Conversation, in a car, with a 4 year old

"Mummy remember when we played with the racing cars at Grannie Joan's?"
"Yes, Seamus"
"Do you remember that I went around and kept crashing off the track?"
"Yes, I do. You went so fast"
"Teddy was great, he always beat me through the narrow bit"
"He did."
"but then I just did it and went around about 500 times and you laughed, and then Garry laughed, and then Teddy laughed and then Grannie Joan laughed and Grandad Tom laughed, because you couldn't believe it!" "It was so funny"
"It was brilliant Seamus"

a little bit later.....

"Seamus there are christmas trees in Whalley"
"Can we see them?"
"Yes, but we're in Read now, we'll have to wait a bit"
"Oh, Luca from school lives in Read"
"Does he?"
"Yes, he lives with his Mummy, his Daddy and his brothers. There are five people in his house!"
"There is?"
"Yes, that's so many people isn't it?"
"It is"
"Mummy if Garry marries you, then we'll all live together and we'll have lots of people in our house"
"Maybe Seamus"
"You'll have to get a pretty dress with sparkles on it and a thing that goes over your head and face"
"You mean a veil?"
"Yes, a veil. But we might not be able to find a dress because shops that sell those are so far away in maybe, erm, London or something. You'll have to wear one of your black dresses. "

Oh Seamus you're so brilliant. I love our little chats.

£1 and more

Just had a most brilliant night.
Started at the Moorbrook Inn. Landlord Jim - a waistcoat wearing marvel pours the best spiced Rum in Preston. He also serves a grand pint of real ale, if that's your thing. The old-world-pub-environment is compelling. On Fridays you can even join the lads for a folk round. Just bring your herdy gerdy or a wee Irish ditty to share. It was the perfect place to sart our Saturday night out in Preston. It had nothing to do with the fact that I'd left my hat and gloves there the night before. Does two visits = regulars?

After acquring a mathmetics professor's email address and pledging to re-dress the landords windows we moved on to the 'Mad Ferret' to feast on a string of live band's muscial delights.

One band was good. The lead singer almost a lyrical genius. 'One British Pound' were definitely worth a quid, or two.
Another band (whose name escapes me) had the most excellent fiddler. The last band, the headline act - were lively, used harmonica well but were far too scouse to be really any good.

Anyway, all in all, the night was a bloody blast. G was at his most glorious best and I loved him, truly loved him.

Who ever said you couldn't have a good night out in Preston obviously didn't have enough spiced Rum.

This man

This man makes my breath quicken.
The blue of his eyes’ clear pools,
Open me up in a moment
Creating both learning and love.

Art attack

I love art. I love looking at it. I love practicing it.
Portraits of the human form are my favourite. I could spend hours in the many spectacular galleries we British have access too. Off to London in two weeks and can not wait to lose myself in the many galleries littered around the city. Some of my favourite paintings have been hung at the Saatchi Museum. You can always be sure to find the odd glorious naked body hung from the walls of this most exhibitionist of exhibitions. Large, brash, honest portraits - colourful yet grey, mobid yet enlightening.
I am also passionate about the old masters, portraits from the Tudor period enthrall me. The regal stares of the old monarchs leave me spell-bound. The genius of the artists' hand laid bare for all to see is entirely exhilarating. Milky skin almost impossibly translucent, rich indulgent clothing and garments painted with such precision. Distortions of size demonstrating the artists' spin. Regal PR at a time before Ab Fab.

Just in the last couple of weeks I have been attacked by a irrepressible desire to draw and paint again (it happens occasionally). I have managed some sketches with charcoal. Next I want to tackle a large naked print of my own. Watch this space!

What's up doc?

Just been to A&E, never a joyful experience but usually a necessary one. You wouldn't venture there for fun, would you? Yet today was not without amusement. Must mention here that I wasn't the patient. Had I been ill I am certain I wouldn't have seen the funny side of the porta-cabin blasting out hot air from those make-shift heaters, over crowded with a range of folk. Some of them visibly ill, some of them injured, some of them supporters, some of them complete time wasters.

Take the girl sat next to me, no more than 15yrs old. She was there, with her male mate, and I quote "cause I need to get it on record what he done to me - he won't knife me again" and "anyway I knocked out his bird, she won't mess we me again". Delightful. Poor girl. Poor staff.

Then there were the doctors. A tale of two extremes. Two male doctors. One old, one young. Well I am sure their polemic demeanors have much to do with their generational differences but it was so marked that they need remarking upon.

Young Doc strutted around in his fitted, tight shirt and clippy, shiny shoes with a look of disdain and apathy. Old Doc, welcomed us with a warm smile, apologies, and a refreshingly humble and gentle approach. He listened, he informed and generally began to reinstate my faith in doctors. Well done Dr Bhat. As for the young lad perhaps he hadn't bargained for contact with patients, perhaps he isn't really into his placement in A&E (can't wait to get out to a GP practice where the hours are less and the money rolls in) or perhaps he was just having a bad day.

Oh well, we were in and out within an hour. Who says there's terrible waiting times. Or was it another case of being Sheena Byrom's daughter? We'll never know I suppose.

A White Room

Bleak white room,
dark red heart.
Sat alone,
Surrounded by noise

Fluid pours out
And probes stick up
Fear sets in
And tears fall down

Clean white room,
Three red hearts.
Rush, wish, kiss
Surrounded by silence

Man looks on
And beds wheel round
Needles push through
And lids fall down.

Sparse white room
One still heart
Holding, breathing, hurting.
Surrounded by relief.

In a white room
I contemplate our loss.
The joy of wellness,
Tempered by bitter grief.

A little life gone.
In a breath, it is over.

Thoughts for 30

Last month I turned 30, or as my son likes to say: "Mummy you are Three and Zero years old." My thirtieth year has to have been one of the highlights of my life so far. It has certainly been the most life changing. New house, new job, new man, new life.

Change. It is all about change. This includes the new lines on my face, the extra inches around my waist, the grey hairs that appear amongst my brown curls. Brilliant. Simply brilliant. If life gets better with each new decade I say bring it on. But bring it on slowly, I want to devour each exciting morsel bit by bit.