another one bites the dust

i get a horrible nagging feeling when i take a dislike to someone i dont know...it maybe an actor or comedian, usually someone famous, who has unwittingly become the subject of my often spontaneous ill-regard



the source of that nagging feeling rests at the feet of van morrison i think

how, my fifteen year old self thought, could anyone prefer van morrison to jim morrison...*fifteen year old self makes incredulous face*

it simply did not compute, it was beyond comprehension, beyond all good taste and possibility

a handful of years later,there i was smiling along with astral weeks,wailing out of tune to moondance, wondering how id ever managed to live without the wonderous gifts of van the man

so when i feel that old loathing rise whats actually nagging at me is the suspicion that if i could come round to van, with all the venom i had for him, then i suspect anyone can come back from the creative graveyard i consigned them to...more than that...it may even be inevitable...my future liking for them may even be, i am starting to suspect, inversely proportional to the disregard with which i currently hold them



what a terrible thought

theres nothing like coming round to someone you dislike for making you feel rotten in so many ways...and i cant deny i get attached to my loathings, and dont appreciate being robbed of them

so it was with sadness that, nosing around jane perrones excellent organic gardening blog, i noticed a quote from bette midler, an actress (along with meryl streep, diane keaton and numerous random others) ive always taken pleasure in harbouring a keen distaste for

"my whole life had been spent waiting for an epiphany, a manifestation of god's presence, the kind of transcendent, magical experience that lets you see your place in the big picture. And that is what I had with my first compost heap"

another one bites the dust

.

midsummers night

midsummers night...the moths are out celebrating



out walking in the freshly mown fields, bats circling nearly hit us, watching the moon rising for the first time



the grass gone, the trees stick out in the land like ears after a haircut you didnt know you needed

not sticks anymore

making all the work worthwhile

the old farmers (in my head)

i imagine they get together every other thursday, or once a month maybe...or perhaps its impromtu, when they think im about to start something new or need another piece of equipment

sitting on bales, they sip their beer, leaning forward, discussing the new bloke down the road



'hes not sprayin the docks ya know' ...'organic ee is' ...'youve got an old bubble for a spirit level you could sell im avent you john' ...'quick, here he comes'

'new tractor you got there son?'
'yeah, a 135'
'135 aye, lovely job, proper old massey that....3 cylinder uh course?'
'four i think'
'four?!...blimey son, youll be avin a can uh surestart in yer 'and mornin noon an' night'
'but im sure you said....'

'well what year is 'er?'
'sixty nine i think'
'ooo, sixty nine ay...thats when they brung in the new diff...ah well'

'grass is gettin away some i'n 'er?'
'yeah, bit long, but im getting that topper you mentioned, it should be here by friday'
'oh aye....and what you plannin on cuttin the grass with first?'
'how do you mean?'
'well, ee cant expec a topper to do all that now can ee'
'but i thought you said ...i mean...'

alan, shearer



and would sir like something for the weekend?

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