Outside my window a broken bottle lies,
Next to a rose in bloom
An injustice of life I presume.
What did the bottle do that was so bad?
That it was made to spend the end
Of its life being held to ridicule?
It’s trying to keep face there
But it looks out of place there.
I watch it emaciate there
And then I turn away.
It lies shattered and pitiful
Whilst the rose basks in beauty
It’s pruned and it’s cared for, after all that’s my duty.
I know where the broom is but I just can’t sweep it away.
I spray away in an instant any signs of disease and yet
I watch in silence as insects wriggle
In the dregs of the life that the bottle once held.
My thoughts immediately turn to Alex.
A shattered pitiful being who
Used to be a man
I wish that I could help him but I suppose nobody can.
What did he do in his life that was so bad?
That beautiful pruned people pretend not to see him?
They’re just glad they’ll never be him
So avert their eyes instead.
Just as the rose abhors the bottle
They hope that someone will get a broom soon.
Alex lost his chance to be
A beautiful person like you and me,
If of course he had a chance.
Injustices are like a dance, they’ll always bring you back to the start
It’s the path you choose from here that counts.
How can Alex push his branches upwards and be proud
When he doesn’t know how to?
All he knows is how to beg and feed on the decaying dregs
Of the sweet liquid that lived inside that bottle
Before it was broken.
Alex never harmed a soul – ever!
Can we all hold our hands up and say we never?
He doesn’t ask for much, just a few coppers to
Induce a coma with the help of sweet sherry.
Have you ever clinked glasses just to get merry?
Not for a career.
Alex died – broken and alone.
Well, what could he expect?
Living his life as a reject
Pruned, disease – free rose people smiled
As finally someone got a broom and swept
His broken body off the sidewalk.
There’s no obituary here
Because I guess that’s what he chose.
But I wish I could have told him….
That I thought he was a rose.
My face is slowly turning red and my blood is reaching boiling point. No, I’m not being dragged around a large park at breakneck speed, that little fad lasted as long as the weather permitted and as we all know, the weather has not been permitting very much.
Hubby relented and let me spend a ridiculous amount of money on an Air Walker which he duly assembled in one half of the kitchen as I adventurously assembled a Baileys cream cheese cake in the other half of the kitchen. It was a pioneering attempt and as I hadn’t acquired the ingredients in the right amounts, I did have to improvise a little. This was a blessing as it turned out because instead of taking the expected two hours to set, it actually took twelve hours to set, and as it contained fresh cream, I only risked a swift finger swipe sampler before chucking it in the bin……Anyways, the cause of the rising blood pressure was over some peoples idea of acceptable behaviour..
The situation began with an overheard conversation that went like this,
“Oi, Geez, you ‘eard bout nobby knockin up Mariah? (Mother must be a Carey fan)
“Little black Mariah from up by the Rec (oh the irony that was wasted on ‘said’ mother. Isn’t that slang for Police car?)
“Oh right, well that’ll get her out of school then!”
It wasn’t the conversation that caused the blood boiling, it was the reaction of the gobby gossiper when one of her many brood trod in dog poo. Scabby flabby lips released blobs of spit as they flew into a tirade of abuse aimed at poor dog poo’d child. After a while it was redirected at everyone in hearing distance, which was quite a generous range really.
Me and others were informed on how disgusting we all were for letting our dogs effing s**t all over the place. She suggested that we all learn Respect for our effing area and keep it clean, whilst dog poo’d child watched wide eyed, surrounded by a growing pile of his discarded sweet wrappers.
She then opened a pack of fags, angrily ripped of the cellophane, only narrowly missing the huge bin by about 5 feet (if you ask me she wasn’t even trying) and then carried on her conversation about Nobby and Mariah’s future using slightly lower decibels.
No I didn’t speak up.
1) Because I was hugely out numbered by her angry mob and
2) She is mahoosive!
Where the heck have these people learned their social and parenting skills? Where did they acquire their astonishing confidence that allows them to scream at strangers without fear of retaliation? Why do some people not ‘get’ hypocrisy? When did it become ok to encourage children to drop litter and not put it in pockets and why is there still so much dog poo on the streets despite the campaigns? Why is it ok for a family of three to put 15 bags of rubbish out a week and not recycle a single thing? But that’s another story! These and many more questions may never be answered which makes my blood boil even more!
Well …… it’s make and break time!
I have been busy recalling as much of last year as I can, (well perusing last years status’s anyway) in an attempt to see when and why my life was going a) really well b) really badly or c) stuck in a stagnant puddle.
Apart from a constant stream of drivel made up of self obsessed banter such as what’s on my sandwich today (cheese if you were wondering), the matter of a distinct lack of housework makes an occasional appearance. As I am making an attempt to improve things this new year, I have decided that my resolution is to do even less housework! I can already hear Hubby mumbling “is that even possible?” But my Dearest, haven’t I always said that life is too short to be miserable? But don’t worry I’m only cutting down on a couple of things. Firstly I resolve to do less wash loads. This of course is my unselfish offering to save the planet, and don’t panic, I plan to stockpile on Febreeze and deodorants. Secondly, after hearing that you shouldn’t ever clean a teapot as it destroys the flavours that have been built up in it over the years, I have decided to stop cleaning the oven!
As a family we tend to watch a lot of wild life programs so I also resolve to no longer get embaressed and stare at my phone as soon as the blighters start mating! Really! Why do we have to see that? In future I shall show more control, be mature, and go make a cuppa instead.
I shall make a cake out of real ingredients just to prove to my daughter that I can, I will also buy a bread maker and make my own bread to prove to hubby that shop bought bread really is the root of all my burping habits. I shall stop being right all the time and give others a chance to think that they are.
I shall actually open and swallow the vitamin supplements that I collect from Holland and Barratt and I will either stop or increase the amount of thinly veiled sarcastic comments that I leave on peoples walls (yet to be decided). I shall buy and proudly wear a pair of flowery Doc Martins and drink more Squash.
I shall swear more but only where appropriate and shall use Google less and revert back to pre-Google days when my children and I would always phone my dad for the answer to any question, instead of allowing technology to make him redundant. I will also make more time to discuss garden birds with him, although phoning him in an excited panic saying “Dad, dad the Thrush is back!” is probably best not repeated.
Vodka shall not be increased or decreased as I think I’ve pretty much got that nailed, so with that thought I wish you a hopeful and happy 2013
“Happy Christmas build up to one and all”
Whether you are in the middle of a bus journey from the slowly dying High street, struggling to balance yourself on a seat whilst someone else’s large and misshapen purchase is digging you in the ribs, or whether you are sitting on your sofa with a mug of coffee effortlessly tapping your orders onto a key pad as a Christmas film plays out in the background, I wish you luck!
I personally am combining both skills and yesterday I took my place among the Dolly Mixtures that make up the furore that is the Christmas shopping battlefield and it was messy!
I say Dolly Mixtures because it would be wrong and inaccurate to club everyone together into a human gloop. A percentage of the gloop, however are disgusting and comedic in equal measures and are quite widely called ‘Dobbers’.
They are easily recognisable as they usually shop in herds, adorned in leggings which are so dangerously stretched across their humungous butt cheeks that the material has become almost invisible, or track suited and booted, and topped off with a very, very old football shirt. As I myself am no Slimmion, I hasten to point out that I always give the transparent stretchy legging a wide birth, although after being forced to see so many ‘Camel toes’ I think that…… no, I wont go there!
They can usually be heard long before they are seen as their language is loud and liberally peppered with expletives, generally aimed at their offspring but often thrown at passers by. But the good news is that you can avoid them and the first thing to do is to make sure that you shop really early as they tend to sleep in late, and as they are slow moving creatures they tend not to reach shopping centres until a few of their little monsters have been dumped on the poor teachers. Then armed with 4 year olds (and under) squashed in buggys, drinking cold tea from their ‘bockles’, their first stop is clogging up the queue in my beloved Greggs to break their Fast with sausage rolls and cupcakes. Refreshed, they will head towards Argos but don’t worry too much unless you are in the jewellery queue. Huge hooped earrings, sovereign rings and any other jewellery that depicts a family connection, such as Mom, Baby- Muvva or Bruvva from anuvva muvva or even Great-great-great grandma (they start young) are very likely to be on a Dobbers Christmas list so be warned. Elizabeth Duke is the Chav Messiah!
Any shop that sells fake Uggs, (Fuggs) are also to be avoided as they attract Dobbers on a massive scale. They buy these boots for their little Dobs not caring too much about the hideous cruelty to the animals involved or that their mini Dobs will soon have a gait like a drunken duck.
Discount chemist stores and Poundland also feature here, although not because they sell an abundance of cheap condoms (Dobbers don’t believe in Benefit Protection) but because huge tubs of parecetomol for constant hangovers can be exchanged for pennies and kids dummies can change hands for as little as 20p, a big saving when your 5 year old still goes through several a week.
Don’t even try to enter Iceland after 10 am because you won’t get in, and if Turkey Twizzlers was on your list you will be disappointed as they don’t stock them now because they couldn’t keep up with Dobber demand.
There will also be queues snaking out of Brighthouse as the big Christmas ‘Sign Up for crazy credit’ begins and these queues will be mirrored anywhere that offers 3 network phone contracts.
If you fancy a coffee and a bite to eat avoid Mcdonalds at ALL costs, unless you have a perversion to watching huge herds of huge people slobbering over their huge buns, noisily draining their milkshakes as mini Dobs wreak havoc in the toilets.
If you can avoid the bus journey home then do so, or you may find yourself forced to play Peek-a-boo with mini Dobs such as Rothman and Clear-Blue, whilst their muvva glares with a silent threat, should you not comply.
You could also shop late evening as most of them will be struggling to wrap their long lengths of disco strobe lighting around all their windows, giving out headaches free to passers-by, or they may be collapsed on their sofas with their chips and curry sauce supper watching Kyle re-runs, I don’t know, but it’s generally safer late evening.
Today I chose the alternative Christmas shop experience and as ‘It’s a Wonderful life’ has just finished and my mug needs refilling, I can only hope that I have in some small way helped you make your shopping experience a little more Dobber free.
I’m quite happy with his decision of course, because the most important car detail to me and most women is the colour, and I am rather liking the new shade of blueage. It’s shinier! Hubby, however is most pleased with his built-in sun glasses holder.
Although these two great benefits were not the only reasons that we traded in the first Blue, it did leave me feeling rather decadent.
After hearing the phrase ‘throw away nation’ several times lately, I peeped into my social conscience to check on my morals.
As a child, I remembered having my buckles sown back on my school shoes and holey socks being darned (there’s a word you don’t hear nowadays). I recall a gadget in a bathroom that contained bits of soap that got squished together to form a new and very colourful blob of soap. (My mother in law still has one). A sure fix for a dried up felt tip pen was a few sucks on the end to make it scribble further, our ice lollies were home made using washable plastic lolly sticks. We even shrunk empty crisp packets under the grill and wore them as badges. Terry towelling nappies billowed from washing lines and paint brushes were cleaned with Turps ready for reuse. So far so good, but that was the previous generations actions. Do I live by the same great ideals? Hmmmm! Ashamedly I don’t.
I don’t repair shoes or clothes, although I do take them to my Mother in laws (does that count for a point?) I never make a new blob of soap, I have never encouraged my children to pen suck, I buy boxes of ready made ice lolls, have never passed down the crisp bag/badge making skill (way too dangerous). I used disposable nappies for all my children and I regularly chuck paint brushes after use. I am a disgrace! I even chuck any crisp that shows the slightest shade of green.
I do know worse people though. An expectant mother I knew refused a second hand baby bath off a friend, as another baby had been in it and another friend once threw away a cardigan because a spider had been on it. I kid you not.
But if I am a throwaway pawn in a throwaway society, why is my house filled with junk? I, just like Michael Mcintyre have a draw filled with keys with no known locks, dead batteries galore, a plethora of foreign coins and chargers for phones that are no longer made. Net curtains that will never fit my windows, leccy bills spanning years, tins of partly dried up paint and lightbulbs that when I shake near my ear, tinkle slightly but not enough to convince me that its not my hair making the noise.
I tried to throw away a plastic duck once but it kept looking at me from the bottom of the bin so I took it up the Lickey Hills and set it free on the lake.
After running a bath recently it did strike me that I have never in 26 years replaced the bath plug. Suddenly I am smug. I am an Eco Warrior after all. Our family has been using the same bath plug for nigh on two and a half decades and it was probably used by the family that lived here before us!
Hang on……. That’s gross! Something needs chucking away and not a second too soon!