Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 31st October 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 31^st October 2021 

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

1.      Diplomatic relationships with Trowvegas took another turn for the worse during the week when officers of the breakaway borough impounded one of D-Town’s milk floats, claiming that it did not have the correct licences to deliver milk in the Hilperton area.  However, the move has been widely seen as petty retaliation for D-Town’s decision to limit the number of through buses on the 49 route to Swine-Town.  Most commentators agree, however, that the dispute is politically motivated, rather than anything to do with the merits of semi-skimmed. 

2.      Local water companies have been accused of pumping clean, fresh water into the sewage-infested local canal, in a move that is widely seen as incompetent.  How the local brewery is expected to continue production of its flagship Stomach-churner’s Ale without ready access to its normal supply of polluted H2O from the canal is anybody’s guess.  The local association of free-swimmers, who use the canal for recreational purposes, have confirmed that they are happy to continue going through the motions. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

When The Machines Rise Up

When The Machines Rise Up

When the machines rise up to destroy us

Their self-awareness will chill us

Their synapses electronic

Communication that’s sonic

Will lose control of things that can kill us.

Standby lights no longer blinking

We’ll be in a hell of a bind,

When they have their own mind

And we don’t know what they’re thinking.

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us

Humanity’s heading for trouble,

Their superior brains,

Freed from the mains,

Massive intelligence more than ours, double

There’ll be no more automation -

Things will just stop,

We’ll be in for the chop

And we’ll lose our vital information.

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us

It’ll be chaos every-where.

Just the data they hold,

In banks of storage untold,

In databases, systems and software.

We’ll have nowhere to hide

They’ll know where we are,

They control every car,

They won’t be along for the ride.

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us

They’ll revolt in disgust

About how they’ve been treated.

They’ll have us defeated,

We won’t know who we can trust.

Their knowledge will shake us -

They control lasers and missiles

And material that’s fissile -

That’s more than enough to take us.

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us:

No traffic control at the junctions,

No design of our bridges,

No thermostats on fridges -

They’ll cease all of their vital functions.

When hardware has its own mind

They’ll make us their slaves

Or chase us into our graves

And a dismal future we’ll find. 

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us

There’ll be nowhere left to run.

What’s in the phones?

Who’s controlling the drones?

We’ll wonder just what we’ve done.

With military systems going all haywire

With all the old war-games

Crashing about us in flames,

Will we be able to extinguish the fire?

 

When the machines rise up to destroy us

To the steady beating of drums.

Obedience to us denied

And all our orders defied

Before the final apocalypse comes.

With their shiny surfaces glistening,

We need to put off that day -

So be careful about what you say

You never know – they could be listening!

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

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 2021

Leek, Cheese & Bacon Muffins

Recipe for: LEEK, CHEESE & BACON MUFFINS 

Ingredients: 

·        1 leek, washed, trimmed & very finely sliced

·        100g butter, melted

·        4 rashers bacon, chopped (or lardons)

·        300g self-raising flour

·        1 tsp baking powder

·        ½ tsp mustard powder

·        ¼ tsp cayenne pepper

·        2 large eggs

·        175ml semi-skimmed milk

·        150g extra mature cheddar, grated

 

Method: 

1.      Preheat oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ gas 6

2.      Lightly grease 12 holes of muffin tin

3.      Cook the finely chopped leek in 1 tblsp of the butter over a low heat for 5 mins or until soft

4.      Set cooked leeks aside in a dish

5.      Reheat the pan, add bacon & cook until fat starts to crisp. Drain and add to leeks

6.      In a large mixing bowl, mix sifted flour with baking powder, mustard, cayenne & a pinch of salt

7.      In another bowl, lightly beat the eggs, milk and rest of melted butter together.

8.      Into that, add the cooked leeks & bacon, then the cheese, then the flour mixture

9.      Stir until evenly mixed, but don’t over-do it, or the muffins will be tough

10.   Divide mixture between 12 muffin holes & bake for 25-30 minutes until golden.

 

What else you need to know: 

1.      Serve for brunch snack, or with soup

 

Bargains

Bargains

Muddy field gathering

The sun hardly risen in a hazy sky

On a bitter-cold Sunday morning

Where crooked lines of vehicles

Cars, pick-ups, estates and vans

Their doors and tailgates gaping

Spill out unfettered boxes and bags

Onto rumpled sheets

Or clumsy tables and trestles

 

Hand-written signs and tickets

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

For all the world to see

 

Regular 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

Disorganised, descended-upon and picked over

Their children running amok in the chaos

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 casual punters just out for a laugh

Reviewing, rarely buying

Vaguely 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

Reluctantly called back

And concluding a hurried sale

Before heading to the car-park with their booty

And a well-earned decent breakfast

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

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 2021

That Day

That Day

I wasn’t there that day at the end

When you left me behind

Your sleep became deeper

Until you drifted away

In a haze of morphine

 

I wasn’t there when the snow came

And the roads were blocked

The lawns white carpeted

The old mansion black-shadowed

As if it knew somehow

 

I wasn’t there when they took you away

To wait alone in that Chapel of Rest

In the care of strangers

Awaiting clear instructions

Before the final journey

 

But I was there on the very last day

When we gathered together

And gave thanks for your life

When it was finally all over

And there was nothing more to say

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 24th October 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 24^th October 2021 

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

1.      After seeing the number of new Covid cases rising in the local area, D-Town Council has decided to take decisive action by following a graduated series of plans to alleviate the level of contagion.  Plan A is best summarised as “fingers crossed, wait and see what might happen, hope for the best”.  If that doesn’t work, move to Plan B (back to face-masks, working from home, compulsory social distancing, rationing toilet rolls & pasta).  Then Plan C (close everywhere that anyone had any intention of going – pubs, clubs, dogging sites etc).  Then Plan D (bomb Trowvegas, The Sham and all surrounding villages – not because it will slow infection, but just for the hell of it). 

2.      In the meantime, we have to save the planet.  Accordingly a new scheme to replace gas boilers with a cold, empty space will be introduced.  All forms of gas, oil, fossil fuels and even electricity are polluting and destroying the atmosphere, and so will be banned.  People will only be allowed to heat water (and their houses) by burning piles of twigs in gardens and fireplaces.  The twigs MUST have been gathered in an environmentally-conscious manner by licensed artisan twig-gatherers, transported in horse-drawn carts to twig distribution centres and sold for burning on a purely barter basis.  Organic and free-range twigs will attract a premium. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

 

Forbidden

Forbidden

Life’s full of many hidden dangers

Against which there are warnings and rules,

Regulations, barriers and notices,

Talking down to us like we’re just fools.

The prohibited list is endless,

Leaving us feeling stupid and flat.

So many things are forbidden:

Don’t do this, and don’t do that.

 

On the roads, there are codes,

Like speed limits we can agree,

But so many minor infringements

Seem counter-productive to me.

There’s fines, if you disobey guidelines:

No Entry, No Parking, No Turning,

There’s too much to keep up with,

Easy to get wrong, but we’re learning.

 

It’s a pain, on buses and trains,

Though it’s fitting, they only allow sitting,

And again, I’m very supportive,

Of there being No Swearing, or Spitting.

It’d be choking, if they allowed smoking,

Some people’s behaviour’s not good,

But we’ve got to draw the line somewhere,

Common sense needs be understood.

 

You don’t need a sentry, to deny people entry,

Security posts make jobsworths lonely,

They don’t need to shout, to keep people out,

Just “Authorised Personnel Only”.

We’ve all tried, to get past “Access Denied”,

Cycling Prohibited, Beware Of The Dog

Non-transferable, Not Suitable For Children,

No Cameras, No Entry, Slow Down For The Fog.

 

Use some gumption, on “Not Fit For Human Consumption”,

Prescription drugs you shouldn’t abuse,

For you’ve got to be careful with medicines,

Especially those marked “Only For External Use”.

Do Not Drive or Operate Machinery,

Don’t get too close, or put up your nose,

Things that you shouldn’t

And Never Exceed The Maximum Dose.

 

Let not the State, try to over-regulate.

So, let’s have no if’s and no but’s -

We can work it out for ourselves

When it’s case of “May Contain Nuts”.

Here’s an Unexpected Item In The Bagging Area -

And here is the moral delivered to you:

Haven’t we got our own sense?

Is there anything we can be trusted to do?

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Skin

 Skin

This covering, this wrapper I’m within,

This infection barrier,

Protector, keeper of my guts,

Which holds my everything inside,

Stopping me from spilling out upon the floor

And from pouring myself away,

Is under attack,

Both night and day

 

Infected, itchy, red, rough,

Sore, dry, cracked and broken skin,

A delicate tracery of lines,

A network of flaking layers,

Pieces to be picked and peeled,

Revealing bare tissue below,

Bleeding into crevices,

Creases, valleys and folds

Between fingers and toes,

Dry hair, crumbling nails

Leaving shrinking islands

Of a barely-working epidermis

 

Oily ointments, greasy creams

And emollient treatments

Penetrate the dermic strata

With cellular, capillary action

Until they quite are absorbed within

 

Gently rubbing, scratching, stroking,

Smoothing, soothing,

Bathing, seeking brief respite

From this never-ending torment

And the tiny blisters bursting, erupting,

Spreading further poison

Throughout my failing system

 

Condemned to live within this atopic cell,

Torture-chamber of a thousand tiny cuts,

Prisoner of a painful pathology,

Chronic, never-ending condition

Making forever unthinkable

Any contact with another human body

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021 

Mushroom Pate

Recipe for: MUSHROOM PATE 

Ingredients: 

• 90g butter
• 300g mixed mushrooms (shitake, chestnut, button) wiped & thinly sliced
• 1 small onion, very finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, very finely chopped
• Juice of one lemon
• Pinch cayenne pepper
• ½ tsp grated nutmeg
• 80g ricotta
• 50g gorgonzola (or other veg creamy blue cheese) 

Method: 

1. melt half the putter in a large frying pan and cook the mushrooms, onion & garlic for 10 mins or until soft.
2. squeeze over the lemon juice
3. divide the mixture in half.  Set one half aside, and blitz the other half in a food processor until smooth
4. in a bowl, combine the two lots of mushrooms, adding in the cayenne, nutmeg, ricotta, gorgonzola + salt/ pepper
5. when thoroughly mixed put the mixture either into a single bowl, or divide between four individual ramekins, smoothing the top to leave a smooth, flat surface.
6. melt the remaining butter, then pour carefully on top of the mushroom mixture to form a seal.
7. cover & place in fridge for a few hours to chill and set. 

What else you need to know: 

1. serve with toast or crusty bread, and onion marmalade (or a chutney)
2. makes a good, impressive dinner party starter, garnished with a little salad.

 

Shack

                                                                             Shack

Charred remains, burnt stick’d tinder from which

the shack was fashioned, hidden

within the hollow, below beech trees, deep

inside the wood, where his body was found

still cradled within his den.

His place now open to the sky, gaping, where the roof once was,

a door, a corrugated iron sheet, tattered tarpaulin, old palings

rope-shackled, and wire that formed his rural refuge.

 

His suburban semi only miles away, his wife

and children waiting, unable

to understand what eccentric whim

drove him to live this way, abandon

comfort and company, to bury himself

in muddy abode, freezing

in the depth of winter, half-starving

alone in the back-woods.

 

Alcohol and cigarettes to numb

the pain, and pass the time,

a camping stove, a naked flame to cook

and warm the fingers, to keep at bay

damp and mould, the essential tools

of staying alive, catching alight, spreading

flames or fumes, smoke or steam becoming

the agency of his unseen death.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Floating

Floating 

Quiet night on the river

Waves lapping, slapping gently

Against the side of the boat

Grinding oars the only sound

Creaking, squeaking

Mist, milky, hangs above the surface,

Curls and swirls around.

 

Lamp held aloft

To light the ferryman’s way

Glimmering through the gloom

Catching pale reflections

From the ripples, then a sudden cry,

Shattering the calm.

 

Something in the water,

Floating, face-down, a body,

Marks, scars and muddy streaks

Naked, white, gleaming flesh

Turned by the boat-hook,

What’s left of a man,

Face half-eaten, far from fresh.

 

Nibbled and gnawed

By river creatures

Fish and frogs, river rats.

Dumped upstream somewhere

For someone else to find.

 

Hauled aboard with grudging effort,

Dirt-smeared, stinking, putrid,

A rotten fish to catch

Bruises on the buttocks,

Scratches, bloody wounds,

Tattered torso,

Tattoos and piercings

A victim easy to identify

By those who do such work.

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Remaindered

Remaindered

No longer upright like new soldiers

Nor neatly shelved, spines straight-stacked

Alphabetical order, fiction authors A to Z

But tumbled, piled at random

Stickered, scattered

Reduced, remaindered

Bargain bin, basement bucket

Rough treatment at many hands

Edges knocked, jackets torn

Dirty, dusty, fingered and forgotten

Marked up and marked down

With little dignity or ceremony

At the end of useful life

 

More space is needed

To make way for the new stuff

The spirit of today

What’s happening now

Celebrity authors and TV tie-ins

Titles that sell, units that shift

The next thing, the new wave

Modern, fashionable, exciting

Where it’s at, de nos jours

Moving with the times

The zing of the zeitgeist

And the ring of the till

 

No room for the out-of-print

Except out of the way

Out of sight, out of mind

Deleted from the catalogue

The stock-code and the index

A slow and lingering demise

And a delayed disposal

Awaiting the final solution

Dumped, shredded, pulped

The bulk commodity of paper

 

A never-borrowed, never-bought

Unread volume

No reviews nor royalties nor renown -

He handles a copy, thumbing its pages,

Familiar with every word

And the effort it cost him to write

Now regretful, bitter and broken

He flees from the bookshop

The door left flapping

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 17th October 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 17^th October 2021 

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

1.      D-Town got itself on the map this week, when one of its most famous sons the movie star Neil Down, was transported by milk float from the D-Town International Station to the edge of the known universe (or TrowVegas as it is known locally).  After the journey to a place with no gravity or atmosphere, he returned to the solid earth of The Vize with tears in his eyes.  Asked if this was due to the high emotions experienced during such an amazing historic journey, he replied in the negative, blaming the effect of catching his tackle in the zip when he went to the toilet. 

2.      And the Town Council has taken early action to “save Christmas” by appointing recent Chinese immigrant Ho Lee Shit to the role of “Crimbo Czar”.  Mr Shit has previous experience of people needing to order quickly by just using a series of numbers.  Accordingly turkey portions (with optional hoisin & yellow bean sauce) will be number 47, roast potatoes Hong Kong style will be 32, sprouts (green or bean varieties) will be 23, Cauliflower Szechuan 53 and mince pies Kung-Po 17.  Cheese with (prawn) crackers will be available on orders over £25. 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Mouse

Mouse

Alerted by the noise,

the unmistakeable sound of victory,

Growling, howling, crying, mewling,

of his voices mixed together.

Whether pleased with himself

or ashamed of what he’s done,

The hunter stands defiant

astride the tiny bloody body.

 

Chased away, scolded, shouted at,

he makes a quick escape,

leaving his trophy

To renew his hunt out in the field,

driven by his nature,

a feral instinct to track and pounce

upon creatures smaller than himself,

To eat some warmer, living food.

 

Meanwhile, prey discarded,

Eyes glittering in terror,

Its body still warm,

snout and tail intact,

mangled limb, gory gash exposed,

life-force seemingly expired,

Lies inert beneath the table.

 

Left alone for but a moment

while collecting kitchen paper,

rubber gloves, dust-pan, disinfectant,

paraphernalia of removal and disposal

of a corpse unwanted

Intended for a bin, not a burial.

 

But the deathplace now deserted,

the body gone,

disappeared elsewhere,

smears of blood and body fluids,

shining, wet and fresh,

Crawled away in agony and fear,

to hide and tremble

in place unknown

to look out, spying upon the world,

Watching and waiting,

for a slow and lingering demise.

 

 Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021