The Da Pinci Mode

The gasp around the gallery
sent the artist into orbit
What those bristles couldn't paint
from coloured oils and sorbates.

The lick that kicked the end of lines,
Bolds that battled blues
Spending admiration time
and holding up the queue's.

Wine was served with cinnamon,
to tantalize the tongue
And onwards went the whole shebang,
as aesthetic arms were flung!

This dark and late edition,
was the killer of the show
The price rose like a whore's skirt - 
as far as it could go!

A cheque for half a million??
The closure of the night!
This was the greatest art success
sold under fierce arc light.

The buzz soared through his veins now,
he craved another sale
Made a phone call to his sibling,
badly needing to prevail.

"I'd love another painting, sis!
Can Lucy do the deed?
I'd collect it after twelve.....
another fortune guaranteed!"

"Well, dear brother, we're in luck -
it's back to nursery tomorrow.
I think she'd spare another 'pixcha'
for her Uncle Len to borrow!" 

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That Friday Feeling (4)

It's a good feeling when.......your sister-in-law's 'trusty' old dial bathroom scales read 7 pounds lighter than your own 'obviously faulty' digital ones!



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Widow's Watch

Far from hope and sanity, the bedraggled widow watches
Wondered now where comfort lies,  whose bedpost's next for notches

Didn't they all tell her that the sun shone just for them?
Sparks flying from volcanoes, pretty prisms from her gems

Catch a winner, smile for lenses, pretty in her pink
Not as cruel and heartless as the mourners like to think

 Her smile and touch felt genuine, a presence so proud of
Not an inkling, ever showing her incapable of love

But she kept most of her promises, was faithful and complete
Earned her marriage title, through the simplest of deceit

Yet, the clock was sighing verily, the end was drawing near
Nursing wife in silk and satins, contentment in his twilight years

Perhaps it wouldn't take too long, for the phone to carry care
From widowers reminding her that they'll always be there.

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 I was delighted to see a Jack Vettriano picture prompt.  The artist took a keen interest in my friend Linda's dog, Alexandra Goldendoodle,  (whom she is training for the Canine Partners for Scotland charity)  at a  function in Glasgow.  Jack happily posed with Alexandra for a snap and is now in an album with the shaggy heroine with loads of other celebrities - including my son - who have been asked to pose with the wonderdog to help boost charity funds.
 

 

Alexandra Goldendoodle with Jack and with Adam  - his biggest fan as you can see!   LoL
                          



                                           




                                         




                         
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Hotel Windia........!

It giveths me great pleasure to announce that my older son's (PrettyBoy)'s band Hotel India have been nominated for a Scottish New Music Award in the Alternate/Indie category.

It was a bit of a shock for the guys at first as there was the mystery as to who actually entered them to begin with.   But their recent EP (sent out to various record companies) delighted the ears of a certain someone in the industry and next thing they knew they were finalists!  It is a public voting system that determines the winners so fingers crossed.  Hotel India are simply delighted to be associated with the competition whatever the outcome.

The strength of the position came after the release of their latest video Black Eyes which has received the highest amount of both recorded and live acclaim.  This comes from a band that more than pays its dues to its residents (fans!) and has bucket-loads more creativity to give.   They now also have accepted the offer from  20 Rocks'  owner and music associate to become their manager.   They kick off this Friday with a gig at the venue!   It should be more than enough to cheer us up from this constant jet stream!  You'd be pushed to dampen a resident's spirits anyhow!
 
 I will start needling you all for votes in a future post but for now, I leave you with a picture of Scott, the band's cheeky-chappie bassist, holding, proudly, the finalist certificate!
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Two Camels and She's Yours........

My beautiful and wacky daughter and her hubby are off for a fortnight's holiday to Morocco.  Her surgery will probably miss her for the two week's - or probably not.  Just to refresh, Kerri is an RDN (among other things) at a mainly cosmetic dental surgery in Buckinghamshire and a phone call to me one bored dinner break went something like this:

 "Hi, mum.  Thought I'd give you a call on my dinner break, I'm eating in, it's raining."


"What's that whizzing, Kek, I thought you had no patients over lunch?"

'I don't - I'm just trimming a piece of wallpaper with the drill - you know those middle trim pattern things - not quite even"

I continue my yapping when I hear a slurping sound.

'Kerri is that the saliva suction I hear..?

'Just clearing my sinuses, mum...'

'You grotty child...'

Suction continues in background.

'I can still hear the whoosy noise!'


'Fly's just come into the room, I'm trying to suck it dead'


I continue my mundane conversation and the next thing I hear little chippy noises.  


'What are you up to now, kiddo....?'

'Rolled some luting cement into little balls and I'm trying to ping them into spit cups, mum.....it's fun!'

And so the remainder of our conversation had little interruptions for the next 10 mins.

 The staff at her practice nickname her 'Matron' as she's a bossy cow, and likes her surgery just so. She blows up gloves and does chicken impressions for scared kiddies.  She's run open days at the surgery on weekends and sacrificed many a Saturday in between to help out, as they get the odd celebrity patient in.

  On return from her holiday, she'll tut and moan as the the temp that takes her place will have things in other places.  But she's still the biggest asset that surgery has. I burst with pride when I read the plaque she was awarded and all the patient comments that go with it.  But, where that apparatus-abuse comes from, I don't know!  It's not like I ever took her or her siblings to McDonalds and played 'Karate Chop' with the french-fries or anything...........



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Coriolis

Lily white steps light and into the night,
drawing on senses that be
Could a lesson be learned in the dankest of air,
while the stars make a beckoning sea

Too open and gracious, the grounds of the land,
this transgression of fortified lives
Cawing rooks fly taking secrets with them, 
past the pond where illusiveness thrives

Yet, each day, a scene from the battered armchair,
or in echoes of velvet and lights
Same old story with similar ending,
to finish off her and her knights

The pool, with it's crystal reflection,
absorbs sorrow to give it a boost
A triple nod ripple, then swirling -
and a petal-spread vortex induced

But she won't grab the hand she is offered,
nor look herself straight in the eye
Clarity often takes strength to permit,
what you can't see in front of your eyes.
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That Friday Feeling (3)

It's a good feeling when.....you're waiting on the last number 11 bus after a gig and, lo and behold, by chance it's your big bruvva at the wheel and he drops you 3 stops closer to your home than the route usually takes you!

☼ Ordinary (Kinda) Days (3) ☼

I awoke to a rather grumpy cheaper-half this morning.  Not that that's unusual,  it's one of his finer features, but he had melted chocolate Maltesers stuck to his right buttock.  If I get sleepy particularly quick, an insatiable appetite takes over and I have been known to take to bed with me, a picnic  few light snacks as I'm reading / doing puzzles / having sex.  Crumbs in bed are bad enough but I must admit, catching a morning mirror glimpse of yourself in your Marks and Spencer pastel blue underpants with added looks-a-like-a-shitty-stain,  perhaps isn't quite the best way to greet the new day.

Moving along...... it was my younger son's (GingerJesus) day off work and as he was still in bed, I left a note for him saying we could catch a DVD on my return from town. We normally take turns in choosing the flick but we're pretty  fair and flexible with genres, so to  save time later I suggested he type ' Top 20 Saddest Movies ' into a search engine and take it from there.  He had whittled the list down to 2 choices but was undecided on  Antichrist and Torture Hotel.  I intend to give him a right good lecture on the hazards of skim-reading.

Our rare occasion's full-family meal went fairly hassle free and while washing the dishes, I noticed our cat, Boaby, had killed a sparrow and was toying with it.  Being a bird lover, McScrooge marched down the lawn to retrieve the stiff little biddy from old razor-claws, intending to dig a little hole or make a slighty less dignified bucket send off.  I, on the other hand, simply chucked the sparrow on the shed roof for Josephine - (the seagull he's built a close relationship with ) as she's fed daily and becoming more trusting of us all.   She thanked us for her trouble-free meal by shitting all down the freshly painted (dark brown) fence.  It resembled a 19th century Bohemian vase by the time the droppings settled.
 
And to end the day, PrettyBoy brought me back a Reese Peanut Butter McFlurry from McDonalds that, by the time he made his way back from his girlfriend's house, looked as if it would be more fitting (and dramatic) poured down the back of a light blue pair of boxer shorts.


Neecht! Neecht!


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Johnny Pantaloons

Johnny was cock of the mobsters
as well as the cock of  New York
A gangster in dark Valentino
but gingham by way of his shorts

Took money for whisky and whistlers
and pride in the seam down his pants
Set up knife fights for fun for a dollar,
controlled gals with a single-hit glance

Jail was no threat or no picnic
more like a Holiday Inn
Smuggled-in goods was his business
as the guards and the priest sold his sin

But a free man was Johnny Golightly
liked the feel of the air up his legs
Wandered downtown with suave exultation,
spitting down on the tradesman who begs

He needed a woman for each night -
only the fine ones he bought
But his taking of dolls backfired on him
found a bellyful Bella distraught

He denied that the brat would be his one
and slapped the gal over the face
So she went home to Daddy and told him
he sent shooters all over the place

Her father was no doll respecter,
had bastards all over the town
But no man would diss his own angel
it was time for a Daddy showdown

He gave him no choice in the matter
by a smack from a tight, massive fist
Threw a new marriage licence down on him -
smiling princess was making a list

Poor Johnny now joining a family
far greater at doing the Job
Went out shopping for purty white dresses -
only Hope that he knew now was Bob!

From then on it ended the lesson
from one who gave life not one hoot.......
Bigger pants always means bigger trouble, and
bigger shoulder pads on the Zoot Suit!
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You Fly Little Things....!

This morning, Adam (GingerJesus)  was needing a bit of help filling out some form or other to return to work and was huffing at the box not being big enough to accept his full name!  Grunting at me, he shook his head and protested at where his and his brother Ross' (PrettyBoy)  names devired from.  Now, a 'Ross' and an 'Adam' sounds as if a fairly easygoing history could be attached to it.  If not a relative, then an actor, musician or sports hero, etc.  But their names actually are taken from fishing flies and decided by my male-dominated family as my belly grew!  Of course, I had some say in it, but was more bothered about health than labels.   Back then, family babies used to pop out at 4/3 in favour of boys. Anyhow:

Ross.........is from this little fellow whose proper title is  Peter-Ross:

Adam........is from this fine chap whose proper title is Adam's-Irresistible:

Kerri, my daughter from my first marriage didn't exactly escape the titles of the family clan of fishermen as they dubber her Hairy-Mairy:
 

   

Actually,  McScrooge invented a completely original one with her many moons ago, that I've tucked away safely.   I can recall it was so glittery and luminous that unless some fish wanted to swerve out of the gay riverbank closet to nab it, it would be pretty much useless.  But my gal never sticks to plain and mundane, she's a beautiful mad one-off herself!   My mob's certified names are actually  Peter-Ross Fergus  ♂, Adam Frank Thomas ♂, and . . . .Kerri Catherine  ♀
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 We had a giggle in convincing them at one point of their little lives, that every time they went fishing with their dad they had to use their fly names.  Weird thing is - they got massive reactions and goods aplenty from other anglers who thought that was quite cool!   Thankfully, this is something that has dwindled in the past 30 years of family babies and the girls are catching s up!  Slowly, my own mobs' interests turned to music.  I have no idea what their titles would have been if our family had been keen racehorse pundits!

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~ Can't Ever Walk Away ~

You'll never be free of the disease of me
I'll always make tracks in your mind
Leave footsteps and regrets and altering thoughts
Realise that I'm one of a kind

You'll never be free of the bruise that is me
I'm the blood in the veins of your eye
I'll forever reflect in the pools where you look
Rip your heart out with one little sigh

You'll never be free of the fire that is me
Fingertips blister on touch
I'll sigh in your ear when you're lonesome
And singe any other you clutch

You'll never be free of the silence of me
Trees moaning with each violent sway
While the land all around you leave pointers to me
As my essences fill up your day

You'll never be free..........................
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Tails From The Crow's Side

I know it's not unusual to see animals - especially pets - interacting in defiance of nature. Cats and birds, dogs and rabbits, foxes and cats and such like, but the below video absolutely fascinates me.  

I know bigger birds can brave chances in life - my own moggie gets taunted by a certain magpie - but this little chap's involvement between a pair of territorial cats beggars belief!  That is one mighty, mental, feather-some flyer!  Bet he instigates trouble where'er he lands!



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And To Glasgow I Go Go

 It's now ding, ding, round four, of my breast investigation.  Last week, I went  for a needle core biopsy, which took a full hour and consisted of a numb knocker and fairly lengthy needles going in to me from all angles, until they were happy that most of the suspicious cells were drawn out.   It was a bit manic to me, all the machines and laser precision , X, Y and Z-ings!   Granted, I was sitting upright in a most comfortable padded leather chair and plumped up pillows, for my x-rays and such like.  They also fitted me with a titanium clip that if I remember rightly, was placed in the best position for easier access to any future precancerous or calcification cells.

My follow up appointment to the above, was yesterday.   After a brief ultrasound scan the consultant broke the news to me that all the needle insertions didn't draw out every suspect cell, despite what the monitor showed.  I still have an area of concern that the needles either didn't reach - despite all the advanced equipment - or, highly unlikely but still possible ( if it's gonna happen then I'm your gal! ),  the cells grew back quicker than Usain Bolt covering a 100m final with jets up his arse.  

This time I've to have a excisional biospy and must travel to a Glasgow hospital for the procedure - which is a right pain.  I'm 5 minutes down the road from a brand-spanking-new hospital that has a life-sized hologram woman greeting you at the main door and robots (Japan is the only other country in the world to have them) interacting with regular punters in the corridors and wards -  and I have to travel 45 miles away to undergo a bigger biopsy to no doubt cater for the size of my walloping bosom!  Some new 'convenient'  hospital for the central belt that turned out to be!  The irony is that I'm having the procedure done by one of the consultants I've been under locally anyhow!  


Confession time:  I'm of a certain mindset or disposition if you will.   Life often sucks and mother nature has been a right bitch to me over the years.  For the possible likelihood that I'd freak if back-tracking them all, I don't keep a journal of all the 'bad luck' stuff ect, that's ever gone on.  I do tend to not raise hopes much these days.  I never look forward to many things now, but I do love to recall if something's been a joy, success, or relief!   That's me!  

Anyhow, I found the consultation yesterday quite straining.   It wasn't Dr.Seth but another consultant and new nurse in the room. There was awkward pauses and he kept frowning while referring to my notes. That may have been  because a conclusion, one way or the other, was expected yesterday. Perhaps it's just that they know it's an inconvenience for people to travel to an unfamiliar town.  

But I can't help feeling there's something still to be uncovered yet.  On out way out, the nurse showed my hubby and I to a side room and gave me a card with various names and mobile numbers of local MacMillan Cancer Support nurses -  she was one herself -  to call day or night with any query, sensible or silly!  I simply thanked her and carefully put my card in my purse with all my other little bits of plastic.

  As yet, my tests have all drawn inconclusive results -and as I say, nothing confirmed one way or the other.  Looking around at all the patients filling up the chairs of the oncology clinic, for a brief moment I felt like I was in a bubble.   It was seconds later when a nurse called in a little girl called Lara, who looked around six, that I snapped back , thinking if it all does matter, I'll be capable of coping.
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The Signature / Bye Bye Basildon Bond

As you mostly know, my mind moves in mysterious muddles and as soon as I saw the prompt it shot to cowboys and caverns for some weird reason so had to stick with my first notion! I also enjoyed a nonsense one, too!  As I've written two poems, I do not mind having just the one read!

                The Signature
             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
Communication was filtering
As patience's breath now pollutes
Running amok when the mailman appeared
Hardly worth the dust kicked from his boots

Everyone told me to hang up
Those notions of him coming back
A wanderer loves you or leaves you for dead
When there's few things for him to unpack

A maiden in gingham in each town?
While he sails you on letters of love
If the minutes and hours told their secret 
What would they be admitting of?

Only, time cannot heal the emotion
Or soothe the wounds as they occur
Time to put to rest those bullet-light memories
And the spark that kicked up from his spurs

Sunsets and sabotaged heartbeats
Deeper horseshoe prints at night
When the pretty go hunting the pretty
Setting damnation alight

A chicken-scratched note on brown paper
All spit stained and cheap cowboy scrawl
How can she ever forget him, when
There's still bits of him pinned to the wall!
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This poem was written in honour of the little Post Office that was needed no more. I remember the postmaster, Jack, was saddened at it's planned closure but it was true that electronics and the modern world were mostly to blame for it's demise!   It was more than 10 years ago now but, Jack - this one's for you!!

                 Bye Bye, Basildon Bond
                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Went to post me a letter just last week -
the road there I stumbled across
I couldn't believe when I heard it!
Wouldn't know how to manage my loss......

Our little post office in Stepp Street
was saying goodbye to the world
He'd been finished off, shut out, neglected,
no more posters for them to unfurl

Said the art of us all corresponding,
all we pen-pals and chitchats of yore
Were being replaced due to 'email'
pen and paper considered a bore!


The selling of stamps greatly dwindled, 
no more licking and sticking in place
Making sure that the stamp's fixed securely 
by a bop on her Majesty's face!

Well, my nerves and my temper erupted,
I demanded to speak to the chief!
Of the Royal Mail's mighty allegiance,
but my phone call was curt and so brief 

He told me, to hurry my complaint,
I could email him straight there and then
What I next thought was wholly unlike me,
but I'd shove up the whole of the pen!

I'm just an old gal, with old values
never cheated on lead or on ink
But I guess I'll now try best of both worlds
What harm is it to interlink?!
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That Friday Feeling (2)

It's a good feeling when.......you're huffing and puffing about what to have for tea and cannot be arsed to cook anyhow -  and your son pops back from his girlfriend's flat with a huge pan of carrot and coriander soup with cobs!  Lashings of the stuff!!

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Titty Bang Bang

I don't often feel sorry for myself - well actually I do - but that's because I'm the only female in the house!  As much as I take it for granted these days, I feel this time it is worth a moan. 


It was while I was having ding ding, round three, of my breast mammogram and biopsy - the nippiest bugger yet- that the nurses were alarmed at the bruising and injury to my left hand.  The story develops as thus:

Around a week ago, there were some plumbers in fixing our downstairs water heater. The thermostat had packed in and a new one was to be replaced. Sadly, as the house is fairly old - built in the fifties - the plumbing was a bit of a nightmare.  To access the right bit, the carpet and floorboards in my son's room had to be pulled back and up! 

 After the job was done (that was taking hours!) we said we would put back the carpet ect ourselves. What we didn't notice until it was too late was that the workers had shifted my younger sons' pyramid of weights and had them balanced on the folded back carpet. At my hubby's tug - the top two 'lightest' weights toppled and landed slam on the back of my hand and wrist. And over the process of a week here's a few developing pics!  Amazingly - nothing is broken.  Who says exercise was good for you!!

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Old Citrus Face

* This week's Magpie is dedicated to my cheaper-half  (the prompt is a very good likeness by the way!)  who is a gardener supreme. You should see my strawberry patch! *

He deserts me each and every day
his love thrown on another
Fingertips on fragile shafts
he carefully discovers

Goes into that hothouse 
salty beads upon his brow 
Carefully acknowledging
what steps he should take now

Got a line of maidens waiting
for that crucial drink or touch
Yield to him their flowery parts
in gratitude nonesuch

A martyr to his wanton needs
in strokes and feeds and lust
Measurements are noted - 
some bushes trimmed and trussed

All I want is some attention -
must I have to nag or plead?
Does he care of my existence
while he's off to plant his seed
 
Soon colours bloom and captivate,
fruits and veggies grow
Flowers of the exotic
dance in wonderful tableau 

Blossomed scents chase after you
edged around the garden
Fruits just ripe for picking
as some veggies beg their pardon

Yes, his cultivation orgies
in spite of all my woes
Pay off in taste and quality -
from pea to pear to rose. 

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That Friday Feeling (1)

It's a good feeling.......when you're out walking with your kid, giving him a right old roasting as to him being old enough to iron his own clothes, and two high school girls run up to him and ask if he's 'Adam from No Need For Idols'.
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