My dad is reading the newspaper ...

My dad is reading The Times - 

He's snorting over an article about John Bercow - 

The lounge is full of slow minutes, settling upon the armchairs like dark feathers - 

The alarm clock on the mantlepiece is turning into a strange creature, breathing out forgetfulness - 

10.55

Monday 27 July 2015

Staunton Road

Havant 

The happiest men all got rhythm ...

Through the french windows, I can see the roses I dead headed last Sunday - 

My mum's watching Shall We Dance? on the Sony Bravia - 

Fred Astaire is dancing like a slim legged angel - 

Ginger Rogers is smouldering - 

Just another dancer to croon in my arms Ginger sighs - 

It's stopped raining - 

The white Cunarder is sailing across the Atlantic - 

The stokers are playing hot jazz in the engine room - 

Fred's dancing amongst the gleaming pipe work - 

The happiest men all got rhythm Fred sings - 

15.25

Sunday 26 July 2015

My mum and dad's house

Staunton Road

Havant

High spirits in Marmion's Brasserie ...

In Marmion's Brasserie, Martin and I relished bumpers of Dark Horse -

Alyson told a story about a surly alsatian - 

Penelope traced the next day's route over the Eildon Hills - look at those contour lines she said - they're so close together ! - 

We joshed each other, gossiped and laughed - 

It was one year since we'd walked along Hadrian's Wall - 

Alteady we were excited, full of anticipation for the journey ahead  - 

We would be walking over the Cheviots, braving fields guarded by monstrous bulls - we would meet dour farmers of few words, thread our way through sad pinewoods -

We would walk barefoot over shining sands - 

We would stand inside a precious space, our journey turned into a pilgrimage - 

This time, Martin would be coming with us - I knew that I would value his company - 

Julia would join us at the Templeman Inn in Morebattle - 

A smiling Amazon served us dinner - once again, I opted for sea bass - 

After dinner, we walked through the still silent town, down to the river - we saw shining hills and fields - it was like walking into a painting by Samuel Palmer - 

We crossed over the river by means of a narrow suspension bridge - 

Martin swung the bridge to and fro when he stood upon it - 

A sign warned of formidable penalties for those who intentionally swung the bridge, or loitered upon it - 

I felt the bridge sway beneath me - 

Looking at Martin, I saw the boy he'd been at school, bright eyed, sporty, irrepressible - 

21.00

Wsnesday July 1 2015

Melrose

Meeting Martin ...

We met Alyson and Martin at the bus stop opposite Rhymers, not far from Burt's Hotel - 

The Number 67 Perryman bus was on time - 

Alyson brimmed with charm and mischief - 

You two are Gosport lads she grinned, looking at me, then at Martin - 

It was true - Martin and I had both gone to Brune Park School - 

We'd both been slippered by Mr Emmanuel, Martin for pushing a boy, myself for skulking and malingering - 

Miss Lowe had terrified us both - she was a tiny woman whose gown gave her two black wings - 

Were you ritually humiliated at the blackboard too? asked Martin - 

Yes - she called me out I said - were you taught by Mr Symonds ?

We called him Frank said Martin - because he looked like a gangster! - 

I remembered those straining suits - my gang called him Simbo - 

We fished for names and faces - 

There was a Miss Bursill Martin said - 

I recalled a young woman with thick ankles - 

Then whilst I was thinking it, Martin said the words aloud - 

Most of them must be gone now - 

18.45

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Melrose 

Harmony Garden ...

Harmony Garden was bathed in golden light - 

A long limbed girl read her book in the shade of a lime tree - 

Warm breezes carried the scents of many flowers - 

It was late afternoon - 

Penelope and I walked up to the house overlooking the gentle lawns - 

I pictured the man for whom it was built, a planter returned from Jamaica - 

He'd made his wicked fortune under a tropic sky - 

The house and garden were named after his plantation - 

He would hear the calls of emerald birds whenever he closed his eyes - 

When moonlight entered the house, strange constellations would cover the skies - 

17.00

Wednesday 1July 2015

Harmony Garden

Melrose 

At the Ormiston Institute ...

The courtly oldster ran his hands through his hair - 

These silver coins would be enough for a centurion's pay for one year he said - perhaps they were - 

We gazed at the shining denarii - I could see, very clearly, the profiles of Emperors and Empresses - 

Each small coin shone, as if immersed in icy water - 

The oldster, the curator of the museum, pointed to a denarius of Commodus - 

There are some bad ones here he chuckled - 

We were in the Corn Exchange, an austere reef of stone, home of the Ormiston Institute - 

One room sufficed to house the museum - 

Inside the Institute's reading room, a sign warned readers not to drink alcohol during Reading Room hours - 

A large pale man emerged from the cavernous jakes - he gestured at a shoal of steamy paperbacks - 

Take any you like he said - 

16.45

Wednesday 1 July 2015

The Ormiston Institute 

The Corn Exchange

Melrose 

Priorwood Orchard ...

A high wall enclosed the orchard - pale stone girdled its ancient trees -

Penelope and I followed paths mown through waist high grass - delicate leaves hanging from lichened branches provided shade - 

Memories of apple harvests hung above our heads - the trees dreamed their slow dreams - 

I imagined drinking cider made from Old Pearmain or Oslin apples - 

I would drink long golden autumns from my glass - 

Bells in the abbey would sound for compline - 

Shadows would lengthen as day gave way to night -  

16.00

Wednesday 1 July 2015

Priorwood Orchard

Melrose Abbey