pulling your leg (15/July/18)

strange and disturbing dreams, should I be surprised?… nope, when are they not one or the other… or both?…… it’s quiet… too quiet… not really, just pulling your leg, trying to inject an air of mystery, drama, whatever into this piece of prosery… ‘suppose I’ve blown that now…… “pulling your leg”, now there’s a curious idiom, its origins are still a mystery though theories abound none of which are proven and even some utterly implausible, though it may come from something to do with distraction… and anyway, I like quiet, though when I really put my ear to it it’s not actually over-quiet at all… a goldfinch is trickling away from a treetop somewhere, a car further back in the soundscape motors past, the collared dove as well coo-cooing and most likely flying his usual circle around and over the garden from one perch at one end to another, a telephone pole, at the other, keeping a watchful eye, watchful dark eyes which have a tendency to give it an expression of friendly, benign but are in fact fiercely territorial against others of their ilk protecting its patch whose edges only it can discern…… of course there’s the usual noise in my ear/ head/ somewhere inside there anyway, my internal variations on their own incessant theme… the odd jackdaw ca(w)lls too, inevitable as there are so many and even more since mass fledging…. I think I hear the sea, or might be the leaves lolling in the breeze and bothering branches or it could just be the air, the sound of air wilful and free teasing the trees, ruffling feathers, seeping through open windows… of course it’s the sound of air you dolt, how else do you think sound makes sound… and tick-tock, the subtle harangue of the clock, time vanishing, dissolving, sloughing, shedding, or even shredding….

© 2018 robert greig

dear dairy… (14/July/18)

dear diary,

I sometimes misspell you, though not on purpose and hope you can forgive my occasional misdemeanour, and you sometimes come out as dairy which I’m sure you’ll understand can lead to all manner of complications… luckily I’ve not mistaken you, yet at least, for diarrhoea, a word itself a nightmare to spell correctly at the best of times without second guessing oneself, not to mention there being two accepted (though not acceptable) versions, the other dropping the ‘o’ though you’ll be pleased to know I don’t approve of that seeing it as a bit flippant to do so… and I couldn’t  imagine confiding in my diarrhoea in quite the same way as I would a diary, or even a dairy which would not only be weird but also pointless as its sole advice to any confessions would always be the same, not to cry over spilled milk.

… and as for occasional, there’s another slippery one, one ‘c’ two of ‘s’, one ‘s’, two of ‘c’…… anyway, I won’t bother your pulpiness with this one, thanks for listening and also for not making any crass jokes about pasteurising……

yours sincerely,
me.

© 2018 robert greig

reasons to be fearful.. (13/July/18)

I don’t know what it is, I’ve been trying and trying and trying to write a piece for today which would reflect on the not-the-State-Visit of a certain ‘world leader’ from a certain home of the brave, land of the (so-called) free and I think I’ve been trying and trying and trying too hard and got buried in thought slurry… too many thoughts scrabbling to be rescued from the pit, save me! no save me! no me! pick me, pick, me, pick me!
and I’m like, what the f…, leave me out of it!
there too much, too much, but I have to write about it, no I don’t, yes I do, no I don’t, yes I do… see, see what I have to live with, I should wear am “I’m with this idiot” teeshirt with the arrow pointing upwards… every time I try I lose myself wandering in a mire of angst and panic and a certain so-called ‘special relationship’ which should come with a Buyer Beware label: special relationships can seriously damage your economy, reputation, health and patience …… oh so many, too many, far, far too many thoughts, fears, worries… be gone! I shout with my inside voice but to no avail… maybe it’s a Friday 13th thing…. I wouldn’t mind if they were a tad more orderly in their presentation instead of the raggle-taggle, rag-bag assemblage resembling a tree strewn in toilet rolls fired from an enormous party-popper the morning after a student graduation party……
surely it’s a BIG thing, Mister I-have-more-laughable-hair-than-you President’s (a lesser-known character of Roger Hargreaves ‘Mr Men’ surely) visit here and I should mention it, shouldn’t I?… but why, when all the world and his dog is already anyway, what use would my contribution be to the shambles, to the hypocrisy, only…. with our septic (sic) Isles already fragmented and eating itself alive over Brexit, financial crashes, stumbling infrastructures, rising right-wing nationalism, crumbling transport systems, homelessness, racial intolerance, religious intolerance, gender intolerance, intolerance, intolerance, intolerance is this just more reasons to be fearful… or business as usual?…….
it’s even got me using the term ‘like’ (re: earlier moment in this blog) in a sentence which is utterly meaningless and a waste of good letters… and anyway, it matters not a jot what I say, as I’ve said many-a time before, no one’s going to read it anyway … I’ve written, rewritten, re-rewritten, re-re-rewritten… I surrender!… I was once told put distance between you and what bothers you, I sat in a chair on the other side of the room… job done…. and it is a comfy chair…… I read about George the Dormouse…………

© 2018 robert greig