Fixed Fascination

He waded puddles,

She paddled pools,

He practised stringent,

She broke the rules.

He never questioned,

She answers so denied,

She wept in buckets,

He grieved while dry-eyed.

He loved the movies,

She found her films in books,

He doubted everything,

She believed in spooks.

He trod a measure,

She went where angels feared,

Opposites in many ways

Yet love lived, always near.

He travelled inwards,

She ventured out,

Alternating circumstance,

Always there was doubt.

But constant was the keeping

Of the fascination fixed,

Dots connected details lost,

Oil and water mixed.

 

For Science – ll

Earth date:- 6th March 2015

Last night was not one of Spain’s finest moments although I venture to suggest it will not be recorded in the annals of history by any of its contemporaries and only noted here. Their loss. In attesting to these findings I have duly taken note that the bouquet of the Spanish wine consumed was most pleasant, the taste on the palate equally so and that the requisite two glasses were consumed with ease.

This initial experiment proved to have positive beginnings when I succeeded in being asleep shortly after ten o’clock. Men In Black (version something) failed to hold my interest although I was impressed at Emma Thompson’s vocal impersonation of a Venusian in heat – at least, I think that’s what it was.

Unfortunately, for the purposes of the previously outlined experiment, it also has to be noted that I was awake again just after twelve, paid heed to the time, fucked a little under my breath and promptly fell asleep again. This was of short duration when I was awakened yet again just after one a.m. by my son ringing the house phone to request admission to the lab as he had forgotten his keys.  An unusual occurrence. Not the keys. The fact that the door was locked. It has become the habit over the years for last one in to lock up. This has resulted in the front door sometimes being left open all night. But not last night. I will not deduct marks from Spain for that particular awakening as it was not the fault of the country that my son is a plank.

As I write it is now coming up on two a.m. My go to drink at the moment is water and I will now attempt to catch the sandman’s coat tails before he pisses off entirely for the night….. to be continued.

Bloody hell! * 5.30a.m.

Geezabrek! * just after 6

Giving in – time up, anyway.

Spain will now unite with Italy in the lasagne stakes, a necessary addition to the dish, although one that always breaks my heart a little when adding to the sauce.

Apparently, cherry and damson are not conducive to uninterrupted sleep.

Earth date:- 26th March 2015

My findings are proving inconclusive and elusive. (Bugger! Rhymes!)

It should be apparent to anyone with an eye for detail that monitoring the experiment now entitled ‘Fucksakesletmesleep!’ has not been high on my agenda. I have failed to keep notes and have even failed to drink the requisite number of glasses per evening to substantiate any claims that might possibly have been made were I a more diligent scientist, advocate of homework or indeed drinker. Stephen-my-man-Hawkings must be birling at the lack of adherence to task and would, I’m sure, give me a rollicking for such neglect. (I’ve heard he likes a good swally. But that might just be a rumour. Started by me.)

Being someone who never gives up without a fight I have decided, this evening, to try again. I’m only doing this in the interests of my marriage and the now too often vacant space that lies to my left. (Well, when I’ve not sprawled there in my apparently neverending quest for more space, a better bit of bed and someone to fling a leg over.) The shadows evidenced on my husband’s face and the haggard look on mine as I cover the smudges of a morning are testament to the fact that sleep is ever elusive and fucksakeswhatsgoingongoodgriefgodalmightycharliebrownI’mdyinghere is now my favourite catch phrase – shortened, of course, to the aforementioned experiment title.

I am now of the opinion that my vitamin D levels are back in the toilet pan again and only a massive dose of unadulterated sunshine will see me right.

In exactly one week’s time I will be on holiday for two weeks and there had better be a sun shining high in my back garden. I have painting plans of the garden furniture variety and a couple of sun loungers calling my name. Pick me, pick me, I hear them cry from the garden shed. (Need to paint that fecker too.)

At precisely 2.30 p.m. – Earth time – I shall don my painter’s apron atop my scientist’s coat, open a bottle of red, splash some paint hither and to and test for road worthiness one of the two petulant loungers. And there had better be some fucking sunshine around, sunshine. Or there sure as hell will be plenty of wine.

I will bloody sleep again. ‘As god is my witness.’ ‘But I’ll think about that tomorrow.’

Right now, I’ve opened a Spanish number again. Got to give science and countries another chance, I think. So does Stephen. I’ve heard. Slainte, mark ll!

 

 

 

For Science. Slainte.

In the interests of maintaining an upright position beyond four o’clock in the day it is necessary, after a certain age, (for me, anyway) to take some measures that may facilitate this aim. As a proponent of scientific experimentation to determine cause and effect with some accuracy I am about to undergo a series of tests that may affect my blogging capabilities.

It has come to my notice over the last year or so (it takes me a while to see patterns emerge) that my ability to sleep right through the night is now a matter of unrecorded history, merely living on in my memory and those of my family who can attest to previously witnessing the strains of my dulcet snoring at odd times throughout the night, proof, I dare to hypothesise, that I must have been sleeping.

Not being a proponent of early nights, I have laughingly called ‘bedtime’ any time I felt like it. Ridiculously low hours of sleep have previously not been an issue and added, I like to think, an edge to my humour throughout the day, being as how I haven’t always necessarily been in full control of my mental faculties. My excuse, sticking to it, although yet to be proven.

However, when problems arise, requiring answers, I turn to science as one possible means of exploring the wonders of the body and the mind in the belief that some bugger surely has investigated this before me. They have. But they’re them. And I’m me. So I’m testing for myself. I was good at science. I’ve got this.

I have taken copious notes on the problem (even written some poems about it. During the night. Can many scientists say that? Didn’t think so.)

The problem, as outlined, will require looking at from several different angles. I have, in fact, already studied one or two. And dismissed them as not scientifically proven.

This week, tale-end of, I will be drinking wine before bedtime while watching movies. I found it somewhat helpful last night and only woke three times during the night. Marvellous dreams recorded for future poems. Bonus.)

Tonight I will be experimenting with one Baron Saint Jean, ‘a smooth and mellow red wine with cherry and damson flavours’, hailing from the Spanish heartlands. Not one of my usual go-to countries for red biddy but I’m prepared to experiment in the furtherance of science.

Someone’s got to do it.

Last night’s Australian offering, ‘a deep ruby colour with a nose of raspberry and strawberry with spicy pepper and cloves’ may have helped a little in the insomniac stakes but I am a little concerned that the addition of spices may have done little to alleviate the problem entirely. And, who knows, may even have exacerbated it as can be the case when ruby murrays are indulged in before slumber. * Note to self, I am not from the east end of London.

I shall be researching various fruit combos from varied parts of the world to ensure a full bodied range of experience to experimentation ratio. Notes will be taken, dreams or absence thereof recorded, some songs may be sung but only if really pissed.

I will, of course, pursue other avenues and intend to take this matter as seriously as any scientist who can’t sleep through the night. But, I am working from the premise that a good bucket at the weekend sometimes has the ability to knock me out cold for lengthy periods that I will call sleep.

Please bear with me in these hazardous times as there may be groundbreaking results. I feel relatively confident that I can do this although I haven’t ascertained whether other noted scientists, apart from myself, have gone this route. ( I got excellent marks in biology. Chemistry was another matter. And physics, well, let’s just say that it was beyond my capabilities. But I’m pretty sure that I write better poetry than Stephen Hawkings. That fact has not been checked. So I could be wrong. But sometimes I make facts up. It’s a teacher thing. I’ve heard. Also not proven.)

Wish me luck as I venture where vintners have never gone before and where science has seriously let us down.

I will attempt to maintain decorum at all times, keep to regulation uniform (well, I’ve still got my nurse’s dress, that’ll do fine) and optimise results by having a control. Two glasses shall be the rule (of thumb) and, as I’m not driving to work these days, I feel confident that I shall maintain an upright position without any intervention from law enforcement.

Further updates will be notified. Probably in poetry.

Some sacrifice may be required and Lent is out the window.

Slainte!