Rob – Page 4 – EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS

Tin Crown In A Paper Bag

I’m still working on a piece about our time in Shropshire—you should see that next week. It’s proving a little more difficult to get a grip on, but I think I’ve finally figured out the structure and key points. Hopefully it’ll be worth the wait.

Instead, let me offer up a piece of original short fiction. Reading Writers celebrated the results of our Spring Competition this week. Judged by author Gill Thompson, the theme was A Terrible Loss. Clearly the notion resonated, as we had the biggest ever response to a competition prompt. My entry, in a stunning reversal of fortunes from last year when I won both writing competitions, did not place—which I’m relieved about. It’s a take on a famous tragic hero of literature. See if you can figure out who I’m lovingly parodying.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 16

We’ve been on us holidays. Still unpacking, both mentally and physically. There will be more about the whole experience next week in a diversion from the norm. But today here’s your expected slumgullion of goods and services.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

Too High, Too Far, Too Soon

It starts with a fanfare. A single trumpet, blowing high and wild, glimmers of sunlight jabbing holes in a stormy sky. Behind it, guitars, not so much strummed as hammered, wire and wood pushed to their limits. The chording is almost Spanish, calling up the drama of a spaghetti Western, a Morricone showdown. Two gunmen, hands crooked over their holsters, waiting for the first toll of high noon. A honky-tonk piano slides into the mix, maybe from the saloon where an argument over cards or a girl started, to finish the matter at hand in a crack of gunfire, of blood in the dust.

It builds, it builds, you can smell the tension, the tremble in the trigger fingers, sweat easing out from the band of the stetson. One last howl from the trumpet, a single pure high note holding for that second longer than it should and then and then and then

BANG. The drums, finally, a cannonade, regiments of worn boot heels marching in lockstep across a windblasted mountain range. More guitars, electric now, overdriven, snarling like predators running down their prey. And a voice, sneering, insouciant, a challenge, a dare.

‘So here we are in a special place

What are you gonna do here?

Now we stand in a special place

What will you do here?

What show of soul

are we gonna get from you?

It could be Deliverance

Or History

Under these skies so blue

Something true…’

Now that’s how you start an album.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 15

A real Jeckll-and-Hyde week. On Saturday I started feeling unwell—a killer combo of aches, shivers and hot flushes which rendered me horizontal and housebound until Wednesday. Once I was back on my feet, I had to negociate three days of social activity, including a trip to Oxford to see The Waterboys—of which much more next week. It would have been very easy to cry off on the extrovert duties—I had a great excuse, after all. I’m pretty sure I was no longer a carrier for whatever hit me at that point, but folks would have understood. For once, though, I felt I needed to be out and amongst friends. And you know what, I think it really helped in the recovery process. My hermit tendencies are strong. I need to not let them take over.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 14

I think I have to make a deal over Eurovision this year. I love the songs, the manic vibe, the surreal quality of the whole big-tent circus. But once the songs are done and the judging machine grinds into life—well, I lose interest rapidly. I know C feels the same way—she’s talking about giving the whole thing a miss this year. So, we’ll see. I suspect we’ll watch the performances and find out who won the following morning. Rooting for the UK of course (What The Hell Just Happened? has strong musical theatre vibes which may help it out) but I’ll tag my personal choice below.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 13

All of a sudden, I’m playing catchup to my salad and spinach from the garden. The good green stuff is constantly in need of cutting and eating. Not a bad thing, of course—C and I are filled with fibre, vitamins and iron. And an armful of spinach melts to a few spoonfuls of concentrated goodness in a hot pan. I just wish the same could be said for my cucumbers and tomatoes, which are taking their own sweet time. Yes, I know it’s only May but still.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 12

Susie Dent says: ”Word of the day is ‘forswunk’ (13th century): exhausted from too much work. I like to think that ‘foreswunk’ is to be exhausted before you even begin.”

Your umble author is well and truly forswunk, it’s been a wild week. Therefore a slightly foreshortened chapter this week, with a hopeful long weekend ahead. I shall be laying a concrete patio. Pray for me.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 11

As we slide into May, all the hard work C and I have put in at Copse End over the last six months is starting to pay off. Most of the new beds are in, dug and planted. There is one big path up the whole length of the garden now from the back door to Gwen’s Den, dozens of stepping stones in a long undulating line. House Beast Millie approves, marching up and down her territory like the boss she is, big fluffy tail held high.

It’s growing season. Lots of the plants we started from seed in the new year are ready to harden off before their final destination. My trug of salad leaves and radishes is romping away, and the chard, fennel and spinach up top looks very promising. The apple and cherry trees are in bloom, all candy pink and floss-white.

Speaking of which, the annual confetti-fest from next door has arrived. A huge old apple tree looms over the top of the garden and creates giant puffballs of blossom. The windy weather shakes it all onto our patio. It looks like the aftermath of a particularly camp wedding.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.

The Swipe Volume 3 Chapter 10

A bumper edition ahead this week, all the better to feed your greedy curious minds on this deliciously elongated weekend. I trust the Easter Bunny laid you plenty of treats and you’ve started the long slow roast of the festive beast. My haunch of unicorn went into the fire pit yesterday afternoon alongside woody herbs and a couple of diamonds for flavour. The meat should slide off the bones in perfect time for our celebration of nailing some poor Palestinian to a tree a few thousand years ago.

There may also be trifle.

Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you celebrate, welcome to The Swipe.

Five Minutes

The week can just run away with you. Perhaps it’s a symptom of age, maybe a simple matter of perception versus to-do list versus the increasingly urgent need to bank more than eight hours sleep a night. You can only fit so much into a sixteen-hour day. This week, unfortunately, has not provided opportunity for the glean and winnow of the internet which ends up with the half-baked confection that is your soar-away Saturday Swipe.

To put it another way—no linky madness this week, chums. Instead, let me open up and talk in a freeform way about time, roughly ordered into five short segments.

Boy, I know how to sell it, don’t I?