If you're interested

Today's picture prompt on Write Stuff is of a sad and lonely girl on a beach...what is your first thought when you look at the picture...these are mine.


Freedom

She's got her freedom now...she thinks,
Her life is all her own.
No ties, no leash...no ball and chain,
She's free to be alone.
What she does to her body...
She alone is free to choose.
Freedom to snort...freedom to shoot...
She's free to self-abuse.
Squalid sex..with sleazy guys...
Now nowhere left to hide...
Doesn't know them..doesn't care...
She's free to lose her pride.

What future for this loveless child..
A short life filled with pain.
Disease, remorse...addiction
A soul flushed down the drain.
How many more just like her..
Condemned by social mores...
Disenfranchised and forgotten
Like festering, running sores.
Who cares for her...who gives a damn..
If this girl lives or dies..
Not those who could...nor those who should...
No politician cries.

Not those who could...nor those who should...
No politician cries.

 

This weeks Fiction Friday theme; Have your character give thirteen reasons why they should learn a new language. This is my take...a mother's monologue.


Kyle bounced and bundled around the room with the kind of unbridled and infectious excitement that only a five year old can muster...especially when he's ready, willing and very impatient to fly off on the holiday of a lifetime.

"The taxi's here mummy...and I'm all ready to go...are you nearly finished?" His sweet, but shrill voice resonated throughout the tiled ground floor before drifting up the stairs to where I was checking drawers, cupboards and the most unlikley nooks and crannies in search of that damned Italian phrasebook.

I definitely had one...Mark had bought it for me on our honeymoon in Rome...didn't have much need for it really, we rarely left the hotel as I recall. Three years later and Kyle was born...shorthly after that, Mark and I split, or rather he left me...left us both as it turned out.
I put the book away with all the other crap he'd given me...I knew it was somewhere in the spare room and probably still in pristine condition because I'd never so much as flicked through the pages since the day he bought it...reminded me too much of him and his Latin good looks.

I had always wanted to learn Italian...not just because my maternal grandfather had hailed from Genoa...but also because it seemed such an expressive, emotional language conjuring up sensual images in my head of romance and warm sultry nights...good food and sweet Red Wine...and of course those sexy Italian men. Sadly, I never got around to it...not even one lesson. I suppose I was just plain lazy...we didn't have to speak any other language really...didn't everyone speak English anyhow and if they couldn't...well, that was their problem.

I heard the cab driver honking impatiently outside the house...I looked at my watch.

" Dammit...!" I cursed quietly. The phrase book would have to stay behind. 

We had to load up and get moving...it was normally only forty five minutes to the airport but in mid-day traffic you could add another thirty to that...but the journey just flew by. I was never happier than when I was with Kyle...he lit up my life. I swear at times I could just stare in to his dark eyes and time seemed to stand still...he entranced me...my beautiful son.  He had the most striking bone structure, from me of course...and gorgeous sparkling eyes, full of mischief...too much like his father's. Kyle was a looker, that was for sure. I used to dream of the man he would become...tall, strong and handsome...he was my Prince and I was so very proud of him.

Two hours later and we were sitting on the plane...Kyle's nose pressed against the window, his little face aglow with wonderment at the cotton wool cloud blanket just beneath us. Everything was so new to him...so fresh...so much for him to see and do in his life.

I swore I'd always be there for him, even if his father wasn't.

It was raining in Milan...seemed to me just like another typical summer storm...the air was warm and humid. We picked up the hire car and I decided to head down to Genoa right away despite the storm and the gathering gloom. I was a confident driver and it was only a hundred miles or so of good quality roads to the city, so I guessed my lack of the language wouldn't be too much of a hinderance.

An hour later and we'd only travelled thirty miles...the black sky was illuminated randomly by lightning strikes and the rain was battering down so hard that the wipers could barely keep up...I was beginning to wish we'd stayed in Milan. Kyle was asleep in the back and I could easilly have climbed in there with him...I should have stopped then.

Three times the signs had lit up as we passed them on the freeway...warning of flash floods apparently...I didn't recognise any of the words so it meant nothing to me. I was too busy just struggling to drive through the storm and paid little attention...the night was dark and murky and I guess I was too tired.
I found out later that the local radio stations had been broadcasting throughout the night...warning motorists not to drive unless it was absolutely necessary. Oh, yeah...I heard the reports on the car radio just fine...it may as well have been Martians talking to me...I just tuned to a music station to help stay awake.

Even if I could have understood them, I didn't even see the 'Road Closed' signs as I sped towards the bend. I rounded the curve too fast and we hit it almost immediately. The river had burst through the bank and was flowing in a torrent across the carriageway...we began to slide. After that...everything is just a blur, brakes screeching, engine racing, the car skidding and turning...and Kyle screaming.

A sudden thudding impact...and then the silence...just horrible, eerie, deafening silence.

My life ended that day...or might as well have done because my Kyle was gone at five years old...a life ended before it had begun and it was all my fault...mine...his mother. On this earth I had just one task...to protect him but I let him down.  I've regretted that day every waking moment since...more than four thousand days and nights of torment...a hundred and fifty months of pain and lonliness. Why him? Why not me?

Thirteen years ago today my beautiful son was taken from me...thirteen years of torture...thirteen years of pain...thirteen years of guilt-ridden dreamless sleep..

And thirteen reasons why I wish I'd learned Italian.

The End


 

 

This weeks readwritepoem prompt was to write from the perspective of a tree...well I've often been told that I'm a bit wooden so this should be a piece of cake. 

I am Tree
I am strong.. and tall.
Feet planted deeply in my mother Earth...
Suckling at her breast..
And gulping her precious essence..
Drawing it through my veins..quenching my thirst..higher.
And higher still
To fingertips... which stretch to dance in the breeze...
Or sway...softly yielding to nature's call.
Then back again...
I am strong...and tall.

 

This weeks Fiction Friday Theme : Tell about your character's feelings towards animals and why she feels that way. 
I immediately thought of Amelia..May she Rest In Peace.


Amelia stared at the Tiger Prawns that lay there silently and accusingly at the edge of her plate kicking their legs periodically as if trying, even now, to escape their destiny. Of course they could not since each had been pierced neatly through the abdomen on long thin wooden skewers by Mr Tan. 

She drooled as she picked a prawn randomly from the pile. The marbled blue back of the crustacean wriggled, legs frantically pumping as it made one final and futile effort to flee. 

She smiled and dropped it into the steaming pot. 

Chinese Steamboat was one of Amelia's favourite dishes...the mere act of dipping live creatures into the boiling broth before tasting their searing hot flesh a matter of minutes after their lives had ended both thrilled and seduced Amelia, satisfying her basest desires at many levels.
She salivated in anticipation of the succulent and subtle flavours of the Tiger Prawn which had so recently and gallantly sacrificed its life for her pleasure, before dipping it in Mr Tan's sweet Chilli sauce and popping it into her dainty mouth. That is how it was for Amelia...she loved animals. In fact, she adored them all...fried, boiled, stewed or roasted..even raw. 

Yes, Amelia was truly passionate about animals. 

She had made it her life's work this last twenty years or so to eat her way around the globe, gorging herself on on the mutilated remains of  mammals, insects, crustaceans and reptiles..essential ingredients in any number of  gastronomically delightful regional dishes... and then writing about her pleasure in doing so in a series of best-selling extreme lifestyle cookery books. 

Amelia firmly believed that all animals were either predator or prey and since man was, she argued, at the top of the food chain, it was only right and proper for him to want to eat the lower orders. It was our natural birthright to do so and she considered it her duty to push the boundaries of culinary exploration on behalf of her fellow man. Over the years Amelia had consumed in pursuit of this maxim, a stomach-churning array of barely digestible animal offerings laid out on platters from the teeming cities of Asia to the sweltering jungles of South America. 
A book critic had once dubbed Amelia, the Indiana Jones of food..she liked that accolade and it kind of explains what she was doing here alone in a Western Australian wasteland, on this early spring evening sitting at a roaring campfire by the water's edge jotting down notes in her diary for her latest  book. 

It was dusk...the light was fading and as she scribbled, Amelia  savoured the mouth-wateringly meaty aroma of the small Dingo Dog's carcass which she herself had caught and gutted and which was now slowly spit-roasting over the open fire...almost ready for her to eat. 

Amelia had her back turned to the estuary and so probably didn't even see the five metre Salty as it leapt at her from the water amid a flurry of mud and cracking  branches before snapping its powerful jaws around her waist and dragging her back into the murky water. The crocodile rolled violently under water, tearing off and consuming great chunks of Amelia's pale flesh while as if from nowhere, several others joined the melee..feasting in the churning blood-stained water. After a while, the commotion died down, the water was once more calm and Amelia was gone. 

It was appropriate, and not a little ironic that Amelia should meet her end in such dramatic fashion...passing through the digestive system of a beast older than time itself and a tad higher up the food chain than she had been was a fitting way to go...after all...Amelia really, really loved animals. 

 

Ever struggled with a mind-demon..? 

A problem seemingly so huge that it appears insurmountable...no way out..no solution..but welcome the darkness, let dream-sleep take possession of your soul and bring blessed relief... in the morning, whilst the problem may still exist, the mind is far more clear about how to tackle it...how to navigate safe passage in to calmer waters..crazy..? maybe not..

Welcome the Darkness

Welcome the darkness inside you..
Open the door to your soul.
Show up the Demon that lurks there...
Feel the sickening stench of your troll.
The darkest part of your being...
Sees the beast that is squirming within.
Every scale on its mis-shapen torso..
Each tooth in its hideous grin.

Surrender your fear to that darkness...
Hide beneath a blanket of sleep.
Open your heart to the Demon..
Lure the beast from its keep.
The monster is buried  within you...
A dark, evil child in your womb.
Conscious self cannot accept it...
Rational man has no room.

But darkness usurps all reality..
And dream-sleep has freedom to roam.
In the crevices of your existence...
To seek out the beast's stinking home.
The darkness will drag it out screaming...
Torn from the caverns it haunts.
If we seek to destroy our own demon..
We must first understand what it wants.

The End

 
I see that the Vatican has decided to nominate a further Seven deadly sins for the modern age to go with the original seven scribbled down by Pope Gregory the Great...obviously not Pope Gregory the Humble but bear with me...so we had Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Greed and Sloth., a formidable list I'm sure you'll agree, but patently not enough to keep modern day Catholics in line...So the Papal politburo have brainstormed a few new deadly sins for the faithful to avoid like the plague on pain of eternal damnation.. polluting the planet, genetic engineering, being obscenely rich , drug dealing, abortion, paedophilia and causing social injustice...a wonderfully socially aware list most of which I would be more than happy to see all world Governments put an end to but in this case, a particularly ironic list of nefarious activities given that the edict comes from a Catholic Church which has at some point stood guilty, directly, indirectly or by association of almost all of them...still Catholicism and Hypocrisy have been willing bed-fellows for centuries...why stop now?

What is it about all religions...and the Church of Rome particularly... how arrogant to assume that they have the right to presume what is and is not sinful..if you believe in God..and I do not...don't you also believe that he created it all and he decided what was sinful and then whacked it on a stone for Moses to pass on..and this is exactly my point, God did not decide a jot ...for he does not exist ...only man with his rules and his commands..and this latest malarky is merely further evidence of this as if it were needed...all religions are bunkum...invented by man for the enslavement of man...get a grip, give it up. 

  

The prompt for this week's poem on ReadWritePoem  is  'Dream' and my poem is entitled 
'After she's gone..' my first effort on the site..appreciate any comments.


A young man, in love for perhaps the first time...whose lover has literally just departed from his bed leaving him alone with only his dreams for comfort...

After She's Gone...

After she's gone...
The scent of her lingers.
Won't  wash  away...
From my hair or my fingers 

After she's gone...
The warmth of her stays a while...
Sensual and comforting...
The thought of her makes me smile.

After she's gone...
Still taste her sweet flavours...
On my lips from a kiss..
That my memory savours.

After she's gone...
I picture her sleeping.
And I know that my heart...
Will be safe in her keeping.


The End.
  

Speaking as one who really doesn't follow any other so-called football game...no American football, no Gaelic football and certainly no Rugby football...only  real football, eleven players, two goals with nets and one round ball...as I said speaking as a football pedant I was nevertheless thrilled to see the Scots wipe the floor with England and capture the Calcutta Cup even though they play with an inflated bag that even technically cannot be called a ball...despite the protests of Rugger loving acedemics who will argue til they are blue in the face that balls can be oval...BALLS ARE ROUND!!!

Still, never mind all of that...there have been precious few victories since The Mighty Bruce was in charge and we scudded them plenty to nil at Bannockburn so Scots wha hae an aw that...!

 
This weeks Fiction Friday theme: Start with a fire.

FIRE!

Did  the Captain enjoy barking the order....certainly his eyes were fixed on mine, his thin lips curled into a sneering smile as he stood ram-rod straight, his tall figure a silhouette against the grey dawn of a Flanders sky.

I saw a dozen rifle barrels not fifteen paces distant...pointing directly at me...and beyond the weapons twelve faces, each one well known to me and every one proud to call me friend. Their faces were etched with fear as with trembling arms they sighted their weapons upon my bound and tethered torso.  Reacting like automatons to the Captain's orders, they cocked their weapons. Young men just like me, not one of them past his twentieth birthday and trained merely to obey without question, ready to fire on his command at the target pinned roughly onto my winter greatcoat more or less over the spot where my young heart was now pounding...racing towards its final moments of pulsing, vital life. 

We had all been happy to march to war back then, a lifetime ago, I was eighteen years old and proud to serve, yes even willing to die for King and Country...but not like this, not like vermin...not in shame at the hands of my comrades.  We were sleeping when the bombardment began...same as ever..mustard gas, munitions and low level machine gun bullets straffing across no-mans land. The shell landed in the trench and all hell broke loose...dead...all of them...blown to pieces before my eyes. I was covered head to foot in their blood..it was hot and sticky.  I screamed... ran...far away from it, into the night...that was the last thing I remember...and then the  Court Martial..Dereliction of duty...Desertion.  

"An open and shut case" he said, "Death by Firing Squad."  Sobbing, I collapsed on the floor, no longer a soldier, just a dead man walking, destined to die a coward...buried alone in a foreign land in an unmarked grave. 

As my friends fired, I saw their rifles recoil, each barrel flashing in the half-light of the misty morning and then nothing as I felt the burning lead tear through my flesh, shredding organs and spewing my essence into the mud to mix with the blood of countless other scared young men in this damn war.

May God forgive us all. 


Dedicated to the 306 British and Commonwealth Soldiers executed in WW1 for so-called cowardice...

The inspiration for Azeem's tale...any one of the tens of thousands of human trafficking deaths which happen every year in this screwed-up world where humanity is just another commodity to be bought and sold.

Backstory

Azeem had been hanging around the hypermarket for most of the morning. It had been raining steadilly for over four hours now and he was cold and tired. Dragging his old bones off for a strong coffee and a smoke he was almost knocked over by a silver BMW ...just what he'd been looking for..brand new 5 Series, classy car, English plates and definitely not the boy racer type. Azeem waited until the car was unattended then stuck a voucher under the Beamer's windscreen wiper and settled down with his Galoise and double Expresso to await the driver's return.
The man arrived a little while later, struggling with too many bottles of Claret.  Azeem couldn't help but smile for he seemed the perfect mark, middle-aged, professional, rich...perhaps an educated man like Azeem himself. The mark took the voucher, read it and slipped it into his pocket. Azeem approached him, face grinning ear to ear..'Yes sir..it's absolutely true, you are indeed a lucky shopper..a free feast and a five hundred Euros await you..congratulations'  he said as he grabbed the dazed shopper's hand and shook it vigorously whilst one of the youngsters took a photograph for the store's publicity. A few minutes later, as he watched the Beamer glide off,  Azeem hoped that this time he would be the one, the saviour...he could almost smell that sweet English air.

Less than an hour later, the BMW pulled up outside the restaurant. Azeem was there to greet Bryan the lucky shopper, his smile warm and welcoming as he presented him with five crisp 100 Euro notes. A Bedouin Feast lay inside, compliments of the management, and soon the two men were savouring Jamil's cooking and talking like old friends. The night flew by, far exceeding Azeem's most optimistic hopes. Politics,  Fine Art, History...each topic  discussed, dissected and debated...the Claret and laughter flowed freely and when it transpired that Azeem was perhaps the only Kosovan alive who passionately embraced the virtues of that most noble of English sports...well, let's just say that Bryan was bowled out for a duck.

Monologue

AZEEM SQUATS IN THE BACK OF A LORRY. IT IS DARK SAVE FOR THE LIGHT OF A SMALL HAND TORCH. HE IS SHIVERING AND LISTENING HARD FOR SOMETHING.

AZEEM  
Nothing, no cars no people..no-one. This isn't how it was meant to be. What have I done? They said I was crazy, all of them, even Arben and Ismail...crazy old Azeem they said...waiting for a knight in armour to carry him to England.
(LAUGHS)
Crazy..? Me..? No way, my friend, not Azeem Iqbal.  Did I drag my family half way across Europe to beg on the French Dockside like so many stinking rats or send my daughters into alleyways with old men for a few coins...was it me who risked my life clambering over tracks and onto moving trains in the dark...no, not me!...who are the crazy ones then..?
( GRINS..TAPS HIS NOSE )
Azeem...he is clever. Any fool knows  that Kosovan, Serbian or English...we are all the same. We embrace our own and we fear what is strange...simple..so in Pristina, in the University for years I study English..it's language, customs and it's pastimes
(LAUGHS)
Even their cricket...what is that? So many rules, so much etiquette...and five days long? If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was a Serbian joke.

AZEEM LEANS CLOSE TO THE TRUCK WALL AND LISTENS.

AZEEM ( cont'd)
When it got too bad I got out, Arben and Ismail my two oldest friends didn't need to be asked twice. They both worked at the museum...robbed it blind before we left, icons,artefacts...anything portable we stuffed into their holdalls. We travelled with the other refugees most of the way, skinny girls with even skinnier babies...old women with sad eyes...brash young men in imitation Reeboks, bad skin and forged papers. Some had family in Albania or Italy..most like me were desperate to get to England.

AZEEM PUTS HIS EAR TO THE WALL.

AZEEM(cont'd)
Still nothing...something must be wrong. Bryan said it would all be fine...don't worry he said, it'll be fine...we'll take breakfast at Lords together..huh..no breakfast since these last two days and we are freezing in here.
I worry about Ismail and Arben..they've been quiet too long. I think they're sleeping...but their skin is so cold, I hope they are sleeping.
Maybe Bryan is in trouble...no..he's delayed that's all. He'll be here soon...smiling. He went ahead with the money you see, while we all squeezed into this filthy, little meat-truck...stinks of pork.
"I'll let you out in Dover and we'll travel to the big Smoke in style.." the last words he said before he closed us in here in the dark and locked the door..must be two days at least now

AZEEM BANGS THE SIDE OF THE TRUCK IN ANGER

AZEEM ( cont'd)
Nobody hears us...is nobody there?

AZEEM SHIVERS AND RUBS HIMSELF DOWN TRYING TO KEEP WARM

AZEEM ( cont'd)
Six months I toiled in Calais for this..had to get to England and I needed to make money fast...wasn't fussy how. It didn't take me long to set it up. I like to eat you see and soon found a little place in the city with a friendly landlord...Jamil...second generation Moroccan immigrant...authentic North African food too. Trouble was, Jamil turned out to be local Mafia, so maybe it was him who found me...anyhow that doesn't matter now. We made money...big money. I'd finger the mark, play mine host and Jamil would put up the cash prize while the rest of the guys sat around in the cafe like normal punters cheering his good fortune. Good food and wine laced with just enough dope to put him out of it  so Jamil's wife can wipe his credit cards...nice and simple..he wakes with a headache, a full belly and five hundred Euros extra in his wallet. Nothing stolen, nothing missing...until his cards are maxed up in Kuala Lumpur or Manilla. No comeback on me, Jamil or anyone else here in Calais...piece of cake.

AZEEM PULLS OUT THE LAST GALOISE FROM HIS PACK.  LIGHTS IT AND SUCKS DEEPLY

AZEEM ( cont'd)
That's how it should have been with Bryan...just another mark with a wallet full of Platinum Cards but there was something about him. I can't put my finger on it, we just clicked from the minute he turned up waving his winning voucher.
( WISTFUL SMILE)
That night passed in a blur...we hit the same note on every subject..the con had never worked this well..seemed easy, too easy. I should have drugged him then, wiped his cards and walked away..but  didn't..I couldn't. I wanted more than his money. I fled for my life from Kosova but couldn't get past Calais, I told him.
"Bloody typical...the likes of you rotting away here while England is swamped with no-hopers and chancers...but what can I do..?" he sighed
( AZEEM LAUGHS LOUDLY)
Put my fat Albanian arse in the front of your Beamer and smuggle me into London is what I wanted to say...but I stayed cool..opened another bottle and laughed some more.
We got talking about England's chances for the Ashes and I got on my soap-box about how one day cricket had ruined the test side and his face lit up...he was  hooked. 
I took a chance.,..take me to England, I said. He looked me straight in the eye...scratched his chin and shook his head. 
" Too dangerous for me, Azeem  my friend" he said. My spirits sank...then he said that he couldn't let me fester here any longer either. He was too smashed to drive back tonight anyhow and said he'd sleep on it... we'd talk again in the morning.

AZEEM SUCKS ON HIS CIGARETTE. THE TORCHLIGHT FLICKERS, FADES. HE SHAKES IT. THE LIGHT RETURNS.

AZEEM ( cont'd)
Jamil was furious...Mafia expect results you know. So he appears all smiles and pours Bryan a 'special' Cognac and offers him the guest room for free. I was gutted...scared that Jamil had spoiled my chance..that in the cold light of day Bryan would be on the morning ferry and long gone before I woke so I curled up on Jamil's floor and slept with one eye on the guest room door..I saw Jamil's wife go in and out...dip his wallet and swipe the cards..never trust a thief.
Early next morning, Bryan is up..sore head but all smiles. Tells me he's made a few calls...he'll take me to England..all three of us... but it will cost us five grand each...English Pounds.
I'm sorry, he says but the money's not for him, it's the going rate. 
Fifteen thousand would clean us out...but what else could I do..this was my last chance and I said yes without thinking of anyone but myself. Ismail and Arben were wary...we're too old they said..we like it here..we've got a good thing going...but I  told them not to worry...
Azeem is no fool, I told them. I trust Bryan and you trust me...so why worry..have I ever let you down before?

AZEEM LISTENS HARD

AZEEM ( cont'd)
 A car...Ismail, Arben, wake up.! Its Bryan. ..Is it you Bryan..? 

AZEEM JUMPS UP. HE RUSHES TO THE DOORS. A CARD IS SLIPPED UNDER THE TRUCK DOOR.

AZEEM ( cont'd)
 What is this..?
( AZEEM READS ALOUD)
Azeem...the credit cards were all fakes. Old English proverb...you can't cheat a cheat...too late for you though...
(REALIZATION THEN DESPAIR)

AZEEM SEES HIS FRIENDS LYING COLD AND STILL IN THE CRAMPED VAN FOR THE LAST TIME BEFORE THE LIGHT FROM HIS TORCH FINALLY FLICKERS AND DIES. TOTAL BLACKNESS.

AZEEM ( cont'd)
May Allah forgive me...
( AZEEM SOBS)


the end.
 

Well...I had a nice trip out to Crewe Railway station yesterday ...and what a fine example of nineteenth Century architecture it is...but unfortunately, I wasn't supposed to be there...!
Bit of a balls-up really...mum and dad were staying with me for a few weeks and went home yesterday..so ever the dutiful son, I whisked them off to Rugby Station and deposited them into the Pendilo, tilting train to Glasgow Central..a mere four and a bit hours on board aircraft-style luxury. On account of their advancing years I thought I'd help them aboard with their luggage...only right and proper really...but strangely, nobody informed the driver and so before I'd had time to scratch my arse, the electric doors made a strange sound and began to shut.
I stood helplessly watching them glide together and finally close and lock with an audible whoooshh..then we were off...a hundred tons of the finest engineering Virgin could assemble speeding northward
like a silver bullet  with me trapped...press-ganged and pining as I saw my car in the short-term dropping-off zone outside the station..aaarrgh!  It'll be allright I thought...the train will probably stop soon..but no..first stop was Crewe. Still could've been worse...at least it wasn't a non-stop journey.
Anyway..top marks to the rail staff on the train who sorted the whole thing out at no cost to me except several hours out of my life and the eternal piss taken out of me by wife, children, friends and family...and many thanks to whichever God smites down the traffic wardens in Rugby...no parking fine..result.
                                                                                                                                

 

Priti and I escaped again last night...this time a night at the Theatre...Rafta, Rafta...a comedy by British Asian actor, wordsmith and playwright Ayub Khan-Din of East is East fame.  Based on All in Good Time, the 1963 play by Bill Naughton  later adapted for the screen as The Family Way he has brought it up to date,  set it within an Indian immigrant family but still rooted  it firmly in working-class Bolton. 
The play tells the story of marital difficulties, mainly of the non-erection variety, between the eldest son Atul and his beautiful new bride Vina Patel.  Eeshwar Dutt...played with brilliant comedic timing by Harish Patel is a first-generation immigrant and patriarch of the family who has a troubled relationship with his newly-wed son , whose married life with Vina has got off to a rocky start..not helped by his interfering family. 
Rafta, Rafta... opened at the National Theatre, Lyttelton in April 2007 to good reviews...last night's performance was the final one in Milton Keynes...I don't know where  it's next stop is but I would recommend it unreservedly...a good night out...go see it...especially if you liked East is East.
 

Happy Mother's Day to my mum, Kieran's Mum, Priti's mum, Terry,Paul & Gerald's mum and everyone else's mum for whom today is that special day...you know the one where their various offspring get to dote on them hand and foot..or where Kieran is concerned, I get to dote on his mother by proxy..this of course is no hardship.

Anyway..it's great to have my mum on one arm and Kieran's mum on the other on such a beautifully sunny and springlike afternoon...just had a lovely family lunch out at the Spencer Arms in Chapel Brampton...excellent food..better company.  ..

By co-incidence..this year's special day is also #1 daughter's birthday...24 years old...aaarrgh!!! Am I really old enough for a grown up lady to be my daughter...unfortunately yes...have a good one.

 According to the Daily Mirror...researchers have announced that the average working smoker spends a year of their working life on a fag break which of course has pissed off employers who are paying them to do so and colleagues who do not enjoy this financial bonus..but it got me thinking how much time do we actually spend working in a normal working day...
The research calculated that a smoker would enjoy three seperate 15 minute breaks each day over a working life of 44.5 years and this constituted a year.
So 45 minutes per day smoking...what about bodily functions..say one 20 min dump and at least five 5 min tinkles per day equates to another 45 minutes...mooching around the coffee machine say four occasions at 10 minutes each...130 minutes so far..flirting with the postboy or receptionist..15 minutes...daydreaming about the shag you had the night before or wondering where your next one is coming from another 15 minutes and of couse luridly fantasizing about you and the boss's PA stuck in the executive lift...crikey at least 20 minutes on that one...mundane activities..surfing the internet to book a holiday...Tesco shop or generally have a lark another 15 minutes..writing your blog 30 minutes interspersed throughout the day..and phoning your partner another 15 minutes  TOTAL 240 minutes or 4 HOURS out of a normal working day of 7.5 hours...lazy idle bastards..no wonder the GNP is plummetting like a stone..

Certainly not the Daily Mirror..that's for sure..

In today's edition they report upon a DINOSAUR sea monster that has been discovered in the Arctic Island chain of Svalbard...their science editor..Mike Swain...whilst putting together his copy obviously couldn't be arsed seeking quotes from a proper qualified bone digger..so just got himself a number of quotes from a certain Richard Forrest self-styled Plesiosaur expert to add credibility to his piece..

They shouldn't have bothered..he can't be that much of an expert..and I quote..

'A large Pliosaur would have been able to pick up a small car and bite it in half ..'

Now, granted...I'm not a palaeontologist. although I can spell it..in fact I'm not a boffin of any description..although by chance of fate I am related by marriage to several top notch intellects...but I'm pretty sure that cars..even small ones..weren't around a hundred and fifty million years ago..and especially not in the Arctic circle.
 

Given the amount of horrific, devastating disasters which are inflicted by mother nature upon the peoples of this planet I never cease to be amazed by the furore that minor geological events here in Britain cause amongst both the chattering classes and the great unwashed in housing estates up and down the land. This morning at the school gates for example the earthquake last night was the topic of the day amongst the not-so-yummy mummies...quite an achievement given the extra-marital goings on in Eastenders last evening...and if I heard the phrase..'..did the earth move for you..?' once, I must have heard it a hundred times... each time delivered in an outrageously camp voice and followed by an inane schoolgirl giggle each thinking they had cracked some original pearl of humourous wisdom...aaarghh!!! 

When compared to the devastation, flood, fire,death and general mayhem caused by earthquakes in other parts of the world I found the photographs on the Sky News website of the effects of our quake ludicrous really...like some kind of Monty Python sketch..I could almost hear a John Cleese silly voice-over....particularly the lady who was glad that the quake hadn't actually damaged the plates in her rack,  just shaken them about a bit and that this was lucky since they had been a wedding present...get a grip missus..

   
In years gone by I wonder who was responsible for naming towns and more to the point...what narcotic where they under the spell of at the time...how about Intercourse PA or even Shag Harbour, Nova Scotia both of  which are presumably  on the same long... or maybe short... road via Beaver, Utah  to finally reach Climax, Michigan.

Who the Hell, Michigan ever thought that Dildo, Newfoundland was any sort of name for a town and before you start condemning  North Americans how about  Twatt, Shetland not to be confused of course with Twatt, Orkney


                                                                            

 It is ...as they say...a funny old world..!

Priti and I had a delightful weekend which began on Friday in Birmingham...some shopping in the Bullring and lunch with my parents, Kieran and #1 daughter followed..at aforementioned daughter's request...by a visit to Morelli's Gelato...an ice cream parlour of some prestige in the food hall of Selfridges Store...off we went gleefully in anticipation of a nice Cornetto...maybe a 99...perhaps even ' a wee pokey-hat with strawberry sauce'...Morelli's was great, the ambience and decor were spot on...it was unfortunate however that we were unable to obtain a mortgage in sufficient time to allow the entire family to partake in their fangled frozen delights but it was good fun watching the kids tucking in...and vicariously decadent to watch Kieran consume an entire week's family allowance in several scoops of frozen water and some squirty cream..


Friday night  we were let off the leash...Kieran safely cooped up at home with the old folk..but what to do..? where to go..?..wild partying and clubbing...aka.. getting legless and vomiting on the dance-floor... were all considered and quickly rejected and we settled on a quiet and tres romantique night at  Kushboo  ...an Indian restaurant of our aquaintance... It was in fact the location of our very first date on January 21st 1993, only then it was an Italian restaurant...of course, it has had a beautiful facelift since then..pity the same cannot be said for me but c'est la vie...every wrinkle tells a story..most of them horrific. 

Beautiful lady..brillant food...and still only Friday!

Come Saturday and more shopping...this time in Coventry and a nice lunch with daughter #2 at Etna...Italian..pizza, Canalloni and Spaghetti Marinara the order of the day..followed by a trip to brother in Daventry to deposit parents..sportywise..all the footie results were positive and in accordance with my preferences although Scotland did get humped by the Irish at Rugby which is always painful...but at least it wasn't the English who inflicted the pain..that particular anguish is yet to come...house was quiet with mum and dad gone but ideal for glass of wine and bit of romance..

Sunday saw Chelsea lose the Carling Cup Final...whilst we were in transit collecting mum and dad from Daventry for a lovely night in...excellent  weekend...

note to self - parents not allowed to return to Paisley under any circumstances 

 Apparently one of the Scottish Rugby players has failed a Dope Test...judging by the standard of their game on Saturday against the Irish the other 14 would have passed it with flying colours!

 That is of course 'Retire' and not 'Rest... in Peace'  to Castro...quite an achievement by the old boy who can still breathe in this life despite the efforts of every US President bar none since JFK to rub him out...five decades of dogged defiance...seemingly impervious to hundreds of CIA inspired assassination attempts each more ludicrous than the previous and of course he's still around despite US financial and military assistance to any rag-tag Cuban or Latin American paramilitary group so long as 'We hate Castro ' was printed on their helmets. If you agree or not with the way he ran Cuba..it is testament to Castro's strength of character that he  maintained  a Marxist regime within pissing distance of the USA for fifty years..and of course he is one of the few revolutionaries left who has no need to sport a  Che Guevara T-Shirt...they walked the walk together as friends and comrades-in-arms in the early years..love him or loathe him..respect.

And for those who may point to abuses in Cuba...I agree, his revolution was violent and their were many human rights abuses in Cuba..as there still are today by the USA...as a result of the embargo and the injustices inflicted upon the  inmates at Guantanamo Bay...