Saturday, 29 August 2009

The Bestest Blog Entry In The Whole World Ever???

Mrs Pondlife may remember me and she went off to New York in 1978 and while there were taken to a nice little Oirish bar where some red haired idiot threw the beer bottle at me rather than serve it to me, and rattled the IRA collection jar from a safe distance.

The red haired idiot never bothered to find out my politics; the very fact I was an Englishman was enough for him.

How the US played at terrorism support then.

Friday, 28 August 2009

droplets on my hosta...

I'm not the most green fingered of people which might come as a surprise to any interested parties given that I garden for a living amongst other activities...

But I bought myself a book on Hostas while on a trip a year or so ago to Shropshire.

My in-laws of the sibling variety like to have breakfast at their local garden centre which is en route to East Midlands a stop off for a mug of stewed tea and a plate of sausage, eggs, bacon, a fried slice and a huge field mushroom fried in lard; a good cholestorol dose if ever there was one, and a side trip into the gift section brought forth a small handibook of hostas written by a New Zealander lover of these plants. I had no idea they came from Japan. But so it seems.

I hadn't upto that point considered hostas for my small garden, north facing and frozen solid in winter so thought the balcony would be a good enough space. Wrong.

The blazingly hot summer afternoon sun comes around the house in a furious arc, and falls upon any balconied plant. The geraniums hold their own but the hosta in it's pot and the bonsai'd acer both discolour and burn. I removed it therefore, to the garden and thought it was on its way to the green bag for garden refuse and would shortly be dumped with the cuttings from La Tanna' L'O or Chez Bochet at the local déchetterie. But a cool day, and a couple of nightly rain storms, brought forth new leaves and so now it rests in the middle of the shady grass on a stolen rock placed flat into the turf. And not quite over watered it seems to thrive.

We'll have to move house. But if we go further south, we shall have to find somewhere with a good bit of shade and maybe a little dampness somewhere near... I'm thinking Pyrenees.
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Tuesday, 18 August 2009

Poem in an outdoor restaurant...

If only i could draw...i'd draw her.
Ms Fit-As-Fuck,
lunching in laughter while ignoring her man opposite
she tps txt in2 mobile...
reads her sms smoke curling about her thin tanned fingers
nails long...
Her long legs crossed easily below the table...
she dips and pokes, pushes morsels and moves about the plate.
Her water sipped she morsel moves again
her lean form hides at something deeper...
now she settles her tackle down and finished
pushes the plate away...
As Geoff would say,
Fit as to fuck...
but not he...

Thursday, 6 August 2009

6th August 1945... 6th August 2009

This guy is the youngest survivor of the bomb that fell towards and exploded above Hiroshima on 6th August 1945. He was born some months after the bomb exploded but in Buddhist terms he dates his age and existence from the time of conception, hence he survived. He was our guide on a visit there last April. And I feel honoured to have been guided around the area by him.

This building was the exact spot above which the bomb exploded. And is I think the only structure that is still standing from that time. It is all rather poignant as i have just started (or restarted) to read David Peace's "Tokyo Year Zero". I couldn't handle the style first time around and did not get past the first few pages... this time is different. So far very strange but very absorbing.

Fused in the heat of the explosion, these porcelain rice bowls have become one massed moulded lump...

The face of Hiroshima today. Smiling Japanese kids give the peace sign and greet us as we pass through the Peace Park and Museum. The attitude of the local people was quite palpable. They see it as their destiny to preach peace, and bear witness to the real cost of WMD. And all this on the day that Harry Patch WW1 veteran, was buried.

One of Hiroshima's specialities. A green tea bun... and they are truly fabulous. At risk of missing the train back towards Kyoto, I had to run back to the bakery and buy some more to feast upon as the Japanese countryside slipped by the train window.