slidesofaustralia

In the past 9 months I have dug and prepared 11 Graves.

Hang on before you go getting the wrong idea I am not a professional grave digger. We have a memorial garden here and from time to time we are asked to Inter Ashes of deceased Marines, so I dig a Cruciform furrow 2ft long, 18" wide and 6" deep.

Whilst I was excavating said plot I noticed a Blackbird fly down and settle on the handle of the Fork. He just sat there and twittered whilst I dug. I have to separate the top soil first which I place at the head. Then all the hard soil etc goes to the side. It was then that Old blackie jumped off of his perch and landed on the top soil and proceeded to dig for worms.

He had 3 or 4 in his beak along with a huge green grub. Off he flew into the hedge. I had just finished the furrow when he returned to the same spot and just as I stood up with a sample of the top soil in a container he jumped up onto the edge of the container and picked out a worm. He must have seen it all of the time and was only waiting for me to go thinking I would leave the container by the side of the grave. He just looked at me with such ferocity and as if to say That's my worm and flew off back into the hedge. Fascinating, it made my day.

I recalled the story to the Widow after the ceremony had finished and she told me she had a dream the night before of a Blackbird landing in her garden, and when she got up this morning the first thing she did was to look in her Garden for the bird but nothing was there. Spooky,spooky. kkma.

The phone rang, fancy a cup of Coffee the voice said, slight hesitation on my behalf, Oh! yes please I replied. I have just got back to my Grotto and I feel a tinge of Nausea as I type this Blogg, and a work colleague who hails from North of the border in the T-boat room was boring the rear end off of me so I left before I embarrassed my self. I am now of the opinion that I do not like him or was it the Coffee?

Last Saturday night we were out to some chums for a return dinner function. They live near to us, about a 30 minute walk away as the Crow fly's. The arrangement was that if it was raining they would pick us up about 7-ish, otherwise we would take a slow stroll and work up an appetite. I was very surprised to hear the door bell go at about 6:45, it was our Host come to collect us. No rain and bang went the pre-dinner walk.

So bearing in mind it was 7 ish on arrival at our friends we went straight for the Jugular and it flowed until we could consume no more at this time it was about 1-30 ish in the morning. In our Happy state we made arrangements to go to a Pub where an 9 piece band (An Seisuin) were playing and as we had seen them several times before we could not resist the invite to see them again. Slurring our words we agreed to meet them back at their house (Not the Shepherds Crook) for 1-30 pm Sunday. We walked home it took 35 minutes as we were a wee bit wobbly.

Sunday, 1145 am, her in doors batted very well preparing and putting on the slow cooker for when ever we decided to get back home. We were to be honest both a little bit wobbly (pissed). 2.5 Bacon butties each later we felt a lot better and off we set to walk back to our chums, arriving at 1.25 pm just in time to get into the Taxi.. The Florence is a Pub that I don't ever remember visiting in all my years so I was pleasantly surprised to see it was very nice indeed.

The lads had set up at one end of the bar so we set up at the other end and had a grand time my plates of meat were going 20 to the Dozen in time with the songs and Music. And of course Music and song is no good with out the Amber Nectar. 5 Pints later we set off to walk back home. Well you might add we must have had enough Ale by now but one of the girls said Ooh look at that Pub isn't it nice inside, and it's called the Red, White and Blue. Well my chum and I looked at each other and agreed with them we should go in and meet the Landlord who just happens to be a Fishing chum of ours. Two more salubrious pints later we set off again in a northerly direction and into another Pub where one of the Girls said her Father visited the other day and that it was nice inside, So we agreed to support them in their choice and we went in.

A further 2 pints later we caught a Taxi home and enjoyed a delicious Casserole and after a suitable rest we retired to our bed having had more than enough of the falling down juice over the weekend. I don't think I could do this too often but once now and again it feels okay and because the session was spaced out we surprisingly did not wake up with hangovers on Monday. So a good session was had by one and all including "An Seisuin". kkma.

A man who knows "How"....will always work for a man who knowes "Why".

kkma.

Look Ye Also While Life Lasts.

Anon. 2008.

Well the title refers to a film staring Michael Cain, the actual name of the film is "The Eagle has landed" a WW2 story based on a German MT Boat which landed in Norfolk or around that area and dressed as English soldiers they took over a village. They befriended the locals and convinced them that all was well. It was a way of creating a diversion so as they could attempt to assassinate Winston Churchill who had a house near the village. All was fine until a young child fell into a watermill a soldier attempted to save him but drowned in the process which also revealed his German uniform underneath the English one. The British secret service were aware of the plot and substituted Winnie for a look-a-kike who was murdered by the Germans (Michael Cain).

Go and hire the film(DVD) it's great or wait for the re-run on TV. Our Eagles have landed and we will see them on April 5th at the O2, cant wait. It will possibly be the last tour they will make in the UK? Who know's, never say never I say. kkma.

I never use other peoples work but this made me want to. It's from last Mondays edition of the Times and the Monday Poem, Final Thoughts. The writers Quote I have extracted from her comment, it is. " The pimp is so called because he is the producer of the next Individual to be beheaded".


From the Death Cell.
by Andre Chenier (1762-94)
(translated by Tom Paulin,The Road to Inver, Faber)

It goe's like this.



We live - dishonored, in the shit. So what? it had to be.

This is the pits and yet we feed and sleep.

Even here - penned in, watered and waiting for the chop (just place your bets) - affairs take off, there's gossip, bitching and a pecking-order.

Songs, jokes, card-school: she lifts her skirts; someone bops a balloon against the window-panes.

It's like the speeches of those seven hundred eejits (Barrere's the shiftiest of the lot) - a comic fart we whoop and cheer and then forget.

One jumps, another skips; that greasy pack of gut and gullet politicians raps and hoots until, dead quick, the door skrakes open and our tiger-master's wee pimp struts in.

Who's getting it today? We freeze and listen, then all but one of us knowes it isn't him..



Andre Chenier was arrested on suspicion of "crimes against the state" in France on March 7 1794 and Guillotined on July 25 on the orders of Robespierre. It seems to me that the best poets have to suffer; without suffering it is all hearts and flowers, which are very difficult to write about in a way that gets one's attention.

There is a noticeable Irish influence on the choice of some words in the translation; eedjits" (idiots) and "wee" (small).

The door opens and the "tiger-master's wee pimp" enters. The tiger-master (the prisoners being caged like tigers) is sureley Robespierre.

His pimp is aso called beacuse he is the procurer of the next Inividual to be beheaded; it is like a game of musical chairs. The entrance of the "pimp", marked by the onamatopoeic "scrake" of the door, is the music's end, when one of the inmates is picked off, after which the others can breathe more easily for a few hours.
The terminology reduces the macabre and sombre reality if impending death to a more jocular level. If one must die at the guillotine, then cause for a sardonic grin might be comforting.

If Chenier had only known that Robespierre would be executed three days after he was, he might have died laughing. I Love it. kkma.

What a great weekend it was, lots of feel good factor was applied. It was 7am at the Pump House Lake just outside of Petersfield. We had gathered to make the draw for where we were to fish from, the Frost was heavy on the ground and it was nibbling at my finger tips. I drew Peg 3, a noted good area. Five hours later I weighed in 3 Carp and a dozen Roach for 7 lbs, 10 ozs and 8 points coming 3rd overall. Nigel's owner came 1st, bloody stuffed monkey? What a difference a drop of Sun makes especially when you are Fishing. Mr D, I thank you, and the Sun shone down. No 1 Daughter's name is to sacred to misspell she would have my Gizzards for Garters if I took her name in vain. KKMA.