Yellow Cabs and Yankee Lads

 My daughter and son-in-law have recently returned from New York.  In what little time (5 days) they had they managed to fit in as many sights as sleep deprivation allowed them. As much as joy and excitement kept them ticking over, the new fountain in memory of the Twin Tower victims rendered them speechless. The snaps simply left me stunned.  I pray one day to conquer my fear of flying.

Sunday Snippet (34)

 Cheer yourself up at your next funeral by hiding  £10 / $20 in your black suit today!!

I'll Just Have To Lump It Then!!

Recently I discovered a hard lump on my right boob near the top towards my armpit.  It's about the size of a pea (processed not garden) and a right tender little thing. By that I don't mean it sings lullabies to me, but menourv   maneovr  manoorver  turning and twisting, even slightly can be right effing nippy!  Then again, I keep poking and prodding at it which does me no favours.  Even on getting it seen to at the doctor's, I didn't need to tell him where 'mumpy'  lives (yes, I do have names for various body parts) he simply followed the bruised bit!

Now, as such I'm not expecting it to be anything serious, but he is taking no chances with me........(coz trust me my medical files are as thick as a brick).  I know I don't look it *ahem* but in a couple of years I'll be 50 and would have been sent for my routine mammogram anyway.  I shall be getting a sample drawn and tested and all that kind of thing as well.  There is a chance it may be cancer.

Funny thing is, a year ago my twin sister had an op to remove a larger lump, kind of shallot shaped. It was benign, thank God.  For the family record, I know my grandmother had breast cancer, and my mother died of stomach cancer, but I know her chain smoking had a lot to do with that but the cancer seemed  to attack her everywhere bar her boobs!........And that's where my ridiculous theory comes in.

My twin sis is a smoker (since high school) likes a drink, bakes herself in the summer and has periods easy-flow periods and her lump was benign - well, it was more of a cyst, really.  If I let myself believe, and live up to the way things often turn for me, what are the chances of me, the non-smoker, non drinker, hysterectomy-scarred, ex-breast feeding summer recluse getting it a little bit tougher...?  I know it's daft, but with vast, past experience, this typifies how things usually go for me. The chalk and the cheese. 

I know it's gonna be okay. Really I do.  But I can't help these little thoughts from butting in and hitting me with it's less than 5% chance of my right tit's visitor needing an eviction notice from higher beings!

Scently Does It

                                                               
 She stood shivering, her thin little legs peeking out from under the towel as the rush of water was filling up the bath.  Steam clouded the room and much to her dismay the squirt of soap from a bottle was heard loudly.  Bubbles usually stung her eyes but they never took heed of any head shaking or blinking until it was too late.


Bastards!  They stood there laughing at her as hair stuck firmly to her head, messed up and tacky,  her ears jutting out pixie-like. Whimpering with each jug soaking did her no good, and soon she kept quiet and rigid, accepting each hit of water, sometimes too hot or too cold, each burning soap sting. Pure torture. They were really giving her the water-wheel treatment tonight.  Although properly toilet trained, she just stood there and peed, apologetic eyes flitting from one face to the other.  Had she been doing this on the carpet, she could have been facing being dragged along while receiving a loud, verbal roasting.


Later on, once dried and fragrantly dusted, she was amazed that she wasn't sent straight to bed.  Instead she was given a meal, nothing special, but even that was followed by some crunchy biscuits and milk.  Maybe they'd forgiven her? For her repetitive sin. Come to accept that in life there are some things nature just can't control.  She couldn't stop them from forcing her into bath water and coming out smelling of bubblegum. They couldn't stop her from seeking out the biggest nipped off shit in the park and rolling in it.

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Remember (Mags) Remember, The Whole Of Movember.........

I'm being a bad girl this week and cheating on you Magpie's! I'm sadly not able to post a poem as I've a lot of music, manic mayhem and such like going on. Some of my time is taken up with the charity mentioned below. Dying beards and other delights........I will get round to reading your 'pie's in between the mania. Back to normal for Magpie 91 - here's hoping!  THANK YOU....XXXXX

 It's Movember. The month formerly known as November, now dedicated to growing moustaches and raising awareness and funds for men's health - specifically prostate and testicular cancer.

 Pretty Boy and NorseGod are donating their top lip (and more) to the cause for the next 20-odd days in an effort to help change the face of men's health. Their Mo's will spark conversations and generate laughs in raising vital dosh!  In reverse, hairy blokes are shaving themselves clean in operation NoMovember to raise the same dosh and giggles. PrettyBoy's university is a big supporter of the Australian-originated charity and have loads of scrawny follicle-ridden imports joining in. (So could some of the girls apparently.....!)

It's pretty important to me as my son-in-law James (see sidebar for pic!) had testicular cancer at only 26, resulting in removal of one.  He's fine, healthy and hoping to raise a family soon (with the help of IVF) but the thought that life could have lost such a mad, caring, and funny, funny bloke still chokes me up! All I ask is a cheer for the lads.  Those who haven't heard of the charity can check it out here HERE

Anyhow - here's how the face sprouting is doing so far.............

 

Looks like Ross (in sepia - he's a rock star to be, you know!) is not quite at the fuzzyfelt stage of his (much) younger (and hairier) brother, Adam. Ah, well. It really IS made from girders, then.

WELL DONE BOYS.....AND ROCKING WITH IT ALL THE WAY........!!

Get To 'F' (24)

Just a simple little pic as I'm feline a bit of a bad girl.  I stuffed 2 Haagan Daz Praline and Cream ice cream tubs in our shopping trolley when The Cheaper Half wasn't looking today!  Criminal ( at that price! ) but I'll feel like the cat who got the cream once they've all pissed off to bed tonight!

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Get To ''Halloween''

                              A mask tells us more than a face - Oscar Wilde


 This F-ing post's timing is to cover Halloween also..... While all my friends are making pacts with the Devil, my notions hang  more on the fancy dress side of Halloween - masked balls in particular. 

This time to add to the mystique and ambiance, is a cover song (from a movie I've watched a million times) by a delightful young man called Patrick Carrico. I'm sure the masquerade in you will recognise the song and film easily. If not, it's worth a listen anyhow!

 
     

Smooth Critters

Gee - you men have us over a barrel at times. You ask us to iron a shirt for you and then when we tell you to sod off and do it yourself, you put the garment on knowing we'd be mortified to let you walk outside like that......grrrrrrrr..........!

Sunday Snippet (35)

I don't know what all the fuss about these arranged marriages is. Me and my husband spent 6 months arranging ours  - and it went fine!

Seany

                                                      
The letter arrived on the Tuesday. A blue-tinged envelope held the words that over the years I dreaded most. 'Dear Dad..........'

Kids we were, your mother and I. Babies making babies, and look where it got us. The day the mid-wife swept you away through the swing doors, you bawling in her arms, was sickening. One kiss on that tender, peachy face and you were gone. 'Best all round' the cast of adults assured us. I can remember that night my mother sobbed her heart out, repeating over and over that she was sorry. We split up soon after, your mother and I, well, removed by distance. Wasn't I just lucky to have landed that job with Uncle Alex?


You were that shadow in the back of my mind. The one I could skip over, ignore even, but it didn't go away, just shifted itself into many other shapes, but always formed its original heart outline when not in use. 

I should have been your hero, your protector, your driving force, your hormone advisor even, and sharing laughs and plans that only we need fill. Then again, I should be down on my knees kissing your adoptive father's arse. He's the true hero. There for you all your life. Not even did he stand in the way of you finding me and gives his blessing for us to cohere if we decide to!


I know you know that your mother passed away and you are survived by a sister on her side.  You also have two little sisters via me! If ever a man needs a son, it's now!  Pure blood races through our veins.  I can't believe how maturely you're taking this. I deserve the anguish, guilt, shame, melancholy and all its awful trimmings for my absence.  But you trust a mere hug will bury them.


Seany, we'll try one day at a time, lad. If this doesn't work out, then the heart-shaped shadow will remain perfectly fixed as so.


Dad
XxX
______________________________________________________________
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Mother F****r ! She's 66 !?

I try not to inflict my music passions on others too much  *ahem*  but I've just come across this video for Blondie's last single 'Mother'. No other band has influenced my life as much, or as long, as these old veterans. Form 30 years I've loved them. The mother of all female pop icons still rocks it at 66 (looking 20 years younger) and still ingests the fun, fear and funky into what makes a great song, captured in video, more memorable. Go Debs.....



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Sunday Snippet (34)

Nothing works better for me than a Sunday morning runny, half-cooked fried egg on a roll - especially if you were out the night before - and it led me to wonder how Morrisons train hens to lay these 'Taste the Difference' eggs.  It's the hens from the 'Economy' range eggs that I'm slightly puzzling over.......hmm?

Sweet Trouble With The Bubble.......

Out they come in tubes of colours, from the pockets of the mothers
 - seeking solice in the afternoon
Bubbles for fauteur de troubles, well fed up with muck and puddles -
willing now to quietly attune

All it takes you understand, is puffy cheeks and wand in hand,
dipped so deeply down into the lotion
A steady blow until the air, takes it into it's own care,
have you ever see such globular devotion...??

As they delicate the sky, focus on one with keen eye,
and watch the rainbow ripples circle round
Coloured oils swirl into rivers, that gives one delightful shivers,
as it settles on a leaf or on the ground.

Soak the plastic till it's thicker, blowing harder and much quicker,
 -  watch a hundred baby bubbles fight for space
Or run into them arms out wide, oozing soapy-suddy pride,
and feel the magic of the POP! against your face.

Now skillfulness is what is needed,  if previously you succeeded,
to blow the biggest bubble that departed
You must recapture it again, the rule is simple and it's plain -
 back on the very wand from where it rightly started!

No matter what a child desires,  essential things that life requires,
the humble bubble is the captor of our peace.
That every single generation, will always find a true elation,
from that gulp of air, their lips then first release.

It's 2.45am. I've Insomnia. And I Still Haven't Had A..........

Four hours ago, I intended on going to the loo to piddle.........and I still haven't been. Another victory for all those pelvic floor exercises I maintained during my pregnancies!  Who am I kidding......I'm sat here and the thought of that cold porcelain ain't doing me no favours. Potty, anyone....?

Get To 'F' (21)

Getting to 'F' this week was fun. Thank you NorseGod for choosing the pic.  I kinda know the feeling as I get my knickers in a twist often enough, but I'd need to be mega-stressed for this effect:

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Sunday Snippet (33)

I've just returned from a visit to an elderly relative, who turned 95 recently.  As the visitors came and went, she was reminding absolutely everyone that she was a great, great, great grandmother.  I, for one, would have expected a little more modesty from a woman of her generation........

Get To 'F' This Way Too.......! (20)

This week's picture really says it for itself.  Just imagine how many would sell if such a hybrid was produced.  Mind you, they'd have to succeed in developing a variety to please the hot-peppered gals, too! Just a little bit more, perhaps....I enjoy a good mouthful.....!
  
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                  have a quick visit for similar pics at my other blog HERE

And (one up) For The Happy Cow That Lives Down The Lane

(I grew up with classic Disney in my heart, but for my own kids' upbringing, these old characters were overshadowed by newer Disney ones.   However, they'd probably still have enjoyed this poem accompanying the picture........*ahem*)

Donald was the champion of grumpy, bumpy frowns
Hardly smiled at anything, no time for laughs or clowns
Asked some friends to join him on a shooting trip, one day
But no-one took him seriously, much to his dismay

'Look', he said, 'we're all just figments of old Walt's imagination,
but let's not get ideas that are way above your station!
Some of you are nobodies, just used for background fodder,
I think you'll find (till Mickey shows) I deserve the best of lauder!'

But the gang just laughed and wouldn't pose, kept sticking out their tongues
One by one their scrawny necks he could have gladly wrung.
Even in the distance, Clarabelle found it amusing, but
She knew her forest friends were in real danger of a bruising

So she spun a magic rainbow, chucked in colour, made it sparkle
Lured the mad drake forward, (notions heading patriarchal!)
Said, 'There's treasure at the rainbow's end, to suit Sir Donald Duck!"
But there wasn't, just a grand excuse for him to get to........

Catching Phosphorescence

This is a particularly poor attempt at a short story. It's been one of those week's where the juices, and idea's aren't flowing. Wanted to give it a try, though, as I enjoy entries made here. Not been short story writing for over 20 years and like this colour - it's a bit rusty...and not so short! Fingers crossed for the future....!

Senga waited patiently for Linus.  He promised he'd return to the bay for her.  That summer he left impinged upon her greatly, and for a long time cut her open every day.  Not even the salt of the cooling sea could cleanse the hurt. The day she felt those soft blue eyes resting on her was the day she felt she'd grown up.  Fourteen years old and in love with Linus.

It didn't take long for his fisherman father and needle-crafter mother to settle in.  The small isle welcomed the great angler.  His techniques were astounding and he soon became kitchen talk.  Linus felt proud of his father but had regular bouts of guilt.  As much as he loved traveling, even across the seas, he had music in his heart instead of fish.  Linus, a pretty boy who captivated women of all ages, especially while caressing his flute of luring notes.

Senga and Linus made plans for the future. They would sail around the world, revisiting all the places he had been.  Japan was the country she wanted to visit most and he depicted for her his memories.  How approaching boats made the land look as if it rose straight out of the water, and how all the trees there seemed to grow sideways. Daylight made everything look lacy and on the waters on a still clear night, reflecting stars erased the horizon and it felt as though you were sailing through a huge bowl of stars.  His biggest promise was to catch her a sea-firefly, one chilly magical night.


'I'll bring you back phosphorescence', he promised.  'and it will glow so bright, a token symbol of my love for you'.  And she believed him, until fate struck a direct blow.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


On the day he departed, heading back to Europe after his father died,  the darkest skies ever hooded the bay.  The young lovers clung to each other, each kiss tenderly stinging. Senga had hardly the energy to stand. The pain so ripping and so raw. At nineteen, they said their goodbye's.  He promised he would sail back in style for her, be the captain of a trading fleet and whisk her away to become his wife. 


 After a few years Senga lost faith in her beloved ever returning.  Her life moved on but rested with no-one new.  Accepting a few male invitations she did, but marriage, her mother feared, would evade her, lest it be for mere company.  Her heart had already been thrown into the sea and eaten by the creatures that scoured the bed looking for abandoned food.  Promises.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Tearing herself from bed, she ran barefoot out into the night and towards the shore.  A commerce sailing vessel had anchored at the bay earlier on in the day while she was away and she only just heard the news. Large sails were not common and rarely passed by the bay. By the time she reached the sand the ship was far out. Holding out the lantern and waving was no use.  It kept on it's way.


In the ship, the Captain approached a tired and weary looking crew member.


             "Linus....? What troubles you?"

             "Sir, I wanted to make it ashore today, but awoke a short time ago only to find that we're heading back"

               "Ah, lad.......the trials of the sea. When she rocks you to sleep, you must obey." he sighed........."hold on....is that a swaying light on the shore....?"

                Linus  followed his line of vision and leaned far over the ship's side.  " No, sir.......I think that's merely  a firefly."
   

Opting For........(POETS RALLY week 50)

 

Have you often been this acrid
You, the keeper of that tongue?
Lashing it so recklessly
With that little mood you swung

Stop being oh, so touchy
Stop delving in so deep
The whole world, ain't against you
It's the hours you chose to keep

It's a struggle, some requirements
Often have to change their path
Unexpected rings, and social flings
Familiar aftermath

Some excuses really are,
The truth, and so you see
Disappointment scales the plans
In which we can't foresee

No damn hidden agenda
No one's stabbed you in the back
Short notice comes in bouts at times
It's hard to keep on track

Tainting those in colours
With that tarry, tarry brush
Might end in sad extinction
If a heart you lamely crush

Some fib to spare a feeling
We've survived it at all before
But some in selfish attitude
Head you straight for the front door

Make a scene, by all means, honey
Scream and shout and stomp and curse
Is it worth it, these huge mountains?
If you tumble off headfirst?

The Hiding Swallow.......

I waded through those heaving sheaths of wheat. Open heart, clogged head. A few days ago I found out you are not my real brother and it is your blood that is pure.

Our parents chose me well. Colouring, in eyes, of skin, was consistent with theirs. Two blues couldn't make a brown - right? So my copper hair and azure eyes secured the lie that gave me acceptance and substance of who I was. Never ever questioned. Until now.

Why couldn't I work it out? You, Mathew, with your matinee features, ease of tanning, your confidence roaring, and me with my plain face, pasty skin and placid nature. How could we share the same genes? My protector, my shield. You were my hero and I often felt like your bane.

Father told me in that hospital room before he died, that I have a birth mother out there somewhere. Knowing you now live so far away, I think he got scared for old quiescent me. I have no one else. I understand this revelation I was never to find out, but with mum gone, he panicked. This helped his passing, no secrets, no pain, no linger. Just peace.


So, I'll see you tomorrow and together we'll arrange the funeral. I can't believe it's been 13 years and you haven't married! That was expected of me too, but virtual recluses aren't likely to taste matrimony.  I'm surprised at you, though. All the girls that wanted to be my friend just to get closer to you! My handsome big brother........

Before you head back, Mathew, will you trek through the wheat field with me?  Remember how we used to take that shortcut home and risked time and again, the rage of the farmer?  But the beauty of that field, the performance that captivated, was when the swallows circled us, speed and angle perfect, catching the winged insects we disturbed while paving our golden route. You told me they only appeared to those with pure hearts. No liars, cheats or fakers would ever be encircled. Only those who truly feel love. What will our chances be? Will your protective shadow ever be standing behind mine again?


I bit my lip yesterday and tasted the blood as it filled my mouth. Yours would taste no different, if the swallows ever misjudged the dive and speared your heart. Welcome home, Mathew.

Caress For Less

I'm into the habit now of trying to watch an online movie a night in my 'me' time. Never would I download any films to my comp *(he's getting on a bit) and I don't want to lumber him with any more applications and shit. The lure of the laptop is enticing me greatly. But I've faith in this old rattler yet. Sometimes, all he needs is a bit of a clear out and he complies better (bit like the cheaper-half!).

After a huge search, and some trial and error, I found a great site with no complications, no download and no sign-up. Just a click and you're off with the choice of two screen sizes. So tonight I'm regressing back into my musical youth and watching, in pure cheese 80's rock and roll, Some Kind Of Wonderful, with Eric Stoltz, hair as ginger as the title colour. Takes me back to my first kiss, with you, Robert McMillan, you balding ex-lothario, you........

 *whisper

Sunday Snippet (32)

I often see signs like this when I'm out and about:

Honestly, this kind of slanging must do some damage to their confidence.....! What makes it worse is that these signs are found near schools and busy suburban areas. If it's better grades society wants out of  kids, then this shock tactic ain't gonna work.......!

Calling September

Takes simply a heatwave to burn out my notions
Hiding away from the day in recluse
No matter how hard the lotions and drenches
Can tempt to accept you, I bear my excuse

My skin white and freckled, hair fair and like floss
A prisoner inside and out
Rays never ending, the fire in the dust
A master of death and of drought

African Queens, Spanish Señoritas
Asian girls and red hot Femme Fatales
Lap up the sun with no real consternation
As I'm facing a season of Hell

Not all women love a tanning of amber
Nor bathe as the temperature creeps
While Helios sits high admiring his minions
I struggle to gain me a sleep

Days are too long and the birds sing too early
In praise of the hot day ahead
Outside it's like punishment, so I remain indoors
Air conditioned, lacklustre, in bed

So I'm Calling September to hurry and bring me
Cooling air as his evenings draw near
With the promise of winter sun, crisp and dark mornings
Which I'll walk through without any fear.

I Love The Sound Of..............

While cursing the functions of my camera, I managed to capture (unwittingly until I got home) this little corker.  Filmed at a Casino and No Need For Idols gig, here's PrettyBoy's beloved (Stacey) innocently adding to the entertainment while he adds a drum roll (standard procedure in such cases....!):



That's my twirly girly.......!

Who's Fighting Who.....?

PrettyBoy and NorseGod both love the Foo Fighters - a band that haven't quite impressed me the way Nirvana or Queens of the Stone Age have - but this incident at a recent festival where they performed, totally got my approval. Maybe their songs will grow on me a bit more now.  The irony is in the name of the band, I suppose, but respect to lead singer Dave Ghrol.  Who needs security, eh?

A Plug For Rhombusheed....!

I just had to share this picture of my niece, Rachel, (7) at my brother's recent 60th Birthday Bash (with a 60's 70's 80's music theme!) She shafted somebody for the wig and looked 20 times better anyhow...! Peace, kiddo........!

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Me & Me

Red hair with some blonde highlights,
a gift from God, you see.                                                                                      
Though he didn't throw away the mould,
he made another 'me'.

Identical in every way,
from height, to weight, to features.
A criss-cross of my own damn self,
fooled friends and foes and teachers.

We have a waddled walk, they say,
a cackling laugh to boot.
There's a strange breeze when we leave a room,
unitedly astute.

Our telepathic stories
can leave jaws a drooping down.
Although 500 miles away -
I know when she's in town!

Our soppy hearts are similar,
we cry at weepy stories.
And reminisce through albums,
telling tales of our joint glories.

We've felt each others' sadness,
but no sharing aches and pains.
Deliberating right from wrong?
I'm on my side again!

It has been rather useful though,
this chance to intermix.
One present sent from both of us,
two back - yeah, that's the trick!

But..............

Don't let this twin thing fool you,
though she has my DNA.
We're chalk and cheesy mostly,
not all roads display 'One Way'.

Her taste in men is awful,
and her music choice is chronic.
My cat's fluffy and fragile,
her dog's borderline demonic.

She'll choose the hottest spice to try,
no water standing by.
Whereas just a hint of onion,
makes me cry and cry and cry.

She'll bake in her back garden,
'til she turns to lobster red.
While just a ruddy chink of light,
makes me want to stay in bed.

A smoker since her school days,
yet, I've never had a puff
(though I've had a sneaky inhale
of that marijuana stuff!)

And her love for wine astounds me,
not a country she's not tried.
If a grape needed direction,
she would make the perfect guide!

Don't start me on the tattoos,
needless, forever-inky scars.
That her bygone masterpiece just
looks like bruises from afar....

Her craft is model icing,
literally on the cake.
For celebrations catering,
all walks of life she makes.

Me? I'm at my best when,
slapping paint upon a wall.
Mural of some kiddies' hero,
or giant logos of football!

I could go on here forever,
splitting replica's apart.
She'll always be my twin sis
the same beating of one heart.

We share love and we share laughter
Go through Hell if she did too.
Protected though, forever.
Could you love another 'you'?.

                                                                

  Penned for Poets Rally Week 47, and dedicated to my twin sister (right).....ps....my hair has been cut and styled to match hers now!

Sunday Snippet (31)

I'm not one to scoff at other peoples beliefs, but if Buddhists are supposed to live their lives without want and greed and all that, how come Buddha's such a chubby (but very likable!) little bloke? 

Go on, mate - fill your boots. I promise I won't tell as long as you leave me the gherkin....!!

Get To 'F'

This week's F-ing find:  Flexible Friends......

 

Café Au Too Late

**Since this poem is a little confusing, well the format anyhow, to some, I'll try to explain the concept of it.   It's actually about the same woman who has flashbacks to her youth, where she was bullied.  The regular font speaks of her meantime circumstances, whereas the italics speak of her childhood misery. And, of course, the scene is set in a burger-bar & cafe. Hope this helps...!**


Whipping downwards, I watched, the cream in the coffee, swirling and stirring around
I never looked over at the table next to me, not a singular whisper or sound

I did love you so much in all kinds of manners, of course I accepted your choice
A girl knocked her drink, felt the splashes on my cheek, she yelped with a lash to her voice

Complications in living, a struggle to manage, we were happy to face them as one
A squirt shot from the sachet, a barbeque sauce stain, and reason for them to poke fun

You told me we'd go on complete in our unity,  always - and then your heart froze
The boy let out laughter and threw a straw at me, I suppose that's the way that it goes

Can it be that I'm loveless, a patch not quite able, to mend as the tear rips along
Pushed my back as I walked to the toilets to wash up, I'd be welling up here before long

Empty rooms and our savings, divided belongings, bin bags that carry a tale
Head hanging down, hair that covered my red face, sighing hard to no avail

Making waves and emotions, back to the mentions of singular guidances now
Far too scared to tell tales to the teachers or mothers, just continue to mop my own brow

Leaning over my coffee pot, I saw her crying, the jibers now running away
Sidled along, let the girl sit next to me, for we knew where our own heartaches lay
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So, what's here then....?

New Casino Tracks - Go Grab A Beer (or wine) For A Listen....!

Now, as we all know, I never bang on about my sons' bands!  But I thought I'd give one of them a right good Blogger flogging! Finally, Casino's new tracks are up for a public hearing offence - for being so damned good. It's outrageous!!! All spruced up in Facebook with new pictures (including the album covers) and general run down of Casino world.

 The link below will take you to 6 of their recorded tracks (many, many more to come). And if you think you're too old to listen to whippersnapper stuff, try a micro-listen to Starlight, Lynette, Waiting Up and The High. And if you recommend a friend to join the Facebook fanatics - there's a free WHAM bar in it for you. Yes,.......I've got your attention now, eh?  All video's to the songs will be found on the sidebar of both my blogs or by written request.

You can buy individual tracks or wait for release of the album, but don't miss out a listen for now. Here's the link below and all I ask is for a marked visit to their page or join the fan base there. 4000 Facebook fans (so far) can't all be wrong, can they...?

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Casino/124252040948745?sk=app_178091127385
  

My Girl

Reflecting on your birthday, how you popped into the world.
My one and only daughter, firstborn, little baby girl.
I recall that very morning, as the niggles started up
Held my breath, bit my lip, stared into my coffee cup

Uh-oh! The planned arrival's curiously making waves.
It only cramps a little bit, I must try to be brave.
Soon your dad came to Maternity, a smile upon his face
A floppy rose in one hand, and a watch to set the pace.

Looking quite uncomfortable, from sit, to stand, to sit
I didn't like the set up, not one single bloody bit!
He asked how I was doing and I lashed out with my tongue
For it felt I had an open brolly sticking up my bum!

You weren't too concerned about making your appearance
And all I wanted here and now was full-blown baby clearance!
Deliver us from pain and things, it was beyond a joke
Not even sweat stained lullaby's were able to evoke!

I huffed and puffed and panted, swore and knocked some flowers down
Prayed to God: '...just kill me now...', while in my labour gown.
You still maintained a lie-in, in no hurry to appear
While I told your dad he's 'in for it, when we get out of here!'

They offered pain relief for me, I took it and was grateful
But that just slowed the process down, how could they be so hateful!
Then  'crack ' you burst your bubble, water gushing all about
I felt worse than central reservoir, depleted and washed-out!

Now, I felt you coming, waves of chronic, gripping stuff!
Dilating me to number 10 - when 4 was bad enough!
But, yes, indeed, still here was I , the mid-wife quite confounded
I'd said good-night-and-morning twice, akimbo and abounded....

This baby was the champion, a sac of pure control
There would be no Miss-taking,  Little Miss's  future role!
So, where that strength was mustered, Heaven knows from where it came
I purged so hard, I soon saw stars and lighter I became.

You were swabbed and robed and measured, checked out quickly by the nurse
Who handed me sweet little 'you' and forgave my need to curse!
Twenty-seven long hard hours, it took you to comply
I kissed your bloodied forehead and the pain just waved goodbye.

But from the moment I first saw you -  what a rush of pinking air.
A girl when they all said 'a boy',  you made your mark from there!
A chubby little face you had and fingers long and thin
A heart that beat so very fast, a precious stone within.

The beginning of a story,  chapters that just captivate
I don't believe in magic, just the power to create.
My perfect little baba, my funny, funny girl
An addition and a honour to this huge revolving world!

Get It Right Up Ye.........!

Plastic Elastic 




I was surfing through cable guff last night and came across a programme on beauty and vanity ect.   One  subject of the show was 48 year-old Mariam, whom had spent more than £20,000 on lifts and tucks over the years. There was a HUGE difference, she was wrinkle free and taut but cocked up the whole effect by still sporting an eighties bubble perm and last decade clothes.  Now she was no more than a younger looking obvious old dear. For £20,000 I'd have wanted to be asked what year at high school I was in!!

But the political overview alerted that more money was spent on boob jobs and viagra per year than on research into Altzheimers disease - a condition the programme picked at random to compare, I hope. Otherwise there's a chance by 2045 that the elderly will mostly have perky tits and stiff todgers but no fucking idea why!

ps.....I'll stick to my dedicated and timely twice a day rinse with Dove soap and be happy to one day fling my boob over my shoulder while I scour away with a buffer!

Music Matters!

Only a few here will know who Bernard Butler is, but this is a beautiful little message to music fans in general out there. You'll know all the influences, however!

Sunday Snippet (30)

 I burned my hand recently and the first reaction was to get it as cold as possible, so used the old method of cold water, which soothed and worked a treat. Then it lead to me thinking that that's rather unfair. I mean - why can't you put something blunt on a cut, or straight salt on a sore tooth...? Seems mother nature's not all she's cracked up to be!

When The Morning Comes ( The Boy )

The boy's off the rails again, he's gone and lost himself
He'll try to find his way back home, but he doesn't want your help.
'Don't waste your words on me', the boy says in his way
The girl behind him starts to cry, but he doesn't shift his gaze.

Where has he been?
What has he done?
Is all forgotten when the morning comes.

His senses start to burn, his friends become his foes.
He'll be your friend again in time, it's just the way it goes.
It's all just bravado, the boy's a drama queen,
You know he's just like you and me, he likes to cause a scene.

But where has he been?
What has he done?
Is all forgotten when the morning comes. 

It's then seeped into his mind, he tries to understand.
Before you take the leap of faith, you let go of a hand hand.
The world's just one big sigh, inhaled and blown away
Surface only to correct, the value of his day.


Where have you been?
What have you done?
Can you forgive him, when the morning comes?

Listen up!?  Fancy listening to it...?


http://tigerlilley.blogspot.com/2011/05/when-morning-comes.html 

Get To 'F'

This weeks' F-ing find......Feigning Flowers:

Release Of The Boy

It's here at last. The 4th video from Casino (you know, the band that every other band fucking hates) made to accompany their new, tender melody. For newer readers, Casino is the band my son is the drummer of.

This time, however, as this song is mostly acoustic, he all but shakes a wee sole egg-maraca throughout.  Which was an extremely hard thing to maintain, as with most drummers it is paramount to do a hairy and give a manic rendition, similar to the flailing of Animal from the Muppets, before the start of every song.

In the video, the Wurlitzer that the lead singer and Jack-of-all-fingers (keyboard, guitar, tambo, flute, kazoo - you name it he plays it) is plunking, is one of only 10,000 left in the world, so that little bit of history is captured nicely. In a beautiful song that is easy on the ear and age-gap friendly.

Formatting of the film is created for an oldish feel about it, oh, and look out for a fleeting appearance from George Harrison on Ouija board.  It's amazing what appears under correct lighting these days. And, in true Casino style, they dedicate a tribute of a daft fleeting 'sneer' the lead guitarist made at the end, only he don't know that yet!  What use is music if it can't be fun? Enjoy.

Sunday Snippet (29)

Scientists claim that spider's silk is one of the strongest materials known to man. So how come I've just popped a hole straight through one of their webs, and I'm not even that hard....??


Incy Wincy Creme Puff

Get To 'F'

Every Friday I go on a cyber hunt to find a picture that fits under the letter  'F' catagory, so today is Food Flattery.  How a celebrity might look, going from one extreme to the other. Always in the public eye is Ms. Hilton. I think she lost the grasp of her Best Friends Forever show as she was looking for a new one every year.! Tuck in, Paris. I'll give you ten minutes before you go running off to the bogs.........