*#+£ spammers

Please note that due to a spam attack on this blog which is going to take me hours to clean up, comment moderation has now been turned on. Comments will in future not appear until they have been approved by me.

Sorry, if I had my way spammers would be consigned to the lowest circle of hell.

Alices In Wonderland: Part 32

This is a weird one. It's from an edition by Starshine books, illustrated by Carlos Busquets, which includes Alice with three other stories. Well I say that it includes Alice, but that's only true after a fashion. The story is clearly meant to be Alice and is called Alice in Wonderland but it's not only extremely abridged but also rewritten practically beyond recognition, including as it does parrots and pirates, elephants and trees with faces. The rewrite is uncredited and I have been unable to find any information about he artist other than sites selling his books.

As she continues on her way Alice sees a door in a tree. When she enters she finds herself back in the hallway with all the doors and this time takes the key and uses the mushroom to get to the right height.

Autobiography

Continuing my autobiography in poetry.

I was by nature a solitary child. There was an alley at the end of the cul-de-sac that I lived on which led out to where the other kids played. I was far too timid to go and join them. Instead I had my own place, a completely enclosed area at the rear of our neighbours house that nobody went into. You could only get into it by climbing our tree and jumping over the fence.

Safe and Secret Places: Part 1 – Dream a life

Close your eyes and feel the heat
Of the sunlight on your face.
Nobody can find you here
In your safe and secret place.
Mother doesn’t know you're gone.
Father hasn’t missed you yet.
Every second in this place
Is a time you won’t forget.

In the corner of the garden
Behind a long forgotten fence
You found your safe and secret place
Without an adult audience.
The grass is overgrown and wild.
The swing stands patiently and waits
For the coming of a child
Who scales the rusty, padlocked gates.

Close your eyes and dream a life
In your safe and secret place
The world may seem too big and fast
But here, it’s you who sets the pace.
Outside you may be scared to run,
To turn the corner, join the game
But this place is yours and yours alone
Unquestioned by a counterclaim.

Overheard conversations

The world is changing in strange ways.

Yesterday I sat in the pub, as I often do on a Sunday afternoon, having a few drinks with a couple of friends. One had had to leave early and the other was at the bar and I overheard a snippet of conversation from the adjoining table.
Sitting there were four elderly men, perfectly normal elderly men. What were these fine fellows discussing? Was it fast cars? Sport? Action movies? Perhaps it was something more highbrow? The economy? Politics? Religion?
No, it was none of these things. Instead they were engaged in an earnest discussion about the best size for croutons in French onion soup.
Strange ways, indeed.