UK – Page 80 – don't confuse the narrator

unnatural creatures

I should visit my mother more often.

The first good reason for visiting her more often is that she is really quite elderly, having celebrated her 90th birthday earlier this year. The second, far more selfish reason, is that I always find ideas when I do visit. Not necessarily ideas for poems, and not necessarily useful ideas, but usually there are oddities and slantwise perspectives that amuse me.

Today I have been hearing a faint alarm sound every 30 seconds or so; I knew it wasn’t the foghorns on the estuary – not least because it has been a gloriously sunny day – and it didn’t seem to be a phone or an alarm clock. When I asked if she had any idea what it might be, my mother denied all knowledge. Eventually, though, we managed to work it out. It’s her new “solar mole repeller”.

My mother has had problems with moles in her garden for years now and we have tried all sorts of solutions.
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a new dawn

Perhaps it’s just me, but the headline below (on the BBC website the other day) conjured some bizarre images.

BBC headline: DNA project 'to make UK world leader'

As I wondered what a “UK world leader” would be like and whose dna the scientists would mix and match, there was one name that kept recurring.

Fortunately, the somewhat depressing image of the UK taking over the world with Churchill at the helm was brightened by a mental soundtrack of Tim Curry singing “I can make you a man.”

(For those who want to know the real story of the UK’s genetic research project, it’s here. As for me, I think I’ll go and re-watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show.)

dazzle

It’s a grey day outside my window, so to brighten it up, here’s a photo taken a few days ago in South Wales on a small patch of land that had been seeded specifically to encourage pollinators:

On reflection, since cornflower is a natural herb used to brighten grey hair, I’ve just realised this is far more appropriate than I had intended.

(And the post title was chosen as a subliminal reminder of the old “blue whitener” detergent ads.)

the language of flowers

outside the florist’s,
the bright chatter
of pansies.

Which is strange, really, as the word “pansy” derives from the French pensée – “thought”. It would be logical to expect them to do more thinking than talking, but they always look to me as if they are checking out the passers-by and gossiping enthusiastically.

magpies

One for sorrow, two for joy; three for a girl and four for a boy; five for silver, six for gold…

There were six magpies bickering in the trees by the river last night. Sadly, I fear they weren’t foretelling the imminent receipt of a large fortune, just the arrival of sunset over the lake: