Well, I had all the best intentions in the world, but then I got a Wii Fit and GOD DAMNIT I WILL BEAT THAT HULA HOOP GAME! Ergo, blogging has taken somewhat of a back seat this weekend as I’ve had to balance manically chucking my hips around like a crazy person shouting “Lean, LEAN!!” at the screen with the other sort of quite important event of getting my niece christened, and becoming her Godmother. More on that later, I suspect.
Anyway, I am currently at that stage of tiredness where I’m frightened to blink in case I open my eyes and suddenly my alarm is going off, so I will keep this blog short.
Words have an amazing effect on me – just a few in the right order can make me feel better, and ready to take on the world (or at least look at the world a bit menacingly until it BACKS OFF.)
Take, for instance, one of my favourite poems EVER: ‘Bitcherel’ by Eleanor Brown (so cleverly named after the Doggerel – a scathing term for ‘verse of little value’) never ceases to give me self-satisfied, bitchy goosebumps as I read it. It’s the sort of poem that makes you mentally dropkick every person that’s been getting on your nerves over the past decade or so. Who says poems have to be all symbolic and ‘begging to be analysed’? This is just pure, unadulterated, catty fun.
You ask what I think of your new acquisition;
and since we are now to be ‘friends’,
I’ll strive to the full to cement my position
with honesty. Dear – it depends.
It depends upon taste, which must not be disputed;
for which of us does understand
why some like their furnishings pallid and muted,
their cookery wholesome, but bland?
There isn’t a law that a face should have features,
it’s just that they generally do;
God couldn’t give colour to all of his creatures,
and only gave wit to a few;
I’m sure she has qualities, much underrated,
that compensate amply for this,
along with a charm that is so understated
it’s easy for people to miss.
And if there are some who choose clothing to flatter
what beauties they think they possess,
when what’s underneath has no shape, does it matter
if there is no shape to the dress?
It’s not that I think she is boring, precisely,
that isn’t the word I would choose;
I know there are men who like girls who talk nicely
and always wear sensible shoes.
It’s not that I think she is vapid and silly;
it’s not that her voice makes me wince;
but – chilli con carne without any chilli
is only a plateful of mince…