December 25th

I thought of last year

when we ate, an empty place

at our sad table

December 6th

that autumn harvest

of sloes plucked and pricked after

the first biting frost

slung and barrel sloshed

slow weeping their heady tears

in sugary gin

with the fire spreading

around the blood, red faced smiles

a rain repellent!

 

A little tribute to Sloe Gin. We met up with friends for a festive catch up. Our friend Neil had a glass of a Spanish version of Sloe Gin in our favourite Clerkenwell restaurant Medcalf. I had a dessert wine but should have got that too! It was slightly aniseed-ish, but not overpowering like a pastis or ouzo. Was a lovely subtle drink. So warming on a winter’s evening. Debbie made some Sloe gin at home, we still have some left. The process of collecting and making it, from the astringent sloe berries, mixed in a sugar and gin solution. Sloshing it around every once in a while. In a few short months, it is ready. Delicious.

When we left Medcalf, the rain was battering down. After that sort of drink though, there is a force field of red faced warmth, burning the rain before it hits you!

November 20th

the bickering gulls

driven inland by cold coasts 

scream at each other

There are more gulls around this time of year, Bedfordshire is far from the coast, they come inland, more food, more fields, more pickings. I’m not sure if it’s more temperate, but perhaps it’s less blustery and bearable for them. They do make noise when they’re excited!

It’s mostly black headed gulls (who actually have white heads this time of year as it’s outside of breeding season), but you get the occasional herring gull too, slightly bigger, with the red spot on the beak which their young use as a target to peck at to get some more delicious regurgitated food.

Black headed gull (top) and Herring Gull illustrations from RSPB website.

November 14th

 

pocket full of crumbs

oat cakes for the hissing swan

but he’s left the pond

Felt quite sad that the Swan has gone away. Left our pond. I guess it was rather small for him (or her).

May 21st

Black eyes examine

the gasping rabbit body

sweet hot red broken

I had to wake up at 4.30 to get out of the house at 5.30am. On my drive to the train station I saw a crow who’d just swooped down to test the corpse of rabbit roadkill. It must’ve been fresh, the crow looked pensive as if any minute many more birds would descend and take it away. That’s all I saw, I drove on.

The train station was cold, I had a jacket on. I was happy to get into the warmth. As the train hurtled northwards, I noticed the dull grey of morning give way to blazing sunshine. Summer had arrived.

Timid dawn lumbers

the mists shimmer burn away

summer’s love blazes

Two Haiku’s today, but my first of the year which cites summer.

April 4th

Offensive chickpeas

scoffed noisily on the train

shut your cake hole dude

 

I take umbrage with bad manners. It really is something that irritates me. Three examples in the last couple of days.

1) A guy in our London office, he’s got his feet, his dirty shoes, perched on the edge of the low table in what we call the “comfy” chairs (they aren’t comfy, they are just low and you have to lean forward to get anywhere near your laptop otherwise you just sink into a spongy mire and possibly sucked into an alternative universe). Anyway, his shoes. I was offended by this as it is disrespectful to any colleague who might happen to sit there after him, but also to our office cleaners, why should they have to scrape the residue of his poo feet from the surfaces? It’s downright rude. I considered shouting “GET YOUR FUCKING FEET OFF THE TABLE!” to him, but I desisted as he was on a call. So I just simmered about it at my desk, because although I like good manners, fairness and respect all lifeforms, I am not particularly brave, or good at confronting people.

2) A guy just sits on a stool next to me at the table in the pub. Now usually it is good manners to ask “do you mind if I sit here?” or “is anyone using this chair?” before you plonk your polyester suited crumpled fat arse into my personal space. He went away eventually, as my vibes of fury were flying into him.

3) There was a guy eating chickpeas on the train. Now usually, I wouldn’t be offended by people eating something as low key as chickpeas, but it was the *way* he was eating them. I believe there is an etiquette to food on trains. Stinky hot food should be avoided. I hate it when people bring burgers onto the train. Or some other rancid conglomerate of semi fried mystery meat. Inert food, that’s cool, like a sandwich with minimal vapours of stink, I’m totally fine about it and yes, I abide by my own rules. So why was he annoying me? Because he was eating them noisily. Even above the screaming metal of train on track and the constant rattle of the carriage, all I could hear was SLURP-MUNCH-MUNCH-MUNCH-GASP-MUNCH-MUNCH ad infinitum. He didn’t need to eat with his mouth open, he didn’t need to chew like a camel, he certainly didn’t need to slurp them! It’s a fucking small nut like thing dude! It’s not slippery, it’s a dry round thing! And finally, he didn’t need to have to gasp for breath whilst chewing because the fucker was eating so fast. I amused myself by mimicking him. It was kind of crazy, but it passed the time.

February 27th

Toying paws a blur,
Animated killer stalks,
Mouse rescue required.

This story has a happy ending, Debbie rescued the mouse that Katie caught and brought in to play with, it got released back into the paddock behind our garden. Katie always looks so pissed off when we take live (or dead) animals off her. She used to bring them as presents, but seeing that we didn’t eat them or thank her for them, she just ignores us now and concentrates solely on her own self gratification.

February 19th

 

Incense smoke curling,

Pale saints, drained of ochre tears,

Lament for the dead.

 

An old “Aunty” died around this time last year, it’s traditional for the family to welcome family and friends after church for coffee and snacks in memory of the deceased. The priest reads out a list of memorials and the family hand out bread which has been blessed. This meant a visit to church. Greek Orthodox churches have an ancient ceremony about them, although the Church has tried to be progressive in some ways, the service has on the whole remained the same for centuries.

I’m not religious, but I find the trappings of the church fascinating, I looked at the images painted on the walls, in pastel pale tones. The saints with their radiant halos, lovingly removing the dead Christ from the cross and gently cradling him down the ladder. The huge hanging candelabras, images of the two headed eagle glittering with the reflected candlelight, each candle a memory of a dead loved one. Also the sounds and smells, frankincense is burned in the Priests censer, a throwback to Roman times, the heady smell hanging as the priest swings it when he and his entourage tour the church to bless the congregation, a little puff of smoke accompanied by the cymbal like jingle of the censers various parts and tiny bells hitting each other. It’s fascinating. The old men chanting as well, it feels ancient. There aren’t so many hunched bird like old widows anymore, with their black head scarves tied tightly round their heads. They seemed to be everywhere when I was dragged to church when I was little. Times change.

(image from monasteryiconsblog)

February 10th

 

Cold paddock pickings,

Silly birds come get some treats,

Nuts and seeds to eat.

 

Why aren’t they coming to my window bird feeder?

January 23rd

I am incapable of using chopsticks, I feel really cack handed and manage to eat about two grains of rice per half hour when I try.

Working for a Japanese company, this could be career limiting, you might not think so, but imagine if a stranger from another land came to your dinner table and proceeded to lean forward, shoving his face in his plate and without using his hands or any utensil, started to trough like a sow whilst squealing and making contented grunting noises. This is how I imagine I am perceived when I ask for a big fuck off ladle to spoon my rice with in a Japanese restaurant.

Today I met a senior executive from our parent company and my first stupid mistake was to forget my business cards (a big no no). Luckily our meeting overran and I didn’t have to suffer the indignity of exposing my chopstick disability if we were to go to the local Japanese eatery, we had a working lunch so I took solace in the familiar comforts of an egg mayonaisse baguette, which I still managed to bollocks up eating. The last bit, the end bit, was slightly too big for one mouthful, I knew if I bit it in half, egg would have splurged all over my brand new shirt. So instead I opted for the “putting it all in my mouth in one go” option. Normally this is ok, I have a big mouth, once I got 4 whole digestives in vertically and there was room to spare, but I misjudged the docking procedure, so not only did I have a bulging mass of egg mayo and baguette in my mouth, but it started to ooze out of my face. My mouth, nose, ears, eye sockets, like some sort of virilent and fast breeding ebola virus, foaming and dripping all over the floor. I managed to wipe most of it away and dispose it before I was too humiliated.

So today’s Haiku is about my inability to use chopsticks.

 

Chopsticks defeat me,

My big clumsy monster claw,

Grasping at nothing.