Dead Time

Dead time

Intervals of many hours, of waiting time

With a desperate need for resolution

Endless queues to reach suspicious clerks

And hard-faced irritable jobsworths

Notes and forms to be filled and filed

The ticking of endless empty boxes

By broken-nibbed pens, licked and grubby pencils

Rough smudges, stains and crossings-out

Gentle queries evoking impatient responses

Questions with no answers, statements taken

Mouths rinsed by endless cups of tasteless tea

Brown and thin, stewed in squeaky Styrofoam

Then dried again by cigarettes that taste of straw

And the dusty smoke of tar and nicotine

To coat the lungs, to calm the fraying nerves

A day of yawns and staring at the floor

Amid the stale atmosphere of inactivity, thick and clinging

To the labyrinthine structure of slow-motion procedure

The lost papers and missed appointments

The elephantine caveats, interminable details

With no escape from the dark and gloomy horror

Just the dour and dreary nightmare

A boredom borrowed from hell

A never-ending ennui, a depth of tiredness

The unremitting tedium of waiting, waiting

Hanging about and hanging on

In cobwebbed and dusty corridors

Of peeling paint and shuttered doors

Which hide nameless administrative men

Yet hanging on to the slowly-evaporating hope of a mite of progress

The becalmed, motionless, meaningless measurement of time

Watching clocks that do not move

Their hands surrendered to a standstill

Where seconds, minutes and hours mean nothing

With nowhere else to go

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

The Lawn Ranger

The Lawn Ranger

I know how everyone looks forward to Summer,

The sun rising in the early day’s dawn,

But they’re probably not gardeners like me,

Locked in a life-or-death struggle… with a lawn.

Visitors come round and admire the garden,

How well it’s looking, all lush and so green,

But they’ve no idea what goes into it,

The behind-the-scenes battle unseen.

It starts off quite gentle in the Spring,

With a light cut, just to show it who’s boss,

But this just encourages fresh growth,

Of dandelions, and daisies, and moss.

So then there’s a bit of raking and forking,

With a bit of added fertiliser and filler,

Some judicious tactical weeding,

And the application of some weed-killer.

But then the days lengthen and grow warm,

And the greenery just puts on a spurt,

So I have to cut it harder and more often,

And the effort involved starts to hurt.

I get out my mowers in the morning,

And carefully mow for most of a day,

And when it’s finished it looks really lovely,

As pretty as a picture I’d say.

That lasts for twenty-four hours at most,

A couple of days if I’m really lucky,

But then it starts bloody growing again,

And I’ve to go out and get mucky.

Each time I do a brilliant job,

With my sit-own mower across the expanse,

A carefully-tended large acreage,

That leads me a merry dance.

Soon it’s the same day after day,

At my puny effort the garden mocks:

The endless trips to the compost-heap,

As the cuttings pile up in the box.

But I come inside and admire my efforts,

Regard the beautiful stripes of the sward:

It looks near enough like a billiard-table,

Good enough to deserve an award!

  

But a day or two later and all is undone!

It’s as if I’d never cut it – a real mess -

A complete waste of nugatory effort,

So I get to swearing a lot I confess.

And so it goes on all of the Summer:

I cut it and mow it, and tend it, and then,

Just when I think I’ve beaten the bugger,

It grows and needs doing all over again!

There’s the odd day when I can’t mow,

And that’s when it’s pouring with rain,

But the moisture’s just what the lawn needs,

So all my effort goes down the drain.

I think it’s a form of gardener’s punishment -

There’s no glory in which I can bask.

It’s eating away at my very soul,

It’s a never-ending thankless task.

There’s only one thing to look forward to,

That’s when Winter at last comes to pass,

I can put the mowers away and relax,

But I still have nightmares… about grass!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Drivel From DEvizes - Dateline Sunday 28th April 2019

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 28^th April 2019

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.      Civic leaders fell over themselves this week to listen to the views of a five year-old pigtailed child.  Letty Sleaf, who is bless with asparagus,  has been travelling across Wiltshire for the past few weeks (by bus, naturally) to bring her message of global catastrophe, and the need for local governments to seriously address the problem of sorting out which coloured bins are collected on which day.  She also asked that the temperature of the Town Hall not to be raised by more than 2C (nett) by 2030.  However, councillors objected on the basis that this was far too late in the evenings to be messing around with the thermostat.

2.      And, in shock news, and political correctness gone mad, D-Town is tocease referring to anyone or anything by their (birth-generated or later-assumed) gender.  Buses on the 49 route, therefore, will no longer be referred to as “she”, but as “it”.  A Council spokes-person said that a programme to replace all man-hole covers with new –“it-hole” covers would commence immediately.  Boots are to stop selling man-size tissues in favour of “it-size”, and Morrisons have agreed to withdraw stocks of mandarin oranges until new supplies of “thingarin” oranges can be delivered.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Across The Sands

Across The Sands

From the dark deserted car park, as near as I could get

a thin light, just after dawn

boots in powdered sinking sand, over windswept dunes

scratchy marram on my legs, scrambling along the bank

to drop down into the sweeping bay, cradled among circling coastal cliffs

to hear the strong sea shouting, roaring, its white rollers whipped up over distance

competing with the howling, growling wind, which whips and whistles

blustering bursts of rain in flurries, the soaking wetness coming sideways

tramping unsteadily across the shingle, crunching pebbles under darkling skies

black clouds boiling, scudding, before venturing onto the flatness

of the damp and sucking sand, the final steps to reach him

to stand and stare at his hugeness, his stranded shape

mountain size, black-grey, blubbery

a clouded eye, an open mouth, serried sets of teeth

twisted tail, salty stench of decomposition

his rotting flesh a temptation to the circling, screaming gulls

The persistent crashing of the waves

an ebbing tide that stretches up the beach, rippling fingers that fail to make contact

to claw him back into the rolling deepness, time after time, losing strength and reach

whereas I can merely stand here, stretch out and touch him

feel his dead, swollen body

my fingers on his flesh, a simple gentle gesture

whilst I whisper the only word I can think of:

sorry

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Dishwasher

Dishwasher

I thought my wife was looking drowsy:

The old girl seemed peeky, and a little bit frowsy,

So I asked her whatever the matter could be,

And this was the gist of what she shouted at me:

“It’s not surprising – all the work I have to do!

Tidying the house, and looking after you!

There’s washing, and drying and airing,

Then piles of ironing beyond bearing.

There’s cleaning and wiping and dusting,

And polishing, and hoovering, till I’m fit for busting.

There’s the shopping and carrying it home again,

And cooking food, and serving it’s my life’s bane,

Not to mention the washing-up and the drying -

It’s too much, however hard I’m trying:

It’s housework, housework, all of the day -

I’m knackered, and that’s all I’ve got to say!”

Well, this outburst knocked me back, I’ll tell you,

But I formed up a plan of what I should do.

It pained me to see the old girl sounding so mad,

And I couldn’t bear having her looking so sad,

So next morning I was sharp out of the door,

And headed straight to the electrical store.

That evening, after she’d cooked me my dinner,

Steak and chips, all served like a winner,

Cleared the table and brought in some logs,

Done all the dishes and fed both the dogs,

Put on the kettle and served up my tea,

I patted her arm and sat her down on my knee.

She eyed me suspiciously, as if I’d been on the booze,

And with delight, I gave her the good news:

That the labour would be reduced in her working day,

As the new dishwasher would be delivered next day!

I explained to her how it would be a great perk,

And would be arriving whilst I was still out at work.

All she had to do was to speak to the man,

And he’d help her lift it right off of the van,

And, because she knew that it was coming,

Tonight she could make a start on the plumbing.

Once she’d fitted it and cleaned it all out,

It’d be ready for its first loading no doubt.

I’d negotiated delivery that was free -

Not only that, but it came with a guarantee!

I explained the huge improvement this would be,

The advantages were all so obvious to see,

That there’d be more time for many another task -

What else could a good housewife decently ask?

  

Well – her reaction wasn’t quite what I’d expected:

On her face storm clouds I soon detected,

Then the full force of her anger broke,

Her hands round my neck had started to choke.

Apparently my proposed generosity was fudged,

My solution was completely ill-judged.

I’d swapped one piece of drudgery for another,

She’d had enough, and was going back to her mother.

I struggled to understand what was in her mind,

I believe there’s no understanding woman-kind.

Her sad news made my tender heart break,

And suggested I might have made a mistake:

Had I applied the wrong logic and science,

And gone and bought her the wrong appliance?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Hot & Sour Soup

Recipe for: HOT & SOUR SOUP

Ingredients:

• 1 small onion, very thinly sliced
• 1 carrot, peeled & very thinly sliced (julienned)
• 1 stick celery, washed, trimmed & very thinly sliced
• 2 large green chillies, thinly sliced, seeds & all
• 3 cloves garlic, peeled & thinly sliced
• 6 spring onions, sliced thinly on the diagonal, white & green parts
• Small knob of fresh ginger, peeled & cut into tiny strips
• 2 limes – zest and juice
• 50ml white wine vinegar
• Handful fresh coriander, including stalks, very finely shredded (divided into two piles)
• 750ml water
• Handful fresh prawns, or strips of cooked chicken (optional)

 Method:

1. put all of the ingredients into a large pan (except the prawns/ chicken, and one half of the fresh coriander), and bring slowly up to a simmer
2. cook until the vegetables are just cooked, but still have a slight crunch (you don’t want them soft)
3. add the prawns or chicken (if using) & warm them through
4. add the rest of the fresh coriander & serve at once

 What else you need to know:

1. take the time to cut & slice the ingredients very finely & to the same size
2. don’t over-cook – the dish needs to be very fresh & zesty
3. serve on its own, or in a large bowl poured over a pile of egg noodles (to form a more substantial meal)

"It"

“It”

I was born in the Fifties

Ten years after the end of the war

So my hormones were all going bonkers

Throughout the Sixties and Seventies

Which was when I became obsessed with… “It”

Magazines featured the “It” Girl

Smart people were drinking Gin and “It”

The hippies wanted to know Did I Dig “It”?

But my mind was on a different track…

I didn’t know what “It” was exactly

But I knew that I certainly wanted “It”

And my whole social life revolved around “It”

Out there with the lads, giving “It” some

At dances and discos in pursuit of “It”

Thinking about “It”, talking about “It”

And we admired the girls who had “It”

Though nobody could agree just what “It” was

But we knew whether they had “It” or not

And we despised the ones who were reputed to put “It” about a bit

The girls who’d do “It” with anyone

All the same I wanted to meet just one who wanted “It”

Who was ready for “It” and who’d do “It” with me

Who wouldn’t tell me to Stuff “It”

Who thought that I had “It” too

Until at last “It” finally happened….

And after we’d done “It”

And “It” was all over

I decided that I certainly loved “It”

And I wanted to do “It” again and again

She said “It” would be alright

Even if there was an accident

She would keep “It”, not lose “It”

And we’d bring “It” up together

And that’s how “It” was…

But “It” was all so long ago

Now “It’s” nearly over and I’m advancing in years

So much of “It’s” a distant memory

So hard to believe I ever had “It” at all

Whatever “It” was

I think “It’s” got up and gone

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Saint George

Saint George

Oh To Be In England, now that April’s here,

Let’s speak about this country’s hero,

Say welcome to the Feast of St George,

And celebrate a great fat zero.

Now’s the time to dust off the school books,

And delve a little into ancient history,

To find the tenuous connection,

Of why St George - now that’s a mystery.

He fought mostly in the Roman Army,

And that is where he won his glory.

It wasn’t about slaying any dragons -

You’ll find that was just a fairy story.

And let’s look to our geography too,

If it’s authenticity we wish to seek:

He’s nothing to do with Olde England,

For this knight was but a Greek.

And there’s other facts that you should know,

Even though it might seem like a drag:

The white’s his shroud, the red’s his blood,

And it’s bugger all to do with England’s flag.

So let’s not get carried too far away,

Let’s all stick closer to the text.

He may be England’s Patron Saint,

But let’s not get him out of context!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Easter

Easter

Is there a reason why it’s called Good Friday?

Why shops are closed

And there are restrictions

On what we may buy

Or where we may be permitted to go?

Is there a reason for the Easter Bunny?

Or for the sales of chocolate eggs

And special cards and flowers

Through marketing campaigns

For this Public Holiday?

And why does everything have to stop?

Simply because a man died upon a cross

In Palestine two thousand years ago

Up there upon a hill

Alongside common thieves?

And why is it a moveable feast?

To fall upon different dates each year

Determined by the modern Church

To suit some liturgical calendar

And yet fit snugly round a week-end?

And why these restrictions on our lives?

Why must we endure this wait

Of three Christian religious days

Before the resurrection

Of normality once again?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Drivel From Devizes - Sunday 21st April 2019

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 21^st April 2019

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.      Shock and horror were felt in equal parts in The Vize this week when the town’s iconic landmark chip shop was badly damaged by fire.  Onlookers looked on as two men bravely fought the flames with buckets of water.  Fortunately it appears that only the roof was lost, including the original medieval chip-shop hanging sign, but many sacred treasures were plucked from the flames at the last moment.  These included a large jar of picked eggs (only half-consumed), a tray of plastic forks and most of the sachets of ketchup and brown sauce.  Miraculously the jars of vinegar were also preserved.  “Praise be” saith the faithful.

2.      And in a major scientific break-through, scientists at the D-Town Institute of Medicine (DIM) have announced that they have managed to preserve the thinking qualities of a brain in the laboratory for many hours after it was severed from the rest of the body.  Electrical impulses thought to contain basic emotions were detected by very sensitive equipment inserted as electrodes into the cerebral tissue.  It is thought that this discovery may go a long way to explaining such phenomena as Boris Johnson, Jacob Rees-Mogg and Claire Perry.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

On "War And Peace" by Leo Tolstoy

On "War & Peace" by Leo Tolstoy

Oh yes, it’s a gripping story

Tolstoy’s greatest novel

With a panoramic sweep

From the peace of Saint Petersburg

To mournful Moscow

And the savage Russian landscape

Its ikons, dachas, vodka and champagne

And of Society’s wealth and grandeur

The families, fathers, sons and daughters

The Kuragins and the Rostovs

Political power games and emperors

The Tsar and Napoleon Bonaparte

Empires of the French, the Russian, the Austrian

The grand history of the epic war

Of tired troops and generals

And the bloody battlefields

Of Austerlitz and Borodino

Of love and loss, and longing

Of betrayal and death and honour

Of peaceful Pierre and naïve Natasha

So that’s the who’s who and what’s what

I know because I’ve seen it all on telly

Six glamour-packaged episodes

Edited, summarised and condensed

From over eight hundred pages

It’s bold, magnificent and inspiring

….And one of these days

I really must get round to reading it

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

This Bloke I Know Is Jesus

I used to see him in the queue

Most mornings at the pool

Knew him just enough to say hello

Or pass the time of day

Then, perhaps, during swimming

Or in the changing room later

A quiet, unassuming man

With nothing much to say

I didn’t notice much at first

That his beard had begun to grow

To frame his youthful face

Adding to his gravitas

Nor did I pay much attention

As Easter-tide approached

That he seemed pre-occupied

And turned more within himself

But then I saw him in the street

Bowed and bloodied

A crown of thorns upon his head

Carrying a heavy wooden cross

A crowd following, shouting

Acting out the Passion Play

And its Good Friday journey

To the Market Place Golgotha

Where he was quietly crucified

Among a staring group of people

Three days later he lived again

And stood there in the queue

Waiting for the pool to open

I couldn’t believe it was really him

And that he had come among us

Just a normal day with its Good Mornings

And desultory chat among the regulars

He still looked like no-one special

He seemed to be an ordinary bloke

But now I knew one more thing about him

That he was Jesus in his spare time

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Vegetable & Ham Rostis

Recipe for: VEGETABLE & HAM ROSTIS

Ingredients:

·        250g carrots, peeled & coarsely grated

·        250g swede or parsnip, peeled & coarsely grated

·        1 small onion, coarsely grated

·        2 eggs

·        1 ½ tsp wholegrain mustard

·        150g ham, coarsely shredded

·        2-3 tblsp oil

Method:

1.      Blanch the veggies in a pan of boiling water for 2 minutes

2.      Drain & squeeze out as much water as possible

3.      Tip into a bowl to cool

4.      Mix in the onion, mustard, eggs, ham and seasoning

5.      Heat oil in a frying pan and when hot drop in heaped tablespoon-fuls of the mixture

6.      Gently but firmly press down in the pan

7.      Fry for 2-3 minutes until golden & brown on the bottom

8.      Flip over & cook the other side for 2-3 minutes

9.      Fry in batches so as not to over-crowd the pan

10.   Drain on kitchen paper & serve hot

Stormin' Norman

Stormin’ Norman

We’re British and we’re big and brave,

And winter storms hold no fear for us:

We expect the Atlantic to lash our shores,

Bringing wind and rain and snow, and thus

We’re sanguine when we hear the weather forecast,

And we face it all with a stiff upper lip,

When another cold front moving eastwards,

Means Winter will hold us in its grip.

But the Asians flaunt tropical storms and cyclones,

And Americans sport tornadoes and hurricanes,

And they make them sound much more frightening,

By christening them all with stupid names,

And now it seems we’re climbing on the bandwagon:

We’re anthropomorphising like crazy -

The Met Office is assigning these things,

Which means the newspapers can get kinda lazy.

When Abi-gail blew in she brought a gale,

And Barney was described as “fighting”,

Clodagh came and went anonymous,

But was Desmond really frightening?

They talked of Eva just in passing,

And Frank was good and open,

Gertrude simply blew and blew,

So for Henry they’d really been hopin’

For something more spectacular,

Something that’dl really justify its name,

A great big storm that creates a memory,

A furious lashing that deserves its fame.

But I’m not sure they’ve really thought this through -

Those meteorological bods have made an error:

With names like Imogen, Jake, Katie and Lawrence,

How are any of them ever going to introduce terror?

We’ve got to get through Mary, Nigel and Orla,

Then Phil, and Rhonda and…..Steve!

I mean who’s going to take them seriously?

Who are you going to believe?

So once we’ve used up Tegan, Vernon and Wendy,

(Notice there was no Q, U, X, Y or Z),

Let’s crank up the imagination levels,

And use handles to inspire some dread!

   

My suggestions include Attila and Barabbas,

Crusher, Destroyer, Eagle and Fletcher,

Gorilla, Hercules, Ichabod and Jeremiah,

Are these a bit better – you betcha!

How about Killer, Lasher and Mephistopheles?

Nasty Norman, Odysseus and Pit-Bull?

Quasimodo, Rampant and Slayer?

Names that say it all really – in full!

Tiberius, Ulysses, and Voldemort?

Winston, Xerxes, Yogi and Zebediah?

Monikers of brimstone and fire!

Bad boys that are fearsome and dire!

So let’s cast off our British reserve,

Stop poncing about like wall-flowers,

Let’s get braver upon the world stage,

And join the storm-naming super-powers!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

The Door Is Alarmed

This Door Is Alarmed

The notice read “This door is alarmed”

To warn me, as if I should take some particular care,

That this portal was a sensitive creature,

And that I should make no sudden movements,

And, whilst I was obviously very concerned,

I thought I should also point out:

That the window is open – to suggestions

The curtains are drawn – having pulled themselves together

The floor - feels as if it is beneath me

The walls - are simply plastered

The skirting board – is working its way around me

The ceiling - is really over my head

The staircase – is a bit up and down

The TV – is channelling

The dish-washer – is on a new programme

The spin-drier – doesn’t know which way to turn

The fridge – is trying to keep its cool

The beds – are taking it lying down

But at least the lights - are very switched on

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Identification

Identification

This is how it all started once before

With simple marks and signs

The means of clear identification

The distinction in status

Back then it was pink or yellow

But now it seems to be red

The plastic wristband

The painted door

The convenient grouping together

The insignia of things that must be distinguished

And next it will be numbering

Indexing and recording

After that it will be branding of the skin

A more permanent answer

Pre-cursor to a Final Solution

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 14th April 2019

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 14^th April 2019

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:

1.      Diplomatic relations were at full strain this week, when police finally entered the Swindon High Commission in D-Town High Street, at the request of embassy staff, and arrested the political activist Hugh Sless.  He was dragged screaming from the building by several burly police-people and bundled into a waiting milk float, and driven round the corner to the town stocks where he was publicly humiliated for a number of hours.  Embassy staff complained of Mr. Sless’s lack of personal hygiene and spoke of a number of leaks, which they described as “wicked”.

2.      And scientists at DASA (D-Town’s Amareur Space Agency) were cock-a-hoop on Thursday when they finally managed to produce a composite picture of what is thought to be the largest black hole in West Wiltshire, using a combination of powerful telescopes and drone technology.  The image, which is purported to show an area so dense that nothing can escape from it, and even light bends around it, is thought to be part of Trowvegas.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

I Remember Whats-Her-Name

I Remember What’s-Her-Name

I was only thinking just the other day

About many things so far away

Before my recollection could wane

As I took a trip down Memory Lane

That I hadn’t seen her for such a long time

The girl I had courted back in my prime

She was handsome, and she was pretty

She lived in old Bradford City

I was sweet on her, which she surely knew

And I think that she was sweet on me too

So many years have now slipped by

How the decades have tended to fly

Such a long time since I played the courtship game….

I wonder whatever happened to… What’s-Her-Name?

After such a promising start

We gradually drifted apart

Then came that fateful day

When her family moved far away

We saw each other for one final night

Of course we promised we’d write

It didn’t happen and, as is often the case,

I think she got married to… What’s-His-Face

And as the story usually bids

There followed at least a couple of kids

Then, just like you read in the books

She faded, and lost all of her looks

Now I wish I hadn’t so tarried

She was the girl I ought to have married

But I’ll never know whether

We might have been happy together

You know - right after our first date

I knew she was my soul-mate

So close that our spirits were linking

We knew what each other was thinking

It’s such a shame it didn’t last

And now it’s all so far in the past

I don’t think either of us was to blame…

I just wish I could remember her bloody name!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

The Shape Of Things To Come

The Shape Of Things To Come

It seems they’ve come to an agreement

On climate change, global warming and such

That will assure the future of planet Earth

Give the human species new birth

Signed a new treaty, whatever that’s worth

To avoid a dystopian future of gloom, steer us away from impending doom

Give our atmosphere a little more room, and let us breathe once again

So does that mean we’ve found a solution?  That there’ll no longer be any pollution?

Can we stop worrying and relax?  I don’t think so, and here are some facts:

It’s like a resolution to cut down on smoking, not to stop, but to carry on choking,

Just a little more slowly – and I’m not joking

The planet’s future is probably nixed, because the problems aren’t fully fixed

It’s just a huge box of tricks

The carbon’s still being dug out of the ground, and will continue to be burned all around

Science and technology collude in the cracking, to assist industries like mining and fracking

Extracting resources sadly lacking, so into the corner we’re backing

Destroying what’s left of the thin atmosphere, undermining the whole biosphere

You see - the damage is already done!  The Jet-stream’s decidedly swung

Into a different pattern and course

Global population’s increasing perforce

Which means we’re heading no doubt, towards malnutrition, starvation and drought

Poverty and desperation all about

Rising temperatures and rising seas, natural systems brought to their knees

Typhoons and hurricanes, monsoon rains, dust-storms across all terrains

Freak hailstorms, weird weather in all of its forms

Choking fog, carcinogenic smog

Gas-masks and particulates you can taste

And then in our haste, we’re tipping out waste

Into the oceans that boil, there’s not much left to spoil

It’s quite drastic, the sheer amount of plastic - it’s simply fantastic

It seems there’s no escape, from the rape of the landscape

As we hollow out the planet, exhaust our reserves,

Taint the water courses, use up the resources

Till there’s so few, that there’s nothing to do, and none left to renew

With intensive methods of factory farming, the over-crowding’s alarming

And processes even less charming

We can’t afford a reduction, in the scale of food production

With gene-splicing and genetic modification’s persistence

Creating anti-biotic and painkiller resistance

In a move that’s endemic, the threat of a global pandemic

Spawning mutations, hybrids and clones, as well as pumping in buckets of hormones

Poisoning that goes down to the bones – and now the skies are filled up with drones

As the global corporations push for power - they’re a dangerous, de-regulated shower

Where corruption’s a too-common flower

The free-market economy believers, elitist capitalist system deceivers

People in pursuit of gain, never mind the pain

Never hear the under-privileged sobbing

 Or the self-determination it’s robbing

Leaving the stark choice of unemployment , or insecure underpaid jobs

How are the under-pensioned to fare, in a system of under-resourced care?

The elderly, the vulnerable, the poor?  The sick and the weak are left on the floor!

Whilst the rich climb into their gilded towers, protected by private security powers

With their robots, and servants and slaves, the rest of us head for our shelters and caves

Barricaded inside our modules or heading for our early graves

But that’s how market forces work in the end, and polarisation of life-chances tend

To foster political and religious extremism that bend right-wing fundamentalism to rend

The world to its liking

And as the suicide bombers, move deftly among us

As their explosions we hear, coming increasingly near

Creating a stewing mass of violence and fear

Nowhere is safe, it can be presumed

Conclusion – I think we’re all doomed!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019

Aloo (Potato) Parathas

Recipe for: CURRY – ALOO PARATHA

Ingredients:

·        2  potatoes (about 350g), peeled

·        350g chappati flour (or half wholemeal, half white)

·        2 tblsp oil

·        ½ tsp salt

·        220ml hand-hot water

·        Thumb fresh ginger, peeled & grated

·        1 red onion, peeled & very finely diced

·        2 green finger chillies, very finely chopped

·        30g fresh coriander, stems & leaves, very finely chopped

·        ½ tsp turmeric

·        ½ tsp cumin seeds

·        ¾ tsp salt

Method:

1.      Cut  potatoes into quarters & boil in water until tender

2.      Drain and leave to cool

3.      Meanwhile make the dough, by putting flour into large bowl with the salt

4.      Make a well in the centre and add 2 tblsp oil and work with hands into breadcrumbs

5.      Slowly add the warm water, working until you have a soft dough.  Cover & set aside

6.      Roughly mash the cold potatoes with the ginger, onion, chilli, coriander, turmeric, cumin seeds and salt

7.      Roughly mix with your hands until thick and starchy.  Taste and adjust seasoning

8.      Divide the dough into eight lumps

9.      Roll each piece into a ball, then flatten

10.   Dip in flour and roll out to 6” diameter

11.   Take a golf-ball sized amount of potato mix, roll out and place in centre of paratha

12.   Pull up the edges of the dough around the ball, seal and flatten

13.   Dip in flour and roll out again to 6” diameter

14.   Repeat with other 7 balls and rest of the potato mixture

15.   Heat frying pan on medium flame until hot

16.   Lay in a paratha and cook for one minute until spots appear on underside

17.   Flip over and cook other side

18.   Flip twice more, giving each side another 30 seconds

19.   Transfer to plate in low oven and keep warm whilst you cook the rest of the parathas