Why the Chances of Going Shopping Without Getting Enraged is Approximately 3,720 – 1

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

As regular readers of my blog will know, I am a great believer in the beauty of the human spirit, and how each of us has the ability to bring light and joy into the lives of others every day. We are, by nature a laughing and caring species – and I am proud to include myself as one of you.

EXCEPT – when I’m walking behind you out shopping. In that scenario, I’d happily kill you all.

I don’t go shopping very often, so when I do I always know where I’m going, which shops I’m visiting, and I don’t hang about. Time is money, people – and as I have little of either, I literally cannot afford to be stuck behind people shuffling along in a little dream, oblivious to everything around them.

I’m fortunate enough to live in a part of the world which has both natural beauty and plenty of history (a bit like me, really). Because of this, at this time of year there are a lot of tourists around – who apparently haven’t seen shops, or buildings before because they slowly walk around looking up at the building that used to be something important, but is now a drive through spray-tan and vajazzle boutique. Whilst I recognise and welcome the valuable income that tourists bring to my little corner of the world, I do wish they would recognise that stopping suddenly in front of me when I am walking at speeds of up to 4.75 miles per hour, could result in at the least embarrassment and minor injury, and in the worst case, an intimate moment and a court appearance. And if the slow walking and sudden stopping wasn’t bad enough, what also appears to be a habit of every other person out in town is the fact that they window shop – from twenty-five feet away!.

The pedestrian “area” of my local town centre is about half a mile in length, and is about sixty feet wide. It is lined on both sides by shops – all of which have lovely window displays, specifically designed to entice and lure customers in. So why do people choose to stop smack bang in the middle of the main thoroughfare and peer from a distance at the items in the window!? I lose count of the times I have nearly rear-ended an elderly couple who have stopped to discuss whether the shop in the distance has shoes in her size. It’s a shop! not a great white shark ! You can approach it – and even go into it if you like to have a better look. I’m fairly sure that the owners of the shop would like you too!!  But no, please don’t take my word for it – please do stay completely still…..it will make it easy for me to bludgeon you both to death with your wheeled trolley!!

It honestly is like a scene from a zombie film at times – loads of shuffling figures, with vacant expressions on their faces, arms outstretched with the head tilted to one side. I have to plan my route ahead because they keep changing direction or coming out of nowhere to thwart my progress. I feel like the Millennium Falcon escaping from the TIE fighters in the asteroid field in ‘The Empire Strikes Back’. Sometimes, I even hum the piece of music that accompanies that scene. If you still can’t picture that image, you can watch the scene HERE.

I know I could shop online, and I honestly do consider myself a real “people” person.

 

Just not when you are in my way.

A Bus-Load of Wetsuits

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

It is fair to say that my blog does not fit in to any particular type of ‘pigeon hole’ in terms of its subject, or target audience. My blog isn’t about food, or fashion, or health, or wealth. It isn’t a transcript of any kind of journey that I may be on in my life, nor is it a guide for others to follow. I would go as far to say that my blog is unlike any other blog that I have seen – and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not.

That being said, I don’t have a clever formula for the stuff I write. I simply take inspiration from the world around me, and am able to turn it into a standard blog post, or a Friday Poem. There is an abundance of absurdity in this world, that is easy to find if you just pay a little more attention to the world around you. For example, in the past few weeks I have been struck by the following:

  • Two gentlemen walking behind be my as I walked on my lunch break; they were discussing the Tour De France and potential individuals who could challenge for the yellow jersey. They spoke a little about a few contenders, before one of them said “Of course, I don’t trust the French”. I found that statement absurd and intriguing – why does he not trust the French? Is it all French? or did he just mean French professional cyclists? If so, what possibly could have happened to make him distrust French cyclists?

 

  • A colleague at work discussing with a friend the fact that the previous owners of the house she has just bought, did little to make any real improvements to the interior of the property. The phrase she chose to convey this sentiment was “They just put more lipstick on the pig” I laughed out loud when I overheard her say that.

 

  • The fact that during a recent medical test for a mysterious cough that has been troubling me for a while, I was complimented on having the lungs of a 37-year-old. Being 46, I was heartened by this – and then saddened by the fact that I am only retaining my youthfulness on the inside. I feel like a house with a beautiful decor inside, whose exterior walls and cracked and flaking.

 

  • I saw a lady on crutches struggling to get through two sets of doors in a vestibule. The doors were at either end of the vestibule and the far set led to the outside. As the lady struggled through the interior set of doors (the first set), and man came through the exterior doors – and rather than hold the door open for the lady on crutches to get through easier, he rushed forward and nipped through the interior doors being held open as the lady struggled through. As disappointed as I was in the man for not doing the decent thing, I was encouraged by the fact that a guy stood near to me gave me a look of mutual agreement that they bloke who rushed through was a complete tool.

 

And finally, at a recent meeting up of my partner’s extended family, her brother in-law arrived late after completing a triathlon. I was fascinated by the fact that the car parking for competitors was quite a way away from the event, and that after the event finished, this gentleman, and a lot of other competitors had to get the bus back to where their cars were parked. Given that they were all wearing wetsuits from the swimming portion of the Triathlon, the image of a bus full of people in wetsuits tickled me somewhat.

My blog is random, because life is random. And I find that stuff like the ones mentioned above bring much-needed light into this world that we are led to believe (by news and social media) is full of darkness.

I try to find the funny, the quirky, or the light-hearted in most things – it is all out there, waiting for us to overhear, or interpret.

For example, here is a picture of a lily that has finally flowered outside in our garden after what seems like months.

WP_20170730_16_21_58_ProMy partner, has a jokey competition with her mother to see who’s lilies will grow the best. Her mother always wins – this year her lilies are magnificent – there is loads of them, all opening in perfect synchronisation, while we have just one or two open. I reckon her mother comes round and nobbles our plants when we are at work.

 

Life is a bus load of wetsuits – just hop on and enjoy the ride!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

This is the third and final “Poem Challenge”, and I have really enjoyed this whole idea, and it is good to step outside of your comfort zone every now and then, because how else can we as people know just how far we can go?. Although this is the last Poem Challenge, I have always said that I would be happy to take suggestions as to what I should write about, so if you would like me to write a poem about…….anything, then just get in touch using the contact from on the ‘About Me’ page of this blog.

I hope that all of the people who suggested topics / subjects for me to write about were happy with the results – my Poems can only ever be my interpretation of the given theme, so by nature they will be different in someway from the idea of the poem,  that the person who suggested the theme had in their head.

But that is the beauty of life – everyone is different. Anyway, back to tonight’s poem;

A very lovely friend of mine – who knows me well – got in touch and suggested this as the subject for my poem:

” I think you ought to write a poem about the similarities between chameleons and their changing colours!”

Now, I LOVE  a chameleon – as does my friend – but that didn’t make this challenge any easier. If anything, it turned the difficulty up to ‘Max’ (whereas usually I like it set between ‘easy-peasy’ and ‘meh’). Nonetheless, like a renovated pub that is now more suited to basketball players than midgets, the bar had been set high – and I just had to live with it.

So, here is my offering in response to the challenge.

I hope you like it.

 

Exquisite

ntxgfrfv-1367457110[1]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh Chameleon, how I long to be hypnotised

By your independently moving, cone-shaped eyes.

When you strike me with your stereoscopic gaze,

My soul lifts off and soars away.

I love your amazing zygodactylous feet –

Like tiny clamps, so cute and sweet.

To the branch they secure you with assured grip;

No hint of faltering; no chance of slip.

Your Prehensile tail beneath you

Like the spiral pendulum of a clock

Anchors me in wonder

Like a limpet to a rock.

Prehensile tail

The uniqueness of your species

Tells that Evolution took quite a leap

When deciding on how you should appear,

Because you are so very unique.

There are of course slight variations

Between your brothers where they abound;

Horns, and size predominantly

Are the ones that have been found.

Some might say you are almost mythical

In your individual appearance.

But I’m confident when I say

It will always seem to me

That you will never be the victim

of mistaken identity.

chameleon-1[1]

You are the master of multi-coloured wizardry,

The lord of pigment and hue

Changing the colour of your skin

So that your surroundings blend in with you.

Your skin is like a cloaking device

from some futuristic craft,

And you have transformed camouflage

Into a kind of divine art.

A living rainbow of dancing light

That truly does mesmerise

More beautiful than the northern lights

A kaleidoscope before the eyes.

Furcifer_pardalis_-Zürich_Zoo-8a[1]

You are a thing of beauty;

Moving with purpose and suavity.

Steadily, deliberate in every movement.

Harpooning with your tongue

The prey you target from afar.

Like a sniper with his gun –

Waiting, waiting for the right moment

Ever patient, ever focused, ever assured.

There is nothing I cannot like about you

And everything to adore.

You’re nothing like anything else I’ve known –

And yet you are so much more.

 

My thanks to Ami Jaruszek for the suggestion for this poem – I hope you like my interpretation of it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

W is For Duck – Now on Social Media!

Dear readers of my blog,

I am pleased to announce that W is for Duck is now on Social Media – it has it’s own Facebook page which you can find by simply searching on Facebook for “W is For Duck” or by clicking here: https://www.facebook.com/WisforDuck.

On the page you will see my blog posts, and will be able to see some of my Friday Poems brought to life – as there are videos of me reading them at a local Open Mic Night – including a reading of my newest poem, “I Hate Barbie” – which won’t appear on my blog for a few weeks yet!

Feel free to like, and share the Facebook Page, and encourage your friends to check out my blog!

And don’t forget to check out this week’s Friday poem – it’s posted at 6:30pm tomorrow, Friday 28th July.

Thanks

 

 

In case any of you are thinking that the life of a blogger is one long list of parties, and people begging you to write stuff, let me tell you – it isn’t.

It was raining this morning as I drove to work, so I decided to park at work instead of parking 1 mile away (to avoid parking charges) and walking in.

Except that I couldn’t. I couldn’t park at work because all of the designated parking spaces (yes, we have to park where we are told!) were taken by the bastards who come to work at 7am just so they can leave at 3pm to go to their smugness classes. The only ‘free’ spaces left were the “car share” spaces – reserved for people who give other employees a lift in to work. Non car-share cars are forbidden to park there until after 9am – and who gets to start work after 9am!?

So, I had no choice but to drive a mile away to my usual parking spot, and then walk the mile to work in the rain, wearing my thick wool winter coat (because I don’t have a “it’s raining but it’s summer” coat) which got progressively heavier as it absorbed more rain.

On the way, I did get a call from Hugh Hefner – he’s a fan of my blog – inviting me over to the Playboy Mansion. However, I had to decline as I smelled like a wet dog.

Yeah, it’s all glamour this blogging life.

 

 

 

Blog Ja-Vu: And What, Exactly is Wrong With my Marrow??

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

Tonight’s offering is plucked from the archives of the previous incarnation of my blog “Larry an every now and then blog”.

The post you are about to read was originally written way back in 2011, and the subject now seems ironic, given that just two years later I would do the greatest thing I have ever done.

Actually, I should say the greatest thing I have ever done so far, because like in all of us there is more greatness in me yet to come.

Speaking of greatness, I will again this week be reading some of my poetry at an open mic night. A New venue, with a new audience to read my poems to. I’m really looking forward to it, and will try to get myself videod and post it on the W is for Duck Facebook page.

If you are on Facebook, feel free to visit my page, and let me know what you think about my blog, and any particular posts you like.

Anyway, here is today’s blog from 2011:

What Exactly is Wrong With my Marrow??

I’m very proud to say that I am a Blood Donor – I’ve been giving blood every six months for the past three years. I’m also on the Organ Donor register, so that in the event of my death, someone else will be able to play music after me.

Of course, that’s a joke – the music dies with me.

But I am on the Organ Donor register. And recently, to ensure that none of me goes to waste, I also registered to become a Bone Marrow donor. I decided to do this, after reading a leaflet whilst giving blood about it. I say reading – the leaflet was laid across my face as I couldn’t move my arm. What about my other arm? That was bent behind my head for comfort. D’uh!
Anyway, this leaflet said that there was a shortage of Bone Marrow donors in the U.K. – and being a giving a sort of chap, I decided that I should do my bit and sign up. In due course, I was accepted on to the register. I didn’t know when they would contact me to ask for some Bone Marrow, but I knew it wouldn’t be long – after all, there is a shortage of Donors.
Well, the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. Soon enough my next blood donor appointment came round, so I decided to be pro-active and ask one of the nurses when I might be contacted and asked to donate some Bone Marrow.

“Oh, well we might never ask you” replied the nurse, in a matter-of-fact way.

I was shocked and surprised at this answer to my question. They might never ask me? Why? Why would they not want my Marrow? It’s as good any anyone else’s – anyone else who has had their blood checked for suitability and have been accepted as a potential bone marrow donor – and didn’t the leaflet say that there was a shortage of Donors?

I was struggling to get my head round this concept. There is a shortage of Bone Marrow Donors (apparently), and yet the BBMR – the British Bone Marrow Register – are picky about who they ask. How can this be? You don’t sit there with loads cheques payable to you in your pocket, and then complain about not having any money? You would sell a really popular brand of washing powder, but keep all your stock in the warehouse and none on the shop floor?
I didn’t understand – here I was, with my perfectly good Marrow sitting in my bones doing nothing, and there being a real need for Donors in the U.K., and yet no-one wanted to take it from me?

When I say my Marrow is “doing nothing”, I mean apart from producing new blood cells, and being an important part of the Lymphatic system, especially good at preventing the back flow of Lymph. But apart from that, it is idle. You could say, Bone idle ha ha ha ha ha ha!!

(Ahem).

So I don’t know what is going on. Maybe the Bone Marrow donation process is like the bidding process for tickets to the 2012 Olympics – hundreds of thousands of people register, but very few actually get what they want. Maybe one day, they’ll ask me to donate Bone Marrow which will ultimately be given to an arthritic Hamster, or a duck with rickets.

They keep my details on record until I’m 60 years old apparently – by which time, I’ll be so brittle that if they take any Bone Marrow, my entire skeletal system will be likely to implode on itself.

I have good Bone Marrow – if anyone wants any, get in touch.

 

If you want to find out more about Giving Blood, or the Organ Donor Register, click Here

If you are reading this in the U.S.A. and want to know more about giving blood, click Here

 

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog – and to this week’s Friday Poem. As the eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed from the imaginative title of this blog post, this Poem is also the second “Poem Challenge” – where someone like you has chosen the subject for me to write a poem about.

If you haven’t yet read last week’s Friday Poem, you can find it directly beneath this one on the “Poems” page of my blog, or listed in “Recent Posts” – just to the right of this post. If you can’t see it immediately,  I’ll give you a clue – it is number #27.

Anyway, back to this week’s poem.

A friend of mine from a previous chapter in my life contacted me and gave me this topic for my poem:

“So I went from the City to the Shire and back to the City, where should I be?”

Another excellent choice of topic, which had me stumped for quite some time. In the end, inspiration came to me and this is what I came up with. (apologies for the change in font on the second verse, I’m not sure why that has done that but I can’t change it.)

 

Lost

A friend of mine asked me to help him;

“I don’t know where I’m too”, he said.

He’d lived in both country and town,

But never did settle down.

And it just didn’t feel right in his head.

 

Originally from a big city,

Concrete jungle was where he was raised.

But the grey lonely streets

hurt the soul, and his feet

and towards greener pastures he gazed

 

My friend was – and still is –  a policeman,

He Served the public on his rural beat.

But he often felt bereft

At the thought of tractor theft

Or the pure dullness of counterfeit sheep.

 

Country living just wasn’t exciting enough.

He wanted surroundings that enhanced his life.

So he headed for the city

Where life was darker and gritty

And there was less carrot crime, and more knife.

 

Life as a copper in the city

Was as exciting as it could get.

From gang wars, to begging

And oap’s stealing leggings

There was plenty to do – and more yet!

 

It wasn’t that he missed the country life

That wasn’t it, no – far, far from it.

But the shine seemed less bright

When, for the eighth time that night

He had to again wipe his shoes clean of vomit.

 

That nagging, unsettled feeling

Crept back into his mind by and by.

Until, at three in the morning

The realisation came dawning.

And he knew he had to say goodbye.

 

So back to the sticks did he wander –

Back to poachers; back to rounding up Geese.

And although it was calmer,

With less violent drama

He still didn’t feel quite at peace.

 

 

He wondered if perhaps he’d been hasty

When he decided to leave the ‘big smoke’

Looking back it seemed rash,

To head home in a dash.

For Roger wasn’t that type of bloke.

 

 

He vowed to move back to the city;

To its noise, it’s pollution and danger.

Roger knew there where risks

But he carried a big stick

And to bravery he was no stranger.

 

 

He really put an effort in this time

Every aspect of life he embraced.

He even gave Boris Johnson a thump

Once, for being a chump,

And then tazered him right in the face.

 

 

But despite the perks that his job offered,

And the thrill of it all mixed with fear,

Something didn’t feel right

And as he lay in bed at night

A voice in his head said “not here”

 

 

And so this is when he sought my council –

When I heard his most desperate plea;

“I feel like I’ve been from pillar to post,

And from coast to coast,

But I still don’t know where I should be”

 

 

So Roger, this is my answer

To the question you so politely asked.

It’s probably quite short,

and might not be what you sought

But I’m not used to this sort of task.

 

 

You should be where you are most happy,

But there won’t be a place on the map.

It’s your happiness inside

That will help you decide

Once you know, you can then lay your hat.

 

 

So listen to your inner Policeman

As he patrols on his beat in your heart

When he radios in

And you feel yourself grin

Then you can know there’s a place you can start.

 

 

 

Thank you Roger Robinson for your suggestion – I hope I did it justice!