edge of the recreation ground. Are they safe to eat? Do they taste nice with Lloyd Grossman's barbecue sauce?

The main thing is that when I am 'out' I have to walk very carefully. If I step in a wierd manner then people will stare and shout, 'Oh there is that woman who walks funny' and I will have to go and see my Doctor and tell him I hold the pain of the Arthur Crampitts in my soul's kernal.

It is 2.30am and I am wearing a pink cardigan. There are tiny men at the ends of my fingers who make me type riduculous things and my eyes have gone starey from seeing all the pain on the screen.

Well, yesterday went by in a rush of feeding the ducks, playing at the swing park and making Bob the Builder cakes. All in company of very hyperactive young man called Stanley. (my grandson aged three) Collapsed, exhausted, on sofa at half past six after wrestling him to his Ma's car and waving to a tearful little face. He wanted to finish watching Nemo.

A huge effort need then to create appetising dinner. Not hungry myself as ate yummy chopped up leftovers from Stan's lunch. Dinner finally at eight and suddenly was hungry again. Damn my stunningly attractive roast potatoes! Take that how you will.

Actually got up in half decent mood this morning due to taking anti menopausal medication before bed. Herbal stuff. Tried the HRT. Took for four weeks and thought I was having heart attack.
'Oh yes,' said GP. 'Usual side effects.'
Checked them on net and found that they are made from the hormones extracted from the urine of pregnant mares, farmed in appalling conditions in US. That alone was reason for giving them a miss. So now take starflower, recommended for bringing back energy and a smile to even the most snappy and suicidal moments.

Memory loss, short term, is one of the worst symptoms I am experiencing. I can ask someone if they take sugar, get to the kitchen , der!! go back again and ask, have been known to do this three times before it lodges in the brain.
Often found in front of open fridge, wailing 'What am I doing here?'

Today, sunny but chilly. Do I wear a vest? Have run bath but done usual thing of logging on and getting lost here, I will go back to cold bath and wasted energy. Will run again and then have to rush as I have to go to Canterbury Hosp to get script for eye drops filled as local pharmacy will not order as too expensive. Can you believe that.
Sure I am talking to self here as still have not been added to blog lists. Must try today to work out comments button so at least my friends can drop in and let me know I am not alone here.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
If you are feeling like blowing your house up with your family inside it when you get up in the morning and the dog has peed on the carpet again and the other half is holding out a shirt for you to iron and the child cannot find PE kit and you have a headache and there are no clean cereal bowls. The lodger has been eating a late night snack and left the kitchen in a mess and the house is freezing because the emergency ran out on the elecricity meter at 8am............

GO TO THE BATHROOM, TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND SMILE AT YOUR SELF IN THE MIRROR.
GRIN AS WIDE AS YOU CAN, MAKE A FACE. THEN BEND DOWN AND TOUCH YOUR TOES FOUR TIMES (CAREFULLY) the go downstairs and smile sweetly at them all. Never send them out of the house with your shouts of anger ringing in their ears.

Ali

Well I was going to say good morning but its nearly 1.30pm! Arsenal are losing to Man U at the time of me switching on the PC. No I am not a fanatical footie fan. I just lust after Thierry Henri. He was not playing so I got bored. I am sitting here and willing my muse to come back from wherever she has been hiding. Maybe she popped out for a bag of chips and some curry sauce as I do not feed her at all well. I live on rice cakes and coffee at the moment.

Oh what hell is this, to be two stone overweight, to fret and moan, to only look into the mirror's topmost zone. The jeans which don't exactly fit, the jumpers; tight. The baggy shirts which hide a multitude of sins. I 'm only podgy to the watching eye without; inside I am a goddess, lithe and thin.

Ok ok, so I am new to all this right? I am trying to find out how to put in a comment button so that any of you reading this can leave your thoughts on my daily ditherings or my poetry. Am seeking advice as I speak.

In the meantime consider this:
Why do the nargs continually harass the donut makers of Harbledown? They slither out of the river Shpong at night and lick the sugary crusts from the vats of sweetness so painstakingly gathered by the aformentioned sweetened bread dough makers from the ruminative doinks during the day.
It takes all of their efforts to keep the runty nabbits in one pack to nip at the heels of the doinks to make them cough up the sugar pulp after they have chewed the beets. The nargs, I know, are in the employ of the Wicked Queen Rasiera whose mission it is to put a spanner in the works of the donut establishment.
It is well known that King Aladine relies on the manufacture of the sugary, stodgy donuts to keep his army in a sort of carb fuelled but dull witted state of readiness against her attack.

Well, unless I put in a link and also make a link somewhere that you guys can read this I guess I will never be able to work it out. I could try to capture one of the Queen's winged lizard spies I suppose.

Pashasha


Your hair smells of wheat and poppies.
Woman,
do you know how much
I want you?
If I kiss your closed eyes,
Here,
Like this
and this,
like a butterfly’s wing
brushing your face
you shiver with
anticipation.
When I touch your lips with one finger,
soft,
slow,
tracing their shape
and I hear you gasp,
a tiny breath
my bones turn to water.
my head spins.
I watch you move about the room.
Notice every muscle
moving under your silk.
There is a knot in my stomach
which only you
can untie with your caress.
Woman of mine,
I still can't believe this!
I take your hand
and lead you to the bed,
slowly unwrapping you
like a precious gift.
Will you mind
if I ask you to stand,
just for a moment?
There,
magnificent
Proud.
You know your effect!
Your eyes are
Eating my soul.
Knowing what’s to come
and in minutes we are tangled,
dizzy,
flying.
Possessing each other.
Rushing for heaven
and, oh!
How did you become so ready?
I barely touched you.
From my eyes?
From my smell?
From my wanting?
Incredible!
I bury myself in your warm neck
And spill my whole being
into you.
Are you crying?
I am too!
Are you laughing?
So am I!
Now we are still.
If we move,
The world will end.

A Vampyres Tale

Are you visiting old friends today?
Up there in the graveyard?
I sense your sadness, your distress.
Are you reading my headstone?
“REST IN PEACE”
Peace? This is not peace!
Just a preternatural pause in the proceedings.
Not sleep.
This is not sleep.
This still silence of Death’s trick.
My bones are clothed in cold clay.
My parchment paper skin
Waits for the sun’s sojourn into night.

You are here again, above.
I hear you.
Smell you.
Crave you.
Night is drawing down on dark wings.
Then my friend,
Then I will push aside my earthy blanket,
Brush the worms from my hair,
Flick the maggots from my suit.
I will wander into town
Seeking the sustenance to pacify the screaming need
That tightens my skinny veins like catgut on a violin.

I’ll spy with my dead eyes
In farms, cottages and inns.
Sniffing,
Seeking,
Selecting and savouring
The thrill of the game.

You might be hurrying home
When a fog unfurls around your feet.
A sudden breeze, ruffling the leaves
Might surprise you.
A chill may play up and down your spine
Like frozen fingers on the black keys.
Perhaps your heart, pulsing,
Pushing at your ribs
Will signal to my senses that your blood is ready.
Boiling with fear.
Fat with emotion.

I will step out of the shadow.
A gentleman you’ll think.
Well dressed, handsome.
No spectre here, or vagabond.
Ah, but appearances, my dear.
The seeming sophisticate
Unseemly in his haste to take your arm.
To hold your gaze with eyes so black and deep
That suddenly you will find yourself drifting.
Hands stroking, kneading your flesh.
Your knees buckling
Stumbling.
Hot breath on your neck.
Strange words in your ear.
Mesmerising.

I will be lost in the moment then my dear.
Knowing nothing but gnawing need.
The pain of want.
Blind lust for blood.
I will take you into me
And as the life spark drains
From your eyes
Your memories will burn through my body
Like a forest fire
And as your life flashes before you
Speeding backwards
Down a dark tunnel towards the sanctuary of your mother,
I will know your soul.
I will possess your spirit.
I will live again in that moment.

Your body I will discard, useless
As an empty wine bottle
I will drop you like rubbish on the pavement
And stride on into my night’s feasting.
Until dawn’s threatening light
Harries me
Back to my grave.

Back from a little trip down to the opthalmology (cor that's a horrible word to type) department at Canterbury hospital. I now have three lots of eyedrops to use each day!
Horror of horrors. Hubby and daughter had to get their own breakfast and packed lunches today 'cos I had to go out early. I am too, too soft!
Canterbury full of the usual hordes of foreign students roaming in packs.
Am being 'headhunted' by local community group for help with ideas for fundraising and events.
Out of the loop lately though. Up until last year was involved with local am-dram group. Along with husband am responsible for such epic productions as
Monty Python's Life of Brian and Holy Grail and Terry Pratchett's Mort and Guards' Guards. (I was 'woman with donkey in 'Brian') Only a walk on part with one line. I do not usually get on the stage in front of the audience except for scurrying around to set change dressed in black.
In the past I have produced, stage managed, blagged props, built sets, managed front of house and run bookings and publicity. I have also run a series of music gigs. Am planning a blues night at the moment.

Have the itch for 'putting on a show' again though. Would like to do Birdcage, Young Frankinstein or Dangerous Liasons.

He wants to do Jeffrey Barnard Is Unwell or The Ruling Class.

Hey, if you want to read more of my poetry, along with the work of other poets then visit us on

http://groups.msn.com/FreePoetry
I am now the manager of this site and can also be found on the excellent BBC Get Writing site.

My teddy bear, Pink Mary sits on my desk and tries to help me find inspiration for poems! She is a sweet little thing who I found in the bottom of a basket of odds and ends in a charity shop. 20p paid and she came home in my pocket!
Oh, and I got my hubby out of the local paper. 'Would Like To Meet' column.

The rest of the day? I will mostly be readin' and crittin poems'
Ta, ta.

Spin your fantasies around me, word weaver.
Seduce my mind with subtle rhyme.
Tangle me in twists and turns of phrase
To lure my heart into your space and time.

For words hold the key to unlock my soul;
To unfetter my spirit and set it flying free.
Reveal your thoughts upon the naked page
And through their spell, entice and capture me.

Ok, it is 12.14am on 2nd April 2004. I am sitting in front of this blank space which is telling me to create a new post. What does this mean. My father was a woodcutter, he was creating new posts all the time. Have I inherited his abilities?
Is there any wood in the shed? Why do I need a post? To hang a sign on, a signpost, to show people the way, to advertise, to tell people who I am, to post a , aaaaaahhhhh to post a message. I get it. So here it is, my message.

Hi, and welcome to Spider's Eye.