Tuesday, June 12, 2007

Hormones, Ponds And Graves

John, my ipod, seems to be having a bit of a crisis.
It’s called ‘John’, after the music god, John Peel.
(All genuflect and hum a few bars of Teenage Kicks.)
This is a sample of the shuffle list from the last couple of days.

* Mornings Eleven - The Magic Numbers
* More Rock ‘n’ Roll - Ruarri Joseph
* I Robot - Save The Robot
* Depeche Mode - Blasphemous Rumours
* Back To Black - Amy Winehouse
* Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd
* Teenagers - My Chemical Romance
* Knights Of Cydonia - Muse
* The Future - Leonard Cohen
* Going To A Town - Rufus Wainwright
* Close to Me (Remix) - The Cure
* The Staunton Lick - Lemon Jelly
* Bang Bang You’re Dead - Dirty Pretty Things
* Robot On Drugs - Save The Robot
* Fly Me To The Moon - Frank Sinatra
* Empire - Kasabian
* Trains To Brazil - Guillemots
* Steal Away - The Furies

See what I mean? The fucker is sentient!
For the most part, I’d say it was a little bit depressed and a bit hormonal.
I wonder if it has synchronised with me?
I’d better not think about that too deeply, not while I’m this wrecked!
Save The Robot would also suggest some MDMA and Cocaine use that ’John’ has kept secret from me.
The last tune convinced me that anyone with a tin whistle, pint of Guiness and a supply of Prozac can write an Irish song.
I missed breakfast this morning and was hungry, I nearly have a fecking Album.


I have ‘planted’ a pond in my garden!
Well, a massive yellow bucket affair from B&Q is now full of water and some bricks.
Just have to wait for creatures to move in now.
The huge old Apple tree trunk that I was going to chop up for logs is now a make shift ‘seat’ and flower bed.
Its' also a place for frogs and newts to mooch about.
Maybe a bog garden if I get some membrane. We’ll see.
Hopefully Crisp-e will sort me out a bunch of Canadian Pondweed and M in Wiltshire will let me have some snails.
I have raided Sassy’s Garden for lumps of white stone to go round the edge. I will have to do another bagful.
For protection.
I found the Tortoise, on his back, at the bottom of the hole this morning and he doesn’t look like he’d be much of a swimmer.

The hole was dug on Sunday and the ‘bucket’ fit perfectly.
If there is anything useful my Dad has taught me, it’s how to dig a hole.
I can actually dig a grave. And have done!
It was one of the tests everyone on his firm had to be able to pass, and as his daughter, I had to be very good indeed.
If you couldn’t dig a grave without the sides collapsing, you didn’t last a week.
Dad’s reasoning being,

“If they can’t be trained to dig a fucking ‘ole, they can’t be trained for fuckin’ much, can they Babe? Get rid of ‘im!”

I have to admit he had a point.
This was back in the day of the Youth Training Scheme (YTS) and Dad could get through two, sometimes three a week!
Jumped up little tossers who thought they were going to be laying bricks their first day.

6 comments:

Crisp-e said...

That will look cool when it is planted!

Sleepy said...

Won't it!

Trying to find a spot for the Poppies!

Sassygril said...

Yeah, it's going to look good. I think you need to disguise the fact that it's a bucket! Loads more brick stuff if you need. God I'm absolutely wrecked. Catch you tomorrow...

Sleepy said...

Once the plants start doing their thing it'll look the business.

Sassygril said...

It will indeed! Can't wait. I'm going to be at home today doing writing so all interruptions welcome!

On ipod matters, they have brain matter I am sure. Steve Jobs has fucked with their minds. Mine once did a mix that left me breathless. Songs of male anguish followed by women's randiness. Superb. I couldn't have formulated that even if I tried. WOrrying.

LentenStuffe said...

I needed that laugh!

Synchronized i-Pods, Gusty shanties, the wind in the willows and potted poppies.

Cheers.