I needed 19 lines of poetry (well, pseudo-poetry in my case), so what better way than to compose a villanelle? The link will take you to a real one.
Memento mori for English flags
These tattered remnants of a fiesta
Free now from their life of noise:
A symphony of polyester
Fallen on the streets to fester,
Nothing more than broken toys,
These tattered remnants of a fiesta.
How they have the nerve to pester
And flutter along the road in convoys,
A symphony of polyester.
Tarmac graveyards beg to sequester
Red and white tributes to ‘our boys’ -
These tattered remnants of a fiesta
Wear the livery of a jester.
Witness how this team deploys
A symphony of polyester.
It’s time now for the long siesta.
No longer are they brave envoys,
These tattered remnants of a fiesta,
A symphony of polyester.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Just when you think...
...you've finished your work, some more comes along.
`So, what's been happening in PoodleWorld of late? Well, some IKEA kitchen cupboards have been built, a wood floor has been laid, some painting has been done and many essays have been marked, none of which has left time for much else. Nevertheless, last weekend we toddled off to Blickling Hall in Norfolk on what turned out to be the hottest day of the year so far. As a result, our tour of the gardens was limited to gazing out from the relative coolness of the building, wishing that we had a camel's ability to conserve liquid. Our drive home deteriorated into a new form of 'I-Spy', in which we counted the fallen World Cup football memorabilia strewn along the roadside. The record, sad to say, was held by a stretch of road leading into Clacton which sported 22 flags gasping their last vestiges of footy strength as they fluttered weakly in the wind.
We also spotted a couple of signs for a 'Stately Car Boot' which was not, in fact, referring to the vastness of the luggage storage of a particular make of car, but advertising second-hand sales in the grounds of stately homes. I don't know whether the concept of a car boot sale is an English phenomenon, but it ought to be, as there is a cerain seedy tackiness to the whole affair. The amateur car-booter turns up in a battered Fiesta filled with tat and deals directly from the boot of the car. However, for years now, a wave of professional car-booters has swept the nation, turning up in, at the very least, a Transit, or possibly even an old Luton van filled with boxes of goods and racks of clothing. The Luton boys have the edge, using the tail-lift (if they have one), as an impromptu stage from which they perform to the crowds. What is odd about most of this second-hand tat is that most of it isn't second-hand. You would hope not, anyway, given the number of food stalls. But getting back to the 'Stately Car Boot', that whole idea brings to mind images of tweed-clad middle-aged posh couples dealing from the boots of their Jaguars and Mercedes...
Tweed-clad Lady Thingummy: Do come quickly to take advantage of one's most temptingly wicked offers to date - a delightful fox fur, only slightly worn; our last five gold-plated supermarket trolley tokens with a Waitrose logo; Royal Worcester cake stand, special offer if one also takes the tea service. Come along, don't be shy - stiff upper lip and all that!
`So, what's been happening in PoodleWorld of late? Well, some IKEA kitchen cupboards have been built, a wood floor has been laid, some painting has been done and many essays have been marked, none of which has left time for much else. Nevertheless, last weekend we toddled off to Blickling Hall in Norfolk on what turned out to be the hottest day of the year so far. As a result, our tour of the gardens was limited to gazing out from the relative coolness of the building, wishing that we had a camel's ability to conserve liquid. Our drive home deteriorated into a new form of 'I-Spy', in which we counted the fallen World Cup football memorabilia strewn along the roadside. The record, sad to say, was held by a stretch of road leading into Clacton which sported 22 flags gasping their last vestiges of footy strength as they fluttered weakly in the wind.
We also spotted a couple of signs for a 'Stately Car Boot' which was not, in fact, referring to the vastness of the luggage storage of a particular make of car, but advertising second-hand sales in the grounds of stately homes. I don't know whether the concept of a car boot sale is an English phenomenon, but it ought to be, as there is a cerain seedy tackiness to the whole affair. The amateur car-booter turns up in a battered Fiesta filled with tat and deals directly from the boot of the car. However, for years now, a wave of professional car-booters has swept the nation, turning up in, at the very least, a Transit, or possibly even an old Luton van filled with boxes of goods and racks of clothing. The Luton boys have the edge, using the tail-lift (if they have one), as an impromptu stage from which they perform to the crowds. What is odd about most of this second-hand tat is that most of it isn't second-hand. You would hope not, anyway, given the number of food stalls. But getting back to the 'Stately Car Boot', that whole idea brings to mind images of tweed-clad middle-aged posh couples dealing from the boots of their Jaguars and Mercedes...
Tweed-clad Lady Thingummy: Do come quickly to take advantage of one's most temptingly wicked offers to date - a delightful fox fur, only slightly worn; our last five gold-plated supermarket trolley tokens with a Waitrose logo; Royal Worcester cake stand, special offer if one also takes the tea service. Come along, don't be shy - stiff upper lip and all that!
Friday, June 02, 2006
German Day
Today I shall be writing mainly in German... but fortunately not here. It's German TMA day and I have to finish off my work on media invasion, record my presentation and post it off to my tutor for my other Open University course, LZX203. I should have done it yesterday, but that was tricky because the sound of drilling in the kitchen (we are in the middle of renovating our house) was louder than my voice on the tape, besides affecting my ability to concentrate. At all. Today I have only the sound of a broken stair being chiselled away from the frame with a wrecking bar, prior to being replaced (I expect there will be more drilling). No problem. The sound of splintering wood will surely enhance my presentation. I wonder whether my teeth will sound like that on Monday? I'm off to see the dentist, you see...
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
