I am pleased to report that I am praying more as per Islamic rules. It’s like the Five-A-Day rule, but for your soul. Well. That’s how I choose to picture it. Insert your own pious vegetable/fruit mental image here. However the essential point is that this is making me much calmer, more focused and thankful. My mental health is fine, although the weather is impeding my plans to get running again.
What is already quite flabbergasting is that it is almost FEBRUARY. Dear Goodness, here cometh the month of love, when the solvent, sorted and generally thoughtful men shall be separated from the inept and panicked boys. When it will be impossible to buy (good) chocolate and almost the entire population of… Guernsey or somewhere could be DRESSED in the petals showering down from every conceivable shelf of every conceivable store; for ridiculously over inflated prices.
I just typed “ridiculously over inflated PRINCES.” Better out than in, your Highness…
Thereby, here is a gauntlet to be thrown down by as fair hand as one who is of Asian extraction can possess: Can men still write a good Valentine or not? One of my favourite poems which I have shared on the blog is Valentine by John Fuller. Knowing me I’ll probably repeat myself but I find it funny, well observed and affectionate because the speaker is open about his desire to be in the life of his beloved in a multitude of ways by repeating the phrase: ‘I want to…’ or ‘I like the way…’
I like both that he is picturing himself in her life (even if only as a fantasy) and also that the frankness and repetition seems observant in a way that is very specifically tender.
The last clause of the last line is the best: ‘I want to be… your future tense.’
For someone utterly enamoured of etymology, grammar and good spelling… if you talk wordy to me, I’m sold.
I recently talked to T.B.G on a far earthier theme while she was waiting at Clapham Junction. (Incidentally it is her birthday in February so she shall once again be The Birthday Girl.) She is currently making marionettes, (stroking the hairpieces for said marionettes covertly while on the Tube – like a Bond villain) and plotting a short film about delusional psychosis. On the platform she said:
“Pola, you’d better not ever come down to Clapham if you’re not 100% well. It’s dangerous down here.”
I refrained from telling her that I would in fact need to go UP and instead said:
“Well I think it’s generally best not to go anywhere that’s got Clap in it… “
I did, however, hold for applause.
Keep scribbling, (and stay safe kids)
~ Pola ~