Best delivered by Brian Blessed

POETRY

Sometimes people play a greater part in another life than they ever realise. And we regret never telling them. I needed to write. I needed to get out what I was thinking, about my own mortality, and how I might express myself when I say farewell to a departed friend. Poetry seemed the best medium for a return to nature, and in my head it’s recited by Brian Blessed…

Moth Effect Poem2

Safe journey mate. For every push-up we didn’t do, there’s a daisy to do one on in the afterlife. Gordon’s alive, in the world of missing persons x

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A decade in a haiku trilogy

THE WRITER’S LIFE

Since the good ship Simon set sail, I’ve been going through some old family photos on Facebook. Never one to shamepost pictures of my young adults when they were kids, the memories are nevertheless contained in the ten years I was married, when Mountsfield Park and Manor House Gardens were my 100 Aker Woods. The young ones are pure Catfordian, from Kentish and Irish blood, and that decade in the London Borough of Lewisham is where I learned Japanese and wrote 51 syllables…

WHEN WE WERE VERY YOUNG

Lollipop

THEN WE WERE FOUR

Dinner lady orange

I’LL ALWAYS MISS YOU,” SAID EEYORE…

Ambulance police

…to Piglet and Pooh, Kanga and Roo.

You can take the poet out of Catford, but that Two-tone cat will never stop scratching me.

catford se6 cat poem

Harlequin lemonade party

FLASH FICTION

A CHILDISH HORROR STORY

Elefant-imperfetto-lab-1-1ImperfettoLab

When I was a kid, our dad would let us choose a story from a collection, and we’d naturally go for the longest. Then we’d switch off the main light and put the elephant lamp on, like we were reading conspiratorially by torchlight. Dad didn’t mind. He worked all day and he’d take us off mum’s hands after supper. That was our time, and children’s stories helped with dad’s reading. I don’t think his dad ever read him bedtime stories.

Granddad was very strict: “Children should be seen and not heard,” that sort of thing. Whenever we were too much like children around him, he’d threaten us with the cupboard under the stairs: “I’ll shut you in there, and you’ll see what happened to the last child.” We always suspected he had a secret, perhaps a trapdoor in the cupboard, leading down to a basement.

Being kids, we were curious. We wanted to go in that cupboard and make a camp, our own little room away from granddad. We wanted to be unseen and only audible to each other. But it was forbidden. His attitude seemed illogical and paradoxical to kids, his strict nature only encouraging us away to explore. And that’s how we found the skeleton in granddad’s cupboard, hidden inside a clown costume.

We didn’t tell granddad, because he couldn’t hear us. Dad would never tell us, because we only let him tell the long stories. So I wrote it down, under the light of the elephant lamp in our bedroom.

© Steve Laker, 2019

Campaign for Civil Disobedience

CCTV wave2

Takifugu sushi rhyming slang

POETRY

If you cook it, it tastes like fish…

ANATOMY OF A GHOTI

Fugu poem2

Open your ears. All we need to do is keep talking, and listening.

A personal absurdist obituary

THE WRITER’S LIFE

This one goes out to my brother by another mothership, who set sail today when he reached his expiry date of best before 56. What’s quite disquieting is how my life has suddenly become normal.

In fond memory of Sundays spent tearing up News of the World colour supplements and ripping gender-specific glossies apart, when the grown-ups were inside with the kids and we were out the back, smoking, drinking, and talking at ease, observing the obscure and often floating on a tangent into absurdism, like Alexander Armstrong and Richard Osman on Pointless, like Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse on a fishing trip, people like us being people like we were…

Claudia Winkleman Banner‘Swimming saved my sanity’: Gym-phobic Claudia Winkleman reveals why she’ll be swimming a mile for Sport Relief (2016). Photo: Jay Brooks (Daily Mail)

SHOWBIZ

Claudia Winkleman has confirmed what many have suspected for years: That she’s part-dolphin. In an article not appearing in this month’s National Enquirer, the Head and Shoulders advert and minor national treasure reveals how researching her family tree helped her understand a rare genetic mutation.

I’ve known all my life,” Winkleman says, “but my fringe covers by blowhole, so only my close friends and family knew until now.” I decided to come out after my trip in the TARDIS, she adds, referring to her previous appearance on the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing as a dolphin.

Claudia TARDISAnne’s TV Blog

Claudia uncovered the origin of her quirk while filming for a cancelled edition of the BBC’s Who Do You Think You Are? “I got hooked on genealogy,” Winkleman says, “and I just kept going back further and further through time. My ancestors were winklers, who harvested molluscs from the sea. I traced my family line back to the first humans, then even further.

Eventually I arrived at a common ancestor we all share, about 60 million years back. My 3 million times great grandmother was a flatworm, and her species followed many evolutionary paths, creating such diverse creatures as dolphins, octopuses, and humans.

We still share 90% of our DNA with that common ancient ancestor, and even though the Human Genome Project unlocked our genetic code, we’re only just on the threshold of understanding.

At a sub-atomic level, a single strand of DNA can store more information than is held in all the world’s libraries. We only just understand which bits do what general things. Deeper within the code though, beyond the 10% which is pure-human, ancient history lies dormant, in all the DNA programming which went on to evolve separate from us into things like the octopus and the dolphin.

So what I have is a genetic blip. For some reason, that part of my family’s DNA which has slept for millions of years has stirred. I haven’t spoken about it before now, because I feared the reaction. Perhaps a part of me was worried I’d be used for experiments. But I believe in being me, and I think everyone should be free to be themselves and to express that. We are all part-dolphin.

And I think it’s a gift. If it’s a trait I pass on further down the line, then perhaps I’ve helped kick start a tiny revolution in human evolution. Because the more I thought about the blowhole under my fringe, the greater I became aware of other people’s thoughts. And many scientists agree dolphins might be telepathic.

I’ve learned how to manipulate the blowhole like a mouth, and it’s operated by a different part of my brain to the one which controls the mouth below my nose. With my upper mouth, I can speak another language without really thinking about it.” Claudia blew her fringe from her face. “Mais non, je ne vais pas me couper la frange. Merci.”

Magners

Safe journey Si, a kindred inner spirit floating in a tin can, out there where surrealism is part of normal life x

Cigarette ends

Pessimistic sufferposting therapy

THE WRITER’S LIFE

In an update on a previous post, my brother-in-law Simon passed away today. He’s survived by his mum and four children. Safe journey brother x

Si died
Di died
Dodi died
The Dodo died
Dando died
Doddy died
Dido’s alive
and Danny Dyer
So’s the Dingo
in the dryer
Life is a game
of Bingo

When I can’t make the words in my head conform to any discipline, I just shit-post, then think of a picture to deface. Sometimes I put it on Facebook, more often on Twitter, then I regret it. Interpretation is the real artistic pursuit, and things just pop into my mind. “Don’t let it control you. Celebrate it.”

Grumpy cat depressed GOOD

I’ve made the inside of my head a place full of friends. It’s the only way to deal with people you can’t get rid of, and it can make for a good game of 8-Ball.

ginger cat-on-laptop poem2

Meanwhile, we all have a bigger game to play outside: Let’s save this burning home of ours. We were only ever guests of those who were here first, and we owe it to them, if not ourselves.

Art Chimp Phone

To be anxious is to be human right now. All we need to do is keep talking.

These images never leave, but they hide unless I curate them for hanging in my gallery of thinking, where I can trust the public to steal them. It’s what I call sociology.