Notes upon a stave - Swallows are composed for flight; Maestro, clap your hands.
Roll on - COVID 2020 Swoop and rise, over the COVID swells, down the rolling flows. Home's a boat, alone on the briny, mums skipper, to where? God knows? Swoop and rise, mask up lock down, circuit break...Steady as she goes!
Two weeks’ Isolation? Great! Make it ten, twenty, forty. Reminds me of that Desert Island Discs programme. Speaking of which. I can’t get my head around why some of those guests say they’ll try to escape. Me, I’m on my virtual island already. And I’ve built my virtual stockade in case a rescue mission appears over the horizon.
‘Come and get me, Copper!’ I’ll yell over the ramparts, and throw coconuts ’til they go away.
Of course, I’d need luxuries. Let’s see: A cook’s hand blender, ‘cos when my teeth have gone it’ll just be soup. A gin-still – why else would I need the lemon-squeezer? A grand piano. I’m on level 1, but I’ve got ambition. Oh! And an internet connection. Gotta keep in touch with all my friends, (both of them) well … Bert, anyway, if the so-an-so hasn’t gone and moved again without telling me.
Fear of Flying
A feast of pheasants on a walk we find. We’re not unkind; we carry no gun. They panic, they run. Straight ahead they race, aim to outpace our plodding tread. We surge ahead. One hides, plays dead. Takes a peek as we pass. Alas! Another year, he’d be right to fear. He’d be fated; in August plated. Covid keeps the guns at bay; the shoot he’ll face another day. Fear of flying’s fixed in DNA.
Wirds Wairdit Sneckit awa ahint ae trellis'd wa, wi air unendin lief endlang lang Siclike the nun, fauldit, untitchit by human, sundoun tae morn, Laurentia that whilin wears years in letters anent entern hairt's Airt An in retour ilk week the playwright scrieves, unawnt, the luvers pairt.
The Belmont, my favourite cinema, announced that they would be opening for films. We all looked forward to that. However the films were dismal to put it lightly, all horror war films -the cheeriest one being Les Miserables. A notice appeared in the Evening Express saying that they were so sorry that so few turned up. During the war, no unhappy films were allowed because morale was so low. This is also a challenging time so bring the happy musicals and films. Incidentally, a long time ago my friend and I were the only people in one of the screens. Two people came in and asked us to move because we were sitting in their seats. After that no numbered tickets were produced, just a free for all. Certainly that was social distancing long before the virus.
Refrain Jist a wee jaunt up Deeside, jist a wee een, that's aw, Jist a saunter at the seaside, afore caul winter snaw. We'll hiv a lang time waitin, fir a vaccine, but then, If Covid disnae catch us, we'll be awricht, ye ken.
under azure skies glow golden byways, gorse-hedged, close coconut caress
We were the smart phone generation, Highest of hopes. Lockdown created the goal Of looking ahead.
At the Caff
See aat wumman ower there? She’s a richt skyper, at it day an nicht. Bletherin fir hoors wi her chummies. Ah dinna ken foo her mannie pits up wi it. An him, the aul chiel by the windae – he’s een o’ thae baby zoomers. He’s as bad’s the skyper wumman. Aye zoomin wi fowk, fir wark, kin ye credit? An her, the skyrie-riggit lass, fit a twit she is, nivver aff her mobile, as bad’s thon Amerricin chappie, an the lad wi her’s a tube. Me, I jist keep tae masel, enjoyin ma coffee.
VR Virtual Reality once was gaming; since Covid came, it's life. Virtual meetings, virtual friends, virtual G&T. This virtual half-life may work for the wife But it's real life gin for me. Cheers!
Covid 19 Covid, Covid on yer bike, We dinna need anither spike. If it's pangolins yer lookin for, Better awah tae anither shore.
Apparently, I don’t squeeze the coffee plunger down far enough before I pour. I leave doors open and squeeze in jobs that aren’t on any list. Lockdown can make anyone sour. I say, remember nineteen seventy, when nothing I did would annoy you? Hot Pants and a cheeky grin, I sprayed miss Dior into the air, jumped and twirled through it into your warm arms. This summer my lower back was agony. We gently squeezed, from a nose that sniffed with self-pity, to toes you had to very gently put my socks on. Then as the spine lockdown receded and the virus lock up continued, we planted bulbs and looked forward to a spring where they will squeeze up out of last year’s sour to sweetness. To celebrate, we squeezed off the top of a bottle of grown-up lemonade for fifty years of all the good things… and squeezing,