The Brain of Gill

A wise friend told me to write a poem about my feelings…I’m not sure these are what he had in mind….

There is a girl called Gill

She’s really had her fill

Of builders and sparkies

and EDF narky

and needs Jim’ll fix it right now.

——-

They say candle light is romantic,

it was, but now it just makes me feel frantic

Like any good folk record, these tracks lodge in your subconscious, reemerging while you’re chopping potatoes for dinner, tugging on your mittens, or curling into bed.

American Legion – by Welcome Wagon

In the streetlight your hair is the blackest sky
Through the snow the cars silently pass us by
When you smile there’s no reason to say goodbye
Don’t say goodbye

I still have the last letter you left for me
All your T-shirts, your red and green pedigree (?)
All the rest is sealed up behind memory
Fading away

On the steps of the American Legion hall
You wait there alone, nobody left to call
No one’s there again: Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall
Terrible day

If I’d been there I’d surely have stayed with you
If I’d been there I’d surely have prayed for you
If I’d been there I’d surely have prayed for you
Want you to know

Shamelessly stolen from @LDN. Look at some of the design loveliness from “8 designers who never fail to inspire”

Just some of the design loveliness

I was looking the other way and when I turned around, Autumn was here. I think it is my favourite season. There’s something about the smell of it, the crispy leaves and the clear blue skies. I know it can rain too, but so often it’s clear sunny days bring a smile to my face followed by the chance to snuggle up as the temperature drops in the evening. Yesterday as I ran through Battersea park, the sun was that truly golden colour that it only ever is at this time of year. It’s a great reminder of how amazing creation is and how the changing seasons are a great gift that lifts our spirits just as we’ve become too blaze about the season that is just finishing.

Anyway, it was with glee that I read Mr Stephen Fry’s post which I have copied below. It’s not just me then…

Love Conkers All

By Stephen Fry
September 9th, 2009

I walked into town this morning, four and a half miles gently downhill into the bowl of London, the chalk basin where Soho, Mayfair, Bloomsbury, Marylebone and divers other of the villages that constitute the West End have their jostling, bumptious beings.

There’s that thing in the air. That thing. That thing that goes with the first yellowing of the leaf, the hint of chill in the air, the extra urgency of bicycles and the bright blue brand new George of Asda V-necks worn by schoolchildren on the pavements starting the new school year. That thing that stings the nostrils and fills the brain with an equal measure of dread and delight.

And the conkers. Conkers gleaming like jewels in their split pods. Conkers rolling into the road, splattered by four-by-fours late for the school gates. Conkers ready to be strung and swung in the playground.

Summer, spring and winter have their qualities, their affinities and associations (”Where are the songs of spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too” or words to that effect) but this time of year alone summons the terrors of termtime.