All poppies, in fact.
Since the weather is so miserable outside, it seemed a good idea to inject some colour into my life. Or into my blog, anyway.
I hope you enjoy them.
Poppy #1. Acrylic on board. Size: 11ins x 14ins.
Poppies and Daisies. Acrylic on Board. Size: 18ins x 24ins.
Poppies. Acrylic on board. Size: 24ins x 18ins.
One more of the poems from a notebook of about 25 years ago. Re-reading them, I am slightly surprised to find I rather like a lot of them, still. Although my style has altered considerably, my sentiments are still much the same. Which is as you would expect, I suppose.
But there are plenty that I certainly won’t be inflicting upon you!
As hard as ice and twice as cold,
The devil that is growing old;
Who taunts our bodies’ feeble frames,
And takes our minds – forgetting names.
As cold as ice and twice as hard,
The back that’s bent, the hand that’s scarred.
The face that’s worn and lined with sorrow,
The fear there may be no tomorrow.
The fear tomorrow may come yet,
And bring us more embarrassment,
But how we cling with greedy hands,
To these poor fragile, shallow, lands!
My button’s bigger than your one.
You’d better let me play, or else I’ll go,
And take my toys with me.
I’ve got more friends than you have.
That picture’s fake, you’ve Photoshopped in
An extra friend or three.
Vlad’s my pal and he’ll get you.
He’s got your name, and he’ll beat you up,
At the end of school tonight.
That fat, specky boy’s gonna get it,
He won’t have a clue what hit him
When we get into a fight.
See that girl in the playground?
I’ve done it with her! Oh yes, I did!
Of course, she wanted me to.
I’ll tell you how it’s done, you grab them!
Show them who’s boss, they love it,
Yeah, that’s what you do.
Don’t believe all the stories those boys tell.
They’re all liars and cheats and I’m not listening.
La la la I can’t hear you!
White is black, black is white, do you hear me?
All the adults are wrong,
Just believe what I tell you to.
I’m the head boy of the school, because
I won the popular vote, the biggest number of votes,
Despite my opponents cheating.
I’m also the head school bully,
And if you’re gay or disabled, Moslem or black,
I’ll give you a jolly good beating.
Because my button’s bigger than your one!
It is, too!
Stupid face!
You’re stupid!
Poo head!
My friends’ll beat you up, fatty, if you don’t watch out…
Nyagh! Nyagh! Nyagh!
Oh.
Nobody likes me!
It’s not fair!
I know I’ve already checked back in since Christmas, but, well, just to say it was slightly quiet and fairly peaceful. Hope you all had a nice Christmas and New Year. We didn’t do much, but that suited us just fine.
We didn’t do much at all.
Anyway, back to business. It was my cousin’s birthday, recently. So I sent her a card.
But most shops seem to think you only want Christmas cards, that close to Christmas, and make it really difficult for you find a birthday card.
‘You’ve got thousands of Christmas cards on display, what about birthday cards?’
‘Birthday cards? There’s a couple in the cellar at the back of the shop, I think, on the top shelf in the toilet, underneath the anvils. Old Harry will have the key, but I’ve no idea where Old Harry is. On holiday, probably. Beware the steps are broken, too. And slippery. And there’s no light. And there was an oil-spill there recently. You’d better watch out for the hyenas as well. In fact, why don’t you just go away? Unless you’d like some Christmas tat, that is…’
‘A couple?’
‘Well, there’s no call for them at this time of year.’
‘No call for them? What about all those people with birthdays in December?’
‘Birthdays? They shouldn’t be doing that!’
‘Well what about those that do?’
‘That’s their lookout, I’m afraid. Should be ashamed of themselves, coming round here in December and having birthdays. Shouldn’t be allowed. What sort of month is December for birthdays, eh? It’s not right.’
So I sent one of my own greetings cards. I send quite a few, actually. It’s not just to save some money, or to avoid hand to hand combat in shops near Christmas. I’m quite pleased with my hand-made cards, usually with small paintings on them. What? Oh, certainly. Yes, I do. No, not very expensive, thank you for asking. Thank you so much.
But then I had to post it, and the cost of that is ridiculous, now. God knows how we can afford to send the Christmas cards.
Ah…we didn’t. I was forgetting, for a moment.
But, I was talking to my wife about that and said ‘I think if we really want to save some money, it’s not cards I should be turning my artistic endeavours to.’
‘No? What then?’
‘Postage stamps. There, that would save us a few quid.’
‘It’s an idea I suppose. Hmm…or, you could just cut out the middleman altogether.’
‘Ah, twenty pound notes, you mean? That’s an idea.’
‘Yes, we don’t want to be greedy. And everyone forges fifty pound notes, anyway.’
‘No, that’s right. I suppose about ten or twelve a day would do us. That’s not greedy, is it?’
‘It would be a good use of your time, I suppose.’
Anyway, I’ve been busy the last few days. Just don’t ask any awkward questions.
I rarely, if ever, make New Year’s resolutions. I feel that if there is something in my life that needs changing, then it should be addressed straight away, rather than leaving it until an arbitrary date in the future. Of course, for many people it acts as a focus or some other incentive to change old habits, although witness the number of gym memberships that never get used beyond, say, the end of January, and it becomes obvious that what many people need to change most is their resolve.
Possibly jumping the gun a little with this photo…
As an introvert, I am very curious to know whether much of my behaviour is conditioned by my being that, or whether it is my behaviour that causes my introversion in the first place. It’s probably a ‘chicken and egg’ situation, of course, with both applying equally. My introversion is surely driven by those elements of anxiety, my inferiority complex and the depression I’ve always lived with, and, in turn, those things will be reinforced by my chosen introverted lifestyle.
But we are complex creatures. Like Harry Haller in Hermann Hesse’s excellent novel Steppenwolf, each one of us consists of many different personalities. Our characters will be made up of a mixture of the cultivated soul, the wild, untamed soul (the ‘wolf of the steppes’ in Hesse’s book), the dancer, the monk, the shopaholic, the miser…all those elements will be there to a greater or lesser degree. And alongside the Introvert exists also the Extrovert, even if this personality is rather repressed in my case. It is all a matter of balance.
It seems much worse in the winter, too. I am certain I am affected by SAD; it seems entirely logical that I should feel low when the weather is cold and grey and bleak, and perk up when the sun comes out. Perhaps we all do.
Yesterday, the weather was the pits. Cold, grey, and bleak, with added showers of freezing cold rain and a wind that cut through me like a knife. I really felt like crap. But today, I walked out under a clear blue sky, a bright sun glinting off the puddles and the grass rippling in a mild, gentle breeze. These are the moments I need to seize; to wrestle my soul back from the darkness. The moments I need to shake off the black dog and point myself towards the little things I can do to lift myself.
I remind myself that I have a published book that people have been nice about, therefore not all my writing is meaningless drivel. I have sold many paintings, and a lot of people have enthused over them. I can paint, and I don’t need to destroy them all. Family and friends do matter, and they do care about me. There will be warm, sunny days and expeditions. There will be walks and bottles of wine shared. There will be wonderful books to read and interesting places to visit.
And so, I resolve to fight that bastard black dog for another year.
Some while ago I wrote a post explaining some of the reasons why I might occasionally choose to un-follow a blog. Surprisingly, it seemed to strike a chord with a great many readers, and has been my most popular post so far. The link is here if you wish to have a look.
I thought I’d write a follow up post today, outlining a couple more reasons I might choose to un-follow a blog, or why I might decline to follow it in the first place.
Several times I have been sent invitations to follow a site I have never heard of. The owners of these sites have never had the manners to visit mine, or if they have they have not had the courtesy to acknowledge this in any way. The first I have known of their existence is a WordPress email inviting me to follow them. I will not be visiting their sites, never mind following them.
I have a couple of followers who have followed me, but only ever leave comments that invite me to follow their sites. Again, I shall not visit, for that is just bad manners.
This happens on other antisocial media sites, of course. I get terribly annoyed when someone I’ve barely come across messages me and says ‘I’ve just liked your page, come and like mine’. Er, no. Not until you learn some manners.
Then there are those bloggers who follow me, but only visit me after I have been on their site and left a ‘like’ or a comment. Instantly, they then visit for the first time in a month and ‘like’ three or four (or even more!) posts in the space of a few seconds. There is no way they could have read these posts in that time, of course. It is possible they think they are being polite by doing this, but I’m afraid it feels they only care about getting traffic to their sites.
I would imagine most people blog because they want their posts to be seen and read. Some ‘collect’ likes and followers, but most of us don’t (I do admit I am chuffed when I get a visitor from a fresh country, though, and therefore get a ‘new’ flag on my list!).
And I am extra double chuffed with fresh cream on top and little sprinkles of pure chocolate with the dozens of fantastic bloggers I have got to know since I first joined in with this lunacy a couple of years ago!
Despite the moaning, it was a great decision.
Prayer flags are found wherever Tibetan Buddhism is found. As they flutter in the breeze, they use this wind to send blessings out into the world. Through many parts of the Himalaya they adorn monasteries and humble homes, chortens and bamboo flagpoles. They are tied in their hundreds and thousands to bridges, above mountain peaks, and in the courtyards of every conceivable building.
Elsewhere, they are to be found wherever exiled Tibetans live, and wherever their school of Buddhism flourishes.
The makers of the flags intend the prayers and blessings that adorn them not for their own benefit, but for the benefit of all beings.
Prayer flags in the Yumtang Valley, Sikkim, India.
Prayer flags, Observatory Hill, Darjeeling, India.
Prayer flags outside a monastery in Sikkim, India.
Prayer flags adorn a pair of chortens and walls of prayer wheels in Khumjung, Nepal.
Prayer flags at Tengboche, Nepal.
And adorning a bridge of the Dudh Khosi, again in Nepal.
All good things come in threes, it is said. Unfortunately, so do these.
Bah, humbug!
God help you merry gentlemen,
If what you want is rest.
There’s not a chance of getting that,
For you’re off on a quest.
To fill your bags with goods galore
And booze to fuel the Fest.
So it’s tidings of Mammon and cash
Mammon and cash,
So it’s tidings of Mammon and cash.
Now in the town, you’ll find a store
Like none you’ve ever seen.
It’s filled with crap piled on the floor
Right up to the roof beam.
And you must buy a load of this
Or else we’ll think you’re mean.
So it’s tidings of Mammon and cash
Mammon and cash,
Yes, it’s tidings of Mammon and cash.
Another attempt at perverting rewriting a Christmas carol for 2017:
(Bob has a lot to answer for!)
Once in Royal Tunbridge Wells
Stood a lowly shopping mall.
Where a horde of frenzied shoppers
moved like locusts through it all.
Searching for their Christmas loot,
Trampling others underfoot.
Finding bargains at the poundshop,
Cheap old tat that falls to bits.
Plastic toys all made of poison,
Tiny parts to choke their kids.
And the Christmas Trip will be,
An ambulance to A & E.
Spending fortunes on their own folk,
Presents that could sink a ship.
One month’s food to last just two days
Enough booze to float that ship!
Heed the message of our song,
Selfish greed just can’t be wrong!
I haven’t seen much of Bob, recently.
To be fair to Bob, he’s been rather busy. But he came round to my house the other day. Well, the other evening, really. He was carol singing. And it was only just December.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ I asked him. He look puzzled.
‘Carol singing, of course. Why?’
‘Why? It’s only just turned December, that’s why.’
‘Well, all the shops have their decorations up now.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘And some have had, for the last few months.’
‘True, but…’
‘And they’re all playing Christmas songs.’
‘Unfortunately true…’
‘And half the kittens on social media are dressed in red and white and chasing Christmas baubles around on the floor and then batting them with their cute little paws…’
‘Stop it, Bob!’
‘So why can’t I go round carol singing?’
‘Because there’s only one of you and it sounds awful!’
‘Oh…sorr…eee!’
‘And what are you collecting for?’
‘Huh?’
‘That tin you’re rattling. What’s it in aid of?’
‘Our Christmas lunch.’
‘Bob! You can’t do that! You’re supposed to be collecting for charity!’
‘Am I? Who says so?’
‘I…er…I don’t know. You just are, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m collecting for our Christmas lunch!’ He rattled the tin meaningfully towards me. ‘Silent Night…’ he began again, his voice rising suddenly about two and three sevenths octaves. I shuddered. The kittens left their baubles and ran for cover. ‘Holy Night!’
‘Shut your bloody racket!’ Came my neighbour’s voice – slightly muffled, but carrying a clear threat of violence.
Bob left quickly.
In other years, I’ve written a few short stories for Christmas, but not this year.
Bob has inspired me to re-imagine a few Christmas Carols for the twenty first century.
Here is the first one.
Strident night,
Angry night,
Down cheap booze,
Get into a fight.
Punch and scratch and kick and bite.
Tell the other bloke he’s just a shite.
Sleep in a prison cell…oh!
Sleep in a prison cell.
For those of my readers who do consider Christmas to be a holy festival, I must point out that these little offerings are intended as my rant against the excesses and the commercialisation of Christmas today. I hope you will not take any offence, for none is intended!
Mick Canning 