Wander to Ponder

Who would wanna go anywhere else, when such beauty is on the doorstep?

Travel is one of those activities I can do by mind or body. When the whim or lack of inspiration strikes, I pack up a bag, and off I go. Writing on the beach has always been a firm favourite, and so was sitting in Portsmouth Historic Dockyard, once upon a time.

I guess, when honesty strikes, I just love being outside. Not one for being cooped up, but the nuts and bolts of my writing craft are generally hammered out inside. You see, my faithful laptop doesn’t like the glare of the sun, tried screens and shades to no avail, and a hint of rain or damp has the keyboard threatening to lock itself out, permanently. Me perch in paradise is not just a dream, but a compromise, allowing me to write, and see, the world in front of me.

Inspiration does not flow freely unless it is allowed to roam, and that my friends, is why I wander to ponder, here, there, and anywhere!

I'm Forever Blowing...

With the aid of eco friendly washing up liquid and scissor handles, I been blowing more bubbles and trying to get arty.

Here's a picture of a string of bubbles, as plain as the day they were took, and then again, after a little insoluble editing:

And the best bubble, of all, landed on the floor:

 

I guess that in many ways, this is what I'm all about. Living on the edge; blowing freely with me scribing, and ironing out the wrinkles when I can. 

Big Baby Bathing

If Mister Valance can go posting pictures of himself in the tub, then so can I. Although, I only tend to sing, fully clothed, in church!

(All that pop, pop, popping, I did by meself, ta very much!)

And seeing as I'm on a tub time team, theme even; here's one of my favourite poems:

Baby’s Epitaph – by Anon

A muvver was barfin’ ‘er baby one night,

The youngest of ten, and a tiny young mite,

The muvver was poor and the baby was thin,

Only a skeleton covered in skin,

The muvver turned round for the soap off the rack,

She was but a moment, but when she turned back,

The baby was gorn, and in anguish she cried,

“Oh where is my baby?”

- The angels replied:

“Your baby ‘as fell down the plug ‘ole,

Your baby ‘as gone down the plug,

The poor little mite was so skinny and thin

‘E oughter been barfed in a jug,

Your baby is perfectly ‘appy,

‘E won’t need a barf anymore,

Your baby ‘as fell down the plug-‘ole,

Not lost, but gone before.”

The "C" Word

No, I’m not going to say it; because if it’s a word I wouldn’t use, then it’s not one I’m going to write.   

When I get riled, I can swear with the best of ‘em, but there is one word I really do not like, and I mean… REALLY do not like, under any circumstances. Those that have seen my temper soar, and heard me curse, are incredulous when they see me openly cringe and object to the “C” word being used.

You see, even considering my occasionally disreputable non-humble opinions, I do not understand why this gender specific noun is used in anger or abuse. Remarkably, a feminist once told me not to get so high and mighty over this choice of expression, which is why I occasionally ponder my personal outrage over this issue.

When disagreements arise, we may be inclined to question another’s parentage due to a poor error in judgement, on either side. The libellous context isn’t always taken seriously, these days, when matrimony doesn’t have the same confirmation of respectability it once had amongst procreating adults. Although, even that, is no excuse to use such an insult at random, either.

When we tell people to go forth and multiply, we hope they go elsewhere to do it. Yeah, yeah, yeah… I’ve used that word, myself, in the presence of grown-ups, when angry, but I’d like to think it wasn’t used as a lame excuse for poor vocabulary.

However, back to the “C” word. After countless hours of thoughtful pondering, as to whether I may be a closet prim and proper prude, I have now realised why this word irritates me so.

When anyone calls another person one of the many pet names adapted for the male member, where some, not all, men’s brains are allegedly thought to stir from time to time, the terms can often be considered in other contexts. Dick, for example, can be a shortening of a more formal elongated name, and when you get the needle, a prick isn’t very nice.  Although, a man may see this perspective very differently and wish to debate my conclusions!

As for the “C” word… well, I only know one meaning for this harsh sounding vulgarism, which is with the female genitalia. Trying not to be too crude, or personal, but how can a bad person, situation or experience be associated with the channel to human creation where innocent new life emerges to take its first breath?