The Man and The Mouse

It was a love story of sorts, but without the happy ending.
She had a bright smile, some would say enchanting.
She was complicated, many would say difficult, but she loved a boy.
People often jeered that she was incapable of such feelings.
She was after all, only a mouse.

She’d wait every morning at 8.30 precisely, for the moment when Arthur would step out of his front door and head down the garden path.
Arthur was tall, and somewhat handsome. But it didn’t really matter whether he was handsome or not, Matilda still watched him with adoration.
She was small in stature, and wasn’t the most beautiful mouse in the neighbourhood, but she had charm, and a dash of wit.
Male mice had come and gone, with none really sticking around long enough to truly appreciate the wonders of Matilda’s personality. It didn’t really matter – she’d set her sights on Arthur since the day he’d moved into number 48 – boxes adorning the front step, a battered old car parked neatly at the rear of the drive.
Matilda, though only a mouse, had a burning desire to let dear Arthur know that he was the one she’d marry.
And so this begins the story of the man and the mouse...

Earthy Matters

Bitter remedies
Passed from ear to ear
Bumped into by god’s guiding hand
Lift me and hear me you cry
Silence drowns the sorrow
Love me like your baby
Hold the earth in its purity
Call on the sacrifice of next door’s flowers
My petunias aren’t looking so well

Morning sunrise
Paints another demise
But it’s tonight’s foreign clouds that rain on December’s earthy prize
Remember the sunlight when the storm takes your lives
It only takes a hurricane to batten down your pride

If only we could live alongside
Hand in hand
We wouldn’t destroy the beauty you breed
It’s all greed and lack of humanity
Battle fields that scream for harmony
A love of two nations supported by your protective branch
And I’m sorry, Mr Willow,
For ever tugging on your arm
I hoped you’d laugh with us this way
But I’m told it’s the stars that are shy
(and I can see why)-
When all of the world is tainted by
Misforgivings, jealous demeanours
And we ruin you
So, I’d like to say –
My washing machine is now set
30 degrees cold

So, humble loving
I honour you
The earth is our joy
The foundations of the air I breathe
Sorry for being not so grateful
When all we do is eat and thrive on greed
And all that you want to say
Is written in the clouds today.

To pass me on the pavement.

I'm sorry, i write in advance, if you are ever to pass me on the pavement.
It doesnt matter whether it's early in the morning or late at night.
I will not look at you,
and if i do,
it'll be from a distance.
A distance so far that you'll never know whether i acknowledged you or not.
I may look at the ground when you approach,
but in fear of looking shy and self conscious, i will instead look elsewhere.
Sometimes i'll glance up the next street,
other times i may look to the sky
maybe i'll look straight ahead,
as if you were never even there.
I may wear an expression,
I may appear totally emotionless
but i'll give you a wide birth,
I won't cramp your style, or force you onto the road
I'll be a kind pedestrian,
sometimes i may flicker a faint smile,
but my friend, i won't direct this at you,
i will not look you in the eye.
and if you smile at me,
i'll look confused,
but once you've passed,
i'll smile too.

Didn't Even Stop To Watch The Clock.

Seeing red,
Cotton thread
Frayed and disarrayed
Stars as they swim, float and collide
Humble kisses as we laugh a lot
The love is strong whilst apples rot
And I’m dancing,
Dancing non-stop
Through the midnight hour
Didn’t even look to watch the clock
Time ticks on when you’re
Bouncing your life away
Dancing your life away
And you’re the only one
That can save me from falling grace.
Time ticks on when you’re
Drinking your life away
Blowing your life away
Didn’t even stop to watch the clock.

Bournemouth Overheard..

Man: ''What do you want to eat?''

Lady One: ''Ooo, chips for me! Chips, chips, chips - look at their chips!'' (pointing to poster advertising chips)

Lady Two: ''Oh no, not those chips, they look anaemic''.

-----Can chips be anaemic??-----

Nothing.

It was a grey wednesday morning. The clouds were dull, the wind was still.
She walked to the corner of town where she always met him. Today seemed different - she had something to say. This was slightly unusual, their meetings were often silent. He would drink apple juice, and she'd have a tea -usually a peppermint tea. Their eyes would meet across the table, a smile would be shared, then one of them would break the gaze and look away. The girl felt her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. She'd met the boy once a week since the beginning of october last year. She knew him well, but not well enough to know what he thought. She'd sit and look into his eyes - trying to read every line and every crease, and what she'd see was nothing. It disturbed her no end; it consumed her mind - it invaded her everyday thoughts.
''Tell me'' she started, ''what do i mean to you?''.
The boy shrugged and adjusted his seat.
''You mean nothing'' he declared, emotionlessly.
And with that, he took a sip from his glass, buckled his shoes, and walked out the door.

The Psychology Of Hens.

On Saturday we added 3 hens to our family. These were bought from a local man who has a collection of around 1,100 hens in his back field. A nice little earner considering each hen provides in excess of 300 eggs a year, and he sells these to major supermarkets and organic farmshops. The hens are hybrids - a mixture of the best egg-laying breeds on the market -Rhode Island Red and Light Sussex. We have kept hens free-range in our back garden since 2000, and since the demise of our much loved patron hen, Hattie, felt we needed to build our hen family up again. So along come the arrival of Poppy, Amber and Etta. They settle in very quickly, and they appear to be getting along rather well.

24 hours later and they are feeding at the trough. Poppy and Etta are contently pecking away, and on becoming aware of this, Amber tries to get in on the action herself. She is gentle and not forceful. However, in noticing Amber's quest for food, Poppy makes a sharp pecking gesture towards her, in which Amber backs away in response. A few minutes later, Etta leaves the trough and drinks some water, hoping then to return to resume her meal. No such luck. On approach, Poppy again gestures at Etta in a domineering and controlling manner. Etta backs away. Amber and Etta watch from behind as Poppy happily pecks away at the dinner provided for all three. It seems that the pecking order has been established; we have a dominant hen.