Transit Of Venus

Transit of Venus

He waits and watches carefully

Afraid to gaze too directly

At what he wishes most to see

For seeming hours-long periods which last but minutes

Terrified that he may miss the moment

When the smallest crescent of black

Floods the lens and resolves itself

Into the compact complete spot

The dot of a distant planet at the very edge of vision

Left to right slow moving

Forging a steady path

Traversing the fiercely-blazing

Massive backdrop of the blinding solar orb

Light-pulsing energy

A hot star burning persistent

At astronomic distance from his naked eye

It is only a matter of seconds

Through a particular conjunction

Of elliptical trajectories

And specific circumstances

That she arrives where she does

At these exact co-ordinates

So that he might have the chance

To stare openly at her distant unclothed body

Across the cold expanse of dark empty sky

Although his voyeuristic act of observation

Means nothing to her

And is of no consequence

And as he bends again towards the eyepiece

Of the solar-focused telescope

To follow the heavenly path

And marvel at the beauty of her namesake

His earth-bound Venus

Walks behind and slowly past him

Hidden in the darkness of sun-cast shadows

Making a transit of her own, unseen

Across the space that divides them

Her movement attracting no attention

And within seconds the moment is over

And she is gone again

Her tiny body lost to sight

Pursuing an orbit of her own

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Dear Diary

Dear Diary

Between the clasped covers

Lie the clean, unsullied sheets of white

To be carefully written upon

In the quiet times at night

When she can sit alone, unwatched

To confide the shapeless thoughts

That float around inside her head

And translate them into the solidity of words

Until they crystallise upon the page

Yesterday there were brief anxieties

Worries to be picked over

Like the entrails of the day

And a breaking heart to be repaired

If such a thing were possible

And in deepest desperation

She trusted in the blank discretion

Of her silent companion

Never to reveal her inner pain

Nor the nagging ache of love and loss

Then today there are things that must be said

Confided to her intimate, her familiar

That she cannot tell another living soul

For the fear that secrets will escape

Whispered out into the world

And that others may untimely know

Of her guarded hopes and dreams

And tomorrow there will be anger

Resolution and determination

A brutally honest appraisal

Of her future prospects

Confessed in some enigmatic code

To her friend, her willing witness

The pen fierce upon the page

Pressed without restraint

Biting through the paper

The contents then quickly shuttered

And hidden under lock and key

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 28th June 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 28^th June 2020

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

                                              

1.      Joy was unconfined in the borough during the week when thirty years of hurt were finally brought to end.  On Thursday night D-Town Ramblers were finally declared Champions of West Wiltshire Level Five (Germolene) League without even kicking a ball.  Their closest rivals Trowvegas Allstars failed to avoid defeat at Melksham Ramblers, thus rendering the points chase all over.  Most teams in the League have now been docked points for various breaches of the regulations, including fielding ineligible players, betting on results, urinating on the goal-posts, foul and offensive language from coaches and players, and failure to serve those nice little oranges at half time.  Ramblers won by dint of being docked less points than their rivals.  Having only won three of their forty games, the team did well to finish on only minus 26 points. They will now play in West Wiltshire Level Four (Germolene) League next season.  Supporters celebrated for nearly forty minutes by wandering the empty streets, standing outside all the closed pubs and licking the windows.

2.      But shame was present in equal quantity after people largely ignored police appeals to stay away from the Wharf-side of the canal.  The place was packed with nearly a dozen people sunbathing, swimming in the pollution-infested canal, and eating ice-creams.  A police spokes-personoid stated “this easing of lockdown conditions has now reached the point where no one person actually understands what all the rules are.  Only herd mentality is now possible.  Whilst we know that the restrictions on the worst aspects of idiocy and fuck-wittery have now been lifted, no-one is quite sure what the new normal level of idiocy should be, or how the new standard of fuck-wittery can be achieved.”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Wren

Wren

How is it possible

that such a tiny frame

can hold a fast-beating heart

the shape-quivering lungs

and all the needed body parts

sufficient to survive

and to endure the crack-hard cold of winter?

And what is the source

of electrical energy

that drives the courage of this little creature

a pert and perky thing

that cannot weigh an ounce

and yet has wits enough

to defy the cruel odds

of an enormous world?

And how quick must one be

to see the flash

of bright and beady eyes

aside a head so small

that twitches on alert?

or the feathers and feet

that flit and flicker

in a sudden blur of movement

before taking wing

to a safer place?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Fifty Sheds of Grey

Fifty Sheds Of Grey

A man has to have some hobbies in life,

Something  that’ll make him leap out of bed,

And, when he arrives at a certain age,

That something tends to be a grey shed.

It’s funny - they never appeal in anyone’s youth,

When things tend to happen all in a deluge,

But once you’ve been married a few years,

A shed can be a man’s haven, or refuge.

It doesn’t take much – a shed can be quite modest,

A roof, a window, and four wooden walls:

Just somewhere homely to escape to,

Whenever an unwelcome chore calls.

It’s a manly or masculine thing,

Just to get yourself behind a closed door,

To rummage around in the darkness,

And to spread your things out on the floor.

For in this exclusive, men-only club,

You need never ask anyone’s pardon,

Just to disappear down the primrose path,

To your shed, at the end of the garden.

Yes, a shed can be a man’s very own kingdom,

The realm where what he says is what goes:

A place to play with his bits and pieces,

And what he does inside – nobody knows.

And he can make the place quite homely,

Then spread out as much as he dare,

By getting a radio, perhaps, and some carpet,

And, if there’s room, a comfortable chair.

A bottle or two and a few glasses,

And an optic can easily form up a bar.

Then he can get all of his mates round,

And be the gardeners’ idea of a star.

You see it becomes more than a shelter -

It’s not just for keeping out of the rain -

It’s a sanctuary that’s out of the house,

A place that might keep a man sane.

So, don’t denigrate such constructions,

And pay heed to what I’ve just said,

For a man’s the king of his castle,

When he’s finally alone, in his own shed.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Savoury Roquefort Cheesecake

Recipe for: SAVOURY ROQUEFORT CHEESECAKE

Ingredients:

·        For the base:

o   75g/ 3oz white breadcrumbs

o   40g pecorino romano or parmesan, finely grated

o   25g butter, melted

o   Freshly milled black pepper

·        For the filling:

o   3 eggs, beaten

o   225g medium-fat curd cheese

o   110g fromage frais

o   175g roquefort cheese, crumbled

o   1 tblsp fresh chives, snipped

o   4 spring onions, finely sliced

o   Salt & freshly-milled black pepper

Method:

1.      Heat oven to 180C (fan)

2.      In a bowl mix the breadcrumbs & parmesan, adding melted butter and pepper

3.      Press this mixture firmly down onto base of a 22cm springform cake tin

4.      Bake in the oven for 10-15 minutes until crisp & toasted

5.      Remove from the oven and turn down to 170C

6.      In a bowl beat the eggs with curd cheese

7.      Stir in fromage frais and seasoning

8.      Add the crumbled Roquefort and snipped chives

9.      Pour the mixture into the tin on top of the crumb base

10.   Scatter spring onions on top

11.   Bake for 40-45 minutes until centre feels springy to the touch

12.   Allow to cool for 20 minutes before removing the tin

13.   Cut into wedges and serve

Enough

Enough

How long can this go on?

You came, unbidden, two weeks ago

Without welcome

And stayed to torment me

Day after miserable day

Always making out

That you were ready to go

At any moment

To let me breathe again

And give me back my energy

And let things be

The way they were before

And yet you’re still here!

Can’t you see I’m sick of you?

You’re bringing me down

And choking me

Can’t eat, can’t sleep

Whilst you hang around

My head is thick and throbbing

And my chest wheezes

Every limb aching

As my body uses every cell

To fight back

And requests you, firmly, to leave

The medicine cabinet’s empty

Since I rifled the cures and the drugs

Seeking for any relief

From your unpleasant effects

Now I can’t think straight

And everything’s too hard

To manage any more

Enough is enough!

Be gone, foul visitor

Your departure’s overdue!

Go find someone else to impose on

And leave me to crawl back to bed

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Woss Happenin'?

Woss Happenin?

Everything’s falling to bits,

Nothing’s the same any more:

Helicopters don’t stay in the sky –

They hit cranes and fall to the floor.

Things aren’t what they might seem:

You can’t trust what they tell you -

The Dreamliners have nightmares

And technical problems too.

The Internet is eating the world,

There’s no shops left on the High Street:

Not only Jessops and HMV,

But now Blockbuster’s admitted defeat.

And Rio Tinto walks into a wall,

Which is as bad as it gets.

The CEO’s taken his long walk,

For under-valuing their assets.

I think I’m going to go back in my shell,

I think I’m admitting defeat.

Can’t even do comfort eating,

Cos my burgers are full of horse-meat.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Living

Living

everything is here

that could possibly be needed

for a careless, easy life

all that can be metered in clothes and cars

every modern convenience

every appliance, every gadget

shining sheet glass and steel

polished by the daily help

each room a showcase

of angles, clean lines

witness the good, the better things

from a lifetime’s striving

long-houred, hard working

trophies of success

nothing is missing

a sense of completeness

settles like a shroud

there are no loose ends

nor material wants and needs

that remain un-satisfied

we may go anywhere, at any time

at a moment’s notice

to fulfil the slightest whim

or the merest craving, our heart’s desire

and suck the juice until it’s dry

and yet

 and yet

 and yet

through this mogadon movie

of shining achievement

whilst we sleep in splendour

a spirit creeps about at night

breathes hoarsely

whispers insistently

an un-nameable something

and will not be still

and in the morning

when we awake, un-refreshed

we still ache inside

with that empty feeling of nothing

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 21st June 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 21^st June 2020

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

                                              

1.      The Town Council have lowered the Bloody-Worried Threat Level from 4 to 3.  This means that citizens can stop being completely & utterly bemused and confused, and start being merely somewhat bemused and confused.  Social Distancing has been reduced from 2 metres to 1.78 metres (which is about the length of one dead body, where the corpse has died of Covid). It has been clarified that “face coverings” still means something that covers the mouth and nose, and not Lone Ranger masks (which only cover the eyes), gimp masks, bondage gear or sacks which cover the whole face. Hand sanitiser is only to be used at the entrance to shops, not as a sex-aid or lubricant.

2.      And on Fathers’ Day, many local businesses are out delivering special gifts that have been ordered online by the recipient’s children.  These include gift boxes of tripe and lemonade sandwiches, liver and onion scones, sprout and anchovy trifle, chicken gizzard crisps and cans/ bottles of HP & ketchup beer.  That’ll teach the old buggers to live this long.

3.      A row has broken out after it was revealed that the Mayor is having his official milk-float repainted in the civic colours of purple stripes, and pink spots on a green background.  The cost to rate-payers is estimated to be almost £12.50, but would have been more if the mayor’s brother’s cousin had not been able to obtain paint at knock-down prices after a sale at B&Q.   When asked how big the queue was at the hyper-market, he stated that it was about six foot – the same size as the “B”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Don't Ask Me

Don’t Ask Me

I’m happy to give of my opinion, if you want to hear what I think.

That is, when I’m down at the pub, with my mates, just having a drink.

But at home, it’s a different story, and one that causes me strife.

For there we have the fount of all knowledge, and it’s not me, it’s the wife!

For she’s got strong views on every topic: there’s no subject on which she hasn’t a take.

She’s an expert in every field you can name, no interest in which she hasn’t a stake.

Tho’ she is my love and my darling, my dearest, my treasure, my dear,

She’s got a fearsome way of talking that inspires a goodly portion of fear.

Across the marmalade at breakfast, I’m on The Guardian, but she reads the Express.

She chokes on her toast and she fulminates, and the crumbs she exhales make quite a mess.

You see she’s got a very firm stance on every social policy and decision,

Religion, the Royal Family, and even on female circumcision.

I can’t get a word in edgeways sometimes, as she dispels any kind of confusion.

She’s got the answer to everything, and for every problem, a solution.

Professors, doctors and researchers, who’ve spent a life-time studying ideas,

Stand for nothing in her onslaught, as she contradicts them with jeers.

Economics, world hunger and AIDS, she can hold forth without pause,

So it’s pointless you asking me, you’d best check with ‘er indoors.

Immigration, emigration, benefit cheats, foreign policy, football or cricket,

It’s best to listen, not interrupt, or she’ll tell you where you can stick it.

Decoration? Fashion? Or trends?   the one who knows where it’s at.

Northern Ireland? Palestine? Or Syria?  She says what she thinks, and that’s that!

Homophobia, xenophobia, and prejudice of every kind,

Could be banished within a few minutes, if she gave you a piece of her mind!

She knows what’s wrong with everything, she’s clear how things ought to be done,

There’s little she can’t address herself to, and for her, there’s nothing new under the sun.

If only people would listen to her, the world could be a much better place,

There’d be no fighting, or wars or disease, and evil would be gone without trace.

Her polemical style is worse than Jon Humphrys, and on bad days compares with Paxman.

Politics is her specialist subject, and don’t get her started about the tax-man.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking, that she’s incredibly well meant,

That she should perhaps become an MP, and see how she gets on in Parliament.

But it’s far too late for that, I’m afraid, for such a roll of the dice:

As Conservative Central Office already ring daily, just to ask her advice.

No, there’s no situation she can’t handle, there’s not a dogma she won’t fight:

If you’re looking for a policy statement, she’s the one who’ll provide a sound-bite.

She’s never ready to settle for nonsense, and she can’t abide the status quo.

She doesn’t know the meaning of silence, but, for God’s sake, don’t tell her I said so!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

The Girl On The Number Forty Seven Bus

(Girl On The) Number Forty-Seven

Monday to Friday it’s always the same,

Off to work, to carry the load:

Waiting, whatever the weather,

For that bus to trundle down the road.

Route forty-seven is the number I need,

Though other numbers stop there too.

There’s jostling, and pushing and shoving,

As we stand there in the queue.

Sometimes it’s full and we can’t board,

Or perhaps there’s some spaces upstairs,

Then you have to get up there quickly,

And wait for the man collecting the fares.

But there’s one thing that I look out for,

That makes my journey complete:

The girl with the long blonde hair,

And she’s always there in the same seat.

She rides the upper deck near the front,

Staring from the window, calm and serene.

She’s beautiful and desirable -

I’m sure you know what I mean.

I wonder where she goes to each day,

And what could be her destination,

Cos I have to get off before she does,

As I continue my journey from the station.

I admire her, from my seat here at the back,

Though of me I’m sure she’s quite unaware.

I don’t even know what I’d say to her,

But I try and get as close as I dare.

She seems so cool, and calm and complete,

She looks so happy, assured and care-free.

I think she’s in a league way above me,

And I doubt if she’s ever noticed me.

So day after day, I just think about her,

And carry on without any fuss.

I don’t even know what her name is,

She’s just “the girl on the forty-seven bus”.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Rabbit with Cider, Mustard & Cream

Recipe for: RABBIT with CIDER, MUSTARD & CREAM

Ingredients:

• 1 rabbit, skinned, cleaned, jointed
• Knob butter
• 2 tbls olive oil
• 1 large carrot peeled & cut in large chunks (optional)
• 1 large leek, cut in large chunks
• 2 sml potatoes, peeled & cut in halves
• 1 pint dry cider
• 1 tblsp Dijon mustard (or wholegrain)
• 1 bunch tarragon, chopped
• Flour for coating meat
• I large onion, peeled & finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, peeled & crushed
• Single cream (for serving)

 Method:

1. In a large casserole dish melt the butter & oil
2. Dust the rabbit joints in seasoned flour and fry carefully on all sides until browned. Remove and reserve
3. Fry the onion and garlic in the hot oil until softening
4. Add the carrot, leek, potatoes & stir to coat in oil
5. Add half the cider & stir well
6. Mix in the mustard and tarragon + seasoning
7. Return the browned rabbit pieces to the pan, carefully arranging to fit snugly
8. Add the remaining cider until the joints are mostly covered
9. Bring to the boil, then reduce the heat until the liquid is barely moving
10. Simmer slowly for about 90 minutes (or pop into a low oven), turning the joints in the liquid once or twice to ensure even cooking.

 What else you need to know:

1.      When ready to serve, add a splash of cream to the pot & stir in

2.      Add another flourish of cream to the joints/ gravy when plated + sprinkle of fresh tarragon

3.      Serve with red cabbage & mashed potatoes

Special

Special

The careful unpacking of the car

Its safety seat unclipped, unbuckled

Passed gently in to waiting hands

Its cossetted cargo

Wrapped up warmly against any chill

Cocooned in blankets

Tissue-paper protection

For this long-dreamed-of new life

Fragile, precious

The son and heir

The only one

The oft-practised transfer

Into the bumpered baby-buggy

Strapped and restrained

Armoured against a hostile world

Robust and resilient

Protection against a reality

Of bangs and cuts and scrapes

Or cold and unseen germs

Screened and sheltered

Lest any danger should penetrate

Multi-layered defences

And give the slightest cause

For any concern

Fiercely treasured

Special beyond measure

An antiseptic existence

Preserved in layers of cotton-wool

This first, their only child

Kept from all possible harm

And dangers of the world

Loved and feared in equal measure

By his doting parents

Who will do anything

To ensure his survival

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Smoke In The Woods

Smoke In The Woods

Footfalls muffled by leaf-mould

Springy turf of mulch and lichen

Amongst the dark and louring trees

Their trunks tall and straight

Like rigid columns

Holding up the canopy

That shades the lower cultures

Bud-laden, thick and lush

The saplings and the bushes

Of the under-growth

And among the monumental beeches

Pierced by glittering

Flickering sunlight shafts

Hangs a hazy skein of wood-smoke

Diaphanous, gauzy

Floating, drifting slowly

Its lingering strands

Fingering higher branches

And within the greater silence

Where there is no bird-song

Nor any rodent scuttlings

That can carry any distance

Through the depth of empty forest

There penetrates the faintest crackling

Cracking twigs and logs upon a fire

A simple sound of comfort

And a promise of human warmth

The smells of damp and ash

And simple cooking become stronger now

Than natural woodland aromas

Betraying the location

Of a camp-site under canvas

Hidden in a hollow

Among the dark, dank greenery

Of wet, mouldering vegetation

Near the gurgling stream

A lonely retreat

Far from any crowd

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Galloping

Galloping

A flash of flanks and fetlocks

Horses turned free within the paddock

The grass beaten and churned into sodden ground

By thumping, pounding hooves

As they wheel away

Heads held high and proud

Distended nostrils and teeth exposed

Manes flowing in the breeze

Beating alongside the fencing rails

At first a trembling trot

Building to a cautious canter

Before breaking into wide-legged gallops

Drumming in steady time

Shoulders and backs bent to the task

Of increasing speed

Then careering across the open field

Driven by the memories of former glory racing days

And the dash along the final furlong

To the invisible finishing line and waiting glory

Now rid of bits and reins and saddles

And high-seated, whipping jockeys

Allowed to frolic unrestrained

Driven by sheer exuberance into an ecstasy of sprinting

Coursing round the imagined circuit

Only pulling up at last, when good and ready

With a lung-deep triumphal whinney

Panting and straining to catch their breath

Pleased as punch, happy with their efforts

Then shambling gently over to the gate

To scrounge a proffered apple

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 14th June 2020

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 14^th June 2020

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

                                              

1.      Not wishing to be outdone by events on a wider national and international scale, nearly five protesters in D-Town clashed with the lone PCSO on patrol and dragged down one of the plaques delineating the D-Town trail, on the basis that they could not find any proper statues, or connections with the slave trade, to deface.  The plaque was thrown into The Crammer, but was quickly retrieved by one of the resident swans, which objected to having his pond defaced with a large piece of metal.

2.      Meanwhile, elsewhere in town, further protests were held by the Anti-Fascist League, the Anti-Anti-Fascist Premiership and the Anti-Anti-Anti-Fascist Championship, the Vegan Individuals Like Endives (VILE) movement, the Vegetarian Opinions Matter In Time (VOMIT), the D-Town & Urchfont Luvvies League (DULL), and Racial Equality And Local Lives for Youth (REALLY?).  Almost one arrest was made, but there was little rioting & looting because all the pubs were still closed due to Lockdown restrictions.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Drowning In Five Inches Of Water

Drowning In Five Inches Of Water

A telephone ringing

Far away down in the hall

Takes only a moment to answer

But creates an absence of minutes

From precious play-time in the bath

And begets a long, empty space of waiting

Of wanting you

Of needing you

To hurry back upstairs

And an opportunity for her

To slide slowly down

Soft-skinned and slippery

Soapy from the bubbles

From the clear air above

To a short watery rest

Below the surface

Beneath the noise

Within the quiet, calm nothingness

And to breathe evenly

Drinking the warm liquid

Just long enough

To fall asleep forever

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020

Daughters

Daughters

When did it start to happen?

Was it as soon as you were born

or was it even earlier

as you floated warm in amniotic fluid?

Or even at the moment of conception

in a complex interplay

of genes and chromosomes

that the differences began?

The females of my species

developed along a very different path

from the ways that I had known

and had their own concerns

that yearned for pink in everything

(when I know full well

that such a colour

never crossed our minds)

and took to desiring dollies

and petting puppies and kittens

from a very early age

and then grew up all too quickly

Soon giggling in barricaded bedrooms

confused by active hormones

pre-occupied with latest hairstyles

and clothing in the fashion magazines

or brands of make-up and shampoo

and the delicate issues

involved in the removal of body hair

or the base behaviour

of the latest boyfriends

and who fancied who at school

Then the greater changes

of maturing mind and body

ripening into an all-at-once adulthood

with its sudden sensibilities

of the female and the feminine

and the ferocious gender-bonding

within the sisterhood

And a new respect

for a mother long-ignored

and who once had little time for men

the masculine, muscled males

with their crude loudness

their football and sporting obsessions

and testosterone-driven lives

When did you girls grow into women?

Was it something subtle that I missed?

How did you grow so far apart

and became so very different

and how many years has it taken now

for us to hardly know each other once again?

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2020