After yesterday’s guest blog on happiness, today I turn to the subject of madness, more specifically my own.
I was approached a few months ago and asked to write a poem for a book being prepared by Bovington Middle School in Dorset, to raise money both for the school’s English deparment and for Help for Heroes. I tried all sorts of ideas before settling on this poem, WHEN THE MIND CRACKS, which is clearly inspired by my own crack-up in 1986.
I never knew why they called it cracking up
Until the crack up
Until I closed my eyes
To chase away the fear
And saw a plate glass
Where a moment ago I saw the world
Turning churning churning turning
Into a maelstrom of noise and colour and people
Who were there
I think they were there
But when I asked them why
Their eyes took them away from me
To a world I wasn’t meant for
So I closed my eyes
And hoped the noise would go
But it grew louder
Till the plate glass shook
The colours merged
Just as the brassband merged with the bagpipes
Merged with the orchestra
Playing the start of the opera
Merged with The Shadows
I’m cracking up … I want Elvis or Johnny Cash or no, Kris Kristofferson
Yes, Kris Kristofferson
And they give me Hank fucking Marvin
No offence Hank
But who put you there? And why?
Always why?
Why blue in the left corner?
Why red in the right?
Why God in the centre?
I don’t do God
But He’s testing me
If not Him who?
Something’s testing me
I’m failing
And the punishment must follow
The tiny hands before my eyes can hold the glass no more
So it shatters into a million shards
Of noise and colour, of voices and music and memory
And each one cuts into the skull
Yet there’s no blood
Or if there is it is
Blue red green brown yellow black
Now mixing so harsh so ugly I can look no more
So I open my eyes again
A man is standing there
His hand reaches out
Touches my shoulder
And he asks if I need any help
The plate glass has broken I say
He nods and I wonder how he can know it has broken
When all he can see is me
Not the millions of shards still flying behind my eyes
Hurting
Enlightening me
As to why
They call it cracking up
** School of Poetry, which includes poems from author Terry Pratchett, TV presenter Robert Llewellyn, as well as students and teachers from the school, can be found at lulu.com
** To order signed copies of Alastair’s diaries via Waterstone’s, click here
That’s quite brave putting that up.Well done
Dylan Thomas, to me, walks on water, poetrywise, but I would say that, since I share his surname and obvious welsh weaknesses. This bit from his Under Mikwood will get anyone going, females most I hope, I quote,
“the only sea I saw was a see-saw sea, with you riding on it. Lie down, lie easy, let me ship-wreck, in your thighs”.
Good. ey?
I’d say a touch of the DTs.
Brave – but stick to the day-job!
Well done! What a pity you’re too late for this annual competition on the theme of mental health. If you read the winning poems, you will see how closely they resemble yours in capturing the agony and the intensity of mental illness.
http://www.rcpsych.ac.uk/members/divisions/southwest/poetrycompetition2011.aspx
And well done (heavy irony) to HMG that has cut funding to the Poetry Society which has in turn had to cut funding for writing programmes for prisoners, too many of whom have mental health problems. I’ve published poetry myself and have been involved in a small way with this sort of work and can testify to the beneficial effects of writing, particularly poetry, on the lives of prisoners suffering from anxiety, depression and other mental afflictions. When will they realise that helping people manage their troubled lives and move away from crime and anti-social behaviour actually protects the public in the long run?
Your comment and recent events have made me think quite a lot about the way we interact with our prisoners Anna. As a society we are rightly addressing the importance of access to the interenet and the issues faced by those who do not have it. But prisoners do not have it and this is becoming a bigger and bigger barrier to their opportunity to interact normally with society.
Being able to post and discuss things on the internet is deeply healing for many too.
I wonder if it might be possible to make internet access a privilage for some prisoners? There would have to be rules. There would have to be both the technology and the personal capacity to ensure that every page they visited was scrutinised. The former is surely easily achievable. I wonder if perhpas the latter might be achieved with the help of volunteers?
Thanks for starting this interesting train of thought. I’m currenrly writing on the way we function intellectually in Web2.0, Web3.0 and Web4.0 environments and am hoping to start a PhD in the ways in which Web4.0 behaviour can be harnessed to enhance democracy (and the practical issues involved in doing this). Anyone interested in chatting about this or sending me comments can find me through my blog:
http://mathseducationandallthat.blogspot.com/
or through this article:
http://www.scribd.com/doc/55142332/Exploring-Discussion-Forums
which starts to lay some of the groundwork for the PhD.
Poetry? are you pulling my plonker? It’s just a belly roar.
I thought poetry was just a belly roar, although I agree that some attention to technique helps to turn a belly roar into art. I recommend James Reeves, ‘Understanding Poetry’. Reeves in particular recommended the writing of ‘poetry’ as a kind of therapy.
St David of Wales. Make of as you want. I am a celtic welsh pagan myself, and have not much interest in Jesus Christ, to tell you the honest truth.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyfXWSVaqUE
AC – I know this is a serious subject and it’s a serious and genuine poem based on real suffering, but I can’t help wanting to lighten the matter a bit by offering the observation that if you preferred Kris Kristofferson to Hank ‘F’ Marvin (formerly Hank ‘B’ Marvin) then you must have been in a bad state!
That’s actually not bad.
That was wonderful. So well described. You have a talent alright.
I adore your honesty Alastair.
The tragic events in Norway have highlighted the contrast between our approach and theirs, which sees crime as being an indication that something is wrong and prison as being the place where the issues generating the behaviour should be addressed in an environment which is as close to normal life as possible.
This line struck me:
“When all he can see is me”
He can see you and he can accept what you are telling him.
He can see you in a way you do not yet understand, or maybe didn’t understand then?
It’s a good piece of writing because it helps to describe the indescribable.
Here’s one I wrote about school improvement (at 87)
http://community.tes.co.uk/forums/t/460595.aspx?PageIndex=9
There was going to be more but it didn’t go down well with the critics.
Interestingly I felt more comfortable writing without punctuation too – or it might have been that I just don’t really know how to punctuate this kind of writing in a way that helped it.
Your poem scared the wotsits out of me
As compulsive but scarey as a little book I’ve read many times ‘Hunger’ by Knut Hamsun
So must you be Dave if you prefer HM to Johnny Cash 🙂
: )))
Tidy, thelonghaul. You have just given me a right belly roar. Well tidy comment, though Alastair might think otherwise, amateur poet or not.
I like this very much, especially your courage in exposing this part of your life. Thanks so much for your continuing work helping to reduce the stigma of mental distress.
I used to be inert,
I used to be inane,
And now I’m ert,
And ane, again.
I too will stick to my day job.
Des Currie
good use of poetry skillz.
More Dylan Thomas for the apparent amateur poets that seem to run this shitty site. ONLY JOKING ALASTAIR! Maybe,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XG1B_7r4y8
Mr Campbell.
I think you are an intellegent, astute and debonair man.
Poetry? Not so much.
Actually I do prefer Hank Marvin to Johnny Cash. These days Hank is based in Perth, Western Australia, and I’m told he does a lot of Chet Atkins-style guitar work. Cash was too full of himself for my liking, and he introduced a lot of sentimental, Republican slush into Country Music, the sort that Ronald Reagan loved to identify with. Remember that dreadful song, ‘No Charge’, rightly satirised many times?
I’ll leave you to your JW (Aaaaaagh) and stick with my political straddler DS ……
Yes he sang about some ‘redneck ishoos’ but mebbe he did so in attempts to get across to poor workers that voting R was not an aspirational thing at all. Y’know, a bit like the way Labour had to use NI etc in order to reach some misled rightists.
He also protested about the death penalty and allied himself with no party; his daughter has very recently denounced Rs trying to claim him as having been one of theirs.
.
Great poem, honest, gritty, write more of them
Adrian Scott
I’m glad to hear about his daughter – do you mean Roxanne? Yes I agree that some of Cash’s work would not have endeared him to Republicans – San Quentin’s a good example. They would have loved him though for wanting not only to support the GIs in the Vietnam War but to go out and fight with them. I expect he was ‘complicated’ (or perhaps ‘muddled’). I doubt if there’s much of a comparison between Cash’s relationship with poor workers and New Labour’s relationship with News International. At the risk of expessing naivety, innocence, inexperience, out-of-touchness, I don’t understand your first sentence – did you have an attack of these flying ants when you said ‘Aaaaaagh’?
A longish comment, if I may – before you post another entry and the theme moves on.
Your poem covers only the first minutes. The initial shock.
The music – in my case it was corny old fashioned fairground organ music sometimes playing ever faster sometimes more slowly but somehow always with a sarcastic tone to it.
Then come the voices – that’s when the real terror of a breakdown kicks in.
Once the voices have established their reason for being in your head – established their story – mine was basically the grommets operations I had as a child implanting the radio control device. (How many other sufferers come up with the same?)
So you find yourself wandering about listening to the control room sometimes taunting, sometimes giving odd instructions like saying a daft phrase 87 times EXACTLY, or else, sometimes saying there’s a party being organised so you go wandering about local restaurants politely asking for the table booked in the name of…..
There’s so much more nonsense that goes on – dangerous nonsense that can so easily end in tragedy. That DOES end in tragedy. I was instructed to jump into the river Avon – I don’t swim. In the end I “renegotiated” it into baptising myself in muddy water near the bank. First my folks saw of this was a pile of muddy wet clothes outside the back door of the house where I’d stripped off to go for a shower (it was early – no-one about at that time). I had another 48 hours of madness after this. It might have been three or four days – might have been longer – I know it included signing up and going to an Alphacourse meeting. I had already called to see a Dr of Divinity based in Cheltenham, the brother in law of a dear friend, who I was “being told” was God’s current reincarnation on earth – we still exchange Christmas cards. Must have been a surprise for him, though, me turning up at his front door at 7:30 on a Sunday morning respectfully babbling religious sounding nonsense. I could swear to this day he and I were “talking” to each other before and after I went to see him, as well as sitting there with him.
Fortunately, on the Wednesday, I drove past dad going the other way near home – flagged him down – said I was hearing voices (and control really really didn’t like that!!) and he took me straight to the doctor’s surgery. My Doc – she is a wonderful lady – had me checked into hospital that afternoon and the recovery started then.
I am a very lucky man. I was very close to complying with the “instructions” to kill myself – too much of a coward to obey.
Looking back I can make that it was a laugh a minute, but not at all so, really.
Definitely not funny at all.
Robert, I think that’s really brave of you to share such an awful experience with us all. It adds to peoples’ knowledge and hopefully understanding of mental health issues also.
I don’t blame those Americans of the 60s/70s that did support their GIs in spirit if not in person. There was conscription after all, if one REALLY sympathises with brutalised people one might empathise with people coerced into taking part in any war (especially those brainwashed as only latter-day Americans could be about ‘socialism’ and other countries’ rights to decide their own politics) ….
Your attitudes are so prescriptive; fancy harking back to a man’s empathies of 40yrs ago and overlooking his attitude to guns, brave in itself in a mad place where gun lobbies portray the UK as a police state because of a ‘work’ of fiction that has been swallowed as a cause celebre and occupies miles of columns on Stormfront et al.
I suppose I would have a similar reaction to flying ants at the door as I
would to certain people knocking on it trying to enlist me to their
‘religion’ but I’m not sure what inspired your ‘idea’ unless it was an attempt at humour (which is unlikely).
Thanks but at the risk of triggering another fit of gratuitous vituperation dare I ask you again to explain the first sentence in your last post but one?
….. ‘gratuitous vituperation’ …. you must be a sensitive soul indeed DS.
It went like this :
AC’s poem ‘objected’ to his having been subjected to HfM instead of JC or KK
You joshed that you didn’t share his preference
In similar vein I joshed with you about mine
You proceeded to defend your choice (as if it’s a competition anyway …. durrrr) then to add some lies about mine’s politics
I offered to leave it at that, me with my wobbly-politics choice and you with your Jehovah’s Witness (a clan that’s even more dislikeable than arch Republicans)
….. and so it droned on …… ‘vituperative’ too?
Thank you Gilliebc – the really important point I did not make is that I was lucky having parents who could take me back home and look after me for the months when the strongest medication was needed. Without that life would have been very very awkward.
If I had had the breakdown more recently, since their deaths or during their late infirmities, again the outcome would have been very different.
As it was I was able to play a large role in their care in their final years which has been good for my own self esteem. It’s also been good for Great Britain PLC as I’ve mde a contribution through my taxes and all but eliminating state care costs for mom and dad (the “all but” being their own NHS medical costs).
Having good effective mental health treatment/care in place pays good dividends for the nation.
Ah – now I understand! Jehovah’s Witnesses! I should perhaps have guessed! There is a recommended rule about acronyms and initials – always give them in full first time round, possibly with the abbreviated version in brackets. Then people will know what you’re talking about.
The JWs have never held the slightest interest for me – I’m only interested in Hank as a guitar player.
Quit the attempts at disciplining please 🙂
…… otherwithe I will thcweam and thcweam at you to have uthed your browther, any browther for a thearch on ‘JW’, it would have been that thimple, much droning ago.
OK next time I get stuck I’ll contact my brother.
Since it is Friday night, so may I propose and compose a poem, for Alastair, to show how it is done, AND THIS is off the cuff, totally, right now.
Mind, don’t mind,
it is only a bunch of cells, that plays,
with your mind,
Synapses, it is only a junction, as on a road,
that gets clogged with traffic, of another nature.
Worry if you want, but it won’t get you further along,
you might as well piss into the wind with your thoughts.
Depression, that happens on a full moon,
when we bark into the sky or when rain comes in.
Sun, oh yes sun, which gives us strength,
then buggers off for six months and makes us sin.
The Doc says, my chemicals are not right in the brain,
but who I am to argue, he could be right, but yet again.
Death comes to us all, but how?
now that is enough to make you worried, and wonder now.
Ok, ok, more prose than poetry, butI hope you get the feeling. Cheer up Alastair, you constant occasional miserable Scottish yinit. People love you, and understand you – well, some of us do! : )
A different, but shorter poem, but with more intense stanzars, or whatever professional poets call them things.
Depressions high and low,
can be called a hill and a valley,
going here and though.
Manic depressions the same,
but become a Star War scene,
trying to save a Princess dame.
In a World of your own,
trying to find the key,
but given a lock not actually known.
Cracking up as a complete pan of glass,
and not knowing where you are,
time to say, yes, I am really completely off my arse,
Thought I would put that last line in for pathetic amusement laughs from the gallery around abouts.
What if the bloke who asked you if you needed help was God? Or perhaps God doesn`t do you.
How thin can the answers get… : )
Just a justification joke, Get it, justification? i am wasted on this site,and there’s me trying my very best… trying to many no doubt
: )
Justinian is a great name for a baby boy these days, isn’t it Alastair? If I spawned a boy today, that is what I would call him. And his mates in school would call him Justy – CLASSIC!
Bugger it, another poem, off the cuff. Might sound bollocks, but who gives a fuck?
Riots, riots, where do they come from.
the pantry kitchen, or from another storm.
Lads that are dancing their storm,
where do they come from, the norm?
Girls, behind their men,
are stirred with flem.
Tottenham has been boiling,
but not as a sweet.
Croydon is not comfortable,
as their ex furniture store.
London, drop your draws
and expose yourself,
what you actually are,
and up yours.
I’m a poet,
and didn’t know it.
Sod it. a poem for Engalnd cricket.
Rose propose, over two hundred not out,
makes me feel I should be a woman, no doubt.
Irish, backing you up,
now that is humanity, so shut up.
India, don’t worry,
tea and curry.
Go England, play the game.
win, and fuck the fame.
It is said the swans are playing away,
with things, that are gay.
Manchester United, and Fergie,
Yes, he is the skys bergie,
Sodding off ones that doesn’t agree.
managers that don’t sit on his knee.
Bobby Charlton. Allan Clarkes friend,
Many others, no doubt, no end.
Georgie Best, with his dying liver,
even though we knew he was a giver.
Sportsmen, when old, they go tits,
but at least they don’t go nuts on the whole.
Wales, 19-9,
goodbye england,
19-9.
Played your games,
but you didn’t win,
with your spin
Hook, but not Hookie,
from a problem zulu or boar.
Cracked a try,
that any english, will not deny
Come on England,
World Cup up, but are you,
are going to play like fuck,
as today?
Bugger it, come on up,
Ireland England Scotland and Wales.
We don’t to muck.
and play like fuck.
We love each other really,
even if we try and deny.
British Isles,
with their styles,
Catholic protestant islamic,
hindu or whatever.
I love my nation,
and think, we are together.
Preacher Eli Jenkins, from Dylan’s Under Milkwood,
“those that are rising and raising their blind”.
Now that is what you call poetry in words.
Cameron has come around, to sense,
but as bound, gives no ground.
Dave, you cannot save,
because you have not been a slave.
Tories, with their pathetic stories,
trying to find some glories.
Britons, don’t worry,
we will find our own glory.
Men, women, girls and boys,
we will smash their toys.
Find peace to live,
and give.
Wisdom, and new dome?
on the mind of a soul, of mankind.
I find it isn’t so, with souls,
going here and fro.
Nastiness, when you feel it, when young,
digs a hole deep in your soul.
Hard to fill, when older,
even though you try get bolder.
In a pub local, picking up fights,
that you think is important, and showing might.
Coppers keep picking you up, even if they are weak,
playing their games, the establishment speak.
Never mind my friends, let it wash,
a ducks backs it always should be so.
Let them carry on, and do so,
and rememeber, I’ll be your broth, and try and do so.
Off the cuff, in a huff
I might write these poems,
worms and all stuff.
But with true complete feelings,
as like a complete wife over
the kitchin drain making peelings.
Vegetables on the street,
giving problems to peelers
but all want is just a meet.
To complain as a fish wife,
to tell off all to all
and put down their knife.
Saying the country is really sick,
under the skin right under
well true and thick and sunder.
BBC spouting off as a Daily Mail,
not in touch with ones
that want life and want to sail.
Channel Four not that bad,
channel five simple on the whole
but not quite as that sad.
ITV, Corry Street and Emmerdale,
showing our society in fact
not that bad but slightly quite pale.
Health in mind and body and soul,
is the aim I think for all
and don’t let them put us over the coal.
Living life healthy happy and free,
and to help the world
which we need to be.
Welsh poem, off the cuff again, ar rhyd y crisiau fi,
Arglwydd, beth sydd yn digwydd,
man a fan.
Pobl yn wneiud eu gwaith,
gyda faith,
Troseau popeth,
gyd dyma faith,
Cynu tan pob man,
dim abadenwych dynan.
Ferch neu bechgyn,
rhiwle yn cachyn,
Sim mots, dyna ni,
mae ty, yna, i ni.
It’s South Wales Carmarthenshire welsh by the way, and maybe my old welsh teacher will need to slap my bottom on some words, well a lot really. Artistic poetic licence is my excuse. Very crosover.
A-levels, O-levels, U-levels, or whatever,
don’t worry, you will find your level.
Banging on a computer PC keyboard,
to UCCA feeling like a complete toad.
Trying for yourself to find a place
for them it is their total disgrace.
But don’t worry on their crashes,
you’ll be alright, you’lll be smashers.(!)
Good luck, our brilliant future generations,
bollocks world, but with their impressions.
i think I have run dry, poetrywise. I am getting pretentious now….
Dry, dry, where can my next words come from,
said a lad in number ten panicking,
from his Cornwall retreat looking like a plum.
Maybe I should say behave all,
but that might stir glory,
with those that have fury.
Maybe I should say somethings like this,
we will beat you with sticks,
maybe they will give up, or is it a miss?
Shove them in a concerntration camp,
not that damn genius I think,
hold on, Geneva convention and all that pomp.
Gallows then, or am I going too far,
the electric chair then,
I think I am loseing it,
and can only sit and stare.
Happy holiday in Corwall Dave. August bank holiday – get the whole bloody arsenal out, just in case. I do not know anything, but two weeks after last, copycat? From ones who missed the “party”? I hope to God not, but….
i think I have run dry, poetrywise. I am getting pretentious now….
Dry, dry, where can my next words come from,
said a lad in number ten panicking,
from his Cornwall retreat looking like a plum.
Maybe I should say behave all,
but that might stir glory,
with those that have fury.
Maybe I should say somethings like this,
we will beat you with sticks,
maybe they will give up, or is it a miss?
Shove them in a concerntration camp,
not that damn genius I think,
hold on, Geneva convention and all that pomp.
Gallows then, or am I going too far,
the electric chair then,
I think I am loseing it,
and can only sit and stare.
Happy holiday in Corwall Dave. August bank holiday – get the whole bloody arsenal out, just in case. I do not know anything, but two weeks after last, copycat? From ones who missed the “party”? I hope to God not, but….
True story here – a poem made by a friend I used to know, Vanessa Thomas(copyright 1998), a South Wales semi-amateur poet, on me, on when I met her and got to know her, and her noticing how much of an emotional wreck I was at that time with her. She liived on benefits bringing up four children, when she had to move miles from where she lived previous due to dangerous family problems, if you get what I mean.
TRADEMARK
He came to see me, then went away,
He loves a girl of yesterday,
She’s left a mark, she’s left a scar,
His heart won’t open, it’s just ajar.
He picks on me, whenever I try,
Because of this girl, she’s the reason why,
I show him I love him and that I care,
But in his mind, she’s always there.
His understanding is wearing thin,
His heart and love, no-one can win,
He’ll pick on me, whenever he can,
This impassive and imperative man.
My love for him is very strong,
In my eyes he does nothing wrong,
I’ll stand by him, even though there’s a scar.
Even though his heart is only ajar.
He’ll soon, I know, not want me any more,
The scar, it hurts him, right to the core,
His loneliness will seek another,
But he can only love as a brother.
He came to see me, then went away,
He loves a girl of yesterday,
She’s left a mark, she’s left a scar,
His heart won’t open, it’s just ajar.
Many thanks to Vanessa, and she used my surname to publish the book, and not her surname because of her own problems from the past, and wanted to be semi-anon, bringing up four children. An incerdible offbeat intelligent woman, four years older than me.
Anyway, that is life sadly. You have your problems, and I have my bed also made.
Some might be wondering why I use the extra fourth line in the last verse sometimes, and sometimes an extra line in the first. Well, I follow what has become familiar in “pop” songs, but they repeat their last two lines in same words in songs, so I have adopted it and have it different, and I think it has good effect. My poems are shit by the way, semi-cultural at the most. Anyway, I make them off the cuff, and if I was any dood at it I would be a pop lyric writer making loads, as Carole King did and does,
watch?v=Z8q0DXY5UmQ
Scunt a runt or…
Oxford dic, tell us all.
I known but won’t tell,
to you here and all.
Them nasty words
home counties turds.
Where do they exist,
to be besist.
In the palour?
no, not on lager.
In the kitchen?
with ladies witching.
No, profame at it’s best.
is done under arrest.
Or in a pub talking,
trying profamity stalking.
Swaring is alright,
as long as might,
behind it, you are able
to put the fight.
Fred, up earning bred,
Dibnah, saying what yah.
On his horse of iron,
fuming stinking but lion.
Travelling the country,
with his own back pantry.
Knocking down chimneys,
or pegging them up, knees.
Fred, sad you are gone dead,
great bloke, when all done and said.
Ace of Hz,
with all their farts.
That seemed to work,
unseen via a berk
Talent, brit and all,
there is no need to fall.
We have our talent,
completerly concetrated.
Depends what the bollocks wants to do
display, or play games to do.
Top of the Pops BBC style.
Ronnie Laine, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PR6MFy9gl4
Tripoli, Italy, old Roman,
and all old silly.
Not known in whole,
but it is, an historical ball.
Sand inland, by the ton,
OK oil also, under their sun.
Gaddafi has yes lost his way,
but come on, try make him sway.
He hasn’t been that bad.
though exit makes him sad.
Colonel, militarily not the wall.
if, highness, you do not stall.
Full time has been called for you Colonel, but you will be well looked after in your retirement, I am sure of it. It is a funny ol’ world, but things move on, Colonel, you must realise that.
Robert from scrapheap?
If so, I am starstruck.
Can you do my laundry for me? : )
I think I am getting used to being a pauper poet, even though I have a roof over my head, and my dad looks after me, even if I go bonkers artistically with him at times, as you do….
WHARRRT?
BBC or Alex won,
or another son, Duncan.
The Hour, the beeb put out,
to expose as they were, as prefered.
Empire tools, exposed,
in 2011, well fucking exposed.
Anyways, hope things have moved on,
I shout, without Sheperds Bush popping up mong.
And reflect our country now, cotswolds fairy land,
Rupert the Bear and north-east with their canny-lands?
Hope you picked up on the the past present and future time travel in this poem. Vanessa was, yes, from Barry originally, was once my lover. And her mother had a few, well, children from several fathers. Vanessa knowns her father was a South African based sailor, but knowing her, and looking at her, around here, he wasn’t anything dutch, must have looked south wales silures as here.
Dylan Thomas, it is, isn’t it?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMRz1_ZqllY
Made great propoganda lines during WWII, the best, thought the post englih establishment are yet to admit. Watched UKTV Yesterday the other day on the bombing of britain, and the pathe cinema came out during the war with perfect Dylan Thomas what he obviously wrote.
August bank holiday,
a need for another poetry?
Thankfully brits are quiet,
and the hurricane storm.
Blasting down buildings,
that can’t stand the weather.
Secret storms that felt,
with people not dealt.
Smouldering discontent maybe,
or it was just there could be.
Anyway, all and over thankfully,
lanced boiled hopefully totally.
Jim Clark, now that is one,
magical in his trade,
driving cars,
a sportsman made.
Renowned above Fangio,
Stewart, Fangio, Scumacher,
Ultra fast and calm,
cutting just right turn maker.
Died sadly doing his trade,
not in a ’40 Spitfire maybe,
but a choice he made,
plying his own choice of trade.
My dad is sad, trying to his life over, still,
when it is over, time for another skill.
Denying he is a total tool,
now bagged and can’t produce a stool.
A fool to himself, well known,
Drag his son to his own meatures.
That is what I have to put up with,
a fool, always looked after, but they have gone,
so I am left, from the capital of Llannon.
Mental Health UK Report
Clicked on something last night, that loaded a spoof pc repair wotsit that locked my computer, and in sorting it out hid all my personal files. Now I am not saying it is the link above, but I recommend it might need checking out.
By the way, managed to unlock my computer through going back to the basic DOS level, then unhid my personal files.
As I said, it maybe not the above link – it may have been something else I clicked on. Better to be safe than sorry and check it.
Flagged the below link “mental health report” due I think it loaded a pc repair spoof on my PC that locked it. Had to do a system restore from low DOS level, and unhide my personal files it hide. It may have been something else I clicked on, but best to be safe than sorry and check the link for yourselves.
World Cup rugby soon coming up,
but will NZ again come up short stump.
Bottle it totally like a small ship,
get to the semis and totally dip.
Ireland no chance, Scotland more,
England booed, when Wales score.
Ozzies booed like nobodies,
La France? boats bombed harbour bodies.
Hoke fish is all I have to say,
from NZ, and bloody well tasty.
Not long posted on Wolf Tones Black and Tans kick arse music as a poem but sadly, yootoob don’t accept justification lines of poetry in comments, so, as it is, I will trproduce it as such,
time for another poem… Glasgow, glasgow, preachers head in hands, death threats all seem from invading sands. Time travels very fast. hate, how long can it last? Modern times, keyboard banged, big and small, fingered scored. Fingers like pigs nipples, swelled, clumbsily simples. But the main thing is to get over the bump, to local understanding, accept, thems thoughts put on a dump.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORifieiZiP4
Great tactical move to have Eire neutral during WWII, even though they weren’t really. Bit like Spain and Germany I suppose.
But paddies built our new concrete plane runways during the war here, and many many other things. Neutral? Give it a rest.
Dai Greene is no doubt been seen,
across our country, slightly mean.
Jumping over hurdles like a horse,
a course fox a clever four legs.
Two legs is that what he got,
no sign of a saddle not.
Chinless south-easterners, on your Downs,
upon horses,
think of this Llanelli lad did, over hurdles bound.
FOR YEWS.
Ungrateful twats. Seb Coe – can’t stand the tory git. Give me Steve Ovett any fecking day. Seb is a twonk!
Scarlets v. Aroni, an Italian team,
from up their north rarely seen.
Italy, trying to play the game,
rugby, to some footies inane.
Parc y Scarlets tomorrow we welcome,
our roman old friends to play.
In our amphitheatre small and plion,
but this time without any old lion.
Gladiators though truelly abound,
from both sides, future hopefully renound.
I like my rugger, it is war controlled,
as long as the ref is well fucking balled.
what? WHARRRTT!
Vanessa, your mother was a wrong ‘un,
as life produces some said.
Your grands looked after you,
grandad, masonic leather aproned.
Heartbroken when grands went,
finding love when truck Fishguard driving.
Inheritance, France well visited,
buying an SDI Rover, cash paid.
Back to UK and Weston-Super-Mare,
buisiness Woman of the year, dare.
But attract a hubby that was not square,
motorbike business helped set up,
but hands not used for spanners once,
hospital had to take care.
say no more…
“couldn’t you care, my wife and your husband?”.
Dylan should have butted in here and said “I was only keeping the oven hot for when you eventually come home, to stop it drying out”, but as a typical poet, he didn’t have the balls to saying it, when faced with a brand new experienced killer.
But he spoke well for the Captain in court, a great verbal reference for him in fact, and Captain got off with just a well good telling off, and told to try and his best to get over what he experienced within war. Captain and his wife had a very, very happy lifetime marriage, and yes, for him, her oven was always hot.
More tea Vicar?
Alastair, emailed Disqus on what I posted last night about my “expand profile” strange(!) user name that has appeared there, and this is the reply I got,
“To change your name you would need a full Disqus account which you can register here: http://disqus.com/register Be sure to use the same email so you can merge your comments and change your profile information here: http://disqus.com/accountRegards,Giannii ”
I will do as said tomorrow sometime. Obviously something rogue has happened, but that is online life it seems at times. Hopefully I will have no problems doing it.
By the way, MicheleB has a strange username with her “expand profile” too – checked others, but didn’t come across any other strange ones.
Dave Simons, it’s Captain Cat the blind old sea captain saying it, in Dylan’s Under Milkwood, when dreaming when afternoon napping in his house, Schooner House, when retired and old, remembering, sub-consciously. Therefore the sea state references in his dreams is of landlubbering conquests when young of ladies.
Circadian rhythm movements coming up,
with NZ rugby time upsidedown.
I have already started bedding at six,
and rising at two with a frown.
Six weeks of kiwi time coming,
I will have to endure,
To catch things live and alive,
on ITV’s coverage hopefully pure.
Amateur coverage that no doubt,
will wince my rugger bones.
But at least it will all be, think,
enthusiastic not run by bores.
Good luck to ITV1 and ITV4,
but get ready for criticism online.
Totally and extraordinarily,
from the usual rugby whores.
Drop your draws as in guns, rather than drawers undergarments.
Why am I starting to annodate my poems….
I am getting really sad now.
Anyway, reminds me of a great poem of Dylan Thomas, again, as him a chaotic professional poet, in small hours of the his morn – enjoy,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NIoXV-HXobo
Vanessa’s one of 63 in her book, but a poem on London homeless in the 1980’s and tory ’90’s, which we hope to god will not return to with the present regime,
Cardboard Coffins
No-one to turn to
Nothing to do
Nowhere to go
No-one to know.
No shoulder to lean on
Everything’s wrong
No listening ear
To wipe the odd tear.
No parent, no friend,
No money to spend
No shelter to sleep
Things are not cheap.
Nothing to eat
No shoes on my feet
Nowhere to go
As I sit in the snow.
A cardboard box for my bed
A rucksack underneath my head
At night, London’s a cardboard city
Hundreds of us, what a pity.
Last line is a dig at liberal conservatives head in sand inactives, claiming expenses,as I translate and create in my own personal mind. Make of as you want.
ISBN 0906821363
OOPS – 65 poems even.
Googled her ISBN but it doesn’t show. It was published by Carmarthenshire County Council in 1998.
No idea where Vanessa is these days, since I have worked all over the world since, and lost touch.
Piscataway in New Jersey, and Willmington, near Boston was interesting, after 9/11. We had a healthy discussion about it when I visited Piscataway, but the bloke I had to deal with in Willmington treated me as a member of Osama’s family, the tital yank numbnuts, everything foriegn wanted to bomb them or something! That was a seriously hard engineering gig, and yes, I wanted to flatten him, the yank prick twonk, but I resisted, oh yes I do, but it is still inside, and I should have invited him onto Main Street, for a DRAW! And I would have won easily. Yank wonk.
Shit my pants though when on a plane when that plane went into the ground for other reasons in Long Island, which the capatain informed us as we landed at Boston. I am a sensitive man…. But one on one, I can give as I get. WHAAARRRT?
Tenniis poem. Tennis US Open, well wankered by rain from Mother Eart.
Well, Flushing Meadows, well soaked,
with what Greenland melted ice in the sky?
With burning constant lights and fuel,
seen from the Moon, you try and deny?
Murray slippering on lines, and the spanish one,
falling off his seat with cramp.
Weather up the East Coast.
strange and seems ramp up.
Four years it is with this,
rain not expected.
Any message yankies,
burning proffered?
Oliver Reed and Rita Tushingham with my best whiteman early history of north america, trapping, in the mid 1800’s, or maybe earlier,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJMWStIvUN8
To tell you the truth, I could be still working for Pyramid Engineering Sevices in South London, selling micro-electronic processing equipement top-drawer stuff from the old ultra-successful SLEE company before them, but when the bubble burst, and the people I had to get on with from Bookham Technology from Abingdon and Swindon, and Nortel, thought miles better and brillianter, in Paington, I realised, British Industry is not properly supported and is amateur total shit, and that is due to Thatcher way back, and the way she destroyed it’s confidence, which exists to this day.
Coalition Clegg twats have reinforced it with the Sheffield Forgemasters nonsense as soon as they got in. Clegg? Start fill you CV in, you won’t get back in in 2015.
TWONK!
Gary Lineker, Alan Hansen and that Shearer,
Over-confidents golf course botherers.
On Match of the Day spieling shite,
Knowledge human lacking might.
Alex, keep them sorts rod length,
gobby shites with their oncourse clubs.
Trying to run things with a G n’ T,
Corbett short at their side, looking like a tee.
Horses and courses is a better view,
to see common man deal and lose.
As on the streets, and we play the game,
of life, win lose draw, always same.
What makes you think these golf-course sports telly pundits wind me up with their over-arrogant comfortableness? hate the creepy bastards in fact, they make my skin crawl.
Alastair – Dylan Thomas just simple describing when he stayed with his auntie on a farm in west wales, on his school hols, which magical lived his mind. As in “a dog barked, farmyards away”. Stunning words.
France, can you dance, as Asterix,
Germanic times into the mix.
Napoleon short of stature,
but not of attitude.
De Gaul.big nosed tall,
jackel bullet did not fall.
Tati?, now, this one,
un Jacques homme drôle’n.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZkS6ANHZa-A
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_92Cm8gl7Ls
Good gawd! Come around back here to read the above poem what I posted, and I have even impressed myself, and I am proud to admit it. I know, Alastair, you are good mates of Fergie, but he reminds me of the old Leeds manager Don Revie, battling south-eastern english shitoes, if you get what I mean, which both of you will no doubt do.
But hope Swans stay up this season, though. Fergie – got a couple of lads spare, by any chance? : )
I am pissed and cannot sleep,
Namibia and Fiji creep.
Wales scored, they can go far,
to show the world bizarre.
Rugby, hammer and tongs,
is a game ulike ping-pong.
Nutting nuts, against heads,
countries pound in their steads.
Wingers flying when asked,
hopefully around props arsed.
Rugby, union, is a strange game,
war controlled, without medals and that fame.
I semi-blog on Alastairs blog, as we do,
prostituting ourself to Campbell pimpido.
Speiling shite, whatever comes to mind,
anything goes, see hear smell or blind.
I like this site, blogged, haggis flavoured and all,
no, british isle and Oireland, we will not fall.
More western isles gaelic music from via North America,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHe2H2WOQXs
Namibia put away,
welsh young lads play.
Fiji and sleepless nights,
I always worry without might.
Pound on, Oz vee Wales,
final flamed, NZ recenently caned.
With taffy stick, with our young lads,
we will make the world look like a priii, more tea vicar?
my spelling is atrocious. I will have to remember how to spell “spieling” correctly sometime.
Where is this little england,
all loverly and also sundry?
Wimbledon wombled with
rubbish all around abound?
Alderney living, what does she know,
tennis and cricket her husband spout.
BBC indian emporers and empirers,
came back with their Victorian old shout.
Victoria’s bed they have stayed,
return to infesting BBC’s new led.
Cliff with his pop songs, coffee cafe,
but Spike M no who knew a Naafi.
Rubbish who came back, arrogant,
servents barked at with rant.
Empire, what for? for Rome?
Ugly game, Chist’s no dome.
Just a poem to show up of the claim of Rome for the right to say everything about Jesus Christ and his mother. I await some cardinals to tun up at my door, to put me right….. and to have a good go at BBC history, and the people they employed, many returning from the Indian subcontinent in the late 1940’s, just to give them a job.
If ever you get renumatitive for my speilings/spielings, please let me know – I will give you a 10% cut Alastair, Ok, you are pushing it now, 20% then, you robbing tight fisted scottish basteward.
Capitalism, who invented it?
The local market, barter it?
Git, Jack, a few beans,
grow monkeys seen?
A new party in our land,
that say land is not sand?
Jack says Rory says it called Tory,
Mother says, does a supplement come that Mail on Sunday?
I, I believe need to understand ourselves,
before you should go out your door.
To a world to explore, in ignorance,
my aristocratic friend, in pence.
Lowly brit, can speak the international speak,
on the street, not like you as a high freak.
Gobbling on your words, confused,
a lady pick up lost, Manchester dude.
They make me laugh, with their free scarfe,
trying to still run it, even with their cold bath.
If, the film, was a message, heard absoured,
I think, and totally ostrich sand ignored.
Jesus, I write poems all my life it seems, and when I get around the realisation of the concept of editing, rather than be a flash poet, I might lose something in the feeling.
Why to I sound suddendly like Skripps from Heartbeat – you know the one, the one that was Benny from Crossroads, or was it the binman from Corry. Sorry Beeny from Crossroads, he was in Corry.
Anyway, when my present financial situation changes when “events” happen, I think I know which route to go on. I have a bookfull of simple ideas already.
Just a taster – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4NUeYCEnjg
I could expand my emaulings,
to lands humans fallings,
and editors maulings, ignorant.
Modern day callings, yawnings,
to old men, old speak callings.
Concrete mind, not modifying,
nor conforming to modern mind.
Where to go then, we are calling,
disappear into a mind failing,
or another world more imaginative,
where 2011 speaks today impressive.
I have had to have councilling, a couple of times,
to cope with family health and stuck in their times.
Irrationality, builds up with time and overseas dime,
but at the end it is not important and benign.
Living life with blinkers on, ahead only,
ones around with lateral thinking lonely.
Seeing the world as seems go bonkers,
growing old and becoming Willy Wonker.
quite amusing, I think…
I write these poems, to make it easy,
realise lads boxers and ladies knickers.
How easy it is for ones condusive,
how to be culturally inclusive and indusive.
Yes, ladies knickers I prefer,
bisexual, I have been described.
But basic male love is asexual,
python length though and all.
Lads that like lads is sweet,
an old thing, no need to tweet.
Primary school did meet,
ladies too, love lipping meet.
Ahem! more tea vicar? Young people, you certain ones, writing poetry is easy. Don’t be like me, that put it off for forty years. My first poem was a song, for an imaginative pop group, I called Huw and the Kippers, which my younger brother laughed his arse off in being totally impressed in it’s humour and cuttingness.
I like to be judged as a present this exact day poet spieling, speiling shite appealing, to modern man/lady on the street wealing. Poets are not renound, xFactor they are not appealing, but fashion changes, and we might suddenly might become appealing, as Craig from Red Dwarf. WHAT? smegghead
You sit in your place, in your school,
battling your instincts against the rule.
Say you should think this with their that,
wanting to shout “teach, your a total prat”.
But that is not the case, teachers case,
they are only what is good now, and not their face.
Yes, teach, is only doing a job well gobbed,
trying his best, Please Sir Alderton you should score.
Hundred comment, but not one eighty,
as Jim bulley, that gets you an onion.
Bother this thread, fed,
Theads of poetry instead.
One-Hundred-and-Eighty geordie said,
Oxbridge educated, love it, when all done and said.
An appreciation poem for Sid Wadell and his love of darts. A great bloke. Anyone remember the Indoor League with the super brilliant old Yorkshire and England fecking fast bowler of old, Fred Trueman? I do. Ay-oop Fred, ow yoo doing oopstairs,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_XIzQGR3JY
Welsh young lads play sway and play,
in mirror of us playking fools games.
Said it alreay, Oz vee Cymru, final sorted.
Kiwis dscovered, history is not their side,
discovered now uncovered with that pride.
Auckland, New York and shit, who’ll give it?
It’ll be a good sunday of exibition of rugby with above sunday date.
I have a terribly dust allegy, morning boaking.
no wooden floors can put right.
My immune system is god would only know,
fucked up not crisket or ant game.
But it stimulates my mind, secret immune,
Poems spieled, celtic indian western immune.
Alastair, you love me, utterley, completely. shovely poems, on site putadley, prostitudely, cricket battedly. Jonathan, my old mate on ruger telley, Daviesally, whilley, golf clubs not grass smelly. that’s enough, I have run out of puff, wordswise
Nought, doubt, my great grand mam,
died young also daughter earlier,
Hetty and Elisabeth well remembered,
Harthill so very well in mind recovered.
Photos seen, dad and Gertie,
Harthill, don’t worry, I’ll be your Bertie.
Italian friends, you know I made,
Jonney in Tumble sorted nine.
He loved me non-catholic ices creamed,
and I loved hima man dreamed.
With his bumper games, italian fame,
Jonnie, well remembered, colliery opposite famed.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKqCtOUeXbY
By the way, that was the start of my conections to Italian families, if you get what I mean. England is thata way. Good morning.
Putting the world to right we fight,
might but me hope for lady tights.
Saying observing and again saying,
without a chapel or church visit with praying.
Dear lord, a little prayer I make,
for little people born to die.
We are not wholley good nor bad,
with us all born to only die.
OK, last couple of verses was ripped off from Dylan Thomas’ Under Milkwood’s Parch Eli Jenkins’ evening eulogy, but Dylan won’t mind, in his right seat upstairs.
“hardly out of his nappies” – brilliant line from Fred.
Fiji worried, I shouldn’t have been,
incredible performance this morning seen.
Sixty-six nil, lads full of beans,
young, welsh, and incredible scene.
Oz v. Wales final it will be,
result? who knows not mean.
I fell in love with Ollie Reed, and Rita Tushingham with her taste of honey with Dora Bryan, years ago. I am a bit like Ollie, self-destroying, if you get what i mean, but I am enjoying it, so don’t worry. Ollie on Parkie, enjoy,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYLx7KP1ucY
If you want to play bagpipes with anyone Alastair, channel four should send you over to north america to play in a scene with the ex-Scots there. Just a thought.
Oops, got it wrong Sky Arts, pay-for-view. Tell them to get their wallet out to make a proper job of it.
furthermore “scarfe” is a reference to the cutting cartoonist, that appeared in high-brow newspapers in recent decades. i will have to stop this annowotsitness…
Some of Scarfe’s work was in this, filmwise,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pr-JoqFVC5E
Praise, and raise? not these days,
unless you are a banker wanker.
Us lot far from their City ways,
with them as a money tanker.
Us on their form of streets,
are left to bin pick scraps.
For them to keep in living,
to the living in their traps.
Fools are we to endure this,
oil trade, and time split made.
How to change, profits made,
from fantasy money not fade.
Who knows, revolution of sorts,
or London City wall used?
If City they give some slack,
maybe we’ll then futures pull back.
No need to say further about the above, appart from posting some Pulp and Javis Cocker from, again, Sheffield. I have a fixation of Sheffield. I have some great photos of Sheffield from about ’44/’45 when my nan and my dad visited there to see our relatives,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yuTMWgOduFM
Joining the armed forces, I kew I had to be within the lines.
But I was, life brit looking at pathetic personal official lines.
They knew I think, my then present secret personal whines,
looking at nuclear, on basic camp, in ’85, the alarm whinned.
An education it was, better than any can conform.
Respirrator, underground of with CSG,
Breathed saying, Corporal, cough, I support your team.
Life building character scenes I seeked and a dream.
But, we were paid for the front line, but as I a technician?
behind the lines aircraft cleverly kept together without ommision?
Lads army should be paid. loads more, and more pension paid.
Spanners like me, was like an estate agent unlike a coffin be.
jesus christ, i do not know what to say
might as well post another one, I will have to look on beeb news telly from Sian and Bill, first thing they say I will make something up, it is 6:43 now, here goes,
Four hundred million, BBC are involved,
fighting self-involved total penis belled.
Who gives these comfortable self-centered,
comfortable leather chaired totally numptied.
Salford, get orf your arse, walk, and see you there,
if you want to continue your career in Madmanch YEH!
welcoming committee will be led by Shaun Ryder, I have alledgedly heard,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C3XIlEUO-VE
Saturday standing square, but with no exciting footie scores coming in.
Here we you and all stand with excitement last night sent off scored.
Rugby is thin in certain places and faces and described as wasted.
True, it it is self-involved with us rugby cases totally mad natives.
But english rugger club is the biggest natives, oh yah look at her,
and look at them, failed, money pounds at the door or any bar.
England rugger team were like a past time off and on the field,
hope footie round bladder will show thwm up to full-time yield.
bloody disgrace
Poem that Dylan Thomas wrote when he was sixteen/seventeen, that blew the mind of his 1930’s communist minded well older friend that ran a corner shop on St. Helens Roadnear him then, even thought Dylan was never communist – he was everything, maybe apart from nazi,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruh7uQ9hSQk
Though Dylan had a brilliant editor, his dad, DJ. Master of English at Swansea Grammar School, up Mount Pleasant, up Mount Pleasant before the war that is, before half of it got bombed flat.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFwBi-c01p8
Banks and society going down,
also welsh principality with a frown.
Downgraded,retarded, told capitalist,
West Bromwich, first mortgage desist?
Culture of kick the dog of one small,
I think is going well on here and now.
Bigboys finding ones to offload score,
to management wankered take doh.
To save themselves, Wimbledon tickets,
for in their freinds minds, teeshirt nipples.
Pathetic lot, in a world of their total own,
not knowing when to give up the gown.
These banckers sorts need the harsh reality of unemployment, from top to bottom involved in this plastic trade of lifes fantasy, not reakky existing money. It never appears on our streets, ever, does it? Ladytron about it, White Elephant,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cKEy0BFfQw
Magical irish gaelic song, sung in both gaelic and english,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lV4Serbwg0k
Travel, but in your mind the miles will be short, you could say.
Liam Fox, we not want to go,
but to say the truth such so.
What are yo we need to know,
so your own country can say so.
Clouded lines an aircrft can fly,
as any person a montain nearby.
Come out what your secret is, desist,
in what some say, a marriage excist.
One arranged you think for things look good,
but we will one day will elect a PM that takes it up the toad,
open.
Irelande, où étiez-vous? Dans votre dômes prêtre, cachés? Vous avez joué ordures, espérons que la France joue comme les hommes. Rendez-vous à Auckland, en France – ho-ho-ho!
Nous allons boire du vin rouge ou amer gallois, quoi qu’il arrive, Jacques
And proudley open. If anyone watched the BBC scientific documentary the other night, you will realise the line between male and female is well blurred. I have been promoting this for years, since being a pretty male with urges towards females, but seem to attract the opposite, with my frustration. It is on iplayer somewhere on the beeb somewhere.
Time for a song for it, when wisdom was about,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gc3-eGZepvk
I sense something is holding Liam Fox back – to look at him he is charismatic. If i am right he takes it up the shuffty, and he comes out, he will be eventually be the first shuffy Pm, made public that is. Can’t tell with these old Tory MP’s from the past, thy maybe AC/DC, but looking back, Chamberelin was a, how can you say, backseat driver, but that is my judgement ony. Winnie, drove a jag right up front, when he was sober.
Scotti, Picts or even lowland Brythonic Celts above Hadrian,
Scotland is as any land is a complex land.
Looked from below seems an historical simple task,
but not when looked into, into past times not pasg.
Easter several cultures of old with modern mind instilled,
genetically complex as in Glasgow well and truely filled.
The Pasg/Easter reference is the complication in time of Jesus Christ, and it’s knock on effects. Pope or Harri Eight, who is better? FIGHT! As Harry Hill may as well ask.
Dan snow did an excellent small series of programmes, two or three episodes, on how christianity entered our main isle, via Ireland then the small isle of Iona, west of Scotland, for BBC4. A must watch for any modern day bible-bashers abouts, I think. Christianity was imported from the north and previously tried from the west.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChLldrAMSgo
La Francsay, today to meet to play,
games, rugger togs foot put on.
Artistic games, no doubt played,
brit celt knot, and gallouise whinned.
Should be a good game, to behold,
in rugger world terms when all told.
Sticking it up each others, in tackles,
good luck to both, you total mad muckers.
may the best team win, and all that bollocks. I am warming up to it already, if you get what I mean. HIC!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khJKq_kJK7Q
I am an observer, of yes us living life,
like Waters hotelled of Pink Floyd pointed.
Sharp daggered observations you might say,
close to the bone totally cutting but not innane.
Waters, Anzio Italy, his dad did drowned teared fall,
but the wall seemingly is still there for us to fall.
Love Pinky, always, since very young before ten,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtbPQmytXd4
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWICkKf_LMs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F94vHO7okZQ
See Emily Play – yes please. : )
Older then bolder, a young brother to look over,
my young life seemed solved and already over.
Mam and dad also to look over, their frantic life,
house built, to their desires to thewir tilt, life’s stife.
Hollow aimes, ok maybe free, but shallow capitalism,
parentals seen in their never had ot so good HP whism.
song time, from 1959. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1Icn8vQZdY
I am reaching fifty, This January nifty.
Darting lives daggers with a side step,
opinel hunting knife always by my side.
Pubs windows I have entered, and left,
Brilliant arguements not know, no end.
Stick them up there anyone someone said,
what I would say and and a foot planted up there.
Travelling through a pub window is not a nice experience,
but by damned, Cirencester lads shook my hand afterwards, in sense.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7movKfyTBII
Sharp, like a modern harp, I am,
trained to kill with little frightening alarm.
Pause, grab wrist and twist and neck wring,
easily done to end life when in job to bring.
Knives, arms, rifles, all studied and used,
abused some say, but one day not war losed.
Men with that streak are sometime well required,
to know how to kill, without medals on suits atirred.
I have had some, ahem!, interesting armed forces training, and the best of it was in the TA. post RAF, SAS in Norfolk was an eye opener, and taught me how to take a man down, one on one. Threw a fat bloke into a middle of a road once when he tried to have a go at me, and he then ran away like a little boy. He was twice my size. Armed forces training see, of the SAS kind. Foreign Legion, which…. say no more Hughie,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EU5KBrGhc7E
Dylan Thomas, obviously part of my clan, was totally grief stricken on the atom bombs dropped on Japan, in ’45, and he was encapsulated in worry of where mankind was heading. His worries can not be underestimated – he carried them into his own grave at the young age of 39 in 1953. Some people are like that, pathetically caring.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1RjCp0LLaE
Ozzies and us Taffies went out to play,
green with claret from veins that spray.
Hammering each other totally marvels,
knocking heads plus bodies gormless.
Super Man or any Batman, Shane fly,
when tried tackled sent into distant sky.
Came down like an asteroid, arse on fire,
still on fire scored a try, pants smoking attired.
Kicks missed, ozzies not licked,
blondes though wished licked.
That girl from Brisbane, I took hotel,
grapped my balls and cock, drunk hell.
If i was planning to pick that night,
I would have drunk less for might.
But I was on a British Lion Session,
and when that beatiful blonde Brisbane girl dragged to my bed,
my cock my god, was only good for Trumpton, fire-hosing for any cred.
Yes, first test Lions 2001, Brisbane – got friendly , well she and her friends picked me really, but it was perfect, same height as me, five foot nine, blonde blue eyed and handsome and strong, as I like them,but I only arrived from singapore where I was working that whatever time it was, and I went straight on the pop, and when lions won, it carried on. No wonder I couldn’t rise to the occasion – I was totally and absoluterly exhausted, especially after working eighteen hours in a day to get some machine working so to have some time off to hop on a plane to Brisbane to be where the Lions are. Five hours there on a plane, five days there, five hours back. Brilliant experience.
Trumpton and Camberwick Green for education to new young children. Ey, Alastair?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKhMP2r4XGk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOd0DJ_iaAQ
Ivor and his Engine?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lI3GbYu6C1A
Watch with Mother, aprons strings and all that, hide underneath your mothers 1960’s skirt, shy to the postman.
Kiwis win but now rugbydump stink,
francais red whinning saying robbed, wink.
Maybe the napoleons came up short,
but a case maybe for to send tort,
IRB, a rule and law to themself,
as us welsh found, Rolland rat is no elf.
We wos robbed, the constant cry,
you hate us, and now we want to die.
It is only a game lads. But yes, the IRB do seem a right bunch of cu…, more tea Vicar, let me top you up. What were we talking about again Father O’Brien?
My Brisbane beauty was a sheep farmers daughter, from out in the wilds of Queensland open land. I think that was where the connection was between us that made that night. I was only there for the Lions rugger, but… As I said, I was a bit exhausted on that trip. Met incredible people there, that bloke that ran a posh fashion shop in Brisbane shopping centre, totally gay, and that prot bloke from NI with his family, that was on the run from the RAH, and many many other people. Seem to meet these people, like when I went to Torino a couple of times – got introduced to an old boy who was an old Juve player that played with John Charles, and when I said I am from fifteen miles from where he was from, tears were falling from his eyes in joy. I think I need to travel again, sometime.
I have this power over women and men, which I have suppressed to my end.
Because I am not selfish and a bellend, I use for furthering everyones end.
Fool, an average estate agent would describe me, but hell, they don’t get it,
in their nattering life not realising they are going nowhere, acting like a tit.
I know what is what, as from the top of my fence I have always observed,
looking at people pass by, whose a total sweety, and whose a turd.
I should start my own X-Factor show, and some Eton school pupils will get the thumbs down, but not all. You always need to sort the fine from the waste in life, even Eton.
I’ll get to 180 here, pet, Sid Waddell, even if it kills me.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_aKiDZRGRGo
poems will be coming out of my bollocks to do it. ‘Ave it!
Woman met, not eating right, unhealthy try to recover.
Meals made on plate in front, said eat for life discover.
If not for me, for another, don’t listen to the Wail to uncover.
Life, what it actually is, don’t let them love hysterically manouver.
Life is simple my love, don’t take it all in, and be buggered,
fuck people like Esther and Price and all their nonsense irrerd.
Say no more. A young lady I have been listening, singing from down my way, has the right spirit. And this song might be apt, since this winter we are told will be parky and white again. Take it away Evie, fy blodyn bach wen o’r gaehaf(that translates to the english as, my small white flower from the meadow – ok, wipe your blubbering tears, for gawds sakes, grow some balls, sniff)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TXhm6uNNeT8
Books are dying, looks are surviving,
X-Factor lads and ladies max factor plastered.
Sing, or an excuse of singing on telly,
look good for Simon to say give welly.
Bank account topped up, fuller,
or a next girl on line to pull her.
Shallow game, not 1964,
like these two, one would implore.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DmA-mczzN3Q
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yGRcgVUYug
Tom and Rita Pavone from ’64. Classic clips from when I was two year old. Brilliante.
i’ll get up to that 180 Sid, before this xmas and snowfall.
Talking about being two or so in 1964, had a babysitter, cousin of my next door neighbour mother there, from a big mafia like family from Carmarthen. She was about sixteen or seventeen, and blonde and blue-eyed and….
Have bumped into her daughters and nieces since – jesus wept! Blonde goddesses or what? None of them is less than five foot ten. One of the younger ones I got into giggles hoplessly when I described her as a norwegian foxy goddess. Lame I know, but she liked it, which is the main thing, isn’t it?
Sorry, Alastair, for the overload of poems,
but must reach Waddell 180 to perform.
Why? No idea, just a mark on my terms,
fight and battle to against pathetic norm.
The norm, what is it in our simple life?
Tasks after shaving brushed teeth washed.
Kicking off into life, car taking your rife,
Meeting people, gritted teeth them unbathed.
OK, so I am being too blunt and ugly.
with people you all meet today and daily.
But am I close to the truth with those pugerly?
I think I am, on my fence sitting, looking at you, playingly.
Should be up to 150 now, Alastair. Well, I bloody well hope so. I’ll get 180 by xmas. More Royksopp from Norway, by the way, quite good, from a few years back,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHEIvF1U4PM
Marsheaux, greek ladies watched, for years.
Ladies watched, me, no big surprise.
Sing sang song with female quality,
pervertedly watched you could very well say,
but denied, though out of the corner of my eye, well pervy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CDqnq_Qb-kE
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KME1hgnHvs8
second track is brill.well I think so.
Empire state human. Do I want to reach?
I feel no but talk no of all each.
Where I am standing am happy enough,
even if life flacks to me in face stuff.
Up to you all what you want to face,
it is not for me to say you’re a total disgrace.
Live life as you want, and your Empire is chose
but my state human will be different from yours.
Two Empire State Human tracks, original Human League from Sheffield, then a cover from Marsheaux, from Greece, and video done by a bloke from New York,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apnRojgtmXs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iHXo13tJEE
Sorry if I am buzzing people out by my posts. My only message is, is get a life and look out.
OK, so I have got the hots for Marsheaux, loverly couple of greek ladies, right up my street. Tidy track from them here. Loss of Heaven? You could say that loverlies,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7OcOq2w4_Y
Abroad, arab jews germans french greek italian austrian or whatever.
seem to pick up my thoughts are not whatever or never.
Even birds backgarden, oats in hand, robin stands, and picks on my thumb stand.
Ok, creatures on this Earth, I have a talent,
but it does spook me, me on this planet.
Catalan, basque, castille and all, moors so what fall.
Palestines, Libians and all, seem to see me life tall.
Peace and love, and all that bollocks we play.
Ladies – when you see me come down the street, think DANGER!
I look at life very must stranger than you, with all my heart dagger.
Talk to me if you want, but take it on yourself if you hear not want,
my aim as a man, needs not repeated, between legs, in your ca…
Time for another cup of tea for the Vicar and Father O’Brien. How are those high cheekbones and those glassy irish eyes in your confession box, Father?
Just heard Evie has moved on to future things. Hope it works out for her, Hell of a female sweet singer.
fy mlodyn bach wen o’r gae haf – my small white flower from the summer meadow, it should have been, even. I had gaeaf, which means winter, in my mind. I must let my fingers catch up my mind at times.
Spring fall forward, Fall on back,
time told, modified, like sea tack.
Sails looked, put up in spring then,
summer, autumn, then down erung.
Winter, childs’ hopefully snow falling,
plumbers bills adult payments stalling.
How much? to solder a pipe and joint?
“Sorry gov, but it’s market forces point.
Elasticity of the market, more needed,
your thin wallet by me will be greeded”.
Have a nice this winter everyone, and hope it will be a cold and white one. Would be nice to see the Thames freeze over like in old times, and hold a fair on it, right next to the London Eye and Westminster, says most plumbers…..
S’pose it might be a good time for a poem on yodelling.
Yodel in your distant hills, we will try and hear you,
our ancient white blue eyed lands, iced right through.
Clean through, if singers with certain names not get,
all I would say is, fraulaine, forget it and we gehts?
Franz Lang, Ms Oesch from Helletia Switzerland and Taylor Ware from Tennersse(! – you might think, but watch – Alp extraction, easliy). enjoy, genießen, profiter, godere. Sorry Ms. Oesch, couldn’t find romnsch word for enjoy.
Franzl – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67rc96joOz8
Melanie – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xT5wVLxmDSk
Taylor – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDDEk2AMJAI
Taylor visiting Europe when a little older – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGhgVO6PG7o
Eeeh-eh-eh-diddle-le-de-diddle de
Mortail Coil.
Jimmy Saville has shuffled, marathons run,
yorkshire pit, dj’d to top of the pops telly fun.
BBC thought he was a foil, we could say,
BBC crazy in their empire lost ‘stab ways.
A great bloke, giving out gongs, on telly,
hidden message to kiddies, it is welly.
Shoving it them up the ones that infiltrate,
to say things slowly, they cannot create.
Jimmy introducing Matt Monro here from 1964, begging us not to walk away, walk away from what – that is up to you to make up. I have already made my mind up.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbS_-biZ_P4
Jimmy. I will remember you, and show my grandchildren clips of you, like this, Swansea Lads, Pete Ham and Pete’s great friends,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrZDFd_9O6M
You have got to be chaos minded, to true think,
but I do not recomend, bedroom made in drink.
Try it if you want and you completerly explore,
but I implore it is not for amateurs that occur.
It is for certain characters that do pop into life,
saying things, moving in what direction or rife.
Say no more – there will always people like me about, so put up with it fascists, live and not ignore. And I know how to sail a boat, if I ever have to get away from you canoes, if you play your mind spiralling minds, towards complete tools.
It is a simple fact of the matter,
if kep boys close to themselves,
wihout stimulous, arse factor,
government ministers are belles.
Myslf in Grammar School, GIRLS! Jezzus!
some incredidle beauties, tuck shop met.
Karens, Carla, Howards and Price sistors,
and many more, implore, wished nether.
A boys school, these days, what gulag?
to excert that a young man, denied,
a same age female hand ocassionally,
but christ quite felt sweet rising bally?
Ladies in my school were superbe,
several were matched off with me,
future teenage fanatasy life to be,
but many wanted adventure, picked,
that is how we were educated to be.
Grammar school system – the intricasies in society.
But I was told I was the most intelligent kiddie that the headmastert he had ever seen in a while, at Priory Street Primary School, Carmarthen, in 1967, and that really spooked my parents, my mother especially. So much so, my mother decided to move our family. If I continued my excellent education in that Carmarthen Primary School, I wouldn’t b her now. My Mothr was controlling manipulative, even if she was a nurse, if you get me. But she is dead now, so I don’t have to worry about her self-destructive ways anymore. She was not healthy for me, and I know it.
Anyways, let’s have a healthy life poem, like walking.
Wales has suddenly announced, that you can walk around it!
Well! There’s a shock, thought that what history always wanted.
A path, on our edge? To see our stunning hidden beaches with rocks?
Are these english now going to visit us are completerly off their blocks?
There’s no near nightclubs, and rare pubs, but knock on a certain door,
yes, Farmer-so-so, or his wife, will pour jugs of merry, trip adoured.
My favorite beaches, in my land – a heart stopper, Monkestone Beach!,
steps up and down from it, beyond forty-five, one in two in road money.
Then Marloes, distant Dale, at the end, towards secret isles there,
maybe I have said to much, and not want too many treads spread there
Marros Beach too, but that is another secret to some, with it’s old iron age community, which I found a stone tool from then when they were digging the path nearby. Just a blunt edged pounding stone, for getting fat off a cows skin, before drying.
Sign of a some sort of poet, is to invent words.
erung, to again ring, does it exist, or just turd?
Do I care? No I don’t, manipulating talk as want,
to anything I feel sounds good, criminally twoced
Strong hips, and lips, ever wanted to meet,
to give meat, hopefully to opposites a treat.
Babes come out, oh dear, seven bill up and increasing,
condom wellingtons wore, pill consumed, and Pope reversing.
Didn’t work, myself at least ten per cent failling,
trying to find the reverse gear on a new car is galling,
but on a new horse takes the pleasure and cause stalling.
Family planning – seven bill? My arse!
This winter cold, yanks have already started.
East Coast son, always sign we will have it.
Electricity down, how would we cope,
building fires in back garden, central heating? nope.
Chopping axes, rusty brought out of retirement, from back shed,
rusty, old films looked to how how to use, non-tenement, or bread.
Ollie – show us how to use an axe, again,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEWVvLx4L_k
Jean Le Bete, carry dried meat on you, to give to wild cat, and then he will know you, and take you to meat, so you could give him most, while you take skin and fur, which cat has no use. Yes?
I have been asked to make a positive poem on us being seven million on our planet, as a very super totally narrow species that has ever lived on this planet we are stuck on – us known scientifically as Homo Sapiens Sapiens, modern man. So here goes with my poem, on us.
Mammoths, please fuck off, you too sabre toothed, you let me down.
Loved you all, but you are telling lies about us, ustogether ice crowned.
Ok, mammoth steak used to go down well,
trout and salmon from icey stream from netted well.
But, modern man, what is this christianity you speak,
and other later Allah with his tiled houses special speak?
Never mind, seven bill, no doubt you have an idea where you,
J. G. Ballard, might have a thought, 1970 odd to go.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HT2eECKvdTc
The Normal, Top Gear, JG Ballard, Cars, Death, Two and Two, put together.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GHM8ClE-niQ
Horse and cart can’t deny.
Cats, smaller and taller,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYbTefqCB9g
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0tiT7KlACM
love ‘im.
His great friend,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JckAU6VTN44
Tom and Jerry and Butch?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BE0puWNL4XU
Tom and just Jerry, enjoy,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeCm-SnfQAw
When things get winter desperate, kill animals in your next field. Myself have sheep, early lambing young ewes for next spring. If things get desperate this winter, farmer will not mind my cut throat pilaging, and I will see him right next new spring. Song,
http://www.youtube.com/user/Cabelas?v=Kea_nKaKxgY
Pick a days story and make a poem I find easy,
looking at people all of them becoming greedy.
I will get to one eighty poems xmas easily,
if life feeds me, to make fun of them poetically.
Payouts from Dalily Mail getting it wrong,
run a story on me DM for a pension bonged.
Sad little paper constantly getting it wrong,
but take to court if around me create a pong.
Slam you in the dock I would gladly happily,
while your council blag on your behalf squirm.
A nuisence rag is the Daily Mail in our life,
Viz is top drawer in hyperbolye comedic strife.
There should be a top of the pops chart for rags payouts.
Alastair, did you notice your “great mate” in this clip, Piers? ” What do you do Taylor?” Quite a kiddie fiddling question some could say, but I don’t. ONLY JOKING PIERS, remind yourself of a rational sense of humour, and not be so Daily Wail!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bDDEk2AMJAI
Greece, self-fleeced, now just tease,
advice in through out the other, shell-like.
You are becoming the EU problem child,
but Italia, Porto, Oirland, Espania becoming alike.
Euro is on it’s arse, financial concept-like,
to fantasy WW’s again will not again uncovered.
Throw it out, and start again, as engineers have done,
a prototype should be learnt from, even in being endured.
Say, a mark two Euro, in say fifty years or so, at least,
while in the next decade we raid bins for scraps to feast.
To tread water, while we sort the bollocks out, to out,
then be able to swim further, posh kitchens bought to eat, again.
The Human Condition, it is sadly a tradition,
getting our arses burnt with money and sex.
Into our minds we live and play these games,
getting into a mess, as boats on rocks, wrecks.
Live and learn, we are told as we clear up mess,
but why do it in the first place, controls in awry?
No, it is the Human simple Condition to repeat,
again, again until end of time no matter loud cry.
Just posted this on a Pete Green vid, with ref to Syd from Pinky’s band, I quote,
“lsd, can explode your synapses totally, not recovered permanantly, tripped, without a rail ticket return, dopamine put into a junction, serotonin put to bed, noradrenaline, cup of coffee cannot recover, nervous system shorted-out, burnt wires no electrician can put right. So watch it all.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=srXfo0tKmtI
No need to say an overload of lsd went on into some heads, sadly and heartbreakingly. So, yes, watch it!
“When I say, whenever wherever I find myself myself in the World I find myself, when I say I am from the Western side of old people from mainland here, and they look in my eyes and hear me, they shake my hand, and want to praise me, in a little way. Calon haf i pawb – a summer’s heart to you all, frindiau bach ar a byd hon – friends small like me on this World of ours.”
Gravity the seducer, so they say is available, for download,
into our electronic devices grandfathers frowned downed.
Plugs is in, to hear gramps less than he does us possess,
mind different from him, wheelbarrowed spuds filled garden.
In a new world of each, not Mars or Venus, girls and boys,
but sad gramps, sitting seated not enjoying these new toys.
Anyway, excuse to Blur things with girls and boys, enjoy gramps – get up from your seat and dance your incontinent underwear off with this…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDswiT87oo8
Wars are always lost, even wwI wwII miners, digging coal like fury,
heard deaths underground skyrocketed, but suprisingly singarly.
Rather than disasterously, due not doubt to engineering cleverly,
geologicaly applied, as it should have alwaysly, not in wartimely.
But there you go, the concerntration of some minds when needed,
but didn’t stop blocks drop on the odd miner to mince him feeded.
Hammer’s End, I like to decend, in my older days.
Money inherited, place try to recover in old ways.
Hidden place I know, people know I have my eye,
there farmers glittering eye has been seen in me.
Could be in with a good shout when time comes by,
sea view drowned forest before window small place view.
And if someone beats me to the line, there’s another one, along coastline,
planning permission begging to be put in, for walls to be put back up, and live in.
Kev from channel four, no, I am not interested, I beg no publicity,
you and your telly can just go for a titty.
Barrels of “port” on boat going up Thames,
to cellar underneath the houses of thems.
“Where you going with that barrel Fawkes?”,
challenged, “To rosy nose those that talks”.
But someone talked, bid for first bombfire did,
fail completely, infiltrated by loose jaw bid.
Hang drawn and quartered, bollocksed and parts,
message to advise others play but not these arts.
Always baffled me that Caths go to bombfire nights and fireworks. Always has done…
Fergie, twenty-five-up, and still in flight,
horse still running, but this season tight.
Manc C new into the mix with the old Arse,
Chelski Italian head banger with pesto sauce.
This could be an interesting season, Opps Scouse,
too, tomorrow with toast hoped roast Swan do nouse.
Footie is the number one sport in one’s country,
but three with me after betted crickers, then rugby.
Happy 25th Sir Fergie.
BIG OOPS – got my footie managers mixed up then, pesto sauce is Manc C, not Chelski. Chelski is maniana paella. Ah well! told you it is my number three sport. oh bollocks, got it wrong again, he is Portugese. roll on spring for the crickers. Anyway, footie club managers is a turnstile, “generally”. For 19 clubs in the Premiership you do not know where you are from one season to next – maybe that was the point I could be trying to make, by being subliminally ignorant?
University Olympics, some of us do like do to parttake,
thanks UCCA invite, but true life I like to see and to talk.
Some say not invited, but I was, Coventry Polytechnic, pleaded,
but turned down for gawd knows mind reason, wanted to see seeded?
Thatchers new greeded planting and destroying, as soon sow when needed,
Falklands lads on a Carry On, Whitehall civil Service Offices pathetic created.
Poll tax? What a fantasy bollocks! Only a Dailly Mail woman reader would come up with that,
But my male respect for the opposite of my race will not call her a complete stoopid twat.
More tea Vicar? How about you Arch bish Willi? Been back to Swansea laterly? Excuse me while I pump a toon out, hop you like it both,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYEDA3JcQqw
By the way, Adele, hope your tonscils and things get sorted. Don’t swollow in meantime, you don’t know what is in it….
Coventry Lanchester Polytechnic, 1981,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZwWnXuB_eg
YESSSSSSS, nil all, scousers, in my eyes fall,
tonight Liniker Hanson and Shearer say they’re tall,
going to that anfield puddle coming away with a point,
putting the map of brit anglo-taff footie to a new point.
‘Ave it ‘Anson, you scottish waste of space – back pass? My Arse!
I like my footie, on the quiet – I’m an old Don Revie Leeds supporter don’t you know – they do that don’t you do know.
Domeo, Met-Art, Femjoy, not met not clicked?
only 50% but maybe less do want to flicked.
Pages turned over, but by “some” ladies no doubt also,
to get up back to 50% who life’s long boats are shallow.
Ladies performing, showing a biological calling with beaches,
young new lads balls growing, ladies ovums too, blimey teaches.
Sex. alright, can go out of control, Roman Rome like stuff,
shagging anything that moves or not, forgetting barbarian strife.
More clothed, maybe, ahem!, art, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvNJm77_dJw
Well done Swans, with your west wales druids wands,
Merlin like, Harry even Potter will not deny in sands.
JK Rowling wrote Freshwest Pembroke approved house,
but blimey, Swans kicked a footie ball today with nouse.
Sunday, drummed, Chapel and Church await.
Cross fields, with shoes held in hands, to praise.
To praise to a distant Lord far away from us all,
but to sing songs on the inspiration of life He gave.
Some say, “what the fuck”, but I don’t, civilised times,
civilisation He brought rather than religion, and it’s used fascination.
Song, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCeG9cBrtRQ
We get through our archaeological, and not known historical, chaos,
to constantly create a new irrational time-lost sort of chaos pathos.
Iron cars running fast in time with it’s momentum and inertia physical,
horse and cart only had odd broken neck felled or over leg wheeled.
No blown holywood tanks of petrol nor trucks, screams in night’s sky,
going forward blind into banks of fog with faith, St.Christopher by side.
Rate of knots on land we fall, technology going backwards mortality,
at least on ships, water cold intake, slam onto rocks glamourously.
Down the Davy dark deep they were, but not for travellers these days,
usually just a comment these days, got stuffed on the M4, fast ways.
M4 in South Wales, in apreciation to Dylan Thomas, even though it didn’t exist in his day, just the A48 through South Wales then.
Phfft phfft, take that my friend, canvas I wish for your end,
my name is now Ali, get down and praise me you bellend.
Well my name is Frazier, and I am not giving up to you boy,
and your Uncle Tom in your corner playing you as a toy.
Steak fried greaseless, my names Foreman let’s have sense,
less of this boy and that stoopid slave Uncle Tom nonsense.
Smack your heads together unless you stop dancing and bouncing,
but if any of you take me to the far east, I reckon I’ll be bowling, over.
repeat what I posted elsewhere with Joanna Lumley, blimey!
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/boxing/15616563.stm
Trains can be superbly tecnologically reliable, without sleeping driver,
darting throughout our land human failing Beeching feeling godiver.
Stupid dig up without mothball that was then in the nineteen-sixties,
not to be chanced sitting opposite a stranger loverly girl with her titties.
John speiling his Betjeman, lonely stations as village driveways,
grassways to any inner and outer town or city, of road parkways.
John Betjeman,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPsIIZlH0Rw
There was once two Carmathen Stations not one now,
Carmarthen Junction West and Cardigan Carmarthn town.
How things have changed, how cars had to manupulate,
through town streets to get through, steering turned.
Twentieth Century, when car became king, when move on,
for this bypass shoved on, paid for our house for a song.
Railways land possessed, human less, so more sense,
Town and cities more mortgaged Thatcher value, pay up,
but then government turn their games and say what tripe.
Ripe to say your driving us whale and gale and ape,
to say do this, buy castle, just for a poor future sale.
more Betjeman,
after Auden,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZrZTpfibZbs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ULhsLaVubM
Punch drunk, what?
Ali and Frasier, and so.
Foreman taller and wiser?
Good luck George, porge,
keep the essential message said,
what to fought for, Tom Jones whitie always said,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckH2fjLeY9A
Farming is technological these days, is easy work,
believe, modern machines, straw in mouth again normal.
Suck on it while diesel animals beneath you work,,
ladies no doubt, burring beneath seat, is unlike horse.
COUGH! Get the turnips grain and carrots in and we’ll win,
and extras like leeks asparagus, and the odd greenhouse win, also.
Bring back brit farming, oh yes I say, recovered when do those so much things well, like living in poverty and strife, geting ripped off by town greengrocers and butchers, please fuck right off.
Now that is what I mean about modern farming – costs him a pence in milk, the supermarket sells it for loads of pence, as Joanne Page from Gavin and Stacey would say, but the farmers gets a pants 0.1 penc per pint, on a good day! Stacey, tell me, where the fuck we going wrong? Ness – I am sure you have something to say about this – give it full bullets, takes his eye out….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kKOrXoRWlzM
Living life happy with coming life mortality can be a difficult task,
when faced with the final station when lived life with edged rasped.
Affairs tombly arranged and put into that draw to find when long gone,
wondering what area will be filled with oneselves in life when long done.
But the World will simply carry on on its long merry path of sheep together,
one after the other into future time travelling times journied by one othered.
Told you I’d get up above 180 easily before xmas.
Song/vid in celebration,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dibszk9csTs
Enjoy Alastair. yankie sixties nicely humerous.
NO. I won’t be a writer, no, never, a poet never,
I just want to hide away and sit fence for ever.
On a tv programme, no no no, I am another animal,
never do will I do those things, is to me simply alien.
Photo taken, soul taken away, much seen today,
people stand, cameras in front, much seen, soul,
closed personal soul taken away to oether stray.
post this Alastair, for godsakes, tried once already. For poets everywhere, and maybe philosophers, it is aether, not oether.
My spelling is terrabill…
Ok, time to make a poem on BBC headline, as today as with,
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-15769886
Branson, oldfield tubular bells always by his side,
strides through life as the successful dyslexic hippy.
Planes put in sky, as records make no virgins of us,
getting those red dressed stewardesses prick us.
Ok male stewards as well, whoops, coffee spilled,
may I wipe for your crotch for you, oh yes ’til?
Pilots in the front cabin, going round the World,
even in a balloon, 80,000ft, what a complete loon!
Anyway, that is my appreciation poem for Richard Branson – he is offbeat and needed, in this country. BA SUCKS, and is stuck up their own trailing waste pipe, oh yes my friend.
Mark E Smth in Oslo, a few years ago,
in a park where his misses used to go.
35 years screaming from him now today,
appreciated by this once young man I say.
Giving it as he feels, Salford Manch feel, speil,
to thou thee and tha turned out, help him, to shout out.
History? who’ll have it, forget it, don’t mention it, just quote it.
The Fall in Oslo a few years ago, a great great clip. Mark E Smith? I like him, a lot, from a distance, for a long while now,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_godSE6RJy0
Republic of Scarletia, top of your group,
what hoop did you jump to do so and fro.
Think none, talent done for young lads,
blistering from full back, JPR sideboards.
Attired, under blonde flowing locks sped,
where west wales come from and bred?
Who knows, maybe from that cave, hidden,
where we bred our children to try future ridden.
going. Wonder if he plays tennis as well as JPR? Maube JPR should challenge him, as long as he doesn’t modify Liam’s bones, and all that doc shite.Well played Liam Williams in the last past weeks – only nineteen and looking like JPR already. A HELL of a future on him, if he keeps the attitude and spirit
Coal, a hole, found by farmers chance, ploughing.
Outcropped and dug and fire fed, pack horse sent.
To local canal, for shillings a pack, nice income.
But then had to dig deeper, for steam engines belly.
Holes small, small chilrden and wives crawl, in skirts,
then men built them bigger for themsevelves, for transport.
Knocked wood roof, bounce and fly, man off head off fly,
But modern day, why? Modern technology easy conquer,
underneath the sky, gassed pressured geological seams of traditional anthracite home Christmas afternoon fires, glowing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOe18JcatZo
Fergie walks out, when southern media shite shout out,
third team in present day, the goon suggested the trout.
He can bang on his typewriter all he wants the fucking twat,
know Manc U are first, close followed by Swans where it is at.
Where did this goon of a reporter come from? Up his own arse?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rx2-JKwNjOM
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/football/15853955.stm
Better Beeb vid. As soon as beeb get off his case, they are back on it, with their London media mates, in cahhots. Pathetic. As if the rest of the country is blind, as pointed out by Mark E. Smith several years ago with his group, The Fall, and ironically recorded in a southern soft shite BBC studio, when he was eventually invited – Blindness by The Fall,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=We_mND4HpTg
Brilliant clip here, Alastair and Fergie stroking each others lengths, if you don’t mind me saying, joshingly.
Alastair and Fergie, Alex with his glass of red,
glass of water Ally saying time it’s for my bed.
Fergie saying stay for again a time while friend,
Ally saying I’m up at six to and back Mile End.
Fergie says why, and Ally why not morning air,
helps my mind to keep constant contrary and fair.
And Fergie says, fair enough.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHzwuU6MsSg
You really do love each other, don’t you each?
When I was ten, saw this girl come down the lane to meet,
only seven, her primary classroom friend to socialise greet.
Well up the hidden lane from my nan and tadcu house was she,
welsh only, but hair good teeth healthy cheek bones dream to be.
I ran to her to try make her my friend in my young pathetic way,
but I talked foreign, and she must thought, ach-y-fi, y sais stray.
By the way, was in Grammar School with her, three years younger than me, but she was still shy, and 100% heavy duty welsh – like a forgotten tribe, but by god she filled out well during her teenage years, rosy cheeked strong boned and healthy. Wonder where she is these days?
Us seem fairy, barometer airy,
that life is changing, Tudorary.
Not Pope and Catholics time,
but capatalism past-sublime.
Times are changing, the wind,
inner old people, cannot recind.
Where we going an adventure,
seen before, life new re-enter.
Next decade will be VERY interesting in life. Hang on to the ride, if you can. You will be privileged to experience it in time of our Human Race. But it could be bumpy, though.
…and those two sisters had names that were beautiful and truely tongue twisters, even for us other simple welsh.
Coalites, the gormless shites,
today with all their shite trites.
I commend this to the House,
my arse, I commend it louse.
Scratching my head and back,
people wished they could tack.
Back to May 10 time travel it,
so not have this load of shh…
Many people in the UK today are bemused, some amused, at the total pants artists we have in government leading our nation today. They are absolutley barking in fantasy land. Jesus wept, I have never seen so many gormless politicians since Lamont as Chancellor in the early 1990’s with Major PM – Lamont then was a great soap opera, him running around like a headless chicken with the ERM business then. Laughed my part off then, almost.
Chemical periodic table, biological rabbit female parts,
Physical Newton’s law and Hook springs and Art.
Historical Roman and Alexander and whatever horse,
music composers mid-european sung to until hoarse.
Latin baffled with, Eng Lit and Lang, french ooh-la-la,
Maths compasses trig egyption pyramids and whaaa!
Woodwork and welding and boys head down planing,
filing but could be cooking tarts these days waining.
Speech classes to get rid of the over by ‘ere, like,
but still taught welsh, eisteddfodau visits to trike.
Geography pink parts on a map, across the globe,
this has gone, this this and that, that well no hope.
So there is the education eleven turn into twelve,
but they forgot to mention, look after yer selve.
Niece is having a good time in her first year at second school, now twelve. Lily fach wen. Very charismatic girl – could go far.
Ten years gone, mam gone, but you will not like this,
she was warped and tried to destroy me, started seven.
Sorry, I am not making this up – it easier to lose apparent coffin in ground agreed,
but with lifetime frustration and reason battles, afterwards you are left puzzled.
Then it hits you, she didn’t really actually love you, and was in life for just herself.
Anyway, became ill with all sorts of things in the last ten years, peculiar things,
trying to cope with my mother, looking for reasons, why she was a complete cow.
You won’t believe what she used to come out with, tried to explain it, my Dad?
No, she was always the same, she would have been fecking worse if I didn’t come along, smile in her face and be glad.
Suppose I should call this poem “My Mother was a Cow”. Just ask clever people who knew her – manipulative, and dragged me down with her emotional constant bullying, which I had to put up with too long. Song to describe it,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKpxuptvQYU
.
Sorry if I have upset anyone,
fall at your mother’s feet in praise.
Sometimes it is not always,
mother “I am home”, yank raise.
Sweep under the carpet,
dyson or hoover, dust out the window.
Behind closed doors,
all and fair, until widower or widow.
Then the offspring are hit,
growing up times recalled ghost.
Shit, we all not the same,
memories afterwards can make us toast.
and I have struggled with it, especially with what I am left to look after, but I am finally getting a handle on it, but by damned, it was from one crisis with him to another, but I think I have got him, for the agreed happines for him, and myself and my brother, but it was a rocky fucking path last decade travelled.
Blue Oyster Cult vid of above song, which I tried looking for, but found this night,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmYjAnqf07g
Rage rage rage against some moon,
but what sort moon, living or dying alive?
Hate to die in a tory economical recession,
with people around themselves looking to survive.
Like to die with people with happy faces,
where your death will not pay their debts.
But down to the local garage and jewellers,
New posh car and forget the over coffin wepts.
Anyone that decides to go into modern day secondary education teaching of school eleven-to-eighteen plus, has to watch Gregory’s Girl, the film. It encapsulates trying to teach teenage sex discoverers, and how to cope with them without faulting them. It has many hidden messages – try to pick up on them. Great director made this film, umm, Forsyth bloke from Scotland somewhere as his first movie. THAT’S ‘IM, Bill Forsyth. Will have a look for my favorite clip from it – right, found, the cooking class scene, but there are many many others,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aG545vIYkQA
Rugger poem for today, about Shane Williams, an international rugby player retiring today from top-drawer selectable, from the Amman Valley, who has captured the imagination of all in the rugby World in the way he plays – fifty-odd tries from eighty-odd caps, all from five foot seven and twelve and a half stone.
Shane Williams, the little squirt,
gone by me again, fresh-air grab.
Down the charlie line he does dart,
would be easier to catch my own fart.
Rove’s behind the back line, left to right,
jumping in when he see’s right, through.
Bouncing through forwards jack and box,
Dylan’s dancing Williams, legs of a fox.
Good luck Shane on your final appearance in the red vest – enjoy it, but make sure OZ is sorted with it. Oz and me music, from a Melbourne nightclub, but with some rugby league OZ players it, it looks,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=peBuggcL2Ow
I was always there, here, wherever, my future Mrs Doyle,
mother of my brilliant bred daughter yourself chose toil.
Catholic girl, looking for a martyr around every corner,
pumping sex wanted then forget like a nun’s mind horner.
Hypocritical Cath’s, they live in fanasy land, mind blank,
mind partitions, ladies waste Vatican City and wank.
Ashley, thanks, but no thanks now.
El Salvador, and William Byrd 16th century from blighty then,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKT0omZ6fiU
The greatest power you can show is your own denial of copulation, with lesser strong-minded ones left to ask ” how do they do it?”. Perverse it is, a form of imposed psychlogical control. And what baffles me, old Pope’s, aledgedly, “carried on”, and where the hell does the Roman Empire come into this with their basic divide and conquer in old soldiery and simple political tactics before? Or have I answered myself?
Bring back the Celtic Christian Church I say, which early Rome Church went of their way to undermine and destroy for corrupt power in Western Europe. You don’t read much about that in history books these days, do you, after certain people were bought and old maniscripts were homed in and raided and burnt?
Furthermore, as I have mentioned more than a BBC repeat of one of their programmes on telly, Devon and Cornwall, and bit of Dorset and more of Somerset was Celtic Christian, and inland Wiltshire. St Patrick of Ireland was brought up on the Bristol Channel coast of Somerset, it is told.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChLldrAMSgo
The efficiency of my body is waning, even when young creaking,
fresh air genetic designed with modern life should be applied.
But it is very hard and difficult with dust ridden carpet curtains,
outdoor modern life a part-time occupation in waking beds wind denied.
Above is an appreciative poem to all that suffer from asthma and other immune system dysfunction caused by modern life. My problem is allergic and hereditary angiodema, of the mucous membranes of the digestive tract mainly, but also kidneys and bladder and parts. Lungs ok, but have slight attacks in the throat, which a couple of times have frightened me witless when for a couple of minutes I could hardly breath, when I inhaled some allergen or something that my immune system did not like. Mould I suspect. Doctors are struggling with the subtlties of the immune system, but that should go without saying, on many peoples experience. Ended up in hospital once with an angioedemic crisis that sent my temperature skyrocketing, which they initially thought was appendicitis, but when giving one of those sonar scans as in pregnancy, showed my appendix was kosher, but a few abcesses were along my small/large bowel, which was a sign of a bad angioedema attack, where fluid and blood go into the mucous membrane lining.
Anyway, hope some docs read this, to give them something to think about.
It is said I come across as a James Bond, mysterious,
ladies fingers on lips powder room wet deciding.
Forgetting that I look at life all simple levels equal sharp,
finding outside for smoke woman equal wedding shedding.
The life of a party DJ can at times be hard, or easy,
when you stand up front and play some Wham!.
George and his old mate Andrew with now Keren bach,
would be bananaramming it until 2011 no mam.
Is that is what is getting to you Michael? If so just tell,
no shame that you are desperatly missing your mother.
There are ways to cope with this, and not at all modern,
things like she wants to see you live without any mind bother.
We are all of us mortal, sadly, you me and everyone, so fuck it, but let us not give problems, try solve very little problems each day, in any old way you can think of. Nothing grand though, just little things, it all helps.
Daniel Craig, aka James Bond, at the moment,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYXQCUSsJfQ
Jonny Wilkinson, always shaved,
decides to hang up his international boots.
England saviour in time, time saved,
Newcastle mainly played, unfashionable roots.
Good luck Jonny, more time for the golf course,
swinging clubs that sevens always on you.
But remember, teach youngers ones the nouse,
not your swing future, play Lineker with you.
Have a happy time with Question of Sport and knickerless Sue Barker circuit. Golf – who’ll have it? Jonathan Meades,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIYZQFcBnZ8
and oh yes, Jonny has just announced he is retiring from international rugger, so says the beeb,
http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/rugby_union/16151002.stm
five iron I think Jonny, four maybe if you give it pasty…
think I got my irons mixed up then – it is a five, not four, that needs a bit of rice. Sorry, golf followers. Shake hands? oh god, not that way….
Head charged, did you feel it?
In bed head next to son or daughter young.
I did, whether I was transfering anything,
experience lived or done thing.
Always struck with me, close genetics,
brain a complex human attribute.
And baby lying next to one from loins,
speaking to you when still gummy and rote.
She did you know! Like a mobile phone.
Has Sue Baker, sniff seat, ever done a political question of sport? You Ally would be obviously be one of the captains, and may I recommend Jonathan Edwards the Plaid MP in Westminster, as one of your team members – played cricket with him for Penygroes CC, and really likes his sport big time. Top kid, but you could say needs voice accent classes, but speaks welsh like a preacher in a chapel pulpit though. Like this,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QJCxt2DjZK0
Alastair, if you could, invite Jonathan Plaid Westminster MP for a meet. Like to hear you would. My main memory of Jonathan is in a mid-week crickers game in Ammanford, where all the side had to bowl two overs. apart from the wickie – we were there practising – Jonathan his swing lines, and me my off-spin googlies. took three wickets that day easily bamboozled. Well easy, but we lost by two wickets.
Jonathan Meades, may I say Alastair, actually came down to the Valleys/Wales to see the premier of Twin Town, where Rhys Ifans the now fucking successful Hollywood actor and shit, with his brother, who still does daytime S4C childrens tv programme, honest. Rhys Ifans and his brother, Llŷr, top welsh acting bloke. anways,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EatOf6hAT5Y
Rhys Ifans with Howard Marks, the wordwide dope dealer all around the World in old times on Irish telly, of all places,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6qgN_rZTsY
by the way tv paddy bloke, can I enter something up you?
jeezus wept, I am entering my fiftieth year to heaven,
within weeks now, jan ten next month somewhat braven.
Entering yes, as Dylan could not say with his life fate,
but I will do my best to get there, drunken my xmas late.
Any advice Alastair for the fifties? Buy a sportscar maybe?
or just sadly give in grey hairs chest growing like a wannabe?
Or just take up gardening and grow roses onions and spuds?
or get a young filly and act like a fool like the other old turds?
Any suggestions gladly welcomed how to cope, but hope it is the last one….
One fallacy about Dylan Thomas that he could not speak welsh. He could, but not as well as he could english, so there we go.
Met several people in young teenage days going to young farmers discos when young telling me he used to speak welsh to everyone he met when staying with his auntie in Fernhill near Llangain in deepest peninsula Towy/Taff farming community.
In them days it was not fashionable in artists circles to admit you spoke a native language. Dylan always made fun of this with his references to yank cowboy and indian films everyone was brainwashed with.
Dylan, Fernhill, his,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XG1B_7r4y8
…but an old posh sexy rich trout will do, to tell you the honest truth, slippery the better…
What?
Played golf, As Jonathan no doubt, yawned at the polite talk though, with hidden messages in polite such talk, when”they” realise you have an immaginative mind of your own of life, which is not condusive to their small mind status quo, top of the pops or not, Croydon living near Ronnie Corbert in Addington Village or not – yes Status Quo, seen you all out in Croydon when released from golf clubbed insitutions,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNPJuJSVmNA
funny handshake club joined…..
The main worry for me today, as several past old days, if my Scarlets get a good rub of the green playing in Thomand tomorrow. Was quite worked up last week, but hey!, it is only sport. See what happens 12:45pm lunchtime tomorrow.
Nigel, what do you say,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbbRove8mJs
there we go
Intricate online software, spooking all of us to death,
otherside of our firewall, gathering what do and go.
Makes me laugh it does, going future job underneath.
be told, wank daily Mr Thomas without a whore?
Spies in the skies is not what we should be worried,
nor ones in any bed, but that was more satisfying.
Ones in dark rooms with eyes failing is the arseholed,
thinking they are clever, above station, free denying.
Screens tft or any transitor film, click keyboard yes or no,
ones that seem qualified in information and technology.
But no possessed key to say ney in true life fan hum,
nor say I can’t walk and see in daylight any tragedy.
People who seem to think they control online content are well above their station for far too long now, I have found. Harrumph! top your port up General?….
Father and son,
physical retreat,
old one on one,
Now we other side room old arguments repeat.
Merry Xmas, we are supposed to say,
hypocritical totally false and shallow.
Say suddenly love one another shake,
when in our soul we but totally yellow.
Cowards to the fight that 364 ask,
but up the blinkers to life abounds.
Think not my problem down street,
leave it to PC Plod, it’s his pounds.
One day caring, family,
Salvation Army kitchen.
364, put away again,
constant charity lacking.
Season’s Greetings.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QGPA1ro1l8
I, thankfully, don’t need to get drunk every day,
every other for three hours used to do me.
Liver creaking like a staircase telling pay,
now life plays mind much even told let it be.
I am not the messiah, I am just like you, no not Brian, Huw – no not Chew you silly londoner, HUW H-U-W! CHEW? oh i give up.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajCYQL8ouqw
Finaly finning on new years dinning, we steak,
some with yews entrails with Highland Park.
Name no names parsnips and neeps apart,
draws male denied, young girls apart, I hope.
Hope for what bounce dancing higher, in Skye?
or self-indulgence american-canadian contiued?
Pathetic to the scene with every man and laddie?
Women at the back thinking “Beth ti’n credu?”.
Y diawl ifaerth. Ti yn canu i’r y saesneg, ti’n gwybod na?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZCT8H-Hpbc
Happy New Year? – MY ARSE!
Queen giving gongs to crims and capitalist charlatans.
Got now to put up now with 2012,
propaganda in Cameron Town of this Olympics black and tans.
Christ, it is going to be a long year,
with fuckers left RIGHT and centre saying black is white not greys.
Oh bollocks – no doubt Cameron’s thought police is going into overdrive switched on now past few months aimed. Just read the Daily Mail as a barometer I say in the next week or so, but tomorrow mornings edition might be enough, bring the Tory New Year in with a bang. Song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4R2jV5gEPE
Not that I am a so an’ so, just a bit of reverse psychology, for both sides of any conflict on the Hibernian and Brit Isles….
Talking about the Queen and her gongs graciously givens, this song, rumour has it, is loosly based on Princess M in the 1950s, putting herself around. She was a case of a character, wasn’t she? A very sexy and interesting person, definately a right one, a Princes Di pre-conceived you could say…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cKEy0BFfQw
Guidance, welsh given, free,
does it makes us stupid?
Barometer of Brit Isle in say,
even if army called trupid.
English, always listen,
to Welsh troupadours.
In any cause, we know,
even sex and money and ‘er indoors.
Jackie Lee, White Horses and Rupert the Bear and Indigo Pipkin Hartley the Hare and things infamous, now lives in Canada these days I think, been speaking to her about life and things the last couple of days, inbetween the lines, and reminded her of her brilliant Northern Soul track sung in a psydonym. Jackie,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wP9ZbqDpQIQ
I write this stack of poems,
as incendieries for thought.
Future poems and songs writ,
via this gormless welsh twit.
Go for it, my young and beautiful loverlies, help the trade balance, and give Johnney Foreigner what for through art. Gilbert and George, who I thinik is/are brilliant, marvellous thought provoking, just fuck will you type, artists, that is ecapsulating Britland, as I gush,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGBaShS_Ktg
Ricky Gervais, with his face, got to love him.
Speiling live loved humour all around unbound,
with his mates that tall one and the northerner,
sent to India or Pki or Sri Lanka or somewhere in a jockstrap,
and then come home and say, you are two cants on insisting I do that, says the perfect round headed person from up north, Karl.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dCQNUlP7Qw
Helen and Mira and male friends singing brit long lost history, pre-dark ages and all that. Art and tart, a healthy combination I say, the best education,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8mSFL3h9Lgw
Man and woman, designed ludicrously,
cock and balls downstairs and tits upstairs.
Makes you laugh in the bigger picture of life,
to get in bed for a woman to then pass a whale.
Funny old World it is.
I sit on my liers chair, with my crown of thoughts,
do I compare, to one is who bought.
As nine inch nails bled, on your coffin said,
could done and said, when we all put to bed.
Gene Tierny, what room are you staying in tonight, loverly, perchance?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m0YmK17iX90
I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.
Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
too common to do me good in present time coming on,
relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.
Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
moving through time no police box required from you,
silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.
CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!
I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.
Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
too common to do me good in present time coming on,
relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.
Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
moving through time no police box required from you,
silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.
CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!
I live my life, grasping as much interest that I can find,
to my own mind to keep it away, away from the winds,
the winds of the clock ticking away and of air windmill,
or water wheel turning of life gushing never ever still.
Nor from last breathes heard about come too common,
too common to do me good in present time coming on,
relations falling like daisies on a frosty morn or rainfall,
looking around, feeling like I am crawling, fly on a wall.
Feel like I am stealing time but from who and why do,
moving through time no police box required from you,
silently slipping away, though all around all move slow,
just carrying on relative fast looking busy just for show.
CHRIST! aren’t I a miserable bugger at times! Ah well, Wales for the Six Nations, I suppose!
christ – sunspots
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-16701407
i have sold three copies dear….
christ – sunspots
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-16701407
i have sold three copies dear….
Went solo in a glider – did three flights solo. Just something I had to do, being up there with the birds, feeling free, lonely, clouds flying by, and then realising, oh fuck, no engine. NOOO, only joking – gliding is an incrediable pastime, and I will forever be thankfull to the RAF and civilian members of Bannerdown Gliding Club in 1985 at RAF Hullavington.
Vid, appropriate,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rTq6lDtCsU
Phallangus of art, we are becoming,
even from your hosts, Allie, non-posting,
art in our lives intertwined, art to even, oh dear,
may I say it, free online porn, keeps prostate clear,
away from animal and tree and plant that we should fear,
of dying to keep us seven bill in bog roll and shit my dear.
Human race – give me strength!
I am feelig extra miserable today, don’t let me take you down – ok you asked for it – What is a definition of a human? A world waster. Told you to go away, now what are you going to do with yourself today – play a video game, play with your dido, chat with your frieds “over” coffee somewhere, OR JUST TALK SENSE? Douglas Adams had it right, we need to get these estate agents off to another planet, quickly.
Went solo in a glider – did three flights solo. Just something I had to do, being up there with the birds, feeling free, lonely, clouds flying by, and then realising, oh fuck, no engine. NOOO, only joking – gliding is an incrediable pastime, and I will forever be thankfull to the RAF and civilian members of Bannerdown Gliding Club in 1985 at RAF Hullavington.
Vid, appropriate,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rTq6lDtCsU
Phallangus of art, we are becoming,
even from your hosts, Allie, non-posting,
art in our lives intertwined, art to even, oh dear,
may I say it, free online porn, keeps prostate clear,
away from animal and tree and plant that we should fear,
of dying to keep us seven bill in bog roll and shit my dear.
Human race – give me strength!
I am feelig extra miserable today, don’t let me take you down – ok you asked for it – What is a definition of a human? A world waster. Told you to go away, now what are you going to do with yourself today – play a video game, play with your dido, chat with your frieds “over” coffee somewhere, OR JUST TALK SENSE? Douglas Adams had it right, we need to get these estate agents off to another planet, quickly.
Sorry not to cheer you up again, but a message much said, much more worryingly said these days,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J53bnNCZRBw
Devon resolving thoughts between Paganism and the teachings of Christ in the first century before anyone in the World. Myself? I think Jesus was a good bloke. The God thing? It is another word for Mother Earth, as far as I am concerned.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChLldrAMSgo
There endeth the lesson.
Coronal mass ejection… mmmmmm nice, and from a very loverly looking clever lady, and she is very excited about it too,
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-16702235
What? whaaartt?
more tea vicar?
Some posts get posted some do not.
Do I give, my arse, no I certainly don’t.
I trust Cameron OOPS, yeh Campbell,
to call me a knob away, elsewhere sell.
But Alastair won’t do that to me, won’t you bach – I have a way to twist and turn people which what they think that possess power, in various ways, even my daughter, which I have spooked again this week, when she has realised again her mother is not some recreation of baby Jesus’ mum.
Anyway, a song for you Alastair, quite different, here goes,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiNQehY2VZk
May I lend you a hanky, Alastair?
We should NOT appreciate ourselves,
ourselves derivative from cowards,
cowards who darted not going into fight,
with those that did, that did, and fight the might, and died, for our simple history.
A song for them, and not certainly us, them, that has no offspring around us, of them, not heroically polluting this World, and becoming estate agents,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TaeU3CSeQVk
fucking british nazzies still with us, c @@ nts. Atlee should have put them all up against the wall for treason. Fuck the NHS, getting rid of them would have done Britain the better.
What? WHARRRT? oh piss off will you. Aneur-ur-u-urrin Bevan knew how to so-so-sort you tories out. So he had a stutter. So?
The jury is out, on me, it seems, with life. But it does not bother me, I love life, and young people getting around unbound, just trying to get on with it, and if someone decides I have had my innings, uprstairs or downstairs, it is up to them, I have no quarms on how I have lived, I have and will enjoy.
Peace and friendship is all I have to say, and all that bollocks.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQkActP-isE
another c @ ntry – classic clip. what? did I just fart vicar?
Brilliant interview of Glen Matlock, bass guitar above of the Sex Pistols (before he got replaced by Sid Vicious), on when Malcolm McLaren bought the farm – brilliant bloke, top fella,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wqw9pvPLG2U
One foot ahead of the flock, is spooky,
for anyone that who in life is a bit fruity.
Fruity as in fresh with ideas and schemes,
pushing humanity on into the new scenes.
Glad there is some of us about, ey Alastair, at any level. Give it blunt I say, and when they stop gasping at their own apparent judged rudeness, explain then, with their then obvious attention, from us, and the sheep should then follow to another field, in theory..
Life, sweet and sour,
must be experienced,
but certainly do devour,
as one arse gets trounced.
Yes, to live life doing your best to avoid the sharp edge of life is not the way to go. You should front up to it, almost invite it, and tell it to where to stick it, when coming experienced.
More Rita Pavone, eurovision song contest attempt on Italian telly, years ago, I think? but I might be wrong, but great clip all the same
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHVOiRzWAmU
Quite a girl is Rita.
With all the shit that I post here everywhere, mish-mash, pig’s soup, and just a complete mess, could be put in a book as a pisstake of modern day blogs, apart from yours, of course Alastair. Bet it would sell, but not today, since I am at least five years ahead of thoughts, of common mind. Just look out, there will even be films made of bonkers blog posters, speiling rubbish to abound unabound. Technology moves fast, and I can see next year, with 100MBps, landline and almost mobile, people will again be another animal. Mark my words. And to think I was fascinated with Felicity sending cassette tapes to her friend in the mid-1990’s, on when I watched on late night telly, as per,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAN8CYF5esE
Six nations to now kick-off today, 2012,
but thanckully not KICK-OFF times ancient.
Still smacked faces and bodies in various ways,
we will see with an amphitheatre saying thumbs up or down.
Romans, sorry, Ities with their strings of durum wheat,
Irish the boney arsed bogmen doing what they do best with priests.
Scots or yes Scots, that in every away pub will be bagpiped and ladies exposed.
And then comes us English and Welsh saying to each other, isn’t this really exciting butt, and get answered, ‘oh yah – I say, ding-dong’, and all that foreign english language that they speak.
This is a fecked up poem for Austin Healey, former rugby player, now full-time shitstirrer in a welsh newspaper, or something. Well, we are like that see, don’t like to see someone out of a job – we always like to give someone a start see.
http://www.walesonline.co.uk/rugbynation/rugby-news/2012/02/03/outspoken-former-england-star-austin-healey-gives-wales-no-hope-in-six-nations-91466-30255443/
Knew I forgot the French, as you do,
La Ray Verte, full version (!!!).
Non, non cashiers cheques, bucks only voici mon monsieur,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncddwdzsbPo
Have an hour and alf to watch theses, Monsieur Campbell, vous wool loovs it, ma mon ami.
My dad has sent me into one of these temporary insane mental conditions again, with what all life experienced, last night, threw the car keys somewhere now cannot find, know I “should” get out, but can’t, my duty to family celtically engrained does not simply allow it, but does he see my sense he does not, he just tells me basically just go, just go will you, but I can’t, because I just want to look after him, as we exchange life polluted experiences slaps on our simple faces.
oh christ, please give me strength this sunday, but we are miles away from killing each other, but are metaphorically inner, we could be.
All the best to everyone who has to cope with irrational procasenating OCD old parents, everywhere, feeling like they want you to chew the dinning room dinner table’s legs, at times, as I did feel, last night, in simple life frustration. oh mary jesus
Alastair, Rita Pavone visits London every now and again, she loves the smoke, London that is, not ahem! Bob Hope. Why don’t you give her a shout and you all have her around for din-dins? Really think you are on her wavelength and might like to meet you and all.
http://www.ritapavone.it/
christ, talk about coming over all facelessbook matchmaker, in the friends sense only, please Alastair – I saw her first!
I am a lighthouse now, to move in any direction gives me dread.
Been here there everywhere in simple task of looking for bread.
Now moving from my present position just here do me no good.
Lost the will to move like a tortoise without legs, limbs of wood.
Been offered several jobs, but the bastard travelling – I can’t simply cope with it anymore – put me in a cave and let me be a recluse, please! What do you say Monty Python?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krb2OdQksMc
I have been 10 years at home and you want to put me on a plane to where???
Ceredwen, Prydain prydferth, a lament to Britain – hanky time it should be for all, for all of us living on our simple isle now,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrCxDcjztg8
Knew the Gwedraeth Fach Valley is where the old Tywi went down in glacial lanes in old time, David Q. Bowen the Prof in his marvellous book told us. Storming fresh water over the lands we now live on.
Anyway, hope to meet some of you in the drowned forest of Marros beach – leave you car at the Marros Church and have an impressive walk down to where my ancestors used to live, hunting boars and deers and rabbits, and hares at the side,
http://www.aboutbritain.com/images/towns/marros-2789.jpg
See you there, in summer, with our healthy sun above us, showering her health onto us, to get us over the next fecking winter.
remarkable that this was posted on my fiftieth birthday, now seeing it on YT. Am I getting paranoid? No, just my simple message might be listened. Ok, I am a little bit paranoid, always looking behind my back looking who wants to fuck me in the arse… More Ceredwen, on our simple children we have to look after, until they know the better than us oldies,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTmDAEJHFps
By the way, Laugharne is not far away, less than ten miles from Marros, as the car flies, on lanes, where Dylan Thomas fell in loved with, and lived there, before his demise on tour in the US in NYC. Yes Laugharne, one of the triumverate of the three joining estuaries of our seas in Carmarthenshire. Look forward to see you around there this summer, you SE England living rich poshoes. Just give me a call and a shout, for taxis and such, bodyguards even, if needed, torys….
Furthermore, talking about Marros and Laugharne and things, Pendine in between – see you there with hopefully sun on our backs, ladies round the corner with their tops off as I strolled by passed when young – that one in the red bikini bottom was hot, as I needed to sit down to keep my dignity shown… my god, those titties, like blamonge moulds in my mind. what? wharrrt! Song in appreciation of Pendine, and their marvellous youngster visitors these days,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJDX9Ow41R8
I talk to someone anyone, even with bull,
then naturally look into space with the pull.
But still with appreciation and understanding,
still, making them end up laugh with my pulling.
Funny how life gives you understanding experience, as long as you don’t become life blind and just take it on the chin, in continuing, song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imSBNeIo3rc
When the ME109’s are coming down on you, do a complete 180 degree turn and head off into the opposite direction, and when they catch up with you, do another one, and then they will not have the advantage, then shoot the bollocks off them. Only works in a Hurricane or Spitfire though – you will be wasting your time trying the same tactics in a Wellington or Lancaster (and family) bomber…
I can see Rita bouncing up and down on her setee in Switzerland watching Italia vee England in rugby at the present moment, via sattelite or something. She is like that, get’s quite excited of life around her.
Sweet Rita,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbF5R3FVxaA
Knew an old boy that ran a pub near where I come from, he was near eighty, the other side of seventy. Anyway, something was kicking off in his pub, and he said no nonsense here as he stormed from behind his bar, then the bloke said no way, and this near eighty landlord looked one way, then turned and flattened him, sent him horizontal across the slate floor. And the rest of the punters dragged that customer out of the pub and left him on the pavement, and called a taxi for him. True story this is – ex-armed forces was the landlord, commandoes WWII and all that. Song for him,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i3VDn5VlvBk
Talking of Vickers Wellington bombers of the RAF WWII, this is an excellent appreciation vid of it, gaming styles, BUT, without the hopeless death,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjZ8kwQr1so
In my time in the RAF, as a Flight System technician, got taught on the English Electric Lightning control system, before it got withdrawn out of serice in the 1980’s – full of mag amps and solenoids to prevent cold war nucleartoid bombed pulses dropping them out of the air. I think I may have lost most of you already, art A-levelist non O-levelled science ones especially, anyway, RAF life on a Lightning base as here, in this brilliant vid, at the sharp sharp end of our cold war that we all participated in, Michael Caine and Impcress File style,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWPEAINGGDs
Cameron is on a booze cruise,
in shallow waters.
Tell us history again is whoos,
simple tory twaters.
He might as well bark,
into that sky.
As like a nature nark,
how we get by.
Get by, where north,
is not happy.
Party that England?
tory nappy.
Tin-tin in Middleborough, translated to local cunditions, if we’re oonderstood,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTn93EHQOsE
Teeside bros strength! what?
Cameron is on a booze cruise,
in shallow waters.
Tell us history again is whoos,
simple tory twaters.
He might as well bark,
into that sky.
As like a nature nark,
how we get by.
Get by, where north,
is not happy.
Party that England?
tory nappy.
Tin-tin in Middleborough, translated to local cunditions, if we’re oonderstood,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTn93EHQOsE
Teeside bros strength! what?
spacker olympics : ))) no I shouldn’t but, yes as shown by BBC for cheap coverage, the SPACKER OLYMPICS. Fills the days in for the BBC in for minimal outlay, I suppose. Used?
spacker olympics : ))) no I shouldn’t but, yes as shown by BBC for cheap coverage, the SPACKER OLYMPICS. Fills the days in for the BBC in for minimal outlay, I suppose. Used?
Push it to the edge,
look over past.
Turn around and see,
faces aghast.
Sheep in far fields,
looking at feet.
They look sideways,
not want treat.
Political correctness is a disease, but as long as when you know when to pull back and look back at the mess of humanity behind you, then you learn what is what. Suppose it is an artform, not to be tried by amateurs, as I am constantly finding, in my practising.
Knocked back by parentals and grands,
a repeating story in some’s life.
Talking to ostrich heads for your life,
feel their coming out past strife.
That is why they are and were, they can’t help it, even though you want to nut the wall in talking to them.
Song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lBhVJzF_QE
I am a sponge, it has become obvious to me,
talk to friends and family of things,
that they have fogotten and let laid to let it be.
But why?, have they taken a memory forget-me pill?
not remembering experiences up and down hill?
Maybe so, so, there we go, looks like I am different.
Who cares anyway – takes everyone to make a world up, apart from pro-eugenic scientists and certain politicians want. Song time,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MTF-cyYOfUc
ok, jokes then.
Do I offload my pool, away from my Greece,
to offshore, run from my struggling people?
If I do not, will I be fool to such future people?
So ah well, Liechtensein, Monte, Luxemburg,
or unimaginatively, Switzerland, here I come,
with my heavy suitcases, online transactually sent, and stuff my own country.
What? It’s legal after all, some say!
Song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXHdzzk40Nw
Saturday, oh gawd, ar they going to try make fools of us again, wearing thin.
Up in that twickers that must be running thin as any sort of HQ,
lives changing.
We have a bank of quite a few rugger players building up, exporting,
many to fill boots.
Taken many years to do so, flanking minds eye and attitudes english,
diplomats to France.
Song for our lovely rugby players playing in France, and I have heard, more in Italy soon,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3igHaUurQs
ahh, Rita, mmm.
Thinktank, out of that bank, frightens some,
those in the plough trail lines of life and stuff,
and when we pop up they flail, arms up in air,
at us bizarre, light through a prism not known.
Great expectations to all in life, that is out of step with those, COUGH!, people.
think Alastair now realises I have a way with words and the mind, but I am still practising, hell knows where I am going upstairs, a song for you Alastair,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2idWAg6jCmk
My maternal grandfather called me a goody-ooo,
ever since the age of eight or nine.
Reading Beanos and Dandy stomach on bed,
at ungodly hour for other child benign.
Been going on for over forty years now so,
cat has got his spots unremovable.
Tablets sleeping? stick them up your arse,
tatooed I am with poachers nightshift, from my genetic past.
I sleep when I do, I can not classically can be called a necrophiliac, no, a dipsomanic, no – I’ll get the right word in the end, a, a , a oh christ, google – ah that is it, an insomniac. I should be a captain of a ship, they work all hours and move through timezones and not worry when it is either night or day. Knew I should have joined the Merchant Navy, I could be bossing Phillapinos now, well not bossing them, phillapino seafarers are brilliant people. I am only fifty, so maybe I could still give it a go, and push the boat out….
Circadian rhythm? You hum it and I will certainly not be able to sing it. I seem to be different to most.
Males, livers we like to hammer them.
But why sweet girls you do yourselves.
Let our livers sweet love turn to sludge,
that so you all can complain in old trudge.
Christ, wots ‘er name from Corry in the hairnet, that’s ‘er. Ena fucking Sharples, will go down in history. Remembered her playing the piano on that itv Sunday program with wotsisface, supposedly the father of somoeone, yes that is him, Jessie Yates, Songs on Sunday or some other hypocritical front or other.
Spiritual singing from the Alps is called, after all I have said, Melanie, from Switzerland don’t you know,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IST-hCv6g8
Lover’s extremes. bipolar,
one minute stroking cat
then dumped down to the floor
as not needed, picking hairs from body.
I saw, but thought I could do good this lady,
the fool I was, with her constant reinvention,
reinvent latest history that I did this that or other.
Struggling looking after histaminic mind is not a hobby,
no matter what does climax.
Deep I know, but some might get it, trick cyclists no doubt. Beauty has the other side of it, total crankyness uncontrolable, even with themselves. It is good to learn about aspects of life, in living it, but by christ, it is testy at times.
Going to try to look of the best of Frasier, here goes,
this will do,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pd4FAb9Vnv8
Feel free to edit my terrible spelling mistakes out and my grammar, and then sell it to the highest bidder. I couldn’t give, if itis worth anything.
All the stuff I come out with is instantaneous, tghink what could do given half an hour, let alone a day.
Knew always I had a bit of the Dylan Thomas in me, my english teacher knew it, no wonder she gave me such a hard time.
Right, a super short poem on my old english teacher.
Right, Martin Chuzzlewit, Lord of the Flies,
Julius Caeser and Twelfth Night, and radio plays.
That twat from boxing, cauliflower years from some early tv play,
books telling us of 1966 Morris Mini Copper S Monte disqualified, due to some bulbs.
Not that short, I suppose.
Dynamic family life often wrong,
your mother insists north,
only for father say south,
and you only want is the west.
Troubled, buggered by house,
wish someone take me out,
of this madhouse of destroy,
where I can bloom and grow.
Meet friends not controlled,
same views on earth found,
friends also new unbound,
stuck generations concrete.
Say no more about this. Life moves on, no matter who does not like it, even through generations, Lords and Dukes.
Captain of a ship, cat’s eye on sea,
to see which way swell is coming to see.
To see him and his ship to try and overturn,
so that him and his crew and cargo it cannot throw.
To Davy’s dark, he hope it wouldn’t do,
but if one comes to split there’s nothing can do.
“So down me boys we all must go, slaves cargo and all,
but hope to God will look at me all fair, for my ship was under Devil’s care”.
Just made this up. Really should have joined the Merchant, or something.
More Rita, quando era giovane e ha ottenuto nei cuori, e si può facilmente capire perché. Ragazza dolce, che canta, in televisione, con dolcezza.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DERSWPBE0Xc
We talk, we bark, us men even sark, about life,
running around in young life having great larks.
Head in sand in what is in front of us, sarky not,
when first have our balls cut off, for to grow old.
By the way, just reinvented the world sark, it seems, for a different meaning, but I am into birds, don’t get me wrong, both kinds.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9lmCpIzhFo
More Billy’s misses here, Pamela mmmmm, anyway,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMXIro1P_7g
seriously mmmm… anyway. Berlin, more not the nine o’clock news,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iQamw4xxxHY
“you look revolting…”
Pam, the trick cyclist to the stars.
OK, so I am guessing here, but bet she is. People who World move could do with day to day therapy. I’ll let you know when I can fit you in Pamela. And no, I am not a tricky, just a normal bloke, but there must be a private industry in it, for one that can pay, to sharpen their mind to make more money, unlike repair minds from ones sent from us to our present wars, coming back broken in despair. Selfish selfish sponge Holywood. Oliver,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oEFZ3uaHIg4
One of my favorite Ollie Reed movies, you might have noticed, the above is – The Trap. Another one of his was as a beatnik seaside resort freelance photographer in the early 1960’s in Torquay, Torbay. Very interesting it was, but can’t remember what it is called, will search…. ah yes, found, The System. Strange name, directed by his friend, the great raconteur and gastronaut, Michael Winner – as I said, a super interesting film. And of course they did the brilliant Hannibal Brooks together too, top of the list starring an elephant.
Anyway, The System, good vid about it here, filmed in Torbay area, with Jane Merrow, mmmm etc.,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wqe1h3byUw
Yes, Hannibal Brooks, where Ollie famously pissed onto an austrian flag, as you do, that he tore down from one of their pub walls he visited, when slaughtered. He didn’t mean it, austro-hungarians, he was just making a joke, a go to the toilet joke, again as you do, non-diplomatically polite english non-type.
Lovely bloke was Ollie.
We’re here, but in a fart, we’re gone,
dinasaur like in our own life.
Parentals and grandparents seen young,
dancing all they see spun, and wrung,
Yes gone, enth degree grandparentals,
struggling rabbit noosed to feed,
spuds from the field, in yield,
and ladies to cook it, with yeast merry.
Ladies yes, young, but not that young,
pressing bossoms on their dress
yes they impress, downstairs rubble,
to get up for what they want, trouble.
Pisa leaning tower, Blackpool Tower,
Eiffel tower of steel, unlike people,
twin towers, umm, Empire State up,
gils allowed only, to climb my stump.
Song for my disgusting mind, I suppose – more tea Vicar? stop giggling Vicar, for goodnessakes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tn5YZ2umScM
Good link here, quote,
“4. Oliver Reed
The Actor: A brooding, larger than life presence on screen, Reed was famed for a string of tough performances in films like The Three Musketeers and Oliver! He also managed the not inconsiderable feat of making nude, man-on-man wrestling seem macho in Women In Love. Well played sir.
Their Amazing Life: A renowned hellraiser and womaniser, Olly Reed’s life would make for cracking entertainment, from the bar-room brawl that left him needing 63 stitches in his face, to the legendary drinking contest he had with Steve McQueen in the early ‘70s. Even his death has a certain heroism to it, with a chronically ill Reed spending his last night drinking and scrapping with a group of sailors in Malta. He died of a heart-attack the following day.
Key Scene: Whilst filming the wartime drama Hannibal Brooks, Ollie endears himself to the locals by tearing down the Austrian flag from outside the crew’s hotel and urinating upon it. As the shoot moves on to Germany, there is more of the same, as Reed enters a bar decorated with every national flag save Britain’s. Grabbing the terrified manager, Reed snarls, “I’m coming back tomorrow night. If you haven’t got a Union Jack by then I’m going to trash this place.” There is no Union Jack the following night so Reed puts a bar stool through the window.*Last couple of lines there is brilliant. The link,http://www.totalfilm.com/features/30-awesome-actors-who-deserve-biopics/oliver-reed
Been scratching my head where that music was put to another vid and it has just come to me just now- Gavin bluddy Henson!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYe3GdK3DUo
Forgot to post Jane Merrow in UFO, the non-puppet live action series from Gerry Anderson, but still thunderbirds to me. Jane Merrow herself posted this on youtubby, 69 now and still going strong, quite a lady,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r1NWGj9aNMw
Driving a Porsche 912 flat four, mmmm.
furthermore, Jane Merrow’s homepage on youtubby,
http://www.youtube.com/user/JaneMerrow
You might notice Julia Foster acting there too, at the start – the dimwitted blonde on hols that get’s taken in by Ollie’s character – mother of that, umm, BBC new institution, Ben Fogle. No further comment, I tend to just change the channel when his wetness appears. A bad advert for public school education, he talks so much flannel – not the type of bloke I would like to go into battle with, let alone, god forbid, as my platoon commander.
OK, a few comments then, just one of my microcosmic character assessments of privilage in it’s little forms in Shepherd’s Bush beeb. Don’t you agree Alastair?
I’ve got more talent in my little toenail, but I might not be as long tongued and waffling to bosses on nothing important, round the office drinking water fountain.
Would loved to have had a strong rational woman,
share the bed with in any twentieth olympics.
But breakfast time, being given orders of the day,
from such ladies to me be a complete shame.
Shopping then, coffee then, seeing friends, chatting,
back in car, country required country drive.
Evening comes, food in restaurant, then back in bed,
as to an office, when all I want is footie and open in cricket.
Balls cut off, going shopping, chatting to friends, driving,
seeing countryside birds, all free, nature feeding.
Back in car, discussing bullshit, mention politics or sport,
might as well come from Mars, with my underpant bar.
Bollocks to it, get on a double-decker, giving tickets out,
whoever passes by hops on to my trip and strip.
Road driven on, not for some, that want shopping,
must be more interesting for those after beguiling.
Tell them Cliff, just tell them as your Dad supposedly did Cliff, but….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQRytgGffV4
sing along…..
oh fart, if no-one if giving it a go, might as well say something, for those official poets to have a look what I say, I suppose, but this I am just starting, to it it clear now, for goodness sakes, you hysterical brit empirers that live down that, yeeee,threaded end of Britain – you are odd you lot english mafia that run se WEngland, completerly cuckoo.
Anyway, poem, umm,
Torn away from time I am, trainng each day,
let alone millimeteres, I should have had.
Pumping iron, to build body, but why,
keeps constantly spinning in my mind.
Breasts Ennis, but still bench pressed,
Dai Green, expressed, as fast one lap.
Swim? Oh christ, yap yap yap yap,
cycling? yap,yap,yap, bb fucking cee.
destroyers. BBC, let them get on with their training you studid feccking GOOONS!
Wel, someone had to tell the beeb, they are idiots, world war one brothers that weren’t allow to be Leutenants, when their brothers died, because, yes, they coulnd’t dig coal properly in world war one.
Bevan Boys in WW2 were superbe, well chosen by Aneurin Bevan.
Heaven 17 not met, distant,
songs were spun.
Sheffield steel redundant,
down the rung,
Glenn, Martyn and Ian sung,
ex-head was office used.
Melatonic sounds from brung,
transitor op amp abused.
Gordon’s Gin consumed,
for another line.
then split up and fumed,
to two virgin benign.
Fighting to get whatever,
head for the future.
Asymetric won the day,
on head premature.
Gordon’s Gin, by Human League, 1979,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3j0iN0oZ_U
BLIMEY! 300, I can waffle, me.
Bevin boys it was, of course, just pointing out the historical confusion with Bevan’s NHS. of course, but is inter-linked, in a way. An-an-aneurin BBBBevan, speaching,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZmw8XIoZeY
Bevin boys going underground,
http://www.britishpathe.com/video/bevin-boys
click pathe vid
since it is 300 post here, might as well edit my flash poem as we speak, here goes, for spells and shit,
Heaven 17 not met, distant,songs were spun.Sheffield steel redundant,down the rung.
Glenn, Martyn and Ian sung,ex-head was office used.Melatronic sounds from brung,transistor op amp abused.
Gordon’s Gin consumed,for another line.then split up and fumed,to two virgins benign.
Fighting to get whatever,head for the future.Asymmetric won the day,on head premature.
Gordon’s Gin, by Human League, 1979,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v…
Think that is better, but might have missed some pedantic grammer or spelling, but who gives a fanny? Ey?
Powerful writing, how is it done?
Get your Singer sowing machine out,
and let it spun.
Life looked back, cricked neck,
legs opened inviting,
mark one life.
Powerful in words and life turds,
maybe, reflected past,
may long it last, mirrored today, sadly.
Dark secrets of GP’s, we know there there,
yeast born but not told.
Through life managed, monk’s herbals,
study eyes, for mind.
Knock off, clinic closed, 5pm,
whisky time, hammer.
Phone goes off, oh christ what now?
Mrs Evans has fallen.
Get there, she has had a turn, again,
tea revived, just drink more.
Thirst, one sense that old destroys,
in body, and mind.
GP’S have a heck of a job – rainbow of all spectrum of human life they see, which cannot be taught how to cope. Strong minds and stomachs, to try cope.
Method acting? I play day to day,
who am I today? I do not know.
Acting in my life, to give confused,
all around say he’s nuts, but profound,
Hidden life of such actors in such speil,
is like a circus act, animals optional, dog walking.
Find your losing yourself, personality on a trip,
to elsewhere, when eventually you wake up one morn, gone.
Actors loose their personality if they want to be “AN” actor. Stripped and bear what they were before. Going out with an actor for a few pints is like going out with a dozen.
France, La France, tomorrow, already sent the english press shitless,
with baffling words and phrases, in english mainly, apart furch.
On european history put in the right Rhine place, you were above,
while us blonde welsh were from alp below, as french friends, endless.
Yes, a spectacle to be seen, specsavers hopefully not involved,
whistled to irish-type speak, with a saffa would no doubt be gold.
All told, it will be a grand event, prozac at the ready, for the worst,
but I am sure, hundred percent charging damage, french will turd it.
All the best Cymru against our, soon hopefully baffled, welsh friends, the Jacques Tatis.
Well! That was an hell of an event, Wales/Cymru has gone bonkers, but it doesn’t take much, he says.
All the best to Robbie the landlord and Gareth at the King’s Head, Capel Hendre – it was quite an afternoon. And also to Ian the landlord at the Cross Hands Hotel, for afters, karioke and things, I sang myself hoarse – sorry all for the ear damage. And whatisname the french bloke from the Rhone valley – we managed to communicate with my third year school francais, just. Might as well post a vid, kiddies from Whitland school, West Wales, school project or something it looks like,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wydp21v2XeQ
Electra complex or Oedipus complex, love gone wrong,
as Freud complexed, spoken to flatearthed clothed ears.
Quite a truth he spoke, as soldiers fall in their dying breath,
called mothers, back to womb, back beginning of their years
Daughters too, hunting for a substitute dad, to order them,
to argue with throw tantrums with, and bang those doors.
But to always love, no matter what goes wrong, with life,
even if they experience arguements, knocked onto floors.
More Heaven 17, with russian clips, and no, not porn, politics and the bomb thankfully not dropped,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Knt6zh41Fqw
This should be an interesting event this summer, just up the road from me, flilling in the niche between Glastonbury and the National Eisteddfod in a little way. Just up the road from me, at Llandeilo, at the magical park of Dinefwr, about half way up the Towy Valley, a valley deeply steeped in history, dotted with bronze, iron, roman and medieval aged past times, and good dairy farming areas, as well as having the most expensive salmon and trout fishing rivers in the UK, on a par with Tweed and Teviot in the Scottish borders. Will be interesting how it goes. Also has one of the oldest alternative-living communities around, nearby. I think it is still going.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-south-west-wales-17350011
Alastair, let anyone that you know who fancies watching a recording of how S4C’s coverage was like on above game on Saturday, for UK cultural research reasons, and other curious reasons, it is now on CLIC, S4C’s version of the beeb’s iplayer, but without any of those annoying ads that pop up and pollute on ITV/C4’s versions. Available for all of UK, not only Wales, which is nice. The link,
http://s4c.co.uk/clic/e_level2.shtml?series_id=502921770
Christ!, aren’t I a miserable bugger with my memories, and sometime mammories experienced, cough! Anyway, this vid is from just after when Stalin died, 1953, live performance act from actual USSR/CSSR. I like it, but it took a good few decades to wash Stalin out of their system, that is how I view it historically gnat sized timewise,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zhvNaiRMFxE
I have several times been called a red, but I wasn’t at all, I was above all that. Anti-capitalist? maybe. Humanist? yes could be. Pagan? might be the top of the list for me, Mother Earth bosses everything, at the end of the day, when we are long gone, even the human race. Might be getting deep here, but since not many call by here, I might get away with it, not following the human race party line, and all that, if you get me. Sometimes I don’t myself.
Even furthermore, bugger it, H. G. Wells, a genius, my favorite author of the twentieth century, coal mining Wigan in Wigan Pier and things, he was well in advance of his time here, and remarkably so, millennia. Stunning writing, put to film, with that marvellous Ozzie, Rod Tayler. What are you saying I am starting my charmed offensive for when Wales play Oz in three tests of rugger this summer? H. G. Wells I am talking about, maybe,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9miqKm0aB0
And by the way, didn’t really want to say this, but this is how me and the french Rhone bloke were conversing Saturday night, with Logan and Ustinov interchanging parts between us, each at times thinking “what the dickens is he saying”. Said he had a femme, with a rolling pin, back in La France, so he wasn’t interested in me finding a young lady free to spread the diplomacy, so I said bon nuit to him as he and the rest of his gang went to the Cross Hands travelodge at, must be, 4am, give or take. Good night it was.
Anyway, this is how the conversation went, in a way, and to think we live less than a thousand miles apart,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4Lq7hgs9S8
Winners, that wins the day, all else are also rans,
culture that creates is today, not false yesterdays.
Some notice them, the worried furrowed foreheads,
denying what is happening, steel clamped in stays.
Move on, be dynamic not static, frightens some,
the cultural concreted, new is not good they think.
No, taken as sinful in the narrow corridors of time,
and mind, when eventually mechanics with blink, extincts.
Tried to take a sledge hammer attitude in this poem, giving feelings of the old guard of anything needs attacked, but obviously to the ones that are glaringly irrational and need to move on, desperately. But even if help is offered, their eyes are blind, ears are closed, and mouth too open. oh bollocks. Such is life at times.
I play sport, I am a rockstar, I wrote a book,
suddenly earned stacks of cash, for today.
Knackered, lost fashion, writers blocked,
it went away, yesterday, just like magic,
Golf course, drug parties, Groucho club,
only to be seen, shake hand memories.
Tax when there, was enormous at top,
this that other industry, of burned trip.
Budgets? Fantasy for today.
Since I haven’t yet declared it, might as well do now, I am a The Big Bang Theory fan, and no, the comedy show I am on about, US’ latest export after Friends, Cheers, Frasier, Rhoda, and Lucy Ball. Poem for most people’s favorite character from it, though Penny, mmmm, is a close second,
Sheldon, in his warped mind, though not Star Treked warped,
as what he would no doubt hope, with our simple other minds,
is a goon, dysfunctional in a stereotypical social occassion,
amongst the fellow human race he feels alien and not part.
Comic book marvel collector, trainspotter, infinite physicist,
stand in his office front of his whiteboard thinking wiping,
Indian friend at side, OCD, Raj stand there I sit there,
and Penny from cheese factory “what a load of crap”.
“See, girls have no culture”, said Raj. Sheldon vid here, supposedly the best bits of him,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eD8RhPDU5Y
And no, the third bit of the fourth line I was not mirrored lined referring to J. K. Rowling, honest, or was I? It is my discretion what is the truth I was writing. Buy me a drink and I will tell you my truth….
China, as your dogs our grandmother,
or grander’s had on their mantelpiece,
is a strange piece, today, in our World.
Stabalising some say, from recent wilds,
from colonial times, opium and things,
scottish pushers Paxo educated, chimed.
Jew scientist, Chinese not experienced,
in our times of do your family best next,
what? And then trouble started farted.
Twentieth century? Who’d have it? Ey? US and Soviets irratiated this planet, with testing, and US in history in Japan, which they are struggling with, skyrocketing cancers, just one stray alpha particle consumed start off. And now we have buggering tsunami caused floating in our atmosphere, skyrocketing it more, no doubt.
Song for it, the bugger, by man’s stooopidity, and lack of foresight,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bgcDqiIbwOI
Carmarthen, asylum on the hill,
a marvellous town, affected,
People with closed open minds,
if it is possible, healthy minds.
Merlin’s old town, we are told,
from historical turds from time.
A magical place where I come alive,
when I recreate myself and future survive.
Place I was born, I am an old Roman St Peter’s boy, since I was born there, yes, my mother bore me in her house, straining upstairs where we lived then, Carmarthen is through my soul, cannot be described. Went down there last night, great time, but when I started tried chatting those two six foot Carmarthen girls, I thought, time to get home. Cost me a fortune in taxis, but with petrol prices, understandable. Bloke taxi lives in Ferryside, which we deeply discussed, at the lack of ferries, in the triumverate of the three rivers of Carmarthenshire..
How can you feel cold to your family, when brought up cold,
towards myself early life, when you cannot be cold,
when eventual need called, cannot ignore.
A corner of the mind disturbed, past times compromised,
come back to haunt, a closed corner thought shut,
only to find, unlatched, a jack in a box, with life.
Don’t think I need to say anymore, for people who “get” what I just said. Be thankful those that don’t, emotional torture when young, day in day out, drip-drip, when nothing was felt good enough, but when looked back it should have. Backed my parents up always when young, but self them was only I experienced.
People in general society just say leave me to God, but I was in a peculiar situation, could write chapters on it. But I survived, in sorts, sorts of what can be seen as I am now. Jesus wept, I wasn’t being over-sensitive, I just had two parents, one shouldn’t have been with the other, my mother should have left my dad to whoever.
Anyway, I am feeling better these days, got over the dark days when my mother died and everything came to a head in my head of all my life. Never was happier when I was away from them, but something inside me always dragged me back. It was like a multi-generational form of some sort of abuse, destroying each other, but not in the usual sense, just emotional coldness, and shoving hurdles due to fright in front, that shouldn’t be there, for life.
France, Germany, Austria, Italy, maybe Monaco,
surrounding the Swizz, very interestingly.
Neutral they say, but in what? Rugby?
past euros passive? my fat arse.
Take money and run, and hide, collective financially
into alp mountain vaults, not seen, by us.
Song for swizz by their Melanie,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3IST-hCv6g8
ja/oui/si/si(swiss romansh)/fucking yes(english-tribal!) : )
I have a way with europe, me.
blimey, I have even impressed myself there, last night. I have a way with words, when I try, but some say turds, no flipping doubt. Loves to all, even cretins.
April Fool, who is fooling who?
travelling on lines, made by?
Past times, other travelled,
microchip not experienced.
Flag what up, we’re alive?
survive, in our present clime?
Give us a medal then, reaching fifty,
when on average dead, past time.
Give us a fair slack of the whip then,
this warped new boat we now travelling.
Modern super duper modern life is interesting, isn’t it?
My daughter now lives in Billericay, Essex
hopfully not in some sudo-religious convent.
Mates no doubt she met, working abroad,
ready for gormless meets of this years wotsits.
Good luck to her, subbed wotsit hairdresed,
upstairs and no doubt down, what? Nails?
Life of times these days, boys frustrated coped,
and ladies want throw off balconies pissed.
Life and times of a rep, Siân seems does well,
20 hour day at time, pick of the boys, no doubt.
You have just got to let them go, haven’t you, birds flying out of your hands. Let them find where they want to nest.
Dad, why do you go away so much?
I must do for myself.
But why Dad, you will do OK here?
I won’t, and you know it.
But Dad, I will take care of you?
Who will take care of myself inside self?
Now you are being stupid now Dad.
Well isn’t life stupid, when you get into it?
All the best Alastair, life is funny, at the end of the day, and all that bollocks, and it frightens the living daylights out of us for it being so simple, doesn’t it? This poem is a play on question marks, more than anything, answer me, or you vill experience ze consiquences.
Humour included, as an added spice of life…
Ladies, put on a pedestal, can’t get on top of it,
never had a sister, that could be the problem.
Battling bathroomtime, never experienced,
mother with two sons and husband confused.
Family dynamics, slewed to men oily spannered,
steam trains and cars, Hollyoaks it wasn’t.
Toilet seat always up, seventy-five percent of time,
pantry always empty, by lads lifed consumption.
No need to say any further, but my mother did confess to me she would have hated to have a daughter, she wouldn’t know how to cope with one, so there we go, it turned out alright for her, toilet seat and splash stains or not.
Humidity dropped, snowflakes aloft,
north wind blow, but in April?
Sweating last week, this week brassy,
weather playing monkeys with us.
Flakes by end day, gritters parked up,
reversed from summer sidings.
Barking brit weather, playing games,
seaside cafes, tea and crumpets waste.
Snow on the way, already up north. Mother Nature and her games, with the help of carbon man.
Indoor allergies, asperingus or whatever,
biting at ankles of my immune system.
Travellers caravans I should be in,
even native tents or a hovel.
Less than five feet of fresh air away,
no hacking when just awake.
Houses hermetically sealed is unnatural,
as clothes on our body, respectable.
Give me a tent out in the air, outside alive,
no carpet fabric mites shit where strive.
Allergies is not rocket science, but wished the same would be to them.
Sorry, my spelling again, asperga, aspergel, what is it again doc?
http://www.aspergillus.org.uk/
Furthermore, my mother, being a nurse, was given tablets in the 1950’s for her serious allergies, but screwed her immune system up, where she then developed rampant immune system disorders, right across the scale – rheumatoid athritis, sjorgan’s syndrome, vitiligo, scleroderma of the guts, the list goes on.
That is why I will not even take an asprin, and although I have allergies bad, won’t touch any medicines and pills, because it comes back to bite you.
My mother, by the way, died a horrible death, fibrosis of the lung, and knackered heart valves, due to rheumatoid arthritis. That last night with her in the hospital, hearing her gasping for air, will haunt me forever – it fucked me right up. Should I have been there, for my own good? pieces, small pieces I was.
Bugger it, a song for my mam, she liked Daniel O’Donnell, yes, him, so why not. It will help me at least, in a little way.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OspCQd9NJfw
This is what mother would want, not me godforbid, to me it is totally pants. But this the stuff my mother listened to. So I can’t complain.
Know this is not very nice to say this, but the best medicine to calm down my immune system is pure and simple alcohol, as if it has become genetically part of the body chemistry from past times. But if you can do without it for other reasons, fine, but when I gave up for three years, my skin went bonkers, knees ankles and shoulders were complaining like anything, had to gave up hiking for a while, but all those disappeared when got on the apple cider. Oh, yes, also, now follow a total glutein-free diet, and don’t drink milk, just a bit in my tea, that has helped also. If I drunk a pint of milk now, I would be sitting on the toilet for most of the next day, due to mucous-membrane creeping scleroderma of the guts, destroying di-saccahride digestive capabilities.
But apart from that, I get by and am happy enough. Let’s have another Daniel O’Donnell song, shall we? Why not,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8kW1GpzidM
Not too bad…. maybe…
…but not as good as the Kiwi, Hayley Westenra singing it, loves her rugger she does,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n5POpP0JNAM
Alcohol gives my immune system something to battle against, I have found, it seems. Anyway, Hayley getting her gong in London, in one of them posh events they tend to hold there,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9yOGCMJ3xo
Brilliant singing!
Totally off topic, balls chopped off, castrato, in middle europe, a way out of the gutter, if you had a voice to start with, europe is nuts, and still is, that is why the CIA has a problem with us, we blow whichever way the wind blows, and are barking mad, and the yanks are uncomfortably with that, oh yes, dawg-godam-darn they are,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxSlnE408Eo
Greg Pritchard, with unfeasibly unbelieveable male vocal chords, knackers intact, it is said,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOIKs346Lww
A loverly brilliant voice from freakdom, that the human race pops out, now and again.
A man for all seasons, what season?
unlike dog going sniffing and bonkers.
To where, mind consumes, in genes,
intelligent downtrodden balls in them.
Thoughts, but religion? Do birds follow?
No they don’t, so why should we?
Life, started, but as a candle, at the end of day, out.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbZfh-5QsAw
School photos, looking back, Priory Street Primary School.
Carmarthen, looking proud, the lieutenant of the class, five yeared.
Next to the Captain, my great mate, future NHS’ed,
and ladies and girls that still fall on me, those innocent times.
Six foot now girls, past models, daughters now too also,
say, to my St. Peters Boy mentality, come up and see me.
A slppery slope up Lammas Street it would no doubt be,
like a trout going up the Tywi, turn left, to the Gwili.
Met a son of an old friend of Carmarthen last night, quite surreal, looked exactly like him, so I said, “You are not Ed’s son that runs the Queens Hotel in Carmarthen, are you?”. And he incredible said “Yes”. He was stunned, as I was stunned. Never met this young lad ever, though Ed used to get around.
The capaten of my time then, my big mate, next door, 73 Hafod Cwnin, Chris Jones, worked in NHSdome admin high up after studying history at Swansea Uni, all over the UK, but he said it was quite difficult in the Thatcherdome, but he is a tory, sugar and spice we are to each other, but I still loves him, to death, my extra brother. Likes golf, a lot, but we all have our crosses to bear. Will have to pop in and see him soon, it’s been a few years, as you do.
crosses to bare even, my spelling is atrotious. Clumbsy fingered.
Love cats, never had a pet dog, too much work,
pet dog like a fawning wife, also looking at you.
Never married, catholic priest-like without bible,
too independent-minded, squirt into corners visit.
Yes, cats, friends, hug you then piss off blanked,
off somewhere who bluddy knows, catland maybe.
Then turn up as never left, hugs and kisses lame,
making out you are best thing, within life’s flame.
Dogs are just too needy, like wives, very time consuming and expensive, but expensive is not the word, can’t remember it, ah yes, that is it, ‘king high maintenence, up and down the aisle costing thousands. Vicars laugh.
Audrey, from Belgium, and Bob Hope, not dope, not on a golf course, 1967,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zk-bPzu7NTo
Audrey Hepburn was a classy stunner, wasn’t she?
1967 Oscars also nominated, “The Russians are Coming, the…” etc. Gram Parsons,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dibszk9csTs
Bugger it, in the next few days I will go and see Ed at the Queens, and he will let me know about Chris, and go and see him. Don’t want to turn up without information how things are these days for him, with him, last I heard, on his second wife.
Song on of our deep rooted relationship, quite rare to be found,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR4vE9xL3yk
oh shit, spelled/spelt maintenance wrong now, but at least I spelled/spelt aisle right, so not too bad.
A catholic girl I was with, super beautiful,
could cut cheese with her cheekbones.
Should we’ve banged them out after one,
I sometimes ask myself now, after Mayday.
Hospital in Croydon, pain gone through,
her as well, squirting out a melon below.
Incredible experience that made me run,
away, looking at stiches made was not fun.
For those that have been there, I need say no more. My nerves were buckled and shreaded, and no good more to no man after that. Jesus wept! Sweet eyed melon looking up at me, finished me.
Might as well repost Sarah Miles and John Mills and Christopher Jones, the yank classy actor, and times repeated….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMQR-welqoM
Brilliant sweet clip, get in there Sarah!
I suppose I have been on my own in my life, never had a father. He is aspinger, and doesn’t realise it. I had to be the dad to my mam, and it has had it’s affect. As I said previously, things went bananas after mam died, having to take over his contract (!can’t remember the right word again), as the eldest son. Take over the brief/yes, that is it. But I am sorting it, and doing a good job, dad miles away, here but not here. Song,
Dad’s quarter yorkie, me eigth, Harthill Lakings, great uncle used to play for Middlesborough, George.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygRN5kx8SWg
more bad spelling, asperger even,
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome
Not serious, but it’s there, can’t get a grip of social peculiarities at all, never has been able to, and it is not due to old age, he has always been like that, and I should know. Have thousands of stories.
Classic trait, I have noticed, is mirrored social interactions, without independent edges at all. Lack of fuming at life days events when it goes wrong, just irrational blow-ups at when a surprise has happened, out of daily habits. But has become less, when I’ve reasoned with him, but it has taken years, and out of me too. Ah well. But it is genetic, latent in me, to a certain extent, so it will pop up in grand-children again, and there is no doubt about that. Remote farming community inbreeding in past? Maybe, he says.
And anyway, explains my bad spelling, no matter how many times I look at a dictionary, I get that word wrong and wrong again. Good at maths though, nine times out of ten get the Coundown maths puzzle exactly, though the multi-words section is a blur, but Rachel makes up for it, looking at what is behind her.
Wharrrrt??
24 hour offie, seven day, at the roundabout at the end of my road,
always selling out of black treacle from paddy truck co-drivers.
Fags sold, pasties and sausage rolls, end of M4 two mile,
officially dual-carriaged A48, on your Streetmap, or google.
Truck drivers turn up mid-night, with petrol and diesel and things,
telling me “no panic, us contractors need same pay as before”.
Fantasy living people, visiting garages, think petrol is like meat,
comes from a supermarket and no idea before what is the score.
Glad UNITE are the big man at the moment, unlike the numbnut shitstirring government we are presently under a yolk of.
Coconut wax, surboards, not suitable for skiis,
is my smell of summer on Atlantic Coast skiis.
In air sweetly as I pull on my 6mm neoprene,
wet suited without tie I plunge into the briney.
Paddling like fuck, to get to other side of life,
one day choppy other day glassy on dreams,
but sometimes total mess, washing machine.
Down the front, like an Hawaiian god I stand,
then after get off and paddle through again.
Coconut wax is my seaside, the smell strong and sweet and natural, away from life’s strifes.
Should I spend my time thinking or doing?
what is the happy balance with being?
Quality or quantity to future produce?
or just run around like a mad fool?
Looking as if I am seriously doing?
Or fist against cheek thinking?
Looking at life, contemplate,
seeing everything’s fate?
Quite a question, isn’t it? What is the balance?
oh bollocks! Spelled yoke wrong there now. Clumbsy. Will have to have a try at self-editing sometime. Sorry oxen.
more father bashing
Mature in advance of my years, I was,
father was disturbed with some way.
Couldn’t handle it, as else things in life,
attack, at least excuse, put me down.
His dysfunctionality life term for me,
out of love and duty me now one way.
But, thankfully his ear conch like live,
got him over the border toward life like.
Frankly, been through hell with him after mam died, people all through life knew what he was like, hanging over me, if he was left, me eldest son with sense.
Ah bollocks – another bloke well ahead of his time, uncutdown though, Stevie Winwood at nineteen here, and he wrote it, 1967,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAdottB7UU8
As Dylan Thomas said, words to the effect, to be a “son of a sloth and a turnip”. How times repeat. But it has different flavours, doesn’t it?
Good review of a monologue drama play that was done at the Edinburgh Fringe a few years ago, based on (and tribute to) Dylan Thomas’ experiences on his US tours of colleges etc. in the early 1950’s,
http://www.theatre-wales.co.uk/reviews/reviews_details.asp?offset=1399&reviewID=1133
The yanks are still crazy about him still. Well, the literary “culture vultures” over there, that is.
My mother had a subtle but hard spell on us,
not only as a mam, but a honest wife as well.
Remembering herself up in Seven Sisters, coal,
1930’s, running around without shoes and knickers.
War came, 1939 initially more strife, but grand promoted,
ex-horseshoe country blacksmith promoted to look after ropes.
Up and down shafts at ungodly hour during war he checked for fail,
until tired, slipped, fell off, cracked his leg on the next level and landed on the next, survived. His war story, Steve y Gôv, the colliery blacksmith and engineer on the ground, or underneath, Great Mountain Colliery, World War Two, helping to shove up the coal for the war effort, quicktime.
A Focke-Wulf 190 with long range drop tanks came to strafe it, but I suppose no-one wants to see that, When he saw everyone waving up at him, and the young kiddies giving him the zieg heil, we spooked him and he landed in RAF Pembrey in a total messed up psychological condition. We have our ways. This is a true story, honest…. super honest, research it.
Died flames, happens quicklier than others,
flamed up and bright alight to all around,
Beautiful teeth cheekbones, rosy cheeked,
full of life all abound around, doing alright.
It seems. Mind inside, turmoil, try change,
another life no friends old understood, gone.
Building up, try say doing ok, war friend killed,
what for, my sanity, to be around here now, milled.
Lynette Roberts lost a male love, even though she was in a marriage of sorts, in WWII, and that was the downhillfactor for her, after leaving and being lost from her family life from Argentina, due to political changes and all that stuff there.
Bugger it, a vid for Lynette from Argentina – this should cheer her spirit up, and I am not joking, it will, young people doing things not war,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dD-ZIILtI2I
My Scarlets vee Munner at home tonight in rugger. AHEM! could be interesting.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-17782102
Robin going forth, then coming back,
darting that sparrow hawk round the corner.
Pigswill I must enter for mid day dinner,
sitting atop pink skinned middenler.
Oats thrown out to me are sweet,
but back I need, to make feel.
Feel old times, farmer times tilling,
harrowing, human runts snorting, upon back top.
Robin know more about us than some of us.
Working my way through the cellar, before hic! death duties come in, anyway who is this fella Lloyd George with his working class arse?
Come fart by me I would ask him, sitting as he do, looking pheasant,
peasant I say, go, go over there old boy, you smell slightly different.
Taxes, taxes? shove them up your harris Westminster, I am offshore,
but yes, live here most of the time, but my school tie has the score.
Time is running out Dave, and others, to come clean what sort of family you come from. Or should we save it when we know a GE is coming up? Or would it ignite a GE? mmm, let me contemplate…..
Alastair, going for a sprint, gonna try and get it up to 500 here for opening day of the Olympics.
It won’t be hard work though, they just appear in my brain. No, no, I am not mad – well, not exactly clinically mad, and no, not that either, I AM NOT AN ALIEN. Well, as far as I know – you never know.
The marvellous silent comedy star contemplating as a film director then, James Findlayson, with, no, not with Cameron and Clegg, but Laurel and Hardy, but what is the difference some would say, no doubt. I do.
James Findlayson, originally from Stirlingshire Scotland, but now here in this clip Hollywood, California (in the US if you haven’t heard of Hollywood….),
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OF-ij0SfAGQ
A stitches L & H clip. But C & C make me laugh also, but in a different way.
Mentioned before, Evening Primrose Oil from soil,
was hacking and barking like dog early morning.
Awoke for the spluttering attacks from bronchii,
shoved self back on the EPO disappeared, my!
Mentioned before, druids and monks with flowers,
borage flowers and leaves made into a morn tea.
Now found contain same, immune system calmer,
PGE1 and gamma linolenic acid the fat the charmer.
Alcohol promotes but suppresses the step before,
if low in body before pop, you know the score.
A circle of reinforcement going down to less,
no delta-6 GLA left until EPO met, oh bless!
It has the habit of making you drink less, but makes when you have a drink more enjoyable. But there could be other factors involved, so you’d better all check with your doc.
Disclaimer: I am not a monk, Cadfael welsh one or other, nor a druid, honest!
really off the blocks now Alastair, not mind, but Olympic sprinting….
Flight control system technician RAF went to end,
trained sixteenth months to double payrised niced.
Still russian time howling siren on Swinderby block,
so know if what whenever whichever bomb dropped.
Lightning English Electric Lightning hydraulics avoid,
cut a finger off high pressured if put a finger inside.
Fuselage leccy lines I was involved to black boxed,
screwdriver only required deep thought knew screwed.
Unscrew, pull out, blackbox healthy tried, no, storetime,
get another bit darkened wizard box for another go.
Hey Presto!, Lightning can now take off up sky above,
chasing the moon and sun again, screwdriver in hand.
Fav vid of an English Electric Lighning. My time in the RAF was excellent, and if things did “kick off” after I left, they knew where I was, and was ready for the call, as I was informed on Bush’s Snr early 1990’s Iraq campaign, if it escalated. But I am glad as it turned out there was no need for me to chase medals then.
English Electric Lightning,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWPEAINGGDs
Life moves on, always, avoided these old time get togethers,
prefer these young ones where heard “who is that gruntie?”.
Youngsters when ask I explain, they laugh or giggle “What?”,
insane to them they find me now, but with young it will stick.
So when old they say yeh, he was right in bothering us then,
as they their then old fool, bother their youngsters, ad infintatum.
It is called being social, even though I tend to end up talking to their girlfriends more. Don’t know why…..
Client, a lady group reminds me of the such attack. Many things that happened during WWII would be morning headline news now today, but all lost now. Oh the games of mice and men, tucked away censored in some Ministry of Defence vault,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FDbXqP7z-Uc
note with the second reviewer, tory, that he describes Dylan Toots as “an ageing writer”!?!
He died at 39 for goodness sakes you stoopid stoopid twll right-wing fucking twat of a tool!
calm down Huw. Anway, hundreth birthday for Dylan in 2014. Could be quite a party in West Wales. Clinton and Carter are rumoured to come to it in West Wales, as well as tribes of culture vultures from all over the World. What Toots spoke can be applied wherever you live or lived.
But it will be autumn for it, which is nice, extra holiday money outside the traditional summer tourist season. Dylan describing his thirtieth year to heaven, when he admitted it wasn’t when he wrote it, when leaves laid leaved, with their October blood, on the ground,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EnoHCSU5yn8
and then the town awoke, and the gates of the town, closed, behind me.
Getting to 500 hundred will be easy, Alastair. GO TEAM GB!
Leave me to heaven, leave her to heaven
an arguement some say, without person.
He is out of step, destructive on others,
world of his own with confusing message.
Hang on, time passes, he she has a point,
what did they say, this would happen now?
Oh dear, so it has, what can we do now?
come passed to past thinking, wot a blast!
Gene Tierney has come to my mind today with the leave her to heaven, again, when she was troubled herself thinking, after her film maybe, as a psycho lady beauty from Hollywood. Brilliant lady she was, republicans just could not understand her, as they do,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZRBE2KkM_k
I am in time-framed love with Gene. OK, call me sad if you want, but when I perfect that time-machine, who will be laughing then, ey? : )
June 21/22 I am looking forward to, this summer,
fierce sun new year my eastern bedroom window.
Telling me, why are you not up to look at me wanker,
doing all this work for you and you stay in your bed.
My birthday, here, when I visit you for twenty hours,
all you can do wake up at eight and water my flowers.
Yes, my flowers not yours, I am the strength of flame,
giving you strength mankind, going around total lame.
The Sun has spoke, the big yellow thing in the sky that is, not that tosser red top, confused with life, speiling shit.
another pre-Olympic poem ticked off, Alastair. I am on FIRE!
Might as well post a pic of a robin from about 1967, was five, annual Robin, sweet pic, but the robin looks obviously stuffed. Got this annual, was given to me by an excellent family and friend when we lived young family in Carmarthen, towards Abergwili. where our first home of local Bishop lived, prot, with Henry Eight changes. Played threw a piece of slate at almost took his eye out, the kid that gave me this later, tried to throw and miss, but got it totally wrong. I was beside myself then, still am now, I only just missed taking his eye out. Jesus wept!
Robin annual, 1967,
http://www.flickr.com/photos/monkeymillions/3780664169/
Friend who we both went through the RAF system then, Swinderby-Locking-Cosford route for smart technicians, went to RAF Sealand together, for serious nurd flight system technicians, and we shared a house, the otherside of Chester. He was four years younger than me, and he pleaded with me to become a nav, you and me in a Tornado, me driving it you getting us there and dropping the bombs. Didn’t actually tell him when I turned him down, my immune system is the quandry to me. But fair play. Flying Officer Meirion Roscoe from Anglesey, Cemaes Bay, became a fast jet RAF pilot, brilliant, just simply brilliant. But as I said, if anything would have kicked off, I would easily become behind him, getting us there, dropping bombs, on friendly people, waving up at us…
Will have to go up to Felinheli to see Meirion, and if I turn up, his jaw will fall on the floor, I trained him in life, I was four years older than him.
looking back, the Laugharne estuary was missing, so I will give it another shot, via my friends from youtube. Sea visted,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNJmQOzhnic
more Dylan via Gwyn Thomas but now via Glyn Houston, filling in for Gwyn, when his soundtrack was lost but film survived, from Gwyn’s manuscript then, via his wife Lynn,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNJmQOzhnic
I put half a dozen comments or so on youtube,
talking this that or other, passionatly totally.
Next minute or so someone made vid of it,
do I mind, nooo, hate it more if ignore was it.
People who make videos, I have found around,
are on a different planet that kick start like a bike.
Ideas that are going now, but have no patience there,
for twiddling knobs, because they outward always stare,
for the next idea.
As I said before, thankyou this bloke/lady for posting this on my fiftieth birthday in appreciaction of my old name Drowned Forest, as well as my promotion of Mother Earth things. And I am not bullshitting you Alastair, they did! youtube, ey? brilliant stuff,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrCxDcjztg8
ten Jan 2012, turned fifty. But I have a suspicion it was Will Gregory of Goldfrapp, or even Alison herself. Who knows, could be some fuckah from MI5 spooking me, who knows?
Summer solstice, standing by big rocks,
deep embedded within granite minded.
Dancing like fairies, sun coming above,
popping up 4am saying did you miss me.
Power rays, lasered gapped stones stand,
druids calculate to all yes friends this is it.
Winter is over, three months maternity corn,
build up for consumption in devil’s Christ winter.
Jesus was a capricorn – not many people know that, like me. NO, hold on now, I am just a naughty boy, that is all, and my name isn’t Brian either.
New movements in the online World I am hardwired to,
seeing things new fashion fashioned for kiddies today.
Telephone line always abused met art or war or score,
human ways to get to the lowest common denominator.
Highest factor is just a dream in our followed life stream,
no fished river needed to bank what I look about and see.
Dai Ling Ping, online gaming, where he set up a online gaming house, and telling yankies to fuck off and stuff your popcorn up your jacksee butts. Bluddy hilarious Alastair, a must watch/hear,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LRX5zRkVsw
I am still fecking laughing my bollocks off here now.
More Dai Ling Ping and his marvellous grasp of languages, I am still in stitches. Hey President Nixon, take my rat to shove up it your trousers, to nibble on your plums, before exploring your rectum. McCartney used to keep rats for such purposes in the early 1950’s I have heard. Yeh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KiBbnsD40OU
Telegraph, Guardian, Times, Mirror, Sun and Star and whatever,
it is all bogroll paper now, isn’t it?
Chips are not interested anymore, nether street down blown,
slate and tablets onto dried scraped.
Screen pushed switched, cpu station also fingered into action,
OK, these days might be other tablets.
Devices communicate, down through copper or air we survive,
and please no one mention sunspots and tides.
Sattelites above prowling geostationed in spot relative on us,
if they go out, will be back to small cards in a tall narrow box,
thought by Independent minded.
Anyway, if such a Mother Nature event does happen, it will certainly be interesting. “But we have planned for it”. What?, controlled absolute chaos?
McCarthy even, the red in the bed hunter from the early 1950’s, where everyone was made uncomfortable, even visitors like Dylan Thomas when he came there, where it was judged maybe, what would be the appropriate health care in middle of such red hysteria for such a fella to given?
Simple question now.
Though I tend to know the answer. Hysteria ruled in NYC.
Was going to post Michaela Strachan stroking some lions, but this will do, 1989ish, Michaela in ‘king marvellous Blackpool, with that steam train botherer, dyslexic, Watreman, that managed to make a couple of pounds out of Kylie and Jason – BE-HAVE!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DwP101nBnHY
Demanding, demanding, when calling, the game,
Alastair where the fuck are you, we call.
Stubborn onliners needing to be fed, in this new game,
messages instant, onto online posts we fed,
Feedback innane, to keep us amused, to fill our day,
Balls saying this that or other eventually,
All helps in the political spectrum, Neil appeal?
Yes that Andrew, Times what he was?
Explains, ex-Murdoch puppet he was, squirming now,
old landscape of times in bed with each other,
Looking forward I love how young just laugh between,
we have been total fools, in comfortable bully botherers.
Murdoch and Clan? Bin them from Britain, lock stock and barrel.
Situation, you got yourself into, making excuses for another, run out,
time to deal with it, time to say goodbye, burning me complete out.
Daughter involved, twist the screw dignity tried recover, used abused,
messages fed, irrational thoughts transfered, towards unrecovered.
Life when trapped, layer upon layer, troubled people, their thoughts,
tried to do the right thing, just not good enough, revenge caughts.
Emotion of the worst kind, digging deep by their spade nonsense,
year by tear passes, wisdom young hope developed, future sense.
Personal private investigations, and all that. Dire Straits, 1982, I think,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-xG44ExDwM
OOPS! should have posted what I post on front page blog here.
With your tweet, all the best to your youngest on her eighteenth.
Daughter turned 21 Feb just gone. The crazy girl is doing fine. Her facebook front page here, as I said, staring out a huge turtle underwater somewhere in the world. Doing an instructors course in scuba-diving these days, well into it she is. She could swim like a fish since she was about four years old. She maybe blondie, but she is as sharp as a tack, real streetwise since young, and you can’t anything over her, oh no!
http://en-gb.facebook.com/people/Siân-Thomas/720165273
Just posted this on the Guardian’s site, so I thought I might as well post it here too;
There was this fella called Hunt,at dancing thought give it a punt.He strode the floor,blue rinsed adour,but youngsters called him a twunt.
The fella in question is slinky hipped Jeremy Hunt, as if I need say. Link,
http://www.guardian.co.uk/politics/shortcuts/2012/apr/30/jeremy-hunt-dances-the-lambada
Blackberry, strawberry, blueberry or whatever,
raspberries to you all, I now have an iPhone.
Outages blood boiling curdlling neck vessels,
do not need for to turn puce which am prone.
Performance and reliabilty is the PR phrase,
not some shitting piece of electronics gip.
Giving me grief with lame apologies and shit,
something that works like my mouth and lip.
Haven’t got one myself Alastair, but good luck with your iPhone, but don’t bank on it, it is still only just a bunch of electronics that no doubt will occasionally play up, hand-held or networks, down the air line.
Think I did a fine job there, getting good at this.
or dear copy paste went wrong there, time for re-justification, or whatever it is called,
There was this fella called Hunt,
at dancing thought give it a punt.
He strode the floor,
blue rinsed adour,
but youngsters called him a twunt.
That’s better.
Spike was good at raspberries.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEZ-NvSKJLI
sorry, couldn’t help myself…
Hysteresis, a government needs
a grey area, healthy one pleads.
No black white border between,
but give take, not hysteria seen.
Making decisions here and now,
tomorrow another story and bow.
Decisions made responded rants,
Government, flying seat of pants.
No need to explain further. Hysteresis is the time and physical dimensional area where your central heating thermostat switches on then off, and vice versa, for those not, COUGH!, technologically minded. And it can be prostituted to general life, allegorically, as here, as with other scientific terms that have been nicked. Economics are always at that, nicking, as in “elasticity” of markets. OK, a little explanation then.
Furthermore, a graph to explain myself – government should act within the red and blue curves here, with light control, where most of day-to-day life is.
One example where things go outside it that needs special consideration is things like an energy crisis due to OVERSEAS factors, and then also, of course, the danger and action of war on use, as like the subtle one that was declared on us ten od years ago (COUGH!, ey Alastair?).
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Elastic_Hysteresis.jpg
And it is just a co-incidence the two curves are red and blue, you could say…..
Are passionate people becoming sub-human?
Inhuman, to the eyes of this coalition cause.
Illegal in their eyes, trouble back-breakers.
No, I do not think, with all I muster implause.
It’s a healthy Brit thing, took thousands years,
square up the life we live in, cattle and wheat.
Brewed to define Island, how we are and care,
abused by people, that seem only just left teat.
Another present government bash, am afraid. Hope I am not starting to bore people. Those ultra-few that visit here, that is.
And hope the justification turns out alright, and to do a bit of copy paste when my comment being posted started to play up with editing and moving lines, as you do.
Boris and St. Paul’s comes to mind…..
good grief, you’re up Alastair. Worried about London for tomorrow? I am too, hope to god Boris doesn’t get back in. Hate to see him having a plum seat at the Olympics this summer.
And it would be nice to see Dave and Ken sitting next to each other, and occasionally shaking hands, and even hugging each other when “BRIT GOLD” comes out of the speakers…
: )
Been to vote, local councils, me and my dad were two and third visiting there.
Anyway, to really spook people, which I always try, uniformed westerner atlantic light boated people, god knows how many were lost big tide, on some sort of uniform culture down it, as in Galicia, and down Portugal in times past, by this welsh originating welsh group, today.
Enjoy, and fantacise romantically, as you do, wimmin usually,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Z0TmH478nA
christ, please let me let spell aisle for the rest of my life, please! I am a wanker at spelling it. Talking of isles, as you do, Irish ma’bee,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_RHEw7FBsSQ
i am happy with one,
but rumours I have two,
could be be more,
the little digraceful welshman that gets around.
The hair and eyes, only confirned daughter and son so far, but there is, let us not ponce about this, my spawn is bothering england as we speak.
as if
The last oak, do we cut it, to make boat, small.
Smaller than old, when oaks were vast, here,
and everywhere. Size of twenty men across,
now lost, in some sea far away underneath,
from their home, their left roots still scream.
Britain Oaked, at one time, squirrel passage,
Dover to Glasgie, nuts ate, no feet on floor.
Boars ploughed, our only farmers, acorns,
arrowed man occasionally, spit roast night.
Deers, roes looking sweet and succulent,
just one, and only for food and not for sport.
Hazelnuts, blackberries, gooseberries, plants,
trout, sea even, salmon, eels and bass sea,
lava seaweed boiled, cockles and mussels,
occassional potatoes, Armada coast grew.
bit here and there poem, different.
wimmin, god bless them, you have got to make it that they feel that they are in control, otherwise we are fucked, Earache city.
Spuds in Ireland came with wrecked Armada ships, going around our isles, trying to get home.
Song about it, maybe so,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DP8PB3viZck
Long lost london, we do praise,
Croydon coombe south praise.
Valley of our old then we do say,
Celts going around in corners spray.
Still attracted there, you see them as they stay,
looking up Sanderstead hill, and Selsdon by the way.
Checking to see everything is doing ok, lands recoverd,
golf coursed or cricketed, reported back doing well ok.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJCiJZIZXGc
Song for Croydon, behave, sit down at the back, kiddies….
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJs3-ULCRNI
further, warm, letherette,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5QErPDNcj4
JG Ballard with Gabrielle Drake, parts one and two,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HT2eECKvdTc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t5tpVcnfJrY
Gabrielle, actually getting her kit off, in Gerry Anderson’s UFO. I see nothing UFO about Ms Drake, stripping before my eyes,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ft3e4w6cKXE
Quite ironic I saw you on Top Gear today Alastair, a repeat shown on UKTV “Dave” channel. Jeremy is quite an arse, isn’t he, playing to the cotsworld’s gallery, ey Alastair? But there is something about him you have got to like. Like one of those bolshie mouthed kiddies that sit at the back in any of your average classroom he is.
1986, as in the bus journey above, was the first time I really visited Croydon, for “reasons”, say no more Major. her dad was Eltham cor blimey, her mam Derry City top of the morning. Got to spread the genes see….
I am a diplomat between alp and the boot it’s south,
no idea how I got here, but I am, kardoma caffied.
Respect I think it is, fed back down the alien lines,
and honestly nothing to do at fourteen, dribbled,
at Isabella’d thirteen, between us penpalled I wibbled.
Catholic, who cares? Her smile won me over,
across any borders Normans and Popes put in way.
But sadly, life things took over, and pen to paper got thin,
maturing life present day frustrations then took over, to nothing.
Song for Isabella, I still remember you, bella-bella, mia luna,
watch?v=XykN9MN-i0Q
Hankytime, I think. piss orf, buy your own, visit marks and sparks….
oops, may have forgot to post Matt Monro, with Andy Williams – did I?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XykN9MN-i0Q
By the way, the three fellas above, if you are brit cultural ignorant, Dave, Boris and Georgie Porgie especially, are, from left to right, Glenn, Ian and Martyn, from Sheffield, where my marvellous. it has been told, my great-grandmother was from nearby, Harthill, Elizabeth Laking, sadly died when 36, in 1926, leaving my thirteen-year-old grandmother motherless. Mentioned before she knew growing up near Kiverton Park, and near the Yorkshire village actually called Wales, which might have excersied her wonderful mind.
In our family, we have excellent brigantes celt tribe from her.
Mentioned before she went to school with Herbert Chapman, best english footie manager ever, Kiverton Colliery and all that, and her great-nephew played for Middlesborough and Wolves in footie too, George.
swopping spit. what? wharrrtt!
More Andy Williams, followed by Matt,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flm4xcOyiCo
Matt, in some present day, against Andy, in some face off,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jbS_-biZ_P4
Matt my vote is.
So I am UK’s version of Shelley – MOM,, save me,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_N4Ig62AVhM
Sing soft kittie please,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9zlnAWNz3cU
swopping spit, in europe, between us loving, as you dooo…
Anyway, just phomed my old mate Alun, and we are off to the Kings Head to bother Robbie, in deepest plaid Cymru land, across the border from Llanelli. Yes, we are going up the welsh hills, two miles away..
Alun sadly lost her mother three weeks back, and has a job now to look after his sister, since she is not well since a teenager, mind. Anyway, I will find out from Alun if he can cope after mam has gone.
Heart in it’s right place, it has got to be,
to survive and be alive to sniff morn air?
Watching shooting to what we all see,
is only way viewing all spectrum to be.
Seeing these special people, them distict,
standing in their own way on soapboxed.
Mouthing their views like on speakers corn,
telling us this that and other some barking morn.
Takes a “special” type of person to stand up and “do” politics, one supposes, but good luck to them all, you are all yes, a right bunch of “specials”. : )
500, before long jump before Olumpics? easily, he says…
Can/song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXCS3y38moY
Catrin bach/small.
Like Minis, always since the 1963 Morris Mini Minor came into our family, when young, as like a pet cat, loved. Still love them, had plenty of talks with people to create a company to make quality body panels and various parts, to make sure they will still be around for future young lads and ladies to see, ad infinitum and all that bollocks. One of my favorite clips of a mini used and abused these days, with a Bentley 1920’s like supercharger under it’s bonnet, somehow snug. Lads from the Roses, up in Lancashire/Yorkshire somewhere, driving like fools around one of their lakes,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2Ung4WR34U
My grandfather, describing how he bumped into nana,
one day, Llangendeirne horse fair one August, 1930 odd.
Fell into love with the small sweet woman, home from Birmingham,
home from service, domestic, cleaning fireplaces, kitchens and stuff.
Marvellous woman, no one cannot just fall at her feet, I did, popped out,
107 Bethesda Road, still in my dreams, my grandparents maternal,
tadcu Steve, grumpy as fuck, but there for all of us kiddies appeared.
Love my nana to death, him seeing her wilting towards her death,
was heart breaking for all to see, 1904, nana 1911, never forgotten.
They were two characters. My paternal grandparents too, but I will leave that for another day.
OOPS. forgot to post this vid with the last poem, as you do, on 1930’s Llangendeirne horse and servants fair,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4ZipKdI1sY
Time, what place has it in our personal minds?
Bothering us dimensional in our walled brains?
Fuck off time, let us get on with it, towards whatever,
our sharp end? so? Time, make a point, or fuck rightoff!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Q3xkypgQFk
Sorry for the sware words I use, but I only use it for fucking artistic purposes, the c%&ts they are. More tea Vicar?
Happy May Day, away, Brighton or Marget or Clapton-on it’s sea?
Workers day off, those still with grindstones to nose these days.
Russian workers, plough Ukraine, wheat over planted, new borns,
harvest to look forward, till then deckchaired summer sun relaxed.
Ukraine folk song, nice ladies from there, mmmm, met art… more tea Vicar?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pK9tm3pmZkg
by the way, pervious is Yale College from the US, for those not in touch, singling welsh for their finder.
Might as well post Carwyn James, the 1971 Lions coach singing russian, as he concentrately learnt when in the Ryal Navy, listening then online. went to the same school as him, lived two miles away from me. Yes I suppose you could say, a red school, encrypted into me, but it might all help. gas in pumped and footie clubs and thing. Carwyn the marvellous, with wotsisname great englishman introducing him,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEYsHm0KoMA
This is seriously going down as excellent as browny points in that I tend to visit, the King’s Head in Capel Hendre – they knew always I was a red in the bed, especially the ladies as such, when we talked afters of such, comrade fach blodyn wen fi, o’r gaeaf.
Us welsh and russians have things in common, and we understand each other – we originally come from the foot hills of the Alps – they went north, and we went west, that is when you notice, when you look at the Ukraine video two doors up, we look alike, and have the same character. Germanic either of us are not, which came later, say a thousand years or two or so, when we had long left.
Quite interesting subject, but totally full of confusion, as long lost history tends to be. Have a lot of time for Neil Oliver, the scottish ancient historian and archaeologist, trying hard to get his head round it all, and he is doing a great job at it, I think. His docs on telly are excellent. The dark ages are not so dark, when the need to look into it is present and motivated. Dan Snow is also interested in such stuff too, them two are the figureheads for pre-brainwashing school 1066 history. It is there for all to see, if you look close enough.
Dried up like an apricot, I do feel like at times,
watching these plums all together throated.
Raised raisins, all dressed up to the nines,
appearing on tv, feckless, like field goated.
Paper of old, Queenie billy goated from,
William whatever, Orange wasn’t, Mary’d.
Telling seated, look out my people, with pomp,
these wankers will do this that other wallyed.
Queens speech in modern beligerent poetry, off the cuff as usual, took me five minutes, juggling things. Have my eye on bigger works, so watch and shoot. I’ll let you know.
Neil Oliver, spouting wisdom, with help of the Ty Unwin welsh music and vidsual production company,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiJNqWpHePU
Dan Snow, on his stunning docs in pisodes, of how Chrirtianity crept from Somerset(then welsh, : ) ), Wales with it’s Llans modified, through Ireland, across Scotland, and down into England, towards old Roman Augustus in conflict, which has caused so many problems, Rome trying to keep it’s hold on us, even now, with NI bombings, indirectly – well, it has got to be said, no bombings in Wales, even though we should have more reason for such, but we are more caring and peaceful, as a people, which some abuse our nicety. Dan,
maybe not sorry, can;t find the clip I was looking for, so this will do,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nX2anEXG0eE
Dreams bothered until morn, suffering in my sleep,
ladies I should have stayed with, as I played games.
My games of life, when tight trousered to all to see,
meeting ladies as in above vid meadow, so sweet.
Mind blowing games, when now look back on, view,
seeing her again and again in moon plagued thoughts.
Young, footie games, coats for goalposts, no, not same.
heart and mind scarred, nothing can recover from such.
Time goes on, stopped playing those games, no more,
burnt soul that there is no recovery, as I stroll, to my end.
Sorry, I am feeling extra miserable today, a song for Ash, to encapsulate her, what she meant to me PRRRAAAAPP, sniff,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9nE2spOw_o
Give me a child at seven, I will show you the man/woman, as that Jesuit said. I was seven in 1969 with The Archies. Quite ironic, when 56 Up is coming up, tonight is it? Neil from Liverpool I remember most, as many do, things really did tax his brain, will be nice how he is these days. Hope well, in our all modified madness.
Sorry, got it wrong, next monday night, 56 Up, on ITV1. A must watch.
Anyone that says welsh rugby is not full of politics, they are talking bollocks. Met Barry John several times over the years, we are from the same tribe, I am sad/glad to say, it decends into politics. Great bloke is Barry, very reserved, but having to earn money requires him to show his head. Brilliant clips of him here, some remarkably rare clips, as like when he charges jinking right down the middle of the field for a Wales and England combined side, against a combined Ireland/Scotland side, in the early 1970’s, for some long lost reason,and the christ-like music as he scores a couple of his tries will amuse anyone, even ruggered english types,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iIsyE-lTl5E
The ginge? Always attracts attention, on the stand,
loverly girl, lost her way in her ambition to all pand.
Eyes ideal, ckeekbones appeal, to ones romantic,
hope one day Captain Kirk sorts, warp automatic.
Two vids of Tiberius here, the first one pure comedy, the second a book, available, from the usual non-local outlets, in all galaxies,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0VuIShM5kAQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nh3ogt2j72w
All the best Rebekah, as in a riot. We call it Rebecca here down this way,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zVmx709Nrg
Watch Rebekah, I’ll sort her head out for her, and put it back on the right way, diplomatically. Well, I suppose it is my duty, ey, Jim.
Rain seeding, I know it goes on, at times like these,
rumoured spent time time spent RAF, Canberras.
Disasterous experiments refined put right disastors,
south west usually, taking the brunt, silver in airs.
Still goes on, behind the scenes, crop spraying like,
high above us, when lawns are thought desperate.
Not green to me also, thinking, looking and viewed,
1976 was un-Enoch brown, cattle and wheat gasped.
Modyfying weather, it has got to be, like taking pills,
RAF stations on “special” missions, or private now.
Pilots told just do this this and this, for eyes only,
flying above, do duty, following orders, farmers plow.
Think I have said enough, and no, this is based on rumour control, from HQ rumour central. But it is all on the web, so don’t be so fucking surprised we modify the weather, to keep your front lawns green, golf and cricket.
DAMN forgot to post the link to previous, bollox! I paniced…
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-18032552
Jim, I am a doctor, not a politician,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MULMbqQ9LJ8
Jim, it is life, but not as we know it,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vPWE2Ebz48
Jim, I can think of one reight off – ye’ll need something to wash that dairne with friend, have yer tried some Sorrian brandy?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWEDZFoLmyA
how to handle a woman…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WqtSuFOXd9c
Ding-dong, William, sorry, Jim.
427 already, already well up on what 500 by Olympic start predicted.
When 501 will appear I will come out with some darts 501 of Sid Waddell – “501, he is like a jockstrap light of nuts”, or, “501 – he is a panther in his own bedroom, without claws”, or, “501 – last time I saw words like this, they were unwritten”, and I could go on. I like Sid Waddell, you might have noticed. His Yorkshire Indoor league from way back when Lazurus rose from his grave way back in the early 1970’s, with Fred Trueman his mate, his starter for ten,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_XIzQGR3JY
Double bill cinema-like double header of rugger on the S4C welsh telly this early and late evening, from five pm onwards – Llanelli clubside vee Aberavon in the Welsh Premiership playoff, then Glasgie Warriors against Dublin’s Leinster in the celtic Rabodirect semi playoff. I am looking forward to see how the young Glasgie lock Richie Gray will do, I sense he will have a stormer. Incredible future talent, about almost seven foot, but runs like a centre. Lions test shoe in for next year in Oz easily.
As Sid would no doubt say about Richie, “Last time I saw a long streak of piss run like this, I was in front of the porcelain in my local, trying to hit the celing”.
Available live online from S4C’s online site, all four hours.
…furthermore, the S4C’s live link, since it is all welsh there, if you missed the english clickable button,
http://www.s4c.co.uk/clic/e_live.shtml
UK only….
Pity, Spike might have not so much be unable to get himself in such experiences bedde in such times, if the WWW web was around then, when he hears others are struggling too. That is why WWII PTSD wasn’t too high, because there was a lot about averagly in society in late 1940’s/1950’s, and they could talk about it with like been through the same, and not to ones not through experience, who could not talk to.
Think Spike had it bad, he went bamey first due to north africa gunning shelling when they went up Italy, when it was different and past, after cans of bully beef and water daily ration.
You can tell, always liked Spike. His WWII books are brilliant, tried to read between the lines it was for them all.
Bollox, Warriors lost. Flipping Clancy the (!) irish ref. Fraid he was to show himself up in Dublin with his poshoe Irish establishment friends looking on at him. What a so ‘n so he is. A traversty in rugger reffing yesterday evening.
Self-depreciation always wins the crowds, well, in the UK that is, not in that yankland, where tha de na known their plums in their underpants from their puppets.
More yorkie classic indoor league,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GOlEYNlSZ44
Yorkshire dartboard at the start, nay trebles, nay lads, shoot yers arrows elsewhere ta try an get yers to a finish.
Selfish Macmillans never had it good parents,
self absorbed, parents of their dancing tune,
of only theirs, but when I wanted them to care,
feckless late full employed was the response,
uncared, ignorant, buy carpets and curtains,
materalistic, pathetic, brainwashed for me,
yeh, terrific, mind now almost blown balistic.
Calling them names in their utter total stupidity,
in their warped world much money in coming,
tick box prat family life, hugs false uncare felt,
smile, try be brave, it might get better but no,
disgraceful selfish people it has to be said,
only they cared for, warped father, and cow,
could have gone far, lonely, shitheads how?
terrible fools, everyone helped, these people,
just disgusting bastard woman, mental case.
Feel better for that. I am exorcising my ghosts slowly. Cheers Alastair. Many thanks for the opportunity you have given me here. Hope others are helped in same as in I was the same shame family, that they called love “love”.
Brilliant clip here with Sid Waddell on the “Indoor League”. Used to watch it in the HTV region in Wales when young, during the afternoon when in school holidays. Must have been shown during school holidays for some reason…
Gey out in ta tha fresh air soon. Neh, im ganna watch Fred anna Indoor League, larcke.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_djDu8QkZsI
Brilliant clip here with Sid Waddell on the “Indoor League”. Used to watch it in the HTV region in Wales when young, during the afternoon when in school holidays. Must have been shown during school holidays for some reason…
Gey out in ta tha fresh air soon. Neh, im ganna watch Fred anna Indoor League, larcke.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_djDu8QkZsI
BIG WHOOPS- my sub-conscious has just reminded me, I might have posted this for Neil Hughes from Liverpool, who is on 56 UP on ITV1 at 9pm tonight, a must watch.
My sub-conscious works in peculiar ways – at times I really do not know what it is up to. But that is learnt here and now instinct, that a modern homo sapiens sapiens human mind is now capable of.
Don’t miss it, the telly programme that is, ITV1, at 9pm, tonight.
BIG WHOOPS- my sub-conscious has just reminded me, I might have posted this for Neil Hughes from Liverpool, who is on 56 UP on ITV1 at 9pm tonight, a must watch.
My sub-conscious works in peculiar ways – at times I really do not know what it is up to. But that is learnt here and now instinct, that a modern homo sapiens sapiens human mind is now capable of.
Don’t miss it, the telly programme that is, ITV1, at 9pm, tonight.
I am a farmer without acres, in my limewashed house,
family no doubt inherit when dad bangs off on his way.
No animals to store feed to coming market nod nouse,
nor grain or peas nor carrots bunny rabbits table lay.
Just this farmers house, with kichen settle and dresser,
table solid oak, chairs astride, fire wind wood kept fed.
Garage big at side with various machines now lesser,
rusting hulking, motorways tractors, not these days fed.
Grass back and front grow, looking for goats to nibble,
foxes visit, leave disappointed, no chicken coups here.
Spuds can be planted, asparagus too, Heston wibble,
but just a simple home, a family home, deep felt stir.
Bugger estate agents and their quotes, GET ORF MY LAND! boom… boom. These twelve shot catridges work well, ey Vicar?
Another poem for Neil, from 56 UP from tonight, what he came up with he captured succint.
Let’s us get on with it, if we do not seriously bother,
too much work and time me to reform, to your eyes.
Let me alone to find my own path, friends visit other,
who care welfare, how I am, unconformed life strays.
Never feel the trainlines christmas set bought follow,
you need to become hollow in life when all met front.
Make your own mind up, don’t let it be bother, narrow,
irregular tracks you do follow, searching, and no runt.
All the best Neil, and the one that was in care sent to Oz, and the fella also from Liverpool, Neil’s then mate at seven, that appeared again on it after many decades, after the Thatcher c**ts got to him, back then. Peace.
You give and take, when young,
given carrot on stick if you want.
You bite, for a taste, then decide,
whether to be in or otherwise out.
Hard decision, to follow lines life,
they call for all needs and wants.
Up to one to decide to play along,
or feel free to need no you control.
Beth,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTtvrl8SFOM
Crowd surfing fail, due to too many pizzas, but who gives a fuck? I don’t,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b_oclXxsLS0
ooo-oh-ooo-oh-oo
Saw Beth with her Gossip on the Jonathan Woss programme years ago first – stunning live telly performance – tried looking for a clip of it, but big fail.
Like Beth I do, she’s got, ummm, spunk, right spunky she is, as the ozzies would say.
ITV4 should show repeats of Indoor League. It might be the start of something. I am sure they must still have the tapes in some vaults, somewhere, here’s hoping. If neh, suck me plwwms and call me auntie.
Friend of my daughter’s uncle, went to learn russian in Bangor Uni in north Wales. When I asked him to speak russian to me, I just went, like a Manuel, and said “¿que?”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-oH-TELcLEque
que
East window, bedroomed, starting to be penetrating,
no, not that China nor Russia, just the glowing sun.
Blinds total blinded at it energy lasered my curtains,
where we all in sense should all go out for some fun.
Sorry, short one today, feeling extremely lazy today, what with this yellow thing, above us, making me deckchaired,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zc9wIzi96_E
Capricorns taurians virgos, always have time for them,
aries too, and other days off from said narrow timelines.
Know who I get on with, with life experiences I can confer,
and don’t let anyone tell you different, as strange stones fall.
There is something in it, and it is how we are in the womb and when we appear, gravitational pull physics from sun and moon and stars on brainwaves, at it’s subtle mind effects on our young developing mind, as we start to look around, dribbling.
You heard it here first.
bugger!, buggered up posting that link – burro burro, eee-hooo, donkey!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-oH-TELcLE
If anyone fancies editing below, feel free, but leave the grammar alone – it is like that for a purpose, leaves the mind confused for a moment, in marking, and then it comes, oh yes, quite correct. Tricks of the words on the mind, as some people say when I go down the papershop I say spouting in morn, “he is a bit bonkers, isn’t he?”, and then I know I have won.
Prose and poetry, confused.
Oh bollocks, but that is time for you. Liked her, her with Georgio Moroder and analogue beating crepping spiking sound speakered synthesisers from late nineteen seventies,
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-18108809
Sylvester was another one different from then, now well long gone,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj5bzbrWRd4
Time moves on, past signposts passed.
Broadsided, artsided, what is the difference?
it is a thinking game, so bluddey well think.
Throw ball tackle crease bother goal line,
in the name of sport, just go for it, you young twit.
Well done England today, tidy performance.
Carwyn at end this vid came to mind. At I think 1 : 50 in is my first grammar school gym teacher, once captain of Llanelli, especially on behind iron curtain tours, I am happy now to mention, after melted curtains, without fire, Ray Williams, Wales and Llanelli wing then, cold timeland. Taught me art too in my early years, Giotto etc..
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oE5WmuSRxVU
Celtic tiger, here, where?
Thatchers kitty more like.
Ireland we did once stare,
but we laugh, still on bike.
In the UK, austerity hasn’t arrived, but I suppose it is relative, it has never even left for a few decades now. We are in a tidy fucking position, mentalwise.
Highlight of the Scarlets rugby season for me? Easy – ex Glamorgan fast bowler turned rugby international rugby player doing some right tidy burgling in France, enjoy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9F7_037uEg
Enraptured encaptured I feel today,
no, no hang ups I feel today at all.
Looking out and about to all strays,
feel must say, gruntie not in his stall.
Ready to bolt open to anything in front,
looking seeing and then give it a sprint.
Barking fools, who think turned different,
we are still the same, in what we inherit.
Mongs about that think the next generation are a different species, they need shooting, ey, Sir Alex?
ee’s go something yeh kneh, Alastair…
Swans eleventh, fifty mill in the bank,
cheers Barclay, no need for hold up.
Soccer roundball rugby offshoot else,
invest, welsh life, and any other pup.
Badfinger, Swansea Townhill, circa 1970,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xoke1wUwEXY
furthermore, with Swansea City, our recent previous claim to fame was 318 fucks in three minutes in movie history. Met Keith Allen years ago in Llanelli visiting his grandmother. Never met his brother though that produced and directed these fucking fucks,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZS8_APv-ZrU
Feel free to not post Alastair, but we are hidden enough away here not to cause a fuss, I think.
Who needs legs running down the wing? Hanno floated right down the touchline from halfway line like this Alastair, honest!
http://www.welshrugbypics.co.uk/events/ospreys-v-munster-110512/CDF_110512_BE_Ospreys_Munster17.jpg
Huw Evans Agency – thanks.
Jon foxy Davies and George North either side of Aaron there helping him to gasp afterwards. Wales in Oz should be interesting this summer, after the Babaas in Cardiff. Got into an extremely interesting conversation that has been going on for weeks with this medical student in Scotland, all sorts of spanish and italian extract, and an oz misses, you couldn’t make it up, here in the comments of this George North appreciation vid,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zd8-7CE6DfE
Poetry unpretencious, pop without music,
man on street to whistle and sing no band.
Written life daily stride to read unpathetic,
visions of daily grind without magic wand.
Might as well post something appropriate, ‘ammers, since they are back up top, Alf ‘appy, even if it is a Warren Ozland Spurs,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gHNRngtkzSs
“See, the trouble with the ‘ammers, they can’t compete with all these rich gits that turn up in our country buying footie clubs, spending money like no tomorrow….”
Shock jocks, more imagination than Dr Spock,
unradioed, closer bone blocked or unblocked.
The feeling on the street hard discussed, tribed,
rib it should be, with my girlfriend sheep, stalled.
You can guess what I’ll post to back me up, or do you? No, you don’t. Peace, etc.. Muddy the marvellous,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uO4A6xx65WU
The King of Hearts, always win in the end,
even in Edinburgh derby hatted could say.
But not by this much, or we will get soft,
doft hat at glad, but Hibernian say ‘king.
Final play, reflected Glasgie, but different way,
up and down field well water down we say.
Still interesting from off field factors social,
facts less maths, from that large west Clyde.
Wells done Hearts, quite a big win, interesting, Edinburgh style.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FO2J2EI2FI
Chelski won, money in the bank works, gas and oil,
no tory in this country as Leeds ’75 Bayern can foil.
Notts Forest or Lerpwl and others too, you tories,
this is an international team in no name, bories.
Well done, AHEM!, Abrambski – what’s the fella’s name again? no not ‘im, the fucking owner…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9t_5sZ4-LRA
Anyway, a brit side won with penalties, which is something, I suppose. More bollocks in the shorts of a Chelski side than an average England side, the shithouses, with penalties. Ouch!
From a ‘king welshan, you arses – now go to Euro 2012 and do something, you english total children.
They were lost to us Michelle,
gone long away to work away.
Not at all the same way but,
in time modify, the way we are.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ogDIc0242KI
Michelle as in Obama, Princeton this lad went to, mexican donkies years ago.
Well, I got banned on The Guardian, so I know what is going on there. Didn’t push it in any especial way, just pushed its buttons on how they stand, and they failed.
Yes, we have a tory government well and truely in. People appearing, cloaked, and doing their best to change the borderline of perception. Anyway, let us see what happens. You Alastair will no doubt are being worked on, especially visiting that Lords the last few days. Hate the bastards, when they geta chance. Look how we will go down hill, using the excuse of EU without actually helping it.
And by the way, Alastair, fuck the Guardian, but gawd knows what paper I am going to buy now. Sign of the tory times, divide and conquer, and leave people in the cold?
bastards, london islington bastards
OOPS! This the song I should have posted for Hearts yesterday, but couldn’t remember it at the time, it is perfect,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84_3CCqvljA
Not much to do with footie, but who cares, there might be a very slight connection.
And never mind me and The Guardian Alastair. I tend to be too off mainstream for traditional, as you may have found. That is why artists and film makers and actors are advised not to get involved into the middle of the river, they will not like it, those that run that part of life’s stream, for their own personal control, blinkered shallow and dog in manger.
And Roy Hodgson is from Croydon, and I like Croydon. So Roy, if any of them players you choose give you problems, just give me a shout, and I will send the lads up to sort them, the taffia massive, as I have already mentioned. : ) But don’t expect us to support you all, well, not openly. But if you play in the right spirit and heart like this years Grand Slaming Cymru side, we might melt.
Posted this poem in conversation with Whiskers from Scotland last night, and his misses Franny from Oz, but in proxy, since she had gone to bed, as you have to, last night, so I’d thought I’d repost it here, since I am barking into the moon here with poems, and get another tickboxed off towards 500 before etc. etc.,
I found being alive, looking ino peoples minds,
that you find what you knew what was in there.
Sex aside, just fellow human noticing in strides,
life they have to follow, conform they try, to where?
Hard to say in life up front of us, right in our faces,
where we are going when all is said and done today.
I know where, as we have always gone, without aces,
just down the road of life, relaxed, let it happen, foray.
Tried copy paste to here before, and it went wrong, but tried sorting it as I found, but if it turnsout wrong, I will re-justify it, or whatever it is called, etc., usual spiel
whoops, furthermore, forgot to post the vid, that I did for them, well welsh soppy and hanky time, teared filling, as you do,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7IXXCG9rDU
Alastair, one joke that I posted on The Guardian that got “removed”, on the Baron Cohen “Dictator” film thread was this one, and I am damned sure Warren will like it, here goes,
Why do Spurs supporters have ears that stick out and bald heads?
Because whenever they hear the price of the next year’s season tickets, they go “‘Ow much!” (pull ears), “Oy-Oy-Oy!” (slap the ‘ead)
Now, what was wrong with that Alastair? Ey Warren? yeh, naffink!
Omni fucking shambles what, Whitehall?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sk-mSBdVUOI
Rhys Ifans the famous actor, with his brother Llŷr, who presents welsh daytime childrens telly on S4C these day, COUGH! peswch… wharrr!
Different version of the vid, very classy ladies, the one on the left from Liverpool as she does, and the one on the right is from Bulgaria originally, a multi-multi-lingual oxbridge genetecist in her day job. Clever she is. Helen and Mira,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtrHuuuIos4
ding-dong, I say
My mid-summer is coming to be done,
winking at 3am, telling us it’s coming.
Over my flat horizon, priviledged, see,
ok slight mountain top between me and thee.
Sun arise, hope cloudless and blue, we praise,
to see glowing organ that is the most important.
Out of us all, chorophyll other Phil has no arguement,
this life as we stand strode, in after 3am, praised bestrode.
Song for it, as I do, from a lady a just a few younger than me, year of the horse, a taurian, yum-yum, Alison Goldfrapp, 1966, me ’62, capricorn, year of gawd knows.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl-wywwMzGA
All the best Alison, have a fine mid summer day on me.
bollocks she still is going on about me, ater looking down from my five foot nine Harrier pilot height in Trent Park when I met Alison, those sweet blue eyes out of her sweet catholic face. ah fuck. Hope she has eggs in a testube to make it right. BOLLOCKS! Huw and me as she mentions in this frigging song as well! bollocks collocks and triple 1989 buggering bollocks. But I suppose she wrote some songs from my loverly celtic wilting head, that sold, so lose-win. buggerasion
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydNbuB6PLiU
bloody life, even me celtic lilting in talk to ladies. I remember Alison looking up five foot three or so enraptured into my face in Trent park. Told you things happen between Taurians and us capricorns, it is not at all all bollocks.
A song and vid for Alison, to try and get over it, the very 1980’s, we could say, experienced us – love to take you up in one one day and make you giggle as I made you then do, looking back on our scenery not quite britllant that cause me and only me, to be cool,
from coalmining Wales/Cymru,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dD-ZIILtI2I
What makes you think I am in love with Alison Goldfrapp?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dAGGTVft5Lk
blyddy got it now, it was Tiesto plus Ladytron that posted it on my 50th birthday, videos of music I like. How slow am I? As they did on my youtube bothering 49th. God, you really have to shove things right in my face sometimes to see the obvious.
49: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtrHuuuIos4
50: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrCxDcjztg8
ten jan capricorn, the goety….
but could be for Rod Stwewart, but I do not think so somehow.
Sienna Miller twiddling her hair at the start really turns me on, but she does remind me of my maternal grandmother who I remembered always did the same, and was also hot, so I have been told, by various eighty year olds remembered, quite milf like to them,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82fBBrYF8-8
Whole film is on pay for view on youtubby, few dollars. I’ll wait for it to come onto telly, and write it off against the licence fee, even with the fucking adverts I will have to watch, unless beeb four take it up, in 2014 October maybe, Dylan bach’s hundredth birth, hundredth year to heaven,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IjUM09rjXjA
Good grief! 55 UP soon Alastair – my subconcious playing it’s games again. Happy whatever, four days time. 55, as a small nelson, as Shepherd raises his leg, a bit, behind wicket gate, counting sheep.
must be up to 470 already – wotsisname Bolt like, could be up to 600 by Olympics.
Totally off topic but these op-amp synthesisers that Ladytron use here, wooded contained, used them in Smiths-Newmark, but I started to use off the shelf metal ones, 19u, 21u, etc., from RS or Farnell, still made them full of op-amps though, and swiss manufactured multi rotational switches, for various Sea King helicopter input simulated sensors, search and rescue, Westland mid nineties produced, that Wills is now controlling, storming when called, into our barking at times seas, researched and developed,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNDQDz6IyFQ
Lost anyone yet?
Dad was national service RAF, dad stayed an extra year national service, and he was ground crew these lot, black arrows hunters. I joined, eventually, I was encouraged all sorts of things in the RAF, you’re not too old to be a pilot, at 23, you can be an engineering air rank eventually easliy, and so it goes on. But, didn’t like the politics that I had to have to work for then, so left, and helped in my little way away at SAR Sea Kings developed now. Brian taught me a lot on the old modular system, tranistors in little quantities at company there, and I said, duplex, filter pulse protected inputs, etc. etc. etc..
Dad radio tech groundcrew Hunter Black Arrows, brilliant flying, late fifties,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=862XrJAl3pQ
BREAKING NEWS! DEAD CAT FOUND IN CROSS HANDS!
Went down the papershop at half six this morn, and came across an old visiting friend at the side of the road, bought farm. Told the papershop if anyone inquires, it is a parrot. Even squeezed the nob at the cop shop reporting there is a dead body at the side of the road, half white half ginger.
He/she/knackered undercarriage/ovaries out/ whatever, used to visit my garden, and fair play, left the birds alone, was just interested in mousing, which I got rid of mostly from the garden sheds and out buildings, snapped springs.
RIP lad/other. Song, for whatever it was,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ-lGU5TTKc
If push comes to shove, I would have been glad to serve this corp, Legion Etrangère, death or glory, hit or miss, that is the chance, in life, fight to protect your brothers, alongside, in life, ’till last breath,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLg_3rMXh0Y
I am a fighting man, me, psychologically total tested, but thankfully not needed to put into action, calm dying eye put behind the sight, behind any called machine of death. Don’t fuck with us, or I will have to come out to play, fifty years of fighting psychotical self-control or not. Where’s my cricket bat?
Might as well post my two most favorite vids, Jeremy Clarkson-like, but well more Cotsworlds classy. Though, I am quite impressed Jeremy has bought a few acres, as you do rich, money for old rope, farming land near him in northern Wiltshire, or wherever, these overpaid beeb pricks exist on their downtime. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes car vids online top drawer,Jeremt. May will slowly no doubt agree with me.
Bathurst 1960’s – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PIDS8_uHMAc
yeh, fit in an old mini Jeremy
Pike’s Peak Hill Climb 2011 – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBaIlQOGgwc
and yes Jeremy, he is a nip.
Top Gear, fancy doing a feature on the Pike’s Peak International Hill Climb, or does the Lightning occassionally put you off health and safety reasons, you shithouse south-eastern England “beeb” companies? twats
Would love to see Monster on Top Gear, driving a south korean cheap car, or is that too much to ask Jeremy, May, Hamster, beeb ee fucking cotsworlds cee?
Just trying to help, you just over border from Wales c£$&s! Give me strength! tools!
Did… did you want water?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMQR-welqoM
Sarah Miles that was married to Robert Bolt, Man for all Seasons, and all that,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDBiLT3LASk
How about my friends from Brighton then – haven’t spoken to them for a while, as life. Island in an isle, as they say.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IM6RNEaca2Q
yeh!
Dave’s school bully, giving him calls,
shouting have another glass of wine.
No need to say on which what Balls,
but Dave, advice, just do not whine.
ach, too lazy today to add another couple of verses, maybe later..
mongo only pawn in game of life,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zfln-bFHPhM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKRma7PDW10
Mel Brooks the marvellous, at his best. Love his The Producers too, but I will leave that for another day.
my gawd, that poem might actually fit on twitter – 144 characters is it? Feel free to remove the odd full stop if it doesn’t quite.
I now declare free copyright for the World on that, feel free.
Beast of Bolsover,
Dave’s wolfed moor.
never giving it over,
until he told your score.
“tremendous ornament”!!! – what a shit, picking on and bullying Flashman like but on old pensioners. How low can a PM of this country go? Churchill must be spinning in his grave, chewing on his cigar.
Dylan said he finally finished this poem above, with photo looking dapper laying on a walking footpath of strangers, when he was thirty-three, his poem on his thirtieth year to heaven, and he used the excuse for the delay, “well, you can’t rush into these things, can you”.
whoof, get’s better, doesn’t he?
Posted a comment on whatsername vid the other week, forgot about it, and I was informed yesterday I am over 70 likes, and looked at it today and it is over now eighty likes. Yes, that is her, Ellen De Generas(sp!). This vid, and ok, so I wanted to have a closer look at Kacey Culceo Wotsername(sp!) from The Big Bang Theory, alright? Here it is,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdTGeJwKtVM
I am yippitydodah there in the comments…. : )
And a song for Ellen, feel free, and all that, who cares? I don’t. (how patronising can a male man get?)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xVBaChw_5PY
don’t answer that
Dark Charles Dickens couldn’t see the sun,
in his dark London back passages hidden.
Never ever in field in early morn mid-June,
just in shitty hole watched deeped midden.
Read his books depressing, left me scream,
sun is in out of there, farmers maybe narrow.
Fields healthy, hanky not required, nauseam,
passages unlike town stinking warren burrow.
sorry, invented the word nauseam above, unlike ad, a cross for a coal seam underneath mined, and the mines underneath of disgusting London Town then, basements used as shit cesspits, forget tomorrow. fucking disgusting. piss in fireplaces. up in steam and smoke.
Dirty old city.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llD8M9BfHPg
blimey Campbell my man, I think I have reached the Dylan zone, and any other poet so, any comment comes out is full of alitertion and play on words and end rhymed words when required. This is interesting, I have rediscovered my young mind with farting about here.
I am not talking bollocks here Alastair, it is true, but I suppose I had to devote and manipulate my life to get into a suitable corner to do so, as in live off inheritence, and live a poet’s pauper life, not being to afford to travel abroad, due to my personal adventure, in recent times.
I am getting it back, lacking brainwashing I tried to conform, away from or to my god born norm.
Anyway, see what happens. I’ll work on it, old without too much available young tit, just saggy ones. oh, I can’t stop….
Robert Moog has had his seventieth-eighth birthday today analogue, so google tells me today, play on search, as here, will be gone tomorrow,
http://www.google.co.uk/webhp?hl=en&tab=ww
so a short poem for him, plus classic from then songed wailed, since I am ahem! are trained in sound unfamiliar op amp wails, here goes, off the cuff again.
Robert, soldering iron and transitors down, come to bed,
never fucking what can make music you put out you say
Apollo saturn op amps, no, guitar accomponied drummed,
not a technician hidden away square trangle waves away?
Wendy/Walter Carlos, Moog mk.1ish,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YABw-ksikLA
Sorry, wasn’t clear there. Google was celebrating his seventy-eighth, not himself, since he bought the farm in about 2005. A great technician, a genius – electro-pop would be nothing without him, what with using op-amp transitors developed for Kennedy’s trip to the moon in a bit of “musical” kit, digeridoo style, hippy-like.
Insignificant, just a cog in wheel I feel,
looking around unabound, people run.
I visit, they praise then I variously say,
well done, hope grease gives life fun.
Signed,
HRH Lilibet/Liz two.
: )
“october lay leaved with october blood” is the classic hard hitting imagination stirring main line, I think, Alastair.
Pity about taffy was a welshman mentality then, he would be praised from coast to coast to this day otherwise, but that is our isle for you, class ridden, and biggoted, but there again, that produced him, yank President to this day loved. Quite complicated, life, you could say.
vid for Lilibet, she likes her welsh Pembrokeshire/Cardiganshire corgies, ankle heel nipping,
watch?v=EqCgFPV-8SM
And a vid for her sister, and oh yes, it is about her sister, oh yes it is! Done in the best possible taste, within without reason, enjoy. Marge was alright, to me, quite a mover and shaker,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cKEy0BFfQw
So I am a royalist, so? for now……
suppose I should mention, Princess Margaret was trained and armed with some derringer spouter in her legged nylon stockings, staid, just in case, you know, in her self-adventures around London Town. Need to know, and all that. nudge-nudge, wink-wink.
I like Shane, liver in him grumbling, so a song for him with wotsishame, the lead singer for The Dubliners, god rest, yes, that is him, Ronnie fucking Drew, taught english in Spain he did, Franco like,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=au30c9ZMIPg
The classic 1960’s cartoon The Dubliners with Ronnie Drew, The Simpsons-like,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYG8OA2nYzI
HIC!
Fucking fuck fuck fuck, it reminded me of this yound lad and his lady from Boston, US, in appreciation to it, they tell me. PIRA, fucking calm down, for christ’s sake, will you want to be, let James McCann say what he wants, it seems to simple me,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sANevOOsRUY
speak up Jim, I can hardly fucking hear you, where’s the hash coming in, what fucking irish airport…
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ApzPnkrTI4c
500 I think, no problem. That’s what you want in Britain, a can do sprit, and a tidy bit of madness.
He is a fool and a tool in his own spanner tool box in his own shed within his head, so said Sid Waddell, maybe. : )))))))))))))
so when you are in Kingston, Jamaica, and when someone says “telegram for Mongo”, the local brit embassey advises you to just laugh along, please, for gawd sakes!
While I am at it , a song for Jamaica,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCUcbRTB6Rs
mmm, ebony….
Jeff Hurst scored, over the line,
stop whinging krauts, it was in.
Russian stalag lines at side said,
it was in, you sausage eating Freds.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/0/football/18190250
Alf? What do you make of this?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oo1Sve32KDk
yeh, Stalingrad as goaline technology, yeh….
BOLLOCKS! me looking for a gong in future, I fuck the vid posting up. bollocks! bollocks!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EqCgFPV-8SM
Ok, a personal song for Lizzy. Matt, you remember him, tidy bloke, great singer. For you Lilibet, with my love (50!),
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiNQehY2VZk
Sweet Brit feeling.
Grass and seeds, fall down with it,
lungs pumping aflication of said,
Wild flowers no problem biog twit,
rapeseed unforunate name dread.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bsXtF-coNtg
bugger grass pollen. bastard!
OK OK so I helped the Swiss Airforce out after I left the RAF for a short while, holiday job, il sommes well interesting, full off ex-Francais air force marvellous and sharp pilots, they were brilliant, no german was sprechen,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6witfHfu0FM
Swiss Air Force in 1946, Stalin looking to visit,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRqLuUBUIZs
History, but not as you read it.
Sveiss Melanie, ja, her, damme,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2bn8IGNcQ7Y
I am suddenly sweating pints,
upstaired dormer, glassfibre lagged.
Winter over, warmth kept within,
no excuse, I am sweating my cobs off here,
god help me in July.
song,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=heqvy3fE0x0
where’s my bong…
sorry Jim, nordle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tY3zM0-cc0U
Hayley fach, with that one from Scotland,
singing as like above us from the midst.
Early morning, the day give us our call,
looking out fresh eyed, life’s coming twist.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qj3c52hg2sE
Know the scottish one, but can’t remember her name at the moment, sorry Alastair.
hello,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-G-j2-YhJY
There is always Martyn Ware and Ian Craig-Marsh from Sheffield?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJs3-ULCRNI
“he is like a spanner looking for a nut” : )
There is an emergency runway for the cold war RAF at the end of the M4, not many people have realised that, with a windsock at the side of the road unasked. Three laned between Port Talbot and Pyle, straight as an arrow, Vulcan nuclear can take, when home bases irradiated.
London Olympics, mind of it’s own, isn’t it?
Out of controll from us such mortals with it.
Bolt on door, eastern europeans do vault,
Kenyans and Ethiopians run fast far, Eiritreans too.
Should be interesting.
Howard went to Balliol Oxford, I believe, Met him in the Boars Head in Carmarthen one saturday luchtime, head behing a Daily Telegraph, a tidy man, Kenfig warren’s best.
Song for him, Howard Marks, a hero,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3m9bbU2J0w
dutch shit is too strong…
be seeing you
Dylan Thomas’ liver?
At least he had one,
a giver, a perfect liver.
Fernhill, a farm when he young stayed on, summer hols in deepest fox and dog barking Carmartheshire when young, farmyards away,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XG1B_7r4y8
genius, total absolute genius words, clear and cold and warm.
As in here – my daughter was impressed with Portmeirion, she kept repeating “I am not a number, I am a freeman”, right round Cardigan Bay coast on the way home, until I said “yes Ok, but give it a rest darling, so I am number six”.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHiAZGlImMs
“by hook or by crook” “you are number six”
Clunky poetry I am involved,
not from any school, taught,
Just viewed, ok, bit of Dylan,
life looking, fools life bought.
At that, might as well post more Dylan daft, as life is some say,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QZsZYXInD8
Bob Kingdom, doing an incredible Dylan Thomas, as he did, in the mid to late 1990’s, well remembered, it seems just to me. More prose than poetry, but that is up to poets these day to argue, or prosetic writers. Hope something happens in that England beeb, third channel of radio or not, for his 2014th hundreth year to wherever. Beeb 4 telly, you will make me especially depressed if you do not do something, that should be in planning, as we speak. I will be available for a short interview, if my liver lasts.
as if their simple minds own them. Pillocks, simple tramlined followed pillocks.
by the way all, this is as he said it in the early 1950’s on tour in the US, if the Rambo got you modern confused.
Told my slim arsed lesser upper titted new love,
she reminded me of my wonderful grandmother.
Went down as subliminal lead block in her mind,
even though I backed it up, I am not shagging her.
Dad’s and daughters is quite common, very common, song for them struggling with such, in closed eyes laid back, for England, in struggling mind love, split the two, for your happy life, that dad just wants,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yWGq9z5lccs
sorry Alison, so I had a visting girl from Croydon that came to bang me right out of my brains every now and then, made me squint it did, but I am sorry, please, it was just sex….
For Alison Goldfrapp blodyn/flower, and yes, I am a bit of a Steve McQueen on the loud,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTqPWFyVgpI
Going up the stairs, pinching my bum,
looking back to see that naughty look in her eye.
Smile at her, know she is wetting herself,
can’t wait to get to inspect my boxer shorts.
Song, again, for Ashley, the very naughty girl,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7v9gCcnDlQ
I am a Woolworths man online,
pick and mix and choose, posts.
Up to you Alastair, I won’t mind,
it will still be profit within my till.
Think I am clear there, love this site, and if posts don’t get posted, honestly, I really could’t give a fuck. The joy is writing them, mainly, honestly. Think Alastair understands me, I can tell he is a good bloke.
Fy machlyd o’r amser,
yn fy galwad yn galw fi yn nawr,
i fi, ond unig fi, heddu,
yn galw byw yn cyfrys,
i plant bach, ie, i y bach.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7IXXCG9rDU
get on google translate….
England. Ukraine and Poland coning up,
are you going to play like children, or adults?
Put yout mobile twitter phones down and concentrate,
the job in hand, and I don’t mean any clit, indexed fingered,
COUGH! song for england,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqrAPOZxgzU
god save the queen…
Eyes, unreal colour,
it seems just for me.
increbible stunning,
just only seems for me.
More Matt,
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiNQehY2VZk