A modest request

There is no afterlife, I’m sure, yet I often daydream there might be an infinite labyrinth of old passageways and winding staircases, connecting interesting sunlit kitchens to interesting moonlit bedrooms, candle-lit libraries to star-lit beaches. An eternity to watch and listen and understand any thing at any time in any place; I’d like to look over Debussy’s shoulder from writing his first score to his last, and have the time to follow every annual migration of every migrant creature that ever existed. And please, in my heaven, can I have the opportunity to dine and sport with everyone and anyone who ever was and to understand every word and every nuance of their conversation ? That’s all.

An important announcement ...

The loved one called me back to the bedroom this morning because she thought I'd like to know that a major lifestyle change is imminent,

"I'm going to let you do more for me, darling !"

a bit of local colour on a very gloomy morning

so i said to her, if you really loved me ...

... then you'd have set your alarm to kiss me every five minutes

plutarch's magpies and four perfect cartwheels

plutarch ( aka joe hyam, now's the time ) mentions magpies

as i was walking the short distance from the green man to the flat, along the northern edge of putney heath, at a point where the new greenery completely overarches the road, there was a furious screeching and croaking up among the trees and two birds who were literally locked in combat crashed down on to the road through several boughs of new leaves, a furious magpie clutched in the talons of an equally angry crow


as i drove slowly down through ringmer past the green, on my way from lewes to cowbeech, a young man who slumped on a park bench was apparently looking sideways to avoid the eyes of a tall & slender young woman who stood straight in front of him, "bolt upright" as if at attention

she was high-waisted with long straight hair and long straight legs

she didn't appear to speak, but she raised both arms with palms facing up, bent her waist sideways at an impossible angle, and then slowly turned a cartwheel with arms parallel & hands close together, coming upright some way off in the exact posture she had begun the move ... then she instantly performed the mirror cartwheel to arrive back at that point in front of him where she had started

and then ... she lowered one arm and repeated the first cartwheel one handed on her right hand ... and then changed arms, and cartwheeled back to him on her left hand

and then i had passed them and necessarily returned my attention to the traffic

a bridge over the river mole at mickelham

a small viper in ashdown forest

i'd like to have taken more pictures but she was blocking the traffic and i had to help "her" across to the other side with a twig

they'll be smirking in heaven ...

... now that the guardian have re-printed nye bevan's suez speech

http://www.guardian.co.uk/greatspeeches/story/0,,2060161,00.html

wem-ber-lee

the rusty bridge by battersea park station

one handed photo whilst waiting for the lights !

clever crow on the river mole downstream from leatherhead

may

the derelict post office at maidstone in kent

oxford

that darned cat ...

oxford market

so it'll probably be the pink nail varnish today, then ...

i've been fond of this song since about 1967 ... one of the great crowd scenes

They're selling postcards of the hanging,
They're painting the passports brown,
The beauty parlour is filled with sailors,
The circus is in town.
Here comes the blind commissioner,
They've got him in a trance,
One hand is tied to the tight-rope walker,
The other is in his pants.
And the riot squad they're restless,
They need somewhere to go,
As Lady and I look out tonight
From Desolation Row.

Cinderella, she seems so easy
"It takes one to know one," she smiles
And puts her hands in her back pockets, Bette Davis style.
And in comes Romeo, he's moaning
"You Belong to Me I Believe"
And someone says,
" You're in the wrong place, my friend
You better leave".
And the only sound that's left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweeping up
On Desolation Row.

Now the moon is almost hidden,
The stars are beginning to hide,
The fortune telling lady
Has even taken all her things inside.
All except for Cain and Abel,
And the hunchback of Notre Dame,
Everybody is making love
Or else expecting rain.
And the Good Samaritan, he's dressing,
He's getting ready for the show,
He's going to the carnival tonight
On Desolation Row.

Now Ophelia, she's 'neath the window,
For her I feel so afraid,
On her twenty-second birthday
She already is an old maid.
To her, death is quite romantic,
She wears an iron vest,
Her profession's her religion,
Her sin is her lifelessness.
And though her eyes are fixed upon
Noah's great rainbow,
She spends her time peeking
Into Desolation Row.

Einstein, disguised as Robin Hood,
With his memories in a trunk,
Passed this way an hour ago
With his friend, a jealous monk.
He looked so immaculately frightful
As he bummed a cigarette,
Then he went off sniffing drainpipes
And reciting the alphabet.
Now you would not think to look at him
That he was famous long ago
For playing the electric violin
On Desolation Row

Dr. Filth, he keeps his world
Inside of a leather cup,
But all his sexless patients
They're trying to blow it up.
Now his nurse, some local loser
She's in charge of the cyanide hole,
And she also keeps the cards that read
"Have Mercy on His Soul".
They all play on penny whistles,
You can hear them blow,
If you lean your head out far enough
From Desolation Row.

Across the street they've nailed the curtains,
They're getting ready for the feast.
The Phantom of the Opera
A perfect image of a priest.
They're spoon-feeding Casanova
To get him to feel more assured,
Then they'll kill him with self-confidence
After poisoning him with words.
And the Phantom's shouting to skinny girls
"Get Outa Here If You Don't Know
Casanova Is Just Being Punished For Going
To Desolation Row"

Now at midnight all the agents
And the superhuman crew
Come out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do.
Then they bring them to the factory
Where the heart-attack machine
Is strapped across their shoulders
And then the kerosene
Is brought down from the castles
By insurance men who go
Check to see that nobody is escaping
To Desolation Row.

Praise be to Nero's Neptune,
The Titanic sails at dawn,
And everybody's shouting
"Which Side Are You On?"
And Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot
Fighting in the captain's tower
While calypso singers laugh at them
And fishermen hold flowers
Between the windows of the sea
Where lovely mermaids flow,
And nobody has to think too much
About Desolation Row

Yes, I received your letter yesterday,
(About the time the door knob broke)
When you asked how I was doing ,
Was that some kind of joke?
All these people that you mention,
Yes, I know them, they're quite lame,
I had to rearrange their faces
And give them all another name.
Right now I can't read too good,
Don't send me no more letters no,
Not unless you mail them
From Desolation Row.

an early bird ( i didn't like the way he was looking at me )

hazy