The blocked toilet

Saw a Dutch yacht in Brighton Marina trying to unblock a sea toilet that someone had pumped up to the max. They had used a halliard from the top of the mast to heel the boat right over on its side so that a guy could ram a rod up the outlet. On the opposite side of the jetty there was moored a large gin palace with an intrigued audience all gin in hand leaning over the rail watching. Dutchman is working away with his rod when all of a sudden there’s a whoosh; Dutchman is flat on his back covered in shit as is the gin palace and all who sail in her. I was on the yacht directly behind the yacht, got no shit, but suffered injured crew from the hysterical laughter and falling about in cockpit.

Dawn today 01/10/2011

Soft light spreading through tunnelled sky

Giving sombre shadows their first semblance of shape

Freeing fine mists to rise and flow

Soft crying echoes begin from still hidden thoughts

Searching red flames fire the edge of clouds

Still trees become torches to herald its path 

Just another

Once you had been full and useful

Carrying dreams and happiness

Or the oblivion of misery

You bubbled with life

Giving warmth on could nights

Quenching dry thirsts on hot days

You brought people together

And helping them talk

Slowly and greedily they drank from you

Until you too were just another

Empty  bottle

To a dear friend and mother 1977

Your strength rooted to the earth

Bending with the wind of change

Absorbing the tears of life

Yet blossoming with every spring

Stretching welcoming limbs to the sun

Spreading yourself to shelter others

Welcoming the scaling children

 Who seek the haven of your arms

But quick to punish the careless   

Your hues enhancing the sunlight

Dancing with the new dawn

Swooning under softer moon

The very idol to the goddess nature 

Water the eye of life 1976

Water the eye of life, The Lake of images

Reflecting the seekers image, displaying the world inside

 Softening the harsh lines, melting shape into shape

A refuge for dreams

Pulling the hungry looker deeper into its depth

Drowning the outside thought in mellow coloured shadows

Leaving the swimming mind floating through soft memory

Each wind caressed cloud drifting across its surface

Dusting old images alive, opening other remembrances

Long hidden in sombre depths

Each dancing spiralling ripple bouncing sparkling diamond lights

Through fading moments

Bringing wondrous new ideas throbbing in their wake

saddest words

I am, yet what I am none cares or knows.

My friends forsake me like a memory lost.

I am the self-consumer of my woes 
                                        John Clare 

Encounter with cyclist bank holiday Sunday

Just about to settle down with a nice glass of claret to watch the F1 when there is a ringing of bells, thought hello I haven’t had the microwave on, look outside to see a his and hers in matching lycra sitting astride  matching bikes. The lead one, think it was female, then starts calling out “who’s dog is this,” stick head out yes what’s the problem,  “your dog’s blocking the towpath”, I’ve been waiting for this for ages, no it isn’t, mail voice “well what’s that then”, that’s The Boo lying beside our path the towpath is on the other side of the canal. Are you a boat or berth owner if not then you’re on private property and I’m asking you to get off your bikes (strange as I’m usually telling people to “get on yer bike”) and push them to the end of the path where you will see a sign confirming what I have said. The Boo and I smugly watched two brightly coloured and chastised pedal pushers walking their bikes down the path