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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.