MORNING HAZE

The gauze of dawn

mists my eyes to semi-blindness,

the fine rain drizzle

dims my fading vision,

the window’s condensation

obscures nature’s outlines,

the rough-edged world out there

is blurred and hazy.

I rub my face to no avail

for all before me is vague,

distant, dreek and dim,

hopeless,  desperate and grim.

I should have gone to Specsavers.

SIR TERRY PRATCHETT RECOMMENDS.....

We read, we learn.  It is as simple as that.  Currently, I am reading a collection of Terry Pratchett's non-fiction, speeches, reflections, bits and bobs - a pick 'n' mix of all sorts of things that actually forms itself into an untidy writing masterclass.  In short, it is a joy.

Here and there in the book, he mentions books and writers that influenced him and on his recommendation, I have downloaded a book (circa 21 pages) called The Specialist by Charles Sale.  I have not read it yet but I'm intrigued.  If it is good enough for Sir Terry, then it is more than good enough for me.



Here's the blurb for The Specialist, from the Amazon site:

"The Specialist is one of the world s favourite humour classics. Generations of readers have enjoyed its gentle wisdom about the building of privies and applauded Lem Putt s devotion to making a privy a thing of beauty. Lem Putt is a specialist, and this book is the philosophy of a man who loves his trade and has considered every aspect of it, from how to prevent people taking their time when they commune with nature to solving the problem of female modesty in an ingenious way."

Even before I read it, I know it is going to be £1.25 well spent.

REVENGE

I stole the next twenty-nine words from Sir Terry Pratchett*:

“We look around and see foreign policies that are little more

than the taking of revenge for the revenge that was taken

in revenge for the revenge last time.”

We kid ourselves that there was a simpler age in the cut and thrust

Of nation versus nation, clear-cut rules of war, tit for tat, eye for an eye,

Tooth for a tooth, the victorious, the defeated, the romance of blood spilled

By heroes, and corpses tallied by military admin to deliver a final score.

Now, it’s still tit for tat, but evolving into tit for tit and tat for tat, tweet for tweet, 

Whatever suits, two eyes for one eye and a mouthful of teeth for one tooth, 

And sometimes a whole head, sometimes heaps of bodies buried where no one will ever find them. “Put’ em up. Put ‘em up,” said a cowardly lion once.  Who do we think we are kidding?

*Carnegie Medal award speech, 2002

WHEN GRANDA LOST HIS STAMMER

GRANDA TOMMY

We didn't call him Grandfather or even Grandad. He was Granda, my mother's father. He was a small, slight man but with the work ethic and grit of somebody twice his size. I remember he did the annual wallpapering and decorating in our house, always with a cheery demeanour, the occasional whistle and, every now and then, a song to himself. He had a stammer, quite severe at times, but that made him all the more endearing. He would give opinions and tell stories, sometimes struggling with certain words that simply refused to roll off the tongue. But, and I recall this very clearly, at a family do, he sang the song Nellie Dean and it was beautiful, even to a young kid like me. When he sang this simple little tune, the stammer was dead. Instead, he had the sweet voice of a tenor, unforced and pitch-perfect. "There's an old mill by the stream, Nellie Dean," he sang and, you know, he looked happy and content, a small man but a great Granda.

THE DA THAT NEVER WAS

Today, the Belfast Telegraph kindly published my article on my father, as we approach Father's Day.  It is not a very heartwarming story, more a series of clues I need to follow up to understand his life from the time he walked out of his Belfast home in 1960 to his death in 1982 in Clapham, London.  What happened in the 22 "missing"years?

My father, the stranger: Joe Cushnan on his absent dad

http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/life/features/my-father-the-stranger-joe-cushnan-on-his-absent-dad-31313372.html

Slowly but surely, I'm piecing it all (or most of it) together for a possible book or just to satisfy my own curiosity.

THE NINE PARTS OF SPEECH

A POEM FOR CHILDREN (Attributed to John Neale, 1886)

Three little words you often see

Are ARTICLES a, an and the.

A NOUN's the name of anything,

As school or garden, hoop or swing.

ADJECTIVES tell the kind of noun,


As great, small, pretty, white or brown.

Instead of nouns the PRONOUNS stand,


Her head, his face, our arms, your hand.

VERBS tell of something being done,


To read, count, sing, laugh jump or run.

How things are done the ADVERBS tell,


As slowly, quickly, ill or well.

CONJUNCTIONS join the nouns together,


As men and children, wind and weather.

The PREPOSITION stands before


A noun, as in or through a door.

The INTERJECTION shows surprise,


As oh! how pretty! ah! how wise!

The whole are called 'nine parts of speech',


Which reading, writing, speaking teach.

TOP GEAR. CHRIS EVANS? DEARY ME.

It's 19.41, Tuesday 16 June 2015, UK time.

I have just read that the BBC has contracted broadcaster Chris Evans to a 3-year deal to front the car/caper show 'Top Gear'.

My heart sinks.  No, my heart sank when that dangerous, risky, bumptious Jeremy Clarkson ruined a show because he was sacked for physical violence against a colleague, and rightly so.  Single-handedly, he destroyed a great concept and a damaged a lucrative BBC brand.  Much as I loved his front as a presenter and his banter with his presenting mates, James May and Richard Hammond, he is a dickhead.  He has ruined one of my all-time favourite shows, forever. And I'm not even a car guy.

Chris Evans is very successful but, in my ears and head, he is an annoying presenter, full of ego and, at times, a high-pitched delivery. He is a turn-off.

I can see why the BBC - if this contract news is true - is attracted by the disc jockey/presenter.  He will probably haul in a new audience from his Radio 2 supporters and his TFI Friday fans.

The BBC might end up saving the brand.

For my taste and that of many others, Clarkson more than crossed a line and deserved his fate.  In doing so, he screwed up a fun show, in my opinion, and left the door open for the BBC to recruit lesser presenters to find their feet, a new format and a challenge to keep 'Top Gear' alive as a global business.

I only watched 'Top Gear' for Clarkson, May and Hammond.  A variation of Freeman, Hardy and Willis, The Three Stooges or The Three Mustangteers just will not do.

So long. I'm away down the road in a cloud of smoke.