whisky bottle full

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whisky bottle empty

Whisky glass, once full now almost empty, sits there in front of me on the kitchen table. There is no music. Only my thoughts. Thoughts of nothing in particular. No memories. Only a sense of being. Warmth. The level in the bottle has gone down. Someone else must be drinking it.  No thoughts. A spinning mind full of imagery. Colours swoop in and zoom out. Hypnotic sounds. Wide awake eyes see everything. Amber clarity. Empty bottle…

Today I bought

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some crumpet

Today I bought some crumpet, rhymes with trumpet
I like a bit of crumpet, me
Almost too hot to hold and dripping with butter
To be eaten quickly so you can move on to the next one.

Today I bought two packets of porridge, 39 pence each
I’m not a porridge lover, me
Stifflingly tasteless, whatever you add to give flavour
To be eaten by others whilst you have something else.

Today I bought some bog roll, luxury, pack of nine
Bog roll is something I find essential, me
Unless you have one of those posh Japanese loos
That clean you up afterwards, which we don’t.

Today I bought some smoked salmon, it wasn’t on the list
More than she bargained for, Anne
But that’s what you get when I go to the shops,
Spot a “bargain” and assume that someone will eat it.

We did:)

rain dances

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noise thunders

The rain dances overhead as daylight moves out of sight to the West. Noise thunders. Dead leaves litter the garden. Wind rocks the branches of trees. I am inside, warm and glad.

output gastronomic

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Up I am and dressed, two vests for winter,
Heating engaged, the house feels warm.

The gentlest of Saturdays, a visit to Waitrose
Leeks, carrots, lamb, tomorrow a prospect.

Creative juice transformed, output gastronomic,
Post indulgent slumber on sofa.

Friday evening

after the walk

eleven miles, wild deer, pheasant shoot, muddy verges, White Hart, fish’n chips, Tom Wood, sore feet, sore crotch, approaching dusk, shady hedgerows, drive home, warm bath, beef fajita, full belly, stiff limbs, glowing cheeks, tired tref, early night