Oh pointy birds...

Dear Kim...

                                                            Oh pointy birds,
                                                            Oh pointy, pointy,

                                                            Anoint my head,
                                                            Anointy-nointy.

Yet another belated post! As I'd meant to relay to you that on the 6th of May, it was International Dawn Chorus Day...

Along with feasting my eyes on bluebells, the sounds of the Dawn Chorus is another seasonal treat I look forward to in the month of May.
I seem to have developed my own personal birdie-body alarm clock over the past few years, because as May approaches, I naturally rouse from my slumbers around half past five, and with sleepy eyes half-closed, and a wide-open bedroom window; I listen to the crescendo as it grows in intensity without...
It kicks-off with the melancholic trills of the blackbirds; their winter oaths of silence now broken. And while I can't lay claim to knowing by ear all other birds' personal warbles, I do know by sight which birds live in the vicinity, so the T. Street Birdie Choir is made up of the local robins, song thrushes, tits, green finches, gold-finches, chaffinches, and of course the ubiquitous pigeons... Oh, and the local squirrels telling them all to shut their beaks, cuz they're trying to get some sleep...! Oh, and an unidentifiable bird that sounds like a car-alarm... No, sorry, it actually is a car-alarm...  No-no, it's a bird that's lived in the inner city for so long, it's learnt to imitate a car-alarm...  

I think dawn is such an enchanting time of day, and is especially precious to those of us who reside in cities - as it's potentially the only time of the day (or indeed night) that the incessant inner-city hullabaloo is at a minimum. To be awake at dawn makes me feel all 
pre-industrial-ish; all Lark Rise to Candleford-ish... (And neanderthal-ish... heheh)

The sounds of my local Home Boyz  Birdz, perched in the few trees that line the streets, is akin to my own private chamber concert.  My future aim is to sit in a wood at dawn one May - now surely that would be akin to a symphony orchestra playing at the Royal Albert Hall!

Apparently, the reason for the birds putting on such a show, is to defend their territory and attract a mate through their vocal compositions.  But I can't help believing that it's also a birdie hymn to the joys of the coming day... In-fact, if we were able to translate their song, I reckon it would be close to the words of the Anthony song below. (Maybe Anthony did translate the dawn chorus; p'raps Anthony is indeed a Bird Whisperer... it really wouldn't surprise me...)

          


Furthermore on the birdie-front, last week I had a chaffinch attacking  the smaller window in the front room; it repeatedly banged into the window, and ferociously pecked at the glass with it's beak...!  Fearing for its life, I googled 'chaffinch behaviour', and apparently both chaffinches & robins are infamous for warring with windows; they believe they're attacking a rival bird, when it's in-fact their own reflections they're desperate to peck the eyes out of... Silly dickie-birds!   

I also had a Greater-spotted Woodpecker visit my bird-feeder - whoop-whoop! I've seen it now on two occasions... The first time, it swooped onto the birdfeeder, then dived into the nearest tree where it assaulted a poor defenseless wood pigeon - just for the fun of it! -  then off it sped on further raids...

P'raps one May, I'll no-longer be able to contain myself on the bird-front. Like St Francis in the scene below, I'll be on the roof of the flats in my jim-jams, flapping away; with all the chavs hanging out of their windows, shouting; "What ya doin' ya friggin' nutter..! Someone git that weirdo off-a the roof, innit!"

Birthday shenanigans at the Rivoli Ballroom

Birthday Shenanigans at the Rivoli Ballroom 

Dear Kim...

A most belated post!  Last month, Fleur, Joanna, Cheryl (Fleur's chum) and I donned our dancing shoes and headed to the Rivoli Ballroom to celebrate Glenny's birthday...

Oooh, the tree matches my dress...

I'd forgotten just how much I love the Rivoli - such a special , atmospheric place.  I think I haven't been for some time because it's quite a trek to get to.  But this time round, we were kindly driven there & back by the lovely Joanna (who detests public transport!) Oooh, the naughty trio in the photo above were swigging beers whilst Jo-Jo manned the sat-nav...!

Here's Glen and his two leading ladies!  It was fab to see Glen again.  He's still got the moves - as does his Ma. I was most impressed when she led a sort of 40s line dance (??) where half the club were hot-stepping to the left, and then to the right... and then a twirl - all in unison. (Whereas I was hot-stepping to the right, and then to the left...) 

Scouting for Girls... Heh heh.


There was scrumptious choccie birthday cake to eat...!

Glen wish-making...

Which was just what was needed after all that boogie-ing...!

Fleur had quite a few spins on the dance-floor, as did Jo-Jo... My personal favourite move of the night consisted of Cheryl balancing me on one hip and flinging me into the air - she was truly my Brendon Cole!

Again-Again!

Then the beers and the sugar rush of the choccie-cake kicked in, and our attempts at swing dancing were left at the way side...

Swinging Rocking out...!

Sexy Shoulders...

I'm definitely in dire need of some more of those swing lessons we embarked on many a moon ago.  Because whereas in my wee head, I'm as fantastic a dancer as these fabulous ladies...

In reality, my attempts at dancing through the eras (Do you remember our Charleston lesson??) are more akin to the efforts below... (Which I might add, are still fab-u-lous!)

The 1st two dances are you & I at Prohibition and Blitz Party; the 2nd two are when I've moved on to B.G.W.M's Club with Fleur...

The truth is - as you know very well about me, Kim! - free-style/expressive dancing is much, much more my thing...

This is the sort of dancing I do on a daily basis; mainly around the house - to Gabriel's bemusement (He recently said "And this is why I don't bring friends home" when I was  throwing some moves to Pass the Dutchie), or, if Valdo's at home, he'll just totally avert his eyes and avoid looking in my direction - as though to do so would turn him to stone - I'm a dancing Medusa, I am! 


Ooooh, this could easily be us when we attended B.G.W.M's Club night ; 'Cheesy Pop & Nineties Bop'...

I'm ashamed to admit that I actually owned a pair of lycra cycling shorts as above... Yep, I was about twelve. And my thighs weren't as shapely as Jens; there was nothing for my cycling shorts to cling to - they hung off my femurs like boxer-shorts

Must try and get some swing lessons done&dusted pronto, as Joanna & I are going to Twinwood Festival this Summer, and if I don't re-find my dancing feet, I'll be hiding out in the cabaret tent...   

Dear Kim....

On Bank Holiday Monday, myself & my lads went for a stroll through one of my favourite haunts, Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park. It truly is a special place; a veritable Eden, flanked on all sides by tower blocks & council estates - though once immersed within its ivy draped depths, you really can imagine yourself far removed from inner city London...

To my delight, the bluebells were out in force, mingling with a profusion of other wild flowers; creeping buttercups, chickweed, clover, forget-me-nots, cowslips & cow parsley...

 The three of us were lounging on this bench, enjoying the sunshine, when a fox appeared through the trees; ambled across the clearing before us, utterly unfazed by our presence. And what a beauty it was; this was no mangy-tailed Crack Fox...

No-no-no, this was of the Beatrix Potter variety; bushy tailed & bright copper coated - resplendent against the greenery. Off it sauntered along a trail though the gravestones... 

A walk through the cemetery park never fails to instill a sense of tranquility within me; quelling all anxiety, yet thrilling me with the sights of each passing season. And as I'm currently re-reading Flora Thompson's memoirs of her rural childhood, Lark Rise to Candleford; the following lines, when Flora stops to gaze upon the natural world around her, resonates with me;

                    A wave of pure happiness pervaded her being.... And deeper
                    down, beneath the surface of her being, was the feeling, rather
                    than the knowledge, that her life's deepest joys would be found
                   in such scenes as this.

Ophelia-esque

The pictures interspersed between my own floral offerings are of the beautiful bloggers, the Bright Young Twins, who are dressed exactly as I would have done - if I'd been brave enough - in my late teens/early twenties, when at the peak of my Pre-Raphaelite phase... If I were to dress as such now whilst frolicking around the woods, I'd probably look more akin to a character from this Mighty Boosh ditty, then a Pre-Raph. damsel... 

  

Oh, bluebells, bluebells... If I fail to look upon a patch with each coming May, is always a May wasted...

All these thoughts on nature, and the passing of time, and the purest of pleasures - the joy found in the natural world, brings to mind a scene from my favourite film...

Lots more nature inspired posts to come with the (fingers-crossed) clement months...!

Dear Kim...

Last Friday, I had the honour of meeting a teeny-tiny little chap, Master Oscar Moth...

Hands big & small...


He really is the cutest little munchkin, and Mamma Laura is  evidently exceedingly loved up . Oscar slept pretty much the whole time on our meander along the South Bank, only rousing for a guzzle  from his bottle and a resounding burp, then back to slumbering against his beloved Mama...

He's got Laura's little chin & pouty lips, don't you reckon..?  We had a wee titter over his abundance of red hair. "He might grow up to look like Chris Evans!" Mamma Laura exclaimed tenderly...

"That wouldn't be the end of the world", said I, "Chris is witty, funny, charismatic"... Mamma Laura wasn't convinced...  "Well, red-heads can be sexy & brooding - think  thespian Toby Stephens", soothed I...

Uncannily, my favourite male red-head of all time is Oscar Hopkins, the ethereal, carrot-topped character from Peter Carey's novel 'Oscar & Lucinda', beautifully portrayed by Ralph Fiennes in the film adaptation...

Ever more uncanny, Oscar Hopkins's best friend in the novel is called Wardley-Fish...

It was a lovely introduction, on an equally lovely sunny day.  Hoping to see them both again soon - whenever Laura's cabin-fever sets in, I told her to pop over to mine for a change of scene.  Oooh, I bet you can't wait to meet him!!

Dear Kim...

Echoing your frequent posts from the South American sea-side; Sunday 28th April, Gabs & I boarded the train to good ol' Brighton for a breath of ozone. Much compulsory seaside diversions were undertaken; a stick of Brighton rock was crunched, ice-creams were licked, pebbles were skimmed, the horizon was gazed at, the pier was meander'd, sandwiches were slyly consumed under the interrogating eyes of seagulls patrolling the beach; "I know what you've got in that bag, prawn sarnies, M&S ones, no point tryin' to hide 'em, got a whiff of 'em all the way from Hove, we did.... Giv'z a bit..." 

Member of the Brighton Inquisition

Gabs dragged me into the arcade on the pier... Eeeek, me-no-like-it-in-there.  I feel rather sorry for my kids at such times - I'm the antithesis of my own parents. Whereas they'd generously supply my sister and I with a tupper-ware box full of 1ps, 2ps and 10ps for hours of gambling in the arcade at Butlins; I, however, squirm & shudder to hand over copper&silver to my own kids in such places of vice... Heh heh. (And three whole British pounds for a go on the dodgems, indeed! More squirming & shuddering...)

A fistful of pebbles, not pennies...


Gabs was aghast whilst lobbing pebbles, to be confronted by the sight of the rather plump lily-white bottom of a girl - no more than nine/ten years of age - frolicking in her birthday suit in the surf beside us. "Urgh", recoiled Gabs, "That really is too much!" he exclaimed, turning his back resolutely on the mini 'Birth of Venus'... His disdain was on par with the stylists in the F.& S's sketch below...

And as you're always posting such  a wealth of street art on your blog, here's one I thought you'd like  staring out from a wall in Brighton...

'Stop & Stare'

  

  

                               ONE: PATCHWORK WORLD OF UNIQUE INDIVIDUALS

Dear Kim...

I've loved reading thus far what the folk you've met on your travels have revealed about their inner-selves, with a mere few lines written on your postcard... Even before you'd officially invited me to participate, I'd thought to myself, I really must proffer my own square to Kim's patchwork... 

A CHALLENGE I OVERCAME:

Watching 'Larkrise to Candleford', series 1-4 back to back. Completely exhausting!

I want to be Dorcas Lane; independent Post Mistress, an impeccably dressed whizz on the telegram machine, who has daily weaknesses - on Mondays her "one weakness" is cream teas, on Tuesdays her "one weakness" is going to bed early with a copy of The Origin of Species, and on Wednesdays her 'weakness' might be champagne (hicc-up), or sticky toffee pudding... 

A Woman with Weaknesses...

A CHALLENGE I WILL OVERCOME:

To undertake watching the whole Poirot DVD collection - all fifty-seven episodes.  I'm completely exhausted just thinking about it!

A DREAM FOR MY FUTURE:

To be able to strike this pose on the dance-floor of B.G.W.Ms Club... 

When chatting with Siobhan at your Bon Voyage party, she confided to me her fantasy of strutting on to a dance floor and doing a back flip. So you must imagine me undertaking the above;  immobile; like a stork caught in the head disco lights, with Siobhan in the background doing a back flip, or two...

MORE DREAMS FOR MY FUTURE:

To be resident DJ - Wednesday afternoons - at B.G.W,Ms Club. I'm toying with the stage name, 'The Hip-Hop Housewife".

MY HOPE FOR THE GLOBAL VILLAGE:

Ummm... Com-plete-ly stumped I'm afraid! I'm think I'm going to have to re-dip into the Jung book you left with me, and get back to you on that one...

Tee hee, I'm only kidding with the above, how utterly infantile!  (Making Miranda-esque eye-contact with an imaginary audience and mouthing; "I'm soooo not kidding...") 

No, seriously right; Gabriel & I - and I'll rope in other folk! - will print out our postcards (I'll print out a batch in-fact!) and will both post them here, and send them c/o of  your Ma.  

P.S Make sure Moley fills one out!

Dear Kim... I feel that I must post something...!  My aim was to mirror (tongue-in-cheek) your adventures. And having noted your numerous encounters with waif n' stray street doggies, I thought I'd highlight the staggeringly opposite doggy obsessions 'ere in Blighty.  I'm still trying to be financially good of late & stay in - last week I sunk so far as to find myself glued to Crufts 2013*

Mops!

I even succumbed to buying a cheap bottle of Prosecco one eve to swig  sip whilst viewing the latest pooch parade;  tittering mid-swig sip on learning that a crossbreed of a Cocker-Spaniel & a Poodle is called a Cocker-poo. (tee hee!) And sniggering at all the toy breeds - in-fact by my third glass of fizz, I was laughing out loud, & pointing accusingly at the telly-box, "You call that a dog! I call that a broom-less mop, mate..." 
I'm sure, Kim, you'll be surprised to learn that I'm capable at times of a snigger, or indeed a sneer at any creature great or small, seeing as I'm such an avid lover of animals. But it's really only ever the small ones that I raise my eyebrows at disapprovingly - small dogs that is, of the miniature variety...  A gentleman in the sixteenth century noted that toy breeds are:

Sought to satisfie the delicatenesse of daintie dames and wanton women's wiles, instruments of folly for them to play & dally withall, to tryfle away the treasure of time...

Hmmm... Nowt has changed much from way-back-when 'til noweth it seems...

I can't help but feel that there's something Frankenstein-ish about toy breeds.  Man, when tinkering with DNA and the Creation game has come up with the Ze-donk - sorry - the Zorse - Nope, nope - the Zonkey, the Liger, and the Chinese Crested canine... Eeek!

Surely the Ugliest Dog Award (Rude!) should go to the Pekingese... Which does remind me rather of a certain 80's B. Movie character...

Kim & Lynsey at B.G.W.M's Club

And as for the French Bulldog...

A sprinkling of water would surely transform it into one of these...?

La-la-la-la, la-la!

The only toy breeds that I have a soft spot for are, the graceful Italian Greyhound...

Very Picasso-esque!

And I'm slightly ashamed to admit to  admiring such a ball of  fluff, but I'm quite taken by the foxy Pomeranian...

Awwh, tis a teeny fox with an afro!

 Gabs and I pass a lady most mornings on our way to school, who has a Pom tucked under each arm; they never fail to make me smile - and that's smile, not titter...  Oh, dash it, they're just so cute, I'm going to have to add another piccy...

Me want one!

This final Pomeranian pup...

looks a-lot like one of my all-time favourite children's telly-box characters...

Pootle from The Flumps!

Poor Lad - what has she done to you! But, oh, Handler, fabulous stride...!

Part of the viewing fun wasn't purely about the pooches; the dog-handlers were very much a big draw of the show. (Well they were for me!) I loved the variety of lolluping, strutting, sashaying and down-right galumphing around the arena by the Humans... And as I finished the dredges from the bottle**, I found myself in a trance of sorts, day-dreaming of parading at Crufts myself someday, alongside my future beloved Husky; Gandalf the Grey...

The most handsome chap that ever was! I just haven't met you yet...

  Would my signature stride around the arena be a sort-of lord-a-leaping? A Miranda-esque gallop? Or would I settle on a power-walk...?  "Kim would most definitely streak around the arena" I slurred to myself... "Kim would absolutely be streaking..." I then gaff'awd loudly during the Gun-dog Parade, when an English Setter commenced on doing a No.2 centre stage...

Oh stuff it, p'raps I'll get a toy-breed after all, here I am at Crufts 2014 with my winning Pekingese...

Get those filthy paws off my silky drawers!

  * I say 'sunk' as if Crufts is beneath me, but you know very well, I adore anything bordering on obsessive with a dash of twee-ness.

** I claim to have finished the bottle - purely for comic effect, Kim!  If you cover the bottle with two layers of cling-film, any fizz remaining keeps for the next day...! Hiccup.