Jam

Jam

A man in a black shirt

Glances across through wet glass

To see what I’m doing

Drumming on the steering wheel

In time to the music

And the beat of the wipers

To the other side, a girl chats on her mobile

Oblivious to the pouring rain

And the two men watching her, envious

Lines of lights ahead and behind

A red sea that does not part

Three lanes aligned, facing forward

Inching along in the queue

Bumper to bumper

Blocked, jammed

Wheels and windows

Boxes of metal, plastic and glass

Each a singular environment

Separate worlds, personal spaces

Lives in a landscape

Of black wet tarmac

The matrix on the gantry

Flashes warning messages

Which say nothing helpful

Reflecting on a thousand shiny surfaces

Cars, coaches and cabs

Trucks and taxis

Caught in the same stasis

All time and space co-ordinates dead

Suspended sat-navs silently waiting

For onward progress to occur

And something meaningful to say

Activities suspended, action on hold

Hurrying home or toiling to the terminal

To catch a flight that will not wait

Marooned, late, tired, frustrated

Despairing in the dark

Looking forward to a future

That has no clear horizon

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 29th September 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 29^th September 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       In a comprehensive report, issued this week by Bromham Chamber of Commerce, it was reported that the temperature in the Back Room of The Wounded Ferret is predicted to rise by several degrees over the next few months.  Data which has been gathered, analysed and peer-reviewed by the bloke in the corner cottage, seems to confirm that this is due to a combination of switching on the Central Heating, and the lighting of a welcoming fire in the 19^th-century fireplace, providing irrefutable proof that temperature change is in fact man-made.

2.       Ted Willybanned, leader of the Carrot-Rooters’ Action Party (CRAP), made an impassioned speech this week at his party’s annual conference in the Social Centre (Small Meeting Room), calling for the retail price of carrots to be fixed for at least 20 months.  Although this was received by Mrs Piglet in the High Street as a popular move, it was immediately condemned by Dave Wentwrong, leader of the Field Land-Owners’ Party (FLOP) as unrealistic and a piece of “parsnip politics”.

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Screaming Tree

Screaming Tree

Within this forbidding forest

Among a cathedral of trees

It stands alone and silent

Biding its time, waiting

For them to come and stand before it

In this special place

An altar of sorts

A clearing amongst the greenwood

Huge amongst its brothers

A giant within the greenery

Old, brooding, silent, implacable

Sweet sap oozing deep within

Grounded on the surface of the Earth

Its massive roots like fierce, hard fingers

Grasp deep within the ground

Holding fast to the surface of the planet

Its gnarled and twisted trunk

Spiralling up into the canopy

Reaching through to the sky

A long, ancient finger pointing upward

It hears the howling and the shouting

The agony and the anger

The breast-beating of those who stand before it

Screaming inarticulate noises

Of inexpressible pain and passion

It feels their raw emotion

Absorbing their energy

Soaking up and staring back

Immobile, faceless and unflinching

Its knotted, woody aspect

Reflecting, projecting, transmitting

And conducting sound

Upwards for the heavens to hear

And provide an answer, if they will

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Courgette Fritters (or Pakoras)

Recipe for: COURGETTE FRITTERS

Ingredients:

·         500g courgettes, coarsely grated

·         50g plain flour (or gram flour if you want pakoras)

·         4-6 spring onions, finely chopped

·         3 eggs, beaten

·         90g feta cheese, crumbled

·         Small handful mint, finely chopped

·         Small handful flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped

·         1 garlic clove, finely minced

·         Zest of one lemon, finely grated

·         Salt & freshly ground pepper

·         Green chillie, finely chopped (optional)

·         Vegetable oil for frying

Method:

1.       Put the grated courgettes in a bowl, and squeeze out as much liquid as you can.  Only the solid matter is required.

2.       Add in all the other ingredients, except for the vegetable oil, mixing thoroughly.  You should end up with a fairly thick batter/ dough.  If it’s too sloppy, add a little more flour.

3.       Heat 3mm of oil in a frying pan, and ensure that it is hot enough by dropping in a small bread cube, which should brown in about 10 seconds.

4.       Ladle in large tablespoons-full of the batter, flattening each fritter with the back of a spoon.

5.       Do not overcrowd the pan – cook the fritters in batches & keep warm.

6.       Cook fritters each side for 3-4 minutes, until nicely browned, then carefully turn over and cook the other side for the same amount of time.

7.       Drain the fritters on kitchen paper and eat immediately.

What else you need to know:

1.       These are really easy to do & delicious

2.       You can vary the ingredients with different herbs, parmesan, more onion etc, or add a little chillie to make a kind of pakora

3.       Great as a vegetable side dish, or on their own with dipping sauces

4.       Best eaten fresh, but you can keep them in the fridge & reheat under the grill or in the toaster

Only Child

Only Child

What was it about me

That I should be treated this way?

That you should leave me all alone,

Single, singular and lonely?

Was it my monopoly upon your time,

All your sharing, your caring, your affection

For your one and only treasure?

What was it about me

That made you give up after only one?

Was I quite enough for you

So wonderful, so endearing

That I filled all your time

Took all your attention

So there could be no room for any another

And a second could never be as good?

What was it about me

That made you say “never again”?

Was I too much for you

That you could not bear to go through it all twice?

Was I just too much to cope with

My behaviour not good enough

A great disappointment

Or just not what you wanted?

What was it about me

That was the fault in my creation?

Was it the love or the sex when you made me?

You never explained it to me

Why I should remain unaccompanied

No playmates of my own, no brother or sister

But left to wonder

About larger families around me

What was it about me

Or did I do something wrong?

Was I too strange, too weird, too odd

An alien little boy

Too hard for you to cope with

Or was having a child

Just not what you’d expected?

And why did you both go from me

Leaving only questions, never any answers?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Dog And Man

Dog And Man

Above the muddy field, near the ridge

The track tracing along the skyline

Silhouettes two figures slowly wandering

Each waiting upon the other

Stopping to stare, to listen

Then ambling along untroubled

With no particular place to go

Nor anything to rush back for

The man, in mac and cap,

Well-wrapped against the cold and damp

Slightly stooped, leaning upon his stick

Coughs occasionally, pulls up his scarf,

A shambling gait making slow progress

Snaking through fields, along the paths

Towards the wood and the dripping trees

His canine companion

Unfettered by lead or collar

Walks steadily beside his master

Step for step, stop for stop

Shadowing his movements

Never more than a few yards away

With rheumy eyes, aching joints,

Matted coat and long-life tiredness

He too has known better days

But plods along the well-known route

A thousand times walked

Darting rabbits and hares provoke no reaction

Desiring only the love of his Man

Whose word or gentle gesture

Is enough to bring him to his side

And gently scan that weathered face

Seeking his usual reassurance

With their regard for one another

Hard-gained, long-deserved

And aches and pains ignored

They reach the gate, stare across the valley

And through murky mist can just make out

An oft-seen pair of ghosts -

The figures of a young man in shirtsleeves

Running alongside a bounding dog

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Manchester Road

Manchester Road

Friday night through filthy fog

Side by side with Dad

Muffled under coats and caps and gloves

Scarves tucked inside for warmth

Walking warily towards the bus-stop by the shops

Butcher, baker, grocer hold no interest

Mostly closed this time of night

But windows lit to show their wares

Condensation streaming down the insides

Gathering in pools at the bottom

A smell of coal-dust in the air

Smoke from a thousand chimneys

The clank and hoot of distant shunting-engines

From the railway yards half a mile away

Hidden in the smog

The pub across the road, its windows dimly lit

Faint beams of promised comfort

Reflected across a wet pavement

Its hanging sign motionless in the still air

Dad wants a paper and his ciggies

Dives inside the newsagent for a moment

Allowing me to slope next door

To shiver in the dark, damp doorway

And peer in envy at the toyshop display

The train-set and the cricket-bat

I’d been wanting for my Christmas

Hoped-for, hints long-dropped

Standing at the bus- stop

Peering through the gloom

Stamping foot to foot

To try and warm the toes

Dirty pavement underfoot

And in the greasy roadway

The swish of slowly-moving tyres

As the cars creep past the queue

Waiting for the throbbing, heavy engine

And a larger pair of headlights to emerge

To come and find us waiting, shivering

To pick us up and take us into town

Sitting on the upper-deck

Where the smokers sit

Coughing in the cold and damp

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Glad Rags

Glad Rags

You stare back at me

a long, hard look, unflinching

Your expression vacant, unchanging

hollow-cheeked, dark-eyed, spare

coloured, tinted, or black and white

Soft-toned image on hard shiny paper

an empty, two-dimensional being

Expensive rags adorn

and hang about your frame

Cool mags project your image

independent, insouciant, insolent

ideal and unattainable

Slender, bony clothes-horse

sharp, angular cheekbones

long legs akimbo

red lips slightly parted

eyes inviting

Saying have me if you want me

yours for the taking

rouged and ready-for-sex

Caped in haute couture

draped, designer-dressed

Fine fashion figure of long, crisp lines

sporting silk, wool, cotton, cashmere

The cut, the crease, the costume

folds, buttons, pleats and zips

placed to emphasise the fit

stylised, carefully-lit

Snapped and wrapped

shaped and taped

edited, cropped

Air-brushed to perfection

Does your reality have more substance?

Do you exist outside the pictures?

After the last shutter clicks

and the camera-motor stops

the painful pose abandoned

make-up all removed

And another shoot is over

what do you think about?

And how do you feel

when you’re allowed to leave the set?

Finally, sofa-settled

feet up, jumper and jeans

tea and toast, and a quiet cigarette?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 22nd September 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 22^nd September 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       The outlawed Seend separatist movement launched a daring raid on the shop in Bromham High Street during the week.  The surprise attack was meticulously planned, and caught Bromham’s Security Forces completely off-guard.  The raiders managed to gain access to the rear of the tinned goods section, and briefly held two bottles of milk as hostage, before they were asked to leave the shop.  No-one was seriously hurt in the raid, but Mrs Elsie Piglet claimed later that her arm hard been seriously jogged at one point.

2.       The Party Conference season was getting under way in Bromham this week-end.  The Field Land-Owners’ Party (FLOP) were meeting in the Social Centre, with delegates expected to come from as far afield as the edge of the village.  Meanwhile the Carrot-Rooters’ Action Party (CRAP) were set to convene in the Parish Room, after losing their usual meeting place in the back room of The Wounded Ferret to the upstart United Slackers Industrial Collective Korps (USICK).  Most villagers had, by complete coincidence, chosen this same week-end to go and visit their relatives in Margate or Eastbourne.

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Osmosis

Osmosis

Crossing crags and hard-stone ridges,

Following ancient paths and causeways

Through fields and farms,

Henges, hills and hollows,

Wandering this island end-to-end

I feel an ancient architecture trapped below me

Deep buried archaeology,

Secrets of a hidden history

Of forgotten times, unknown

Held within the ground

Not only kings and courtiers

But the common people,

Their too- short, brutal lives

Marrows eaten out by hardship

Eking out frail, precarious existence,

For but an instant in time, the blinking of an eye

And quickly gone, returned to dirt and dust

Into the soil from which they sprang

Not coins, swords and buckles

Bubbling unbidden to the surface,

Nor any tactile objects, much rusted,

But whispers of daring deeds, untold tales

And the very breath that made them happen,

Are sealed and captured,

Absorbed, rooted in the earth

Ghosts of warriors, heroes, villains,

Their blood spilt aeons ago,

Still walking, faint and shadow-like,

Frozen voices and old, old stories

Of love and death, of peace and war,

Of deception and deceit, valour and victory,

Religious faith confessed and then renounced,

And their once-hot, raw emotions

Scattered to the winds

Then settled upon the soil,

Desiccated within the crust

Buried in this landscape where I grew

And drew nurture

Survive those self-same atoms,

Elemental memory of peoples,

Making me true descendant of the past

And living still within my bones and blood

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Bargains

Bargains

Gathered in this muddy field

Cold Sunday morning, sun hardly risen

Crooked lines of vehicles

Cars, pick-ups, estates and vans

Doors and tailgates gaping

Spilling out boxes and bags

Onto sheets, tables and trestles

Flotsam and jetsam, jumble and junk,

Bits and pieces, prize possessions,

Rubbish and tat, tipped out from attics,

Sheds, cupboards, corners and garages

Wares, unwanted old objects,

Superfluous to modern living

A mess tumbled out for inspection

Discards on display to casual view

Hand-written signs and tickets

Regulars, traders and dealers,

The old hands, with money-belts,

Warm coats, gloved fingers,

Plastic bags and pockets of change,

The first-timers all over the place

Children running amok in the chaos,

Disorganised, descended-on and picked over,

Hoping to make a few bob, at least to cover the petrol,

Before wearily packing up

And taking most of it back home again

And the punters just out for a laugh

Reviewing, rarely buying

Casually hunting for bargains

Inspecting gold, silver, copper and brass,

Vintage, antique, restored and re-pro,

Disputing provenance and price

Haggling over pennies

Cheaper on eBay they’ll swear

Bargaining and bartering

Walking away from the vendors

Letting them stew on a best offer

Called back and concluding a sale

Before heading to the car-park with their booty

And a well-earned decent breakfast

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Cancer Sticks

Cancer Sticks

Eyes hooded against the rising smoke

Curling, swirling around

Fingers cupped, cradling precious embers

Huddling together outside the doorway

Inhaling deeply

Lungs expanding

Taking the hit

Shivering with cold

Envious of warmer company

And half-drunk beers waiting inside

Nestling in pockets and hands

Perfectly packaged poison

White tubes, their fine filters aligned

Thin threads of tobacco

Neatly cut and shaped

Awaiting their turn for ignition

To deliver their payload

Of nicotine, toxic tar

And complex chemical compounds

Persistent chesty cough, wheezy laugh

Ash-tray aroma of discarded dog-ends

Reeking clothes and sour-smelling breath

Burnt-out, tortured taste-buds

Small price to pay for a short-term fix

Of this, their drug of choice

The death’s head staring

Glaring skull and crossbones

With its oft-ignored warning

Against this unhealthy habit

And the guilty pleasure of the addicted

Now these hospital wards

Their beds white and aligned

Oxygen cylinders and masks waiting

Provide welcome to the punters

The smokers and chokers

Grasping sheets, gasping to breathe

Desperate to inflate, if just a little

The shattered remnants

Of their failing bronchia

Glassy-eyed, hollow-cheeked

Staring into middle distance

Dulled by palliative pain relief

They dream of the old space outside

And the chance of one last cigarette

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Fracking Hell

Fracking Hell

The search for cheap energy goes on,

A quest that’s certainly got my backing,

But now they’ve come up with a new wheeze,

That involves a fine process called fracking.

Now I’m not so sure this is a good ploy -

Bad consequences may come to pass,

As they begin to hack open the Earth,

In the relentless pursuit of cheap gas.

They dig down deep into the planet,

Seeking deposits that lie under the ground,

Pumping in chemicals under great pressure,

Forcing out the shale gas that they’ve found.

Now this scheme sounds too good to be true.

And there’s no environmental free ride -

There’s bound to be a cost to be paid somewhere,

And we should consider the possible down-side.

There’s arguments and evidence on both sides,

The scientists are not sure how they should guide us,

But the energy firms frack on regardless,

Of the strong feelings that divide us.

Cuadrilla seem to be riding rough-shod

Over protests, and giving no quarter,

But how do we know what goes on beneath?

And that they’re not polluting the water?

And what about earth-tremors we’re feeling?

Is it an earthquake they’ve left in their wake?

With their drilling, and splitting, and pumping,

Is it more than the geology can take?

And isn’t fossil fuels all over again?

Like the coal and oil story repeated,

Putting off the inevitable day,

When the resource will be finally depleted?

We can’t go on like this forever,

Stealing from future generations,

When the planet is finally exhausted,

And goes on to Emergency Stations. 

No, I’m afraid that this fracking,

This cracking and hacking,

The future it’s hijacking,

And the gas that it’s ransacking,

Cannot continue.

It’s them, not the Earth, we should send packing,

The exploiters we should be sacking,

And looking what else we could do.

We must cease all the toil,

Going on under the soil,

Stop making the ground boil,

And the landscape to despoil.

This breaking and taking can’t last for ever:

Fracking’s just more exploitation.

I’m not sure what it’s doing to the planet,

But it’s clearly splitting the nation.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Christmas Cake

Well, it's that time of year. Last night of the Proms on Saturday means the onset of Autumn - "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness".  Where I come from that means it's about time to make the Christmas Cake.  It has to have enough time to mature, and to be fed with the alcohol of your choice.  All good things take time.  Anyhow - here's the recipe.

Recipe for: CHRISTMAS CAKE

Ingredients:

• 1 lb currants
• 8 oz raisins
• 1 lb sultanas
• 6 oz mixed peel
• 4 oz glace cherries
• 4 oz shelled almonds (optional)
• 10 oz butter, warm or softened
• 10 oz caster sugar
• 6-8 eggs
• 12 oz self-raising flour (or plain + 1 tsp baking powder)
• Pinch salt
• 2 tsps mixed spice
• Grated rind of one lemon
• Juice of one lemon
• Splash of milk or buttermilk

 Method:

1. get two big bowls out.  In the first assemble all the dried fruits, nuts & peel.  Put aside.
2. in the second bowl, put the butter & caster sugar.  Cream them together until light & fluffy.  Be prepared for your arms to hurt a lot while doing this.  While you’re having frequent rests, line & butter a large cake tin with grease-proof paper & set it on a baking tray.
3. when the creamed mixture is ready, add the eggs one at a time.  It’s easiest to do this by lightly beating each egg in a small bowl first, then adding it.  Make sure each egg is properly incorporated before adding the next.
4. when all the eggs have been added, gradually sift in the flour, salt & mixed spice
5. when that’s done add in the lemon & the milk
6. when that’s done, gradually mix in the pile of dried fruit & nuts from the first bowl
7. the mixture should now be a solid mass of ingredients held together by the sponge mix.  It should be of a stiff dropping consistency
8. pile the mixture into the prepared lined cake tin & pat down gently to avoid any major air bubbles.  Smooth the top with a spatula.
9. bake in a low to medium oven (160C/ 150C fan) for about 3 hours.  It’s hard to be precise, depending on heaviness of mixture.  Test from 2 hours onward with a skewer – if it comes out clean, it’s cooked.  The cake should be browned on the top and the sides just starting to come away from the sides of the tin.  If in doubt, give it another 20 minutes, then test again.
10. remove to a wire rack to cool completely, then store & begin feeding.

 What else you need to know:

1. the cake should be made in August/ Sept if possible because it needs time to mature & to be fed before Christmas.  Store in an air-tight container;
2. feed the cake weekly.  You can use rum, brandy or sherry or any combination you like.  Prick the cake all over the top with a fork or a skewer.  Use a tea-spoon to gently pour your alcohol of choice into the holes, then re-seal in the cake container;
3. this cake is wonderful on its own, but is improved when accompanied by a wedge of a white crumbly cheese such as Wensleydale, Lancashire or Cheshire.

Afternoon In Imber

Afternoon In Imber

A path trails away

Into thick undergrowth

Overgrown from infrequent use

Testament to long neglect

Towards the shells of houses

Their windows standing empty

Gouged out like eyes

Staring unblinking

Towards the church

Whose dark and crumbling stones

Still preserve the fabric of a building

Its tower holding bells unrung

No longer consecrated

Its congregation long departed

The lonely village street

Deserted and unkempt

Eerily quiet in the afternoon

Once peopled long ago

Before the wartime Army came

And asked them all to go

To leave a realistic playground

Where they could practice combat

Throw some ordnance around

Unopposed and unobserved

Deep within this hidden fold

Can we see the faces of the missing?

Peering round the corner

Where the bakery used to be?

And are there ghosts among the grass

Picking their way between the holes

Dug out by the detonations?

And are there any spirits here

That walk between the wire and the fences?

And are there any still alive

Of those cruelly displaced

Who remember Imber as it was

And might return one day

To dwell here once again?

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013

Beetroot & Goat's Cheese Gratin

Recipe for: BEETROOT & GOAT’S CHEESE GRATIN

Ingredients:

·         500g beetroots, scrubbed, topped & tailed

·         100-150g goat’s cheese (or other soft cheese)

·         1 tblsp horseradish sauce

·         150ml cream, crème fraiche or yoghurt

·         3 tblsp fresh breadcrumbs (optional)

·         3 tblsp freshly-grated parmesan

Method:

1.       Preheat oven to 200C (fan 185C)

2.       Boil the beetroots for 10-15 minutes until tender, but still retaining some bite

3.       Drain and plunge into cold water for a few minutes

4.       When cool enough to handle, slip off any remaining beetroot skin and cut into thick slices

5.       Grease a shallow baking dish with a little butter

6.       Slice the goat’s cheese into small slices

7.       Arrange the beetroot & cheese slices in alternating layers in the greased dish

8.       In another small bowl, mix the horseradish with the cream.  Add salt & pepper

9.       Pour over the beetroot & cheese

10.    Put a layer of breadcrumbs (if using) & grated parmesan over the top of the dish

11.    Bake in the oven for about 10-12 minutes until the cheese is melted and the sauce is bubbling

What else you need to know:

1.       Serve with a green salad and some thick wholemeal bread to mop up the juices

2.       Ideal on its own as a snack meal, or makes an impressive side dish with red meats

News From Bromham - Dateline Sunday 1st September 2013

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – Sunday 1^st September 2013

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

1.       Dave Wentwrong, leader of the Field Land-Owners Party (FLOP) and Chairman of the Parish Council, suffered an ignominious failure on Thursday night when one of his own councillors (that Brenda from the far end of the village) failed to hear the call for a crucial vote in the Council chamber on whether Bromham should deploy ground forces in its continuing battle with the Seend separatists.  Brenda, who had her hearing-aid switched off at the time, claimed that she would have voted against in any case.  The vote may have serious repercussions for Bromham as a future power in the County.  It is now thought that the Upper Swansdyke (US) council may choose to strike against Seend without waiting for a formal Trowbridge mandate.

2.       Friday in Bromham marked the 50^th anniversary of the famous “I have a beetroot” speech by the Reverend Martin Piglet Bling in 1963 in front of the Bromham War Memorial.  Tens of beetroot-pickers gathered, together with their carrot-picking brothers, to commemorate the anniversary. The famous words: “I have a dream that one day among the red hills of Bromham, former beetroot pickers will sit down with non-beetroot pickers, and will be judged not by the colour of their picking fingers, but by the content of their vegetable boxes.  I have a dream.”

3.       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2013