February 26, 2012

Never Mind The Tin Opener......

I've tried to work out Warhol
what was in his muddled mind
Neon psychobabble
from the rude to the refined

Faces radiating, 
all intent and all aglow
Ghastly colours clashing -   
not quite Rembrandt or Rousseau

I like to view my idols 
in the way the Lord intended
Not skin of blue and hair of green
Some may feel quite offended

Oh, how he took the famous
faces of the silver screen
And brought them out uniquely
for his final act or scene

Historic buildings captured,  
wild bristles are a woven
He tells his tale so vibrantly 
'bout Einstein and Beethoven 

And did you know he took bright hues 
and very coarsely painted
our Majesty the Queen on high -  
Philip nearly fainted!
Colours bursting everywhere
his senses in a spin
Just opened up a cupboard - 
and the subject lay within
Bananas, ice cream, lobster -
tins of Campbell soup
Was inspiration overdrive - 
a goody-foody scoop!

Sam the cat, pandas,  pigs - 
there's very little cuter
Or easier when he soon learned 
his way round a computer!!

Now art is something you nor I 
may never know at all
But a 'famous' oxidation stain 
that's running down your wall?

I really think that art is sometimes
held in high contempt
And opinions clash forever
no true artist is exempt...but

Who am I to judge at all, 
or drink from the same cup?
May not be 15 minutes 
but I think my time is up.

So please enjoy the song below
from my heroine - Ms. Harry
In tribute here to Andy
for a lifetime quite contrary


February 23, 2012

Well, Strike Me!

Today, I faced up to a few facts that I've been either in denial with or too fickle about to truly accept.  But:

1.   No, Helena - you will never be able to cook like your hubby.  There is a certain art to Korma that you just don't possess.

2.   Your first grandchild is likely going to be a boy and you'll have wasted all that time and energy on pink wool.

3.   The doctor got it right. That nippy little lump on your pinky finger joint is arthritis and not a fracture.

4.   Yes, Helena.  That fuzzy thing from under your son's bed was in fact once edible.  

5.   No, the wire hangers in your wardrobe are not breeding, you really haven't done an ironing in two months.

6.   Your daughter is STILL 30 and planning on adding up as the years pass.

7.   That was a fanny-fart that hissed itself out as you squatted in the supermarket queue.

8.   Ghosts DO exist. There's no other explanation for 'that' one.

9.    It is no longer 'sweet' if a mirror captures you singing along to a CD with a hairbrush in your hand.

10.  You really would no longer  'do'  Rutger Hauer.


February 19, 2012

The Fest


If ever one was happy to see to colours floating by
Where rainbows lash across the ground instead of in the sky
Youths and wrinklies culminate, an ageless blend of life
A festival's the very place (why won't you take the wife?)

The music's mad and manic, you like bands you really hate
Time passes much too slowly, you've no patience- just can't wait
Raise your hands up high, girls - let's see your underwear!
Money jiggles out your pockets but you really just don't care....

You love this given energy, and think it's quite alright
To pay £5 for a glass of beer - buying 14 in one night
You've trodden on all sorts of things, wet the whole time through
It's amazing all the places that can double as a loo

Surrounding music follows you, it's hard to disconnect
When the pill you popped an hour ago kicks in with full effect
Colours jump from everywhere, from each and every tent
Won't be long until this happy trip goes on it's big descent

And at three in the morning, lost your mates, you're all alone
Can't remember why you've ended up outside a neon phone
You lift the dial and frown and sway, and give a little sigh
And ask the magic troll you're with 'Eh? who the hell am I?'

Only sleep will be your saviour, he's a long long way away
Just pick a tent at random, till you see the light of day
Then asking if it's worth it, paranoia, pain and fear?
Of course it is, this ageing hippy does it every year!

February 16, 2012

Just For The (Daily) Record

PrettyBoy came home today announcing that the next venture into his Honours degree is to be the making of a video. Of course, a music video was his choice.  He has decided to use an older release single called Asylum that his band recorded just over a year ago.

The endearing thing about University is that help comes along from all departments - quite literally.  This time Hotel India  will be appearing subliminally  in the shoot and the main focus will be directed on two friends (male and female) from the drama department. The young lass also models and is a bit of a stunner! She also has lots of props including eye contacts and special effects shit which is a bonus. HI's Paul and Ross F (there are 3 called Ross in the band!) have honours in video editing and imaging.  So this time there will be a story and acting in the video.

The module, only 48 hours old, has already a beginning and an end. It's the friendly infusion in the middle, when the camera's ain't rolling that'll stick in PrettyBoy's memory more than this little mini masterpiece ever will.

See........? Students - they're not all cheap travel and traffic cones......

 Right, best be off...I've a Signal to try and fit in a (window) box, now...! 

                             Get To 'F'

This week getting to 'F' comes in the form of faeries. Not your cute ones but your naughty ones. This gal is a magic mushroom maiden. Yup, I did try them once as a teenager and was violently sick as a result but I blamed the grilled  dog-piss coating for that and not the drug......*ahem*


February 14, 2012


Happy Birthday to my oldest son, Ross, or PrettyBoy (as he's more commonly known). You were the best St.Valentine's present I ever had (whatever happened to Milk Tray - eh?)

 You're such a handsome lad and fit into your birth role exquisitely.  

Happy 23rd, Rossi 

Love you loads........Mum....XxX

February 12, 2012

Fairest Bod-mother

Who is the fairest of them all.  The odd-one-out in the crowd?
A bursting blossom of gentleness upped their eagerness to enshroud

How does she anger the sunshine by day,  a pitiful pleading on knees?
Only to turn from the rays that engulf to illuminate over dark seas

Where did this beauty, in delicate stature, defying rights to procreate?
Take a hold of an army, make loving slaves of them, no shackles or locks to negate

Why does this queen in her regal complexion, hold no fear or desire to confer?
Never utter a word, no daylight confession affirms nor nullifies her

Often this young lure in bareback and breasts, toys with the need to convene
A coastline of bodies to carpet her safely, through mountain, or maze or ravine

Yes, let her be, this beacon in darkness, who flits like an ocean fire-fly
The spark of a wood stick, a zap of electric, cracks colours across the night sky

Who is the fairest of them all? Lucina, who'll light up your night
But your soul is already taken, and your heart very strongly alight


February 10, 2012

Coughie Mornings

We sat around the table, me with my cup of tea, while the boys had their usual morning coffee, cigarette and wheech-up-the-way, to clear the lungs.

Anyhow, I came across a book a day or two prior that I used to read to them as they were growing up, called Tim Kipper.  With funny illustrations, the story was about a young lad who started smoking, which led to a consequential chimney growing from his head, with every puff he took.....!  Adam still remembered some of the verse and he saw that I was touched by this but saddened that he was now a smoker.

" I know, mum"  he sheepishly answered.  " But everywhere is adapting to the new laws.  Even long haul flights insist that smoking is strictly outside only."

" Well," sighed I, "that's something I suppo....."

If only there had been a book available back then to help recognise  the signs of future smart-fucking Alecs........

February 05, 2012

Greta's Garnet

They parted from circumstance, danced on the line
A beauty in red, fooled by travel and time
A promise to her in her winter visage
A figure that showed in his future mirage

Seas flowed with crimson, shores tinged with pink
Time trading years in no more than a blink
Each with a garnet, stamped with return
As long as the heart beat, then so would the yearn

Old age took hold, at the table she'd sit
Cutting the seeds from a pomegranate
And her stone still continued with crisp, vibrant spark
As guided out Noah, when it became dark

Death took her hostage, and his she became
As she sang on her deathbed her lost lover's name
Of course he'd still find her,  her garnet displayed
From the hands of her youth, and their stone from the grave.


February 03, 2012

Getting To 'F' (this side!)

A little cutesy pic of what happens when we combine fur with flowers.....altogether now.....ahhhh!

Dunno about you but judging by those massive eyes,  I'd say he's snorted all the pollen off!