Showing posts from October, 2012

A good man, with a bad habit

Have I told you about my friend John? I’ve known John for a long time, and for as long as I’ve known him, I’ve been in thrall of his inability to actually ‘declare’ his convictions, never mind stick to them. Don’t get me wrong, I like the man. Anyone who can wake up naked in the aviary of his local park with a broken ankle, and absolutely no recollection of how he got there, is a good man in my view. You know, he actually blamed the two swans whose house he had slept in for breaking his foot, as if they had somehow enticed him into their home, specifically to smash his bones. Then of course, he instantly, magnanimously, forgave them their weakness for such brutal trickery.

Yes, John is a good man, but he has a bad habit; a tendency towards what he calls liberalism. I call it indecisive, neither fish nor flesh, wishy-washy, wrong-headed fence-sitting. It’s not that he doesn’t have any opinions. In fact he has opinions on a wide range of topics - he’s a bright boy, is John. No, the probl…

Secret garden

Take Your Gifts

O beautiful friend, what gift of mine
Can I dream to give to you this time?
       A morning song? But morning does not last long; The passing of hours Wilts it like flowers And songs that tire
       Are done.
O friend, when you come to my dark door And long, long shadows can lengthen no more        What is it you ask? What shall I bring you?        A light? A candle from a secret corner of my silent room? But will you take it home with you? And will you see your life anew?        Alas, the wind will blow it out.
Whatever the gifts that I give to you, Be they gold for your neck or a floral hue,        How can they please you? In time they must surely tarnish and wither. All that my hands can place in yours Will slip and through your fingers fall To be forgotten in the dust;        To become dust.
But rather you, when you have the time to spare, Wander through my heart and through the garden there, And let a hidden flower’s scent startle you        Into sudden wondering.        Let that displaced …

Every magazine your girlfriend reads


Attack of the killer bees (wasps)

So, I was doing an early autumn clear up in the garden; weeding and raking and bagging up the crap that has accumulated while I've been off on my summer travels. After a slow (lazy, reluctant) start, I was just getting into it - willing my second wind to kick in in time for me to tackle the exploding lavender bush that has this summer made the area around our ornamental volcanic boulder it's own - and then... and then I opened the gates of hell and unleashed the fury inside.
I was cutting back the lavender and ripping out the reedy grass that was growing through it, when suddenly I upset the massive wasp's nest that was hidden there. It's angry residents spilled out and chased after me, cartoon-like, as I fled for the house squealing like a little girl.
Anyone who knows anything about me, knows all about my crazy disproportionate fear of wasps. Ma-chan, who knows me very well, just sighed and headed off to the supermarket to get a 'Be-gone' (bee gun!) spray gun. …