Greetings Mudpuddlees, I am posting today with news of a diversion from the norm for me. I have decided to document the world and my life in verse - well, technically, in Haiku. I have converted my twitter account to now be a dumping ground for my thoughts on life, the universe and nothing at all in a Haiku format. For those of you that do not know Haikus, it is a short form of poetry, with many ridiculous rules, but fortunately the modern English version of this Japanese artform is 3 lines of 5, 7 and 5 syllables respectively. For example;
The air that I breathe,
Though supporting endeavour,
Is thick with failure.
The twitterati amongst you will be able to follow me on @Haikusareus.
The reason for this diversion? I have been a lazy little Mudpuddler and have let the habit of writing slip over the past two or three months. Its not good enough! I am hoping this will keep me in the habit of forming my ideas and thoughts into words - which will, in turn, force out the classic idea I have had - the novel that encompasses a single moment in two people's lives, but darts back and forth filling in blanks you never even realised were there.... trust me on this, its a doozy.
Monday, 29 August 2011
Thursday, 11 August 2011
My life in people - one for each year since I was born (1971)
Giovanni Leone 71
Bobby Fischer 72
Ted Heath 73
Richard Nixon 74
Bill Gates 75
Jimmy Carter 76
Elizabeth 2nd 77
Anwar Sadat 78
Margaret Thatcher 79
Ronald Reagan 80
Bobby Sands 81
Leopoldo Galtieri 82
Michael Foot 83
Carl Lewis 84
Michail Gorbachev 85
John McCarthy 86
Rudolf Hess 87
George HW Bush 88
Salman Rushdie 89
Nelson Mandela 90
Tim Berners-Lee 91
John Major 92
Bill Clinton 93
Lorena Bobbitt 94
Nick Leeson 95
Boris Yeltsin 96
Tony Blair 97
Augusto Pinochet 98
Lance Armstrong 99
Steve Redgrave 00
George Bush 01
Ronaldo 02
Dr David Kelly 03
Kelly Holmes 04
Pope John Paul II 05
Kevin Pietersen 06
Gordon Brown 07
Chris Hoy 08
Michael Jackson 09
David Cameron 10
Muamar Ghadaffi 11
Bobby Fischer 72
Ted Heath 73
Richard Nixon 74
Bill Gates 75
Jimmy Carter 76
Elizabeth 2nd 77
Anwar Sadat 78
Margaret Thatcher 79
Ronald Reagan 80
Bobby Sands 81
Leopoldo Galtieri 82
Michael Foot 83
Carl Lewis 84
Michail Gorbachev 85
John McCarthy 86
Rudolf Hess 87
George HW Bush 88
Salman Rushdie 89
Nelson Mandela 90
Tim Berners-Lee 91
John Major 92
Bill Clinton 93
Lorena Bobbitt 94
Nick Leeson 95
Boris Yeltsin 96
Tony Blair 97
Augusto Pinochet 98
Lance Armstrong 99
Steve Redgrave 00
George Bush 01
Ronaldo 02
Dr David Kelly 03
Kelly Holmes 04
Pope John Paul II 05
Kevin Pietersen 06
Gordon Brown 07
Chris Hoy 08
Michael Jackson 09
David Cameron 10
Muamar Ghadaffi 11
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
A letter to my 18 year old self
Dear Dave,
I guess right about now you're thinking about going to University, whereas for me it was 21 years ago. Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil the surprises in store for you, let's not go destroying the space-time continuum before you've even set out on your journey. To tell you the truth, I just felt like dropping you a line, to tell you to hang in there. It is all going somewhere, I promise. At least that's what it said in my letter.
Listen, you've got some fights ahead of you, mate, and you're gonna need to toughen up a bit. Not so soon that you can't go nuts for a few years, though. It's all good, just promise me you'll remember when it's time to put away childish things, OK? It's very hard to do this without giving the game away, but its important. There are times you are going to feel totally helpless - you're not. Whatever happens, however overwhelming it seems, you're bigger than it, Dave, you are so much bigger than it.
All those questions that are gnawing away in your head right now, you are going to find the answer to some very soon, and some of them are still questions I ask myself today. I'm just older, I'm not perfect, nor do I have all the answers! It's hard for me to find the words, there's a deep crevice between you and me, when you're there no words will come from the future, or the past, and it's the hardest things will be. Just remember one thing - 39 year old yous cannot write unless they make it out. You do make it out, I did make it out.
I won't tell you to do things differently. As funny as it may sound and despite everything that you will come across, I wouldn't have done a thing differently. Not one moment. Even the pain goes towards making me the man that is writing this letter to you. And like I said, your bigger than it all, you never make the wrong choice, you just make a choice.
What else can I tell you? Not much, but in the late nineties there's a reason it feels too good to be true. It is. Other than that, you already know the people you love, they are the people you'll always love, and you'll meet a few more along the way, I've never known us to pick a dud as a friend. You might tell them a bit more often, though, however clumsy you are with emotions. Ahhh, you'll do great, it's been good chatting to you.
Cheers Dave,
Dave
P.S. 'Do you fancy getting some chips?' - trust me on this ;)
I guess right about now you're thinking about going to University, whereas for me it was 21 years ago. Don't worry, I'm not going to spoil the surprises in store for you, let's not go destroying the space-time continuum before you've even set out on your journey. To tell you the truth, I just felt like dropping you a line, to tell you to hang in there. It is all going somewhere, I promise. At least that's what it said in my letter.
Listen, you've got some fights ahead of you, mate, and you're gonna need to toughen up a bit. Not so soon that you can't go nuts for a few years, though. It's all good, just promise me you'll remember when it's time to put away childish things, OK? It's very hard to do this without giving the game away, but its important. There are times you are going to feel totally helpless - you're not. Whatever happens, however overwhelming it seems, you're bigger than it, Dave, you are so much bigger than it.
All those questions that are gnawing away in your head right now, you are going to find the answer to some very soon, and some of them are still questions I ask myself today. I'm just older, I'm not perfect, nor do I have all the answers! It's hard for me to find the words, there's a deep crevice between you and me, when you're there no words will come from the future, or the past, and it's the hardest things will be. Just remember one thing - 39 year old yous cannot write unless they make it out. You do make it out, I did make it out.
I won't tell you to do things differently. As funny as it may sound and despite everything that you will come across, I wouldn't have done a thing differently. Not one moment. Even the pain goes towards making me the man that is writing this letter to you. And like I said, your bigger than it all, you never make the wrong choice, you just make a choice.
What else can I tell you? Not much, but in the late nineties there's a reason it feels too good to be true. It is. Other than that, you already know the people you love, they are the people you'll always love, and you'll meet a few more along the way, I've never known us to pick a dud as a friend. You might tell them a bit more often, though, however clumsy you are with emotions. Ahhh, you'll do great, it's been good chatting to you.
Cheers Dave,
Dave
P.S. 'Do you fancy getting some chips?' - trust me on this ;)
Thursday, 14 July 2011
Reworked, The Statue
The statue of the lovers wrapped,
In warm embrace endures.
Their features worn, and indistinct,
As time young love matures.
He holds and looks upon her,
Sweet angel in his arms.
She looks back at him, adoring,
Held captive by his charms.
This gaze, held for the ages,
Was to put doubt in its place,
But the fading years betray them,
They cannot recall each other's face.
In warm embrace endures.
Their features worn, and indistinct,
As time young love matures.
He holds and looks upon her,
Sweet angel in his arms.
She looks back at him, adoring,
Held captive by his charms.
This gaze, held for the ages,
Was to put doubt in its place,
But the fading years betray them,
They cannot recall each other's face.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
The trial and conviction of Romeo Mudpuddle
First of all, apologies to Mudpuddlers that I have been quiet the last couple of weeks. To tell you the truth I have had a bout of nothing to sayitis, and felt it best to keep quiet and be a possible fool than open my mouth and leave no doubt at all.
Being a single Mudpuddler, and, as I have lamented on here before, a somewhat lonely one, I have taken to internet dating sites as a means to an end. I am starting to regret it. I have always found the dating scene hard enough as it is, being completely oblivious to being given the come on whether that be with a subtle flash of beautiful eyes, or a rather more obvious statement of intent. Internet dating isn't supposed to be harder! And yet, and yet it most certainly seems to be.
Now, I am no oil painting I'll grant you, but I always fancied I had a certain whimsical attraction, a raspy, rascally smile and such, but over the last few weeks of internet dating (which ought to be known as known as internet humiliation), I am starting to feel like I have a second head that everyone but me can see, or have had some supper from months ago welded to my face without my realising.
I have been meticulous in only trying to engage in conversation those lasses that write a good summary of themselves and seem to want to meet people exactly as I would like to think I am - kind, considerate, warm, amusing and adventurous. Can I get most of them to reply to my missives? Can I bollocks (excuse the French)! I am honestly at a loss to explain why anyone would sign up to a dating website, write all of that and then just ignore someone introducing themselves. 'No thanks' would do, or 'Sorry, I don't like bald guys' or something - but no, I get the cold shoulder from most and the occasional reply seems to consist of 'Sorry, you are not my type' - How do you know?! Seriously, how the hell can you tell without even saying hello to me? I guess 'not my type' equates to 'receeding hairline and no obviously a muscular himbo. So, I get to feel like the Elephant man or some creepy stalker in the shadows on a daily basis. Go me.
It's not supposed to be like this. I am one of the world's good guys - I am supposed to get the girl! And on those occasions when my mask slips and I am clearly not one of the world's good guys but a slightly roguish character - well, hell, I am still supposed to get the girl..... by dint of irresistable roguishness.
It's all a mystery to me, it really is. I am not getting any younger, but I seem to be getting ever more naive. And yet I have come to the realisation that the one thing I don't want to carry through my forties is the loneliness I have taken through a great deal of my thirties.
C'est l'amour, c'est la guerre.
Being a single Mudpuddler, and, as I have lamented on here before, a somewhat lonely one, I have taken to internet dating sites as a means to an end. I am starting to regret it. I have always found the dating scene hard enough as it is, being completely oblivious to being given the come on whether that be with a subtle flash of beautiful eyes, or a rather more obvious statement of intent. Internet dating isn't supposed to be harder! And yet, and yet it most certainly seems to be.
Now, I am no oil painting I'll grant you, but I always fancied I had a certain whimsical attraction, a raspy, rascally smile and such, but over the last few weeks of internet dating (which ought to be known as known as internet humiliation), I am starting to feel like I have a second head that everyone but me can see, or have had some supper from months ago welded to my face without my realising.
I have been meticulous in only trying to engage in conversation those lasses that write a good summary of themselves and seem to want to meet people exactly as I would like to think I am - kind, considerate, warm, amusing and adventurous. Can I get most of them to reply to my missives? Can I bollocks (excuse the French)! I am honestly at a loss to explain why anyone would sign up to a dating website, write all of that and then just ignore someone introducing themselves. 'No thanks' would do, or 'Sorry, I don't like bald guys' or something - but no, I get the cold shoulder from most and the occasional reply seems to consist of 'Sorry, you are not my type' - How do you know?! Seriously, how the hell can you tell without even saying hello to me? I guess 'not my type' equates to 'receeding hairline and no obviously a muscular himbo. So, I get to feel like the Elephant man or some creepy stalker in the shadows on a daily basis. Go me.
It's not supposed to be like this. I am one of the world's good guys - I am supposed to get the girl! And on those occasions when my mask slips and I am clearly not one of the world's good guys but a slightly roguish character - well, hell, I am still supposed to get the girl..... by dint of irresistable roguishness.
It's all a mystery to me, it really is. I am not getting any younger, but I seem to be getting ever more naive. And yet I have come to the realisation that the one thing I don't want to carry through my forties is the loneliness I have taken through a great deal of my thirties.
C'est l'amour, c'est la guerre.
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Le Rant
I thought I might come on here today and talk a little bit about the world, and how I see it. I will, of course, be careful not to let my view become a fully head-steamed rantathon. After all, what could I possibly find to rant about?
Why, indeed, when the world is such a fulfilling place? Why rant when ambition, that used to be cloaked as a fireman, nurse or train driver, has been replaced with the utterly vapid and senseless desire 'to be a celebrity'? It's not as if anyone is seeking celebrity for achievement, but merely to be famous for fame's sake - the lofty ambition of Man reduced to a burning desire to be the talk of gossip magazines. That's one small step for man, one giant leap on the red carpet. Take back your medals, forget your discoveries. Rush not into danger, practice at nothing for now you have made it when they corner off a piece of a tacky city club for you and yours. And there may you sit, consuming the jealous glances of lesser mortals and hoping, against all hope, that none of us can see you are hollow inside.
Why would I rant when the world of politics is in the care of such giants as now bestride the world stage? Small men, with small dreams fiddling round the margins of Rome as it burns - a little bit of stimulus here, a little bailout there. Why don't you leave it alone, we've built ourselves so many false idols that the altar table is buckling, and the whole lot is about to come crashing down. Infantile changes on the micro scale, and even they are constantly reviewed, renewed or cancelled. It's like nobody is able to function anymore without focus groups and the weight of public opinion on side. What happened to the orators, what happened to men and women of vision? Even the ones I don't agree with, at least I could admire for having the courage of their convictions. What do we have instead? Faceless goons, careerist poiticos, reprehensible, idiotic and forgettable. Even America cannot produce the goods any more. Barack Obama a great orator? Please, he has the most turgid and stilted voice, I tune out every time he is on.
And why would I want to rant at a world that is so perfectly fair in every way? A wonderful world where you rise and fall based on the effort you put in, and everybody gets a fair crack of the whip. No, sorry, that must be a different world I am thinking of. This world is skewed in favour of the crooked, feckless and lazy, all endeavour is punishable by taxation, all achievement to be glossed over, the State has become the overbearing, all-consuming monster. Everything is the State, the State is everything. Tax you, fine you, instruct you, warn you, target you, measure you, punish you, watch you, record you, appraise you and judge you. There is nothing left for the individual, the outcast, the maverick. You must comply, you will comply with the State. Eat the requisite amount of fruit and vegetable, have the same number of children, avoid the foods you are told are bad, even the ones that taste good, exercise in the prescribed fashion, get angry when instructed to do so, fear outsiders, report deviation from the norm, judge your neighbours as you yourself shall be judged. Give up your hopes, retire your dreams, this is the age of the bland, the age of the State, the age after you ceased to matter. All is celebrity, mediocrity and grey.
That was fun. Let's do it again next week.
Why, indeed, when the world is such a fulfilling place? Why rant when ambition, that used to be cloaked as a fireman, nurse or train driver, has been replaced with the utterly vapid and senseless desire 'to be a celebrity'? It's not as if anyone is seeking celebrity for achievement, but merely to be famous for fame's sake - the lofty ambition of Man reduced to a burning desire to be the talk of gossip magazines. That's one small step for man, one giant leap on the red carpet. Take back your medals, forget your discoveries. Rush not into danger, practice at nothing for now you have made it when they corner off a piece of a tacky city club for you and yours. And there may you sit, consuming the jealous glances of lesser mortals and hoping, against all hope, that none of us can see you are hollow inside.
Why would I rant when the world of politics is in the care of such giants as now bestride the world stage? Small men, with small dreams fiddling round the margins of Rome as it burns - a little bit of stimulus here, a little bailout there. Why don't you leave it alone, we've built ourselves so many false idols that the altar table is buckling, and the whole lot is about to come crashing down. Infantile changes on the micro scale, and even they are constantly reviewed, renewed or cancelled. It's like nobody is able to function anymore without focus groups and the weight of public opinion on side. What happened to the orators, what happened to men and women of vision? Even the ones I don't agree with, at least I could admire for having the courage of their convictions. What do we have instead? Faceless goons, careerist poiticos, reprehensible, idiotic and forgettable. Even America cannot produce the goods any more. Barack Obama a great orator? Please, he has the most turgid and stilted voice, I tune out every time he is on.
And why would I want to rant at a world that is so perfectly fair in every way? A wonderful world where you rise and fall based on the effort you put in, and everybody gets a fair crack of the whip. No, sorry, that must be a different world I am thinking of. This world is skewed in favour of the crooked, feckless and lazy, all endeavour is punishable by taxation, all achievement to be glossed over, the State has become the overbearing, all-consuming monster. Everything is the State, the State is everything. Tax you, fine you, instruct you, warn you, target you, measure you, punish you, watch you, record you, appraise you and judge you. There is nothing left for the individual, the outcast, the maverick. You must comply, you will comply with the State. Eat the requisite amount of fruit and vegetable, have the same number of children, avoid the foods you are told are bad, even the ones that taste good, exercise in the prescribed fashion, get angry when instructed to do so, fear outsiders, report deviation from the norm, judge your neighbours as you yourself shall be judged. Give up your hopes, retire your dreams, this is the age of the bland, the age of the State, the age after you ceased to matter. All is celebrity, mediocrity and grey.
That was fun. Let's do it again next week.
Friday, 27 May 2011
I am the instigator
I'm really not the nicest guy
When it comes to playing fair,
I'd rather your woes multiply
Than take my honest share.
Whilst you are sat there, weeping
I'll look through you like you're hollow,
My insidiousness is creeping,
Makes this hard for you to swallow.
It was always going to end like this
And I was always set to win,
You fell for my deceitful kiss,
Which made you blind to constant sin.
I found the lying easiest,
When I wore a gormless smile
That's when I'm at my sleaziest,
Playing happy families for a while.
So, I'm leaving now, because I'm free;
Take a good, long look and then,
No sight, no sound, no hint of me
Will come your way again.
When it comes to playing fair,
I'd rather your woes multiply
Than take my honest share.
Whilst you are sat there, weeping
I'll look through you like you're hollow,
My insidiousness is creeping,
Makes this hard for you to swallow.
It was always going to end like this
And I was always set to win,
You fell for my deceitful kiss,
Which made you blind to constant sin.
I found the lying easiest,
When I wore a gormless smile
That's when I'm at my sleaziest,
Playing happy families for a while.
So, I'm leaving now, because I'm free;
Take a good, long look and then,
No sight, no sound, no hint of me
Will come your way again.
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