2020… 2021

As I sit back and hear Big Ben peal,
I reflect on a year of surreal,
One where black became white,
And where day became night,
Now let’s see what next year will reveal.

Crashed and Burned

inspired by Paula’s Thursday Inspo #88, where she prompts with this image:.

It was New Year’s Eve,
And I could not believe.
This beauty in front of my eyrs,
Having zero regard,
I thought long and thought hard,
For some plan to cross paths must devise.

Having overcome nerves,
Summoned all my reserves,
Could not stop ’til success I had tasted,
She looked up and down,
And then started to frown,
And said “sorry, my dear, but you’re wasted


inspired by Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC) of 31 December 2020, galvanized.

After using my shiny new wrench,
I then left it outside in rain on a bench,
What I’d thought galvanised,
Was instead oxidised,
And would never get over the drench.

This can’t just have been me, right?


As most of you know, I volunteer, just chatting to people on the phone each week.

Many of us are still isolating – have done so since February – so people cancelled any plans they nurmally make and stayed home instead. For me, while I normally have a short break I have just carried on this year. After all, it doesn’t really feel like Christmas this year, does it?

But there can sometimes be a funny side. We’re all relying on online grocery deliveries to keep us stocked up, though of course sometimes the stores can’t supply things.

So I had this one client, the supermarket couldn’t get hold of a turkey for him. So the poor chap had to go without.

They did, however, supply the jar of cranberry sauce he had ordered. And he’s, like, wtf am I supposed to do with this????

Fandango’s Provocative Question (30 December 2020)

Today’s Provocative Question is short and sweet. Fandango asks:

What do you fear the most?

I get anxious, really, about two things. My health and my wealth.

Many of you will have seen my posts since christmas. I had a scare with one of my eyes. It seems mostly to be okay but there are a few little giveaways – I can’t read the programme guide on the TV, even with my glasses, which I could do before. But I can use the computer – this is the key not only to my productivity, but to my link with the outside world.

So, I’m scared that my sight goes. Really, shitless. The trouble is, I know exactly what it is – glaucoma caused by diabetes – and there’s not much I can do to stop it, there is no cure, although taking good care of my sugar slows it down. But one day it will get me, if I don’t die of something else first. I had thought I was doing well on that one until last week.

The other thing I worry about is my bank balance. If I continue not to work, and just to receive benefits, then my overall wealth dwindles by about 10% each year. I keep telling myself that of course I will get a job – with the things I am doing now, and a top notch cb vehind me, but what if?????

It’s silly, really. I am one of that last generation who bought an endowment policy when I mortgaged my house. I don’t know what they called them elsewhere, but they must have existed. The mortgage is up in 4 years, and the current projection is that the endowment will only repay 50% of it. But that doesn’t really bother me, because in that time, the value of the house has risen fourfold! So I have plenty of equity. Plus, after 2008, there are plenty of people in my position, and after COVID, there are even more!

I suppose the thing that really worries me here is that this might be the end of my working life. It’s not the money – I’m very frugal these days – it’s more not being useful to anyone any more.

The other thing I wanted to mention was death. Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy life, I’d miss (some) people and our animals, but since the stroke I figure I’m on borrowed time anyway. I fear the pain that is often associated with death, but not really death itself. My stroke had no pain associated with it, so if push came to shove I would take another one of them.

Sex Sells

inspired by Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC) of 30 December 2020, silhouette.

This curvy young dancer was hot,
Though had nothing to do with the plot,
With her movements seductive,
Hiding payload destructive,
Though these days we might spot a cheap shot.

When I saw silhouette, I thought immediately of those (always nude, always women) dancers they used to put on the intros to the James Bond movies. You know, nothing whatever to do with anything, but a nice bit of titilation inserted by Broccoli for what must have been a mostly-male audience.

Slow Day

Yay, it is time for Paula’s Tuesday Story!

I’m not gonna provide a specific update on my eyes today, because I reckon they’re pretty much back to how they were. It’s a difficult one because, even before, they were far from perfect.

I remember last Tuesday, before anything happened, mentioning that I wasn’t sure about a couple of the photos, so winging it. I think I’ve got them all today, so I came up with this.

When I read it back it sounded kinda like the type of book I used to read my daughter, so don’t go expecting classic literature! It’s quite long, for me, but nice and lightweight.

Images today are:

Jen had always loved writing, from High School, but it was only in the last couple of years that she had begun to label herself as a writer.

Her writing had been spotted by a TV studio, who had asked her to provide some lines for several shows. Seemingly, she passed the test, and had been invited to write more lines for one show in particular, a known sitcom, already with four seasons under its belt.

With financial success, she was able to rent some modest office space in Manhattan. One line of work generated more lines of work, and it was useful to be in close proximity to the action.

Jen’s personal life, however, was not so successful, and last year, having finally decided to give up on men, had bought herself a puppy. Mutt, as he was known, went everywhere with Jen, even coming into the city to spend the day guarding her at her office.

Jen’s star continued to ascend, and this summer she had followed the Bohemian path, and rented a summer house in East Hampton, for a full three months of summer. Jen had planned to use the quiet time to work on next season’s scripts.

Shortly after breakfast, the phone rang. A flap with the show. They were filming at the moment, the producers wanted to rewrite three scenes, and wanted the new scenes… yesterday!

“Sorry, buddy”, she said to Mutt, as she came off the phone, “you’re gonna have to amuse yourself today, until I get this done. Should only be a few hours.”

Bemused, Mutt watched his mum disappear into her study. He sat outside. He could wait this one out.

An hour later, and Mutt was fed up. He stretched himself, and got up to take a stroll around the house. The weather had been warm, and to his delight, Mutt found an open window in mum’s bedroom. He looked outside to the wisteria outside her window. I can easily make that, he thought, and jumped. From there, it was a mere hop onto the ground, and Mutt leapt out of the garden into the street outside.

What’s going on? he wondered. He tried their usual haunts. He scrounged a piece of cod from the fishmonger’s, who came out shouting when he realised that Mutt was unaccompanied.

Same result at Jones the butchers. “What were all these guys shouting about?”, thought Mutt, before resolving to find somewhere quieter. “I know”, he thought, “I’ll try the library. It’s always quiet there. Maybe I can go there and someone will play with me?”

He got to the library. They knew it well, and Jen often sought refuge here, just for a change of scenery. The librarian was busy, though, and ignored him. “Woof”. No response. “Woof, woof”, he barked, a little louder. The librarian looked up. “Shhhhh”, he said, “don’t you know to be quiet here? I’m busy sorting some books, so I can’t play today. Where’s your mum, anyway?” The librarian moved towards him, but Mutt was wary. He turned away, he’d give that one a miss, thank you.

Mutt ran straight down to the beach. Oh, yes! Some children were down there, playing beach volleyball. “Kids!”, thought Mutt, “they always like to have fun. They look like they’ll be up for a game.” Spying a neat row of the childrens’ shoes, Mutt thought, “Oh yes. They’ll do for a start. Where can I bury them?”

The Interview

inspired by Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC) of 29 December 2020, ridiculous.

In attempt to be open to throng,
Politician, for once, went along,
When confronted with flaws,
After long, drawn-out pause,
“I’m sorry”, she said, “I was wrong.”

%d bloggers like this: