The War In The Air

The War In The Air

I’m admitting a total defeat,

And it’s the pigeons that’s winning -

It was me that started this war,

But I’m more sinned against than sinning.

These flying rats invaded my garden,

And scared off the delicate birds.

I’ll admit I’ve never liked pigeons,

Nor treading in their copious turds.

They’re big buggers, and stupid -

I state these as obvious facts,

As I got overwhelmed by the results

Of their active digestive tracts.

It got everywhere you could think of:

So you had to pity the tiny blue-tit -

It dropped in for a dip at the bird-bath,

And ended up bathing in inches of s—t.

The greenhouse was quite covered -

It turned a strange shade of grey.

Soon the cats were wearing tin helmets,

To avoid the flak that was coming their way.

When I brought out my big air-rifle,

Behind the fence for cover they dived.

I netted, I wired, I tried to deter them,

And on the poison they simply thrived.

There was no stopping them I found:

They’ve got me trapped here in the shed,

But if I can get out of here alive,

I’ll pick a fight with the sparrows instead.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

View Of A Stranger

View Of A Stranger

It seems indiscreet to peer inside

This blue-bound diary

And read the youthful scribblings

The secret scriptures

Of a young soul seeking

What he thinks is love

Intimate and vulnerable

His tormented, tortured yearnings

Spelled out day by day

In his tight, neat handwriting

In his black and blue biros

Using the cryptic code

That is not difficult to decipher

Snooping through the writing

Prying among the pages

Of this joyless journal

I am struck by his outlook

The black and white world

Of the early Seventies

So short on subtlety

Lacking nuance

The direct and raw emotion

The hurt and the anger

The brutal honesty

Of this callow youth

Only recently a child

I marvel at his motivations

His immature ideas

And his carnal calculations

This rough, strange juvenile

Living in his different world

Thinking ugly thoughts

I could never entertain

I wonder at this person from the past

A ghost from forty years ago

And find it almost impossible

To admit the surprising truth

That I cannot recognise myself

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Peppered Monkfish with Red Pepper Sauce

Recipe for: Peppered MONKFISH with Red Pepper Sauce

Ingredients:

• 500-900g monkfish, off the bone, deveined, cut into large chunks/ rounds
• 2 tablespoons mixed whole peppercorns, ground roughly in a mortar
• 4 tblsps olive oil
• 2 tblsps plain flour, seasoned with salt
• For the red-pepper sauce:
• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 2 medium red peppers, de-seeded & cut into strips
• 2 medium tomatoes, skinned & chopped, (or use two from a tin)
• 1 clove garlic, peeled & minced
• 3 anchovy fillets, chopped
• Salt & freshly-milled black pepper
• 3 tblsps balsamic vinegar

 Method:

1. make the sauce first by heating the oil in a medium-sized saucepan, adding the strips of red pepper & tossing them around constantly in the hot all, till they start to catch
2. add the tomatoes, garlic & anchovies, stirring to mix
3. lower the heat right down, cover & let the mixture stew very slowly for about 25 minutes, or until the peppers are completely soft.  You may need to stir a couple of times.
4. pour the mixture into blender & whizz to a coarse puree
5. taste & add salt & fresh-ground pepper, then the balsamic vinegar
6. set aside – you can serve the sauce cold, or warm it through to serve hot
7. now cook the fish.  Heat the oil in a large heavy frying pan big enough to take the fish pieces
8. roll the pieces of fish in the seasoned flour, then in the rough-ground pepper, pressing the bits into all sides
9. fry the fish in one or two batches for about two minutes each side, until tinged with brown
10. to serve, put a puddle of the red pepper sauce onto each plate, then carefully place the cooked fish pieces into the puddle

 What else you need to know:

1. it looks complicated, but it’s very easy
2. the dish has quite a zing to it & looks impressive

Arachnophobia

Arachnophobia

A gasp and then a scream

As she effects her tip-toed retreat

Fleeing from an unwelcome invader

Of alleged enormous size

Occupying prime position

Within the wash-stand bowl

Gently closing the door

An entire room now out of bounds

Until the stranded menace can be dealt with

I pity this useful household predator

This insect-eating carnivore

Which sits quite still, waiting in the whiteness

Patient, brooding, trapped

Previously the hunter

Now perhaps the hunted

Legs akimbo, mandibles unmoving

Black body segments glistening

Spinnerets suspended

Its sticky silken ropes useless

In this unyielding ceramic prison

Unable to build a ladder

To climb out and live another day

Kill it! Kill it! she cries from behind the door

Overcome by the irrational fear

Of a species she does not understand

Don’t let it get away and hide somewhere

To emerge beside me when I am not looking!

Emboldened by Marigolds

I catch it quickly in a glass

Causing an instant reaction

The sudden vibration detected

Eight legs scrambling at full speed

Before I let it disappear, unharmed

Beneath the skirting

I make noises with the window-catch

And tell her that I threw it out

Announcing the threat to be defused

The area swept, secured and checked

No further need for nightmares

Another arachnid Armageddon avoided

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Crack

Crack

Her moment’s hesitation is palpable

A mid-air suspension

Of the lifting action

Towards the waiting lips

To allow for careful observation

And eye-screwed scrutiny

Of the faintest, finest mark

Detected upon the rim

The perimeter of porcelain

At Darjeeling’s very edge

The thinnest line of grey

That may portend a careless hair

Or a deeper hairline crack

Starting from the cup’s lip

Almost hidden on the inside

Descending deep into the liquid

A delicate indicator

Of dirt, or perhaps disease

Harbouring germs beneath

Upon or within the glaze

Of the whitened surface

An earlier accident

Or someone’s carelessness

Cannot be determined

But is now the cause

Of her faint distaste

And this holding moment

That prevents the slightest sip

And sees the china cup

Quietly returned to its saucer

The tea left un-drunk

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Putting My Marriage Out To Tender

Putting my marriage out to tender

There’s a problem with my marital contract

Something I didn’t spot with the licence

Which needs to be urgently addressed

For I’m not very happy

With the current “in-house” solution

Nor the present service provider

She’s so messy and untidy

She fails to meet quality standards

And most of my expectations

The normal service tasks of the household

Are rarely completed on time or on budget

And the provision of conjugal services

Has dropped to a bare minimum

It seems she’s completely lost sight

Of the modern service culture

So I’m putting the contract out

To competitive tender

To see if it can be done any cheaper

And performed more efficiently

By the private sector

Using more modern management thinking

And the latest up-to-date methods

As a key stake-holder

End-user, consumer and customer

I’ll provide a clear service description

For streamlined procedures

Using built-in performance incentives

And a level of profit-sharing

With payment strictly by results

Reducing expenditure year-on-year

And performing all tasks to a minimum standard

With full provision for holidays and sickness

This will be an initial three-month contract

With a view to future extension

For the successful applicant(s)

Who will be young and ambitious

And will need to demonstrate a strong track-record

In delivering these services

To a very demanding client

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 23rd February 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 23^rd February 2020

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

                                              

1.      Once again D-Town residents have been caught totally by surprise by the advent of the season often referred to as “Winter”.  It has come as a complete shock that it can rain a bit in February, as well as being a bit cold.  Big coats, gloves and scarves are highly recommended, together with hats and properly-soled shoes.  Umbrellas may also be required.  A public information campaign will be mounted shortly warning citizens that seasons known as “Spring” and “Summer” are predicted to follow in the next few months.  Big coats may not be needed, particularly in August.  Who knew?

2.      And in other news the DBC (Devizes Broadcasting Corporation) has come under attack from the Lord Mayor and the Town Council.  The DBC has been accused of being “institutionally biased” towards rural issues.  There is now a threat that the DBC Licence Fee could come to an end, to be replaced by a subscription service on the Netflix model.  The council is also said to be looking at opening a video rental store on the Blockbuster model, a financial services outlet on the Pawnbroker model, and a food-bank on the Workhouse model.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

The Woman In The Red Car

The Woman In The Red Car

That bloody woman

She’s sitting there again

Got here before me

And parked in my space

Forcing me to move elsewhere

And park my car in a different place

Which disturbs my daily routine

And puts me out for the rest of the day

That bloody woman

With her awful blood-red car

Sporting its tatty roof-rack

And child-seat in the back

Its dirty windows and an ugly scrape on the side

She can see the other spaces in this car-park

But none are so convenient

That bloody woman

Who never speaks to anyone

Just sits there reading her book

Waiting for the store to open

I know because I’ve watched her

I think she does it deliberately

Just to annoy me

But she cannot be oblivious to my feelings

That bloody woman

I don’t know how she manages to do it

She must get up extremely early

Just to beat me

It never used to happen

Then just once or twice

And now it’s all the time

She’s always there

That bloody woman

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Clearing Out The Freezer

Clearing Out The Freezer

Last week I decided to defrost the freezer

Cause the door wouldn’t close any more

The ice had continued to build up

And icicles were covering the floor

It’s a ritual that we all have to endure

One that fills us with justified fears

But you’ve got to do it pretty regular

Well – let’s say at least once every five years

I disconnected the power – a simple first step

And left it to get itself started over-night

But when I woke up next morning

The shelves were still jammed solid alright

I decided it needed some help to get going

And set about it with a big hair-drier

This’ll soon melt the ice, I thought

This’ll get it off to a flier

But nothing seemed to do much good

The perma-frost was still inches thick

So I started hacking it with various tools

A knife, a saw, a hatchet and a bloody big stick

It was very slow going through the pack-ice

Several crevasses I had to unpick

I was soon surrounded by icebergs

And felt like Scott of the Antarctic

Finally the ice came away in lumps and in cubes

But the knife-edge slipped onto my wrist

There was torn flesh and rivers of blood -

Well I’m sure that you get the gist

Slowly the great melt had set in

The water flowed in huge floods

I wrenched out the top drawer

And at last I could get to my goods

The kitchen was awash with the deluge

Buckets and mops were in demand

The freezer floated slowly around

As if it was looking for the nearest dry land

Gradually I gained access to the interior

To the shelves and the mysterious drawers

To the frozen packages held therein

And I rushed to discover them without pause

  

Well, it was like opening a treasure chest

Or going on a magical mystery tour

To dig out the long-lost containers

And wonder what any of them were for

The labels had all faded or melted away

So no clues as to what was therein

No idea when they’d been squirreled away

It was hard to know where to begin.

It’s amazing how frozen food all looks the same

When it’s covered in crystals of ice

One lot of gloop looks like another

Was it something disgusting or nice?

Did I really freeze two spoonfuls of fried rice?

Are these pork sausages or somebody’s fingers?

There’s curry stains on the side of the boxes

It’s yellow and the smell of it lingers.

It was when I got down to the bottom

When I got past the things that were mere filler

That I began to have some tiny regrets

About my previous life as a serial killer

The hands, the feet and the arms

Were well wrapped up as a disguise

Was that somebody’s nose and their ears?

Was that a skull with still-frozen eyes?

A leg and piece of somebody’s back

A few ribs, a couple of kidneys and a liver

I only barely remember cutting the guy up

The blood must have flowed like a river

Still, I can’t be bothering with that now

There’s no way of getting around it

I’ll just do what everyone else does

And stuff it all back in where I found it!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Lamb & Apricot Stew

Recipe for: LAMB & Apricot Stew

Ingredients:

·        2 tblsp olive oil

·        250-500g stewing lamb, cubed (or use beef)

·        1 onion, thinly sliced

·        1 garlic clove, chopped

·        1 tblsp fresh ginger, finely chopped

·        2 tsp mixed Eastern spice mix e,g. garam masala

·        1 tblsp tomato puree

·        5-10 dried apricots, halved

·        300ml veg or chicken stock

Method:

1.      In a medium casserole heat the oil and brown the cubed lamb, in batches if necessary.  Set aside

2.      Add onion, garlic & ginger & fry for five minutes until softened & golden

3.      Add spice mix, tomato puree, apricots & stock

4.      Return the browned meat cubes to the pan

5.      Simmer gently for 25 – 40 minutes until meat is tender (longer for beef)

What else you need to know:

1.      Serve with cous-cous, mint and lemon wedges

Cactus

Cactus

I’ve never really understood you

Or known what you might want

You just sit there year after year, implacably the same

Never growing or shrinking

Your pale green flesh all sheeny shiny

Bristling with hairs and spikes

A defensive exterior

Always showing to the world

But do you have a tender side to your prickly nature?

Is there a more succulent inner plant

That is cool and moist, sweet and gentle

Wet and watery

That you reveal to your very closest friends?

I confess I don’t know how to love you

When you just stare straight back at me

No signal of your feelings, nor flower of happiness

You give me so little response

That I often wonder

What it is it you’re waiting for

To me, you seem so undemanding

As if you do not even need me

I cannot comprehend your desires

Sitting in your arid pot and saucer

Happy in your desert dryness

Thriving on my neglect

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

A Doll's House

A Doll’s House       

                                       

Observe the finest detail

Of this perfect, tiny, tidy showcase

Everything in its rightful place

Sitting silently

Waiting for someone larger than life itself

To call, to come and play

To bring activity and energy

Into this lifeless land

See how carefully the maker has toiled

How exactly his model replicates reality

With its inter-connected rooms

Its attics, basements and cellars

Doors and floors, halls and walls

A side that opens to the outside

Revealing to wider inspection

That anyone may peer inside

With a genial God-like presence

And watch the goings-on

Of this toy-land territory

Made in matchless miniature

Look how finely-wrought the furniture

The kitchen’s pixie pots and pans

Woollen carpets and silver cutlery

Notice how small the figures

Stiffened little people

Tiny tokens of a household

Scaled-down and smaller than any doll

But still too large to be in right proportion

To the rest of their wooden world

How beautiful, how ideal it all appears

And yet how quiet, dusty and dormant

And how empty this small community

Undisturbed by cries of living children

A shining showpiece

That is a house and yet not a home

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Evening Colour

Evening Colour

Where the road sweeps left

Winding through the bud-heavy hedgerows

Cutting, for a moment, the view ahead

The rainfall gathers glistening

In wide, flat pools and puddles

Catching slanting rays of late Spring sun

Glittering, reflecting golden light

In blinding sheets of white

Then swinging right again

Emerging from the tree-lined tunnel

Into a greater and wider space

Which opens up the glory of the sky

So wide, deep, darkly blue

And strongly bruised

The cumulus piled up high

Above plough-roughed fields

Their thick, large-furrowed

Dungeon-black shadowed lines

Gouging through the nut-brown earth

And on the other side

The wet rich acid-green

Of freshened pasture-land

In the rolling landscape

Intense, brilliant, citrus-sharp

Where, at the field’s edge

The young calves stand near the gate

Leaning, lolling heads in to the lane

Curious, wide-eyed, lowing

And far beyond all this

On the distant, climbing fields

Wide sweeps of lemon yellow

Gashed across the scene

Their acres of alien rape-seed stalks

Drawing bolder background stripes

To brighten the glowing vista

Between the twisting road

And the massive sky

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 16th February 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 16^th February 2020

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

                                              

1.      D-Town residents were split in their reaction to the announcement that the High Speed Tractor Lane connecting the town to Potterne, Lavington and beyond.  This will shorten tractor journey times by nearly two minutes, but will increase car journey times by nearly half an hour, and will create even longer queues of traffic behind the tractors.  Three Sites of No Scientific Interest (SNSI) will be un-touched by the development.

2.      And in yet another blow to its already dubious reputation D-Town Ramblers have been found guilty of breaking strict fair-pay regulations.  It has been revealed that rewards to players have included post-match kebabs and fish & chips.  These clandestine portions were not declared to the Salary Cap Administrator.  Ramblers have been deducted 50 points and banned from competing in Europe for two years.  However this is not expected to affect them very much, since they are already bottom of the Vaseline League (North), and have never competed in Europe during any of their history.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Attic Treasure

Attic Treasure

Into the headspace of the house

Unwitting keeper of our careless clutter

Silently sitting above us all these years

Among wires, pipes and tanks

Within piles of soft loft lagging

Lie cases and cardboard boxes

Which hold precious memories

Long suppressed, but not forgotten

Through cobwebby threads

And the mustiness of dust

A time-capsule of bygones

Are the things of yesterdays

Which were so important many years ago

Hurriedly stashed and stored

With the best of intentions

Against some hoped-for bright new future

That did not came to pass

There, right at the back

Where the light barely penetrates

Almost hidden from view

The baby’s cot in white-and-blue

Stacked in sections under the eaves

Paint pitted and peeling

Its patterns still visible, but faded

Like the memory of a young life lost early

Toys casually collected

In the course of a shortened childhood

And kept in memoriam

A model boat, its torn sail hanging loose

A doll that still sits staring, unsmiling

Records and tapes collecting dust

Books with jackets ripped

And piles of her clothing

Quickly removed from her bedroom

And the rest of the house

Tearfully pushed out of sight

And out of mind

Before you came home again

So that you should not see them anymore

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

The Children Might Hear

The Children Might Hear

Keep your voice down to a whisper

So the sound does not carry through the wall

The children might hear the growing anger

And know we’re fighting once again

Just talk quietly under your breath

For I can hear you well enough

Try to control these raw emotions

And keep your pain and anger to yourself

We do not need to scream and shout

To understand how one another feels

We just have to listen that much harder

And try to find a way to love again

Once we liked to speak in whispers

In languid words of love and lust

Laughing quietly under tangled bedding

When there was no-one else to over-hear

But now there are only lies and secrets

And things we wish they didn’t know

About two unhappy people fighting

Through their noisy, tangled lives

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Chicken Poule Au Pot

Recipe for: CHICKEN POULE AU POT

Ingredients:

• 1 free-range chicken, 3-4 lbs (or you can use chicken joints)
• 1 large white onion, peeled & left whole
• 3 cloves
• 2 bay leaves
• 2 sprigs fresh thyme
• 1 star anise
• 6 peppercorns
• 2 large carrots, peeled & cut into large chunks
• 1 large potato, peeled and cut into large chunks
• 2 celery sticks, trimmed and sliced into large pieces
• 1 large leek, trimmed, washed and quartered
• Juice of ½ lemon
• 10g parsley leaves

 Method:

1. Trim chicken of excess fat and place in large casserole
2. Stud the onion with the cloves and place in the put
3. Add the rest of the herbs and vegetables
4. Cover the contents with water and add pinch of salt
5. Bring the pot to the boil, then cover and reduce to a gentle simmer, skimming off any scum
6. Simmer for 25-30 minutes, checking that the chicken & veg are cooked
7. Remove the chicken and carve into large pieces
8. Strain the rest of the contents into a large bowl, retaining the broth
9. Cut the onion into four pieces and remove the cloves
10. Share the strained vegetables and chicken pieces between serving bowls
11. Taste the broth and season to taste, adding the lemon juice
12. Pour ladlefuls of broth into the bowls
13. Grind some pepper onto each bowl & top with parsley

Reynard

Reynard

Emerging through a hole in the fence

Beneath the shadow-harbouring trees

Along a daily-travelled route

He trots confidently into the open

Pausing in his transit of the track-way

To stop and take stock of his world

No creeping, crawling, skulking specimen

Engaged in crepuscular activities

But bold as brass

In broad daylight

A huge dog-fox in full fig

Confident, setting the world at defiance

Unafraid, un-hunted and un-hurried

Muzzle hanging open, panting gently

His eyes glint and flash

Reflecting late afternoon sunlight

Wild, alert, fiercely alive

Nose, ears at full attention

Looking, listening

Appraising useful scents

Carried on the breeze

The direction, the lie of the land

And prospects for further hunting

Scavenging forays

Among local hen-houses

And rabbit-burrows

Which lie within his rural realm

Head turning slowly

His guileless glance moves

Towards the exact point

Where I silently watch

Hardly daring to breathe

His steady stare

Burning into my eyes

Then, hearing the distant vixen

Nursing quarrelsome cubs

Calling to him from the earth

He slips away, back among the trees

With a flamboyant flash of tail

As if he had never been there

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020