I reckon that my daughter might think that I'm an admirer of Mr May.
She bought me this canvas for Christmas!

In the summer I revisited the Outer Hebrides and went back to a favourite spot to watch and film the salmon jumping. There was a film crew there.
I've just watched Three Men Go To Scotland on BBC2 and guess what?
I was actually filming Rory McGrath, Dara o'Briain and Griff Rhys Jones!
Didn't recognise them from the back!
(took mostly movie film but here's a still)

Fatima
Alfred Tennyson

O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might!
O sun, that from thy noonday height
Shudderest when I strain my sight,
Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light,
Lo, falling from my constant mind,
Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind,
I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.

Last night I wasted hateful hours
Below the city's eastern towers:
I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:
I roll'd among the tender flowers:
I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth;
I look'd athwart the burning drouth
Of that long desert to the south.

Last night, when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.
O Love, O fire! once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul thro'
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Before he mounts the hill, I know
He cometh quickly: from below
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
Before him, striking on my brow.
In my dry brain my spirit soon,
Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,
Faints like a daled morning moon.

The wind sounds like a silver wire,
And from beyond the noon a fire
Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher
The skies stoop down in their desire;
And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight,
Bursts into blossom in his sight.

My whole soul waiting silently,
All naked in a sultry sky,
Droops blinded with his shining eye:
I will possess him or will die.
I will grow round him in his place,
Grow, live, die looking on his face,
Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace.

Merry Christmas to James
and anyone popping in over the holiday.

Another e-present for you!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yaOOMTqofo

You know how to make my Christmas happy!

The Mistress
John Wilmot Earl of Rochester

An age in her embraces passed
Would seem a winter's day;
When life and light, with envious haste,
Are torn and snatched away.

But, oh! how slowly minutes roll.
When absent from her eyes
That feed my love, which is my soul,
It languishes and dies.

For then no more a soul but shade
It mournfully does move
And haunts my breast, by absence made
The living tomb of love.

You wiser men despise me not,
Whose love-sick fancy raves
On shades of souls and Heaven knows what;
Short ages live in graves.

Whene'er those wounding eyes, so full
Of sweetness, you did see,
Had you not been profoundly dull,
You had gone mad like me.

Nor censure us, you who perceive
My best beloved and me
Sign and lament, complain and grieve;
You think we disagree.

Alas, 'tis sacred jealousy,
Love raised to an extreme;
The only proof 'twixt her and me,
We love, and do not dream.

Fantastic fancies fondly move
And in frail joys believe,
Taking false pleasure for true love;
But pain can ne'er deceive.

Kind jealous doubts, tormenting fears,
And anxious cares when past,
Prove our heart's treasure fixed and dear,
And make us blessed at last.

THE MOON
Percy Bysshe Shelley

The snow upon my lifeless mountains
Is loosened into living fountains,
My solid oceans flow, and sing and shine:
A spirit from my heart bursts forth,
It clothes with unexpected birth
My cold bare bosom: Oh! it must be thine
On mine, on mine!

Gazing on thee I feel, I know
Green stalks burst forth, and bright flowers grow,
And living shapes upon my bosom move:
Music is in the sea and air,
Winged clouds soar here and there,
Dark with the rain new buds are dreaming of:
'Tis love, all love!

To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing
William Butler Yeats

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

Favourite word at the moment - schism

Was watching a most interesting programme this morning on the construction and testing of the Bugatti Veyron. Only 14 titanium bolts hold the front and back together! The testing on the now familiar 'secret'
track was somewhat bland after seeing the fantastic camera work of the Top Gear team. The car featured was sporting my favourite colour combination of black and red. Magnificent!

Dejection: An Ode
Samuel Taylor Coleridge (part only)

’Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling,
Silent as though they watched the sleeping Earth!
With light heart may she rise,
Gay fancy, cheerful eyes,
Joy lift her spirit, joy attune her voice;
To her may all things live, from pole to pole,
Their life the eddying of her living soul!
O simple spirit, guided from above,
Dear Lady! friend devoutest of my choice,
Thus mayest thou ever, evermore rejoice.

The Door
Felix Dennis

I hammered hard upon the door confused,
            My soul in pain:
"What! Am I to be thus abused,
        A pilgrim in the rain?

A dragon-fly with wings still yet to dry
             From Mammon's mire,
May yet outshine a butterfly
       And set the lake a-fire."

But as I raved and battered at the keep
      A voice within
Spoke sweetly to my troubled sleep:
       "Twas never locked -
              Come in."

Ice Queen
(mine)

Cold-hearted queen,
ice in my heart,
Snow drifting, tower high,
keeps us apart.
Feed me your warmth,
melt down this wall.
Needing your love,
forever your thrall.

A Drinking Song
William Butler Yeats

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

"I wish I could remember that first day"
Christina Rossetti

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!

An early e-present for Christmas!

Col is having a rough time getting about in the snow this week. He said it was that deep, it was up to his orifices! And! - He staggered out of the pub wearing some bird's hat. Good job he had the dark glasses so that no one recognised him.

This is how I feel...

I hate snow!
Thanks to Helen for the pics - you are right, he does look gorgeous!

Think the lawn wants mowing!

Failed to get to London today to the booksigning, so woe is me.
Ridiculously disappointed.
Damn British Weather!

The old Celica looks snug!

The World Is Too Much With Us
William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. -Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Behold, me who can't abide red Ferraris...                       fell in love with this at MPH...



Then I watched Apocalypse!

Why Be At Pains? (Wooer's Song)
 Thomas Hardy

Why be at pains that I should know
You sought not me?
Do breezes, then, make features glow
So rosily?
Come, the lit port is at our back,
And the tumbling sea;
Elsewhere the lampless uphill track
To uncertainty!

O should not we two waifs join hands?
I am alone,
You would enrich me more than lands
By being my own.
Yet, though this facile moment flies,
Close is your tone,
And ere to-morrow's dewfall dries
I plough the unknown.

NOT EVEN IN DREAM
Francis Thompson

HIS love is crueller than the other love:
We had the Dreams for Tryst, we other
pair;
But here there is no we; — not anywhere
Returning breaths of sighs about me move.
No wings, even of the stuff which fancy wove,
Perturb Sleep's air with a responsive flight
When mine sweep into dreams. My soul in fright
Circles as round its widowed nest a dove.

One shadow but usurps another's place:
And, though this shadow more enthralling is,
Alas, it hath no lips at all to miss!
I have not even that former poignant bliss,
That haunting sweetness, that forlorn sad trace,
The phantom memory of a vanished kiss.

may my heart always be open to little...
e.e.cummings

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
  
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
  
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

Another Summer of War
(1942) John Pudney

O war is whispering in the barley,
And green ears sweeten in the sun.
O with charlock and red poppy
Weed-proud summer is begun.

Summer too innocent in beauty
Strips the eye which wakes ashamed:
Drenching daylight with high lark-song
Where the very sky is aimed.

In a chastity of air, war ventures,
Where the rose forms innocently whole.
In the ardent pallor of the barley,
War sighs, fumbling for the soul.

We shall remember them

Back from MPH and Top Gear Live - brilliant as usual!

(It was very moving to see the heaving halls of the NEC suddenly fall quiet to observe the two minutes silence in honour of the fallen.)

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Emily Dickinson

Wild Nights—Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile—the Winds—
To a Heart in port—
Done with the Compass—
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden—
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor—Tonight—
In Thee!

Ferrari in pole position,  -  a bit tasteless considering the amount of blood.

Not Just for Christmas.
---------------------------------
So you've got rid of your Boxer, sorry, Boxter,
They're just for Christmas presents, after all?
Treated yourself to a new pup, sorry Porsche,
All it took was please sign here and a quick call.

Perhaps poor Boxter's out there in the cold now,
Chained up to some firm's forecourt in the frost,
Little headlights might contain salt water,
Looking all abandoned, sad and lost. Ah!

Oh, how could you, Mr May,
treat that little cur/car this way!

You only had to say, dear Maid, please take him,
And treat him kindly now he's past his prime.
I would have shown him love, not AC/DC,
And his innards full of detris was a crime!

I'd have taken him long runs in clement weather,
And kept his coat all glossy with a sheen,
And kept him tucked up warm inside my garage,
I'd never, ever, ever treat him mean.

And when I knew that it was rust to dust time,
When he had to meet the 'breaker in the sky',
I'd stay with doggy Boxter 'til the crush came,
Then I'd probably walk home and have a cry.

Yes, every cur/car will have his day,
A tomorrow? - not with Mr May!

As Sweet
Wendy Cope

It's all because we're so alike
Twin souls, we two.
We smile at the expression, yes,
And know it's true.

I told the shrink. He gave our love
A different name.
But he can call it what he likes-
It's still the same.

I long to see you, hear your voice,
My narcissistic object-choice.

Combat Report
John Pudney

"Just then I saw the bloody Hun" You saw the Hun? You, light and easy,
Carving the soundless daylight. "I was breezy
When I saw that Hun." Oh wonder,
Pattern of stress, of nerve poise, flyer,
Overtaking time. "He came out under
Nine-tenths cloud, but I was higher." Did Michelangelo aspire,
Painting the laughing cumulus, to ride
The majesty of air. " He was a trier
I'll give him that, the Hun." So you convert
Ultimate sky to air speed, drift, and cover;
Sure with the tricky tools of God and lover.
"I let him have a sharp four-second squirt,
Closing to fifty yards. He went on fire." Your deadly petals painted, you exert
A simple stature. Man-high, without pride,
You pick your way through heaven and the dirt.
"He burnt out in the air; that's how the poor sod died."

O You Whom I Often And Silently Come

Walt Whitman

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you;
As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me.

what a proud dreamhorse
by ee cummings

what a proud dreamhorse pulling(smoothloomingly)through
(stepp)this(ing)crazily seething of this
Raving city screamingly street wonderful
flowers And o the Light thrown by Them opens

sharp holes in dark places paints eyes touches hand with new-
ness and these startled whats are a(piercing clothes thoughts kiss
-ing wishes bodies)squirm-of-frightened shy are whichs small
its hungry for Is for Love Spring thirsty for happens
only and beautiful

there is a ragged beside the who limps
man crying silence upward
-to have tasted Beautiful to have known
Only to have smelled Happens-skip dance kids hop point at
red blue yellow voilet white orange green-
ness

o what a proud dreamhorse moving(whose feet
almost walk air). now who stops. Smiles. he
stamps

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable

Elaine the fair, Elaine the lovable,
Elaine the lily maid of Astolat,
High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;
........................  so she lived in fantasy.

Sonnet
William Shakespeare

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

Oblation
Algernon Charles Swinburn

Ask nothing more of me, sweet;
All I can give you I give.
Heart of my heart, were it more,
More would be laid at your feet:
Love that should help you to live,
Song that should spur you to soar.

All things were nothing to give
Once to have sense of you more,
Touch you and taste of you sweet,
Think you and breathe you and live,
Swept of your wings as they soar,
Trodden by chance of your feet.

I that have love and no more
Give you but love of you, sweet:
He that hath more, let him give;
He that hath wings, let him soar;
Mine is the heart at your feet
Here, that must love you to live.

 "Creative minds are rarely tidy"
     The exception to the rule.
     -------------------------------
Having ordered your tools now
 - neat and tidier,
That will lead to you being unable to
 - abide m'dear,
Deviation in their proper places
 - spacially,
To be visually 'out' by even a
 - minute degree.
Poor Jamie, now you'll never get to sleep
 - at night,
Colin has a lot to answer for,
 - having caused your plight,
If only that 10mm spanner hadn't
 - disappeared,
Rehab had the OCD symptoms
 - almost cleared!
How many times will you have to check
 - if they're all there?
Will you be able to remove one
 - to do a repair?
Have you drawn outlines to see where their
 - dead bodies rest?
Matey, chuck 'em back in the toolbox...
 - it's for the best!

Back from my travels, have you missed me?
Don't answer that!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8I6hN4Y3qg

"James May's Man Lab" Trailer

Mr May showing us how to make a snail shadow on the wall!