Today has been a funny day, when I say
funny I do not mean in a light up revolving bow tie sort of way with amusing
fish and small mechanical boxes that chuckle and giggle at anything and
everything particularly if it involves an amusing fish. NO I refer to funny as
in sort of odd but not odd say like a three headed goose singing close harmony
acapella church music to the tune of Smoke on the Water, I simply refer to it
being a funny day as in the old saying meaning it has been a funny sort of
day. I think I should leave trying to
explain this and get to the point.
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After a chilled sort of start to the day,
it was (is) Sunday after all; I decided to do a bit of Cardboard Arty stuff as
I have things to finish as part of The Monty Cardboard Robot Clubs expansion
plans into the giddy heights of artist elitism. We plan to make up complex arty
stories to confuse the punters and then charge them loads of money. . . .
. Mr F had to head off along the twisty
roads towards home, although I must admit after the first twenty miles he was
on motorways most of the way and they are not really twisty.
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Then Mr Bruce and Miss C
called by to see us, we have not seen them in ages, so we had a long chat before we
had to run off to see Mr M in his new Hospital. He appears much happier in his
new hospital, I got to play with the controls to his all singing and dancing
bed, all sing and dancing is another silly saying because things like beds seldom
do either let alone both at the same time.
So that was my day , I
have noticed that Sundays are starting to get like the old Sundays talked about
by folk who remember the old days when Sundays were really low key and you
would spend the afternoon watching an old black and white cowboy film starring Gary
Cooper or if you were really desperate Rin Tin Tin.
OOOOoooooo hang on what’s
that you say Skippy; Rin Tin Tin fell down the old mine shaft and was eaten by
aliens . . . . . . . . . . HAH HAH HAH AH HAH Ahah hah ahah hah ah ha hah ah
aah h ahahah hahah ah ah ahahahhah aha h aha ha haha ha ha ha . . . . .
One of favorite poems has Sunday in it:
ReplyDeletePIANO
By D.H. Lawrence
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
1918
I have to say I was not expecting Mr D H Lawrence to turn up Mr ESB . . . I am well impressed. My blog is turning into a haven of culture and madness. Maybe I could make a cardboard Camel. . . . . .
DeleteAH DAMN wrong Mr Lawrence
I believe your Mr Lawrence was born in your nearby Wales and my Mr Lawrence has his final resting place nearby in one of my favorite spots, Taos New Mexico. They both were born and died in the same decade, 1880's and 1930's, both of them slightly older than my beloved South Dakota.
Delete