Dear Captain Slow is now Captain Speedy,
No longer pedantic, or anal or tweedy.
Reckon he's always been having us on,
He drives a Ferrari and maxes a Veyron,
Now showing true colours, the old Mr May gone.
He's quite the boy-racer, perhaps it's his age,
The envy of all on a minimum wage.
Step forward, our hero, and take centre-stage.
Elaine x ;-)

God! I wish that someone would pimp my ride! I put the Mondeo back on the road this week, smooth, comfortable with plenty of ooomph. Back to the old Celica today. I do love her, but it's like riding a frisky horse! She pulls every which way, she squeals, she roars, she's a bitch... but I love her. x x x x
p.s. I suppose I could have taken her to the Outer Hebrides - It would have been just like a Top Gear challenge - to get there in a rubbish car!


Here she is, hiding and sulking in next door's yard.

Deliverance

The poet within, dwells on two things only,
The comedic mask, or the soul that's lonely.
Does one hide the sad, with jocular verse,
Or bare one's soul, as despair gets worse?
Does it help to keep, the black dog to heel,
Help banish demons, make one feel
That there is hope, that there is bliss?
Patient words awaiting, a lover's kiss.

Mine

At Ease
Walter de la Mare

Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal -- these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease --

At ease, but cold as stone,
Though the intellect spin on,


And the feat and practiced face may show
Nought of the life that is gone;

But smiles, as by habit taught;
And sighs, as by custom led;
And the soul within is safe from damnation,
Since it is dead.

Still to be neat
Ben Johnson

Still to be neat,
still to be dressed,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdered, still perfumed:
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes losely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art;
They strike mine eyes but not my heart.

Interlude
Felix Dennis

I don't know you- you don't know me,
This happenstance is all we know,
Yet rivers still embrace a sea,
Whose creatures sing strange songs below.

You don't know me- what could you know?
And have your dragons all been slain?
Say nothing! - while our hearts pound so
To drown within each others' pain.

A few images from the Air Tattoo yesterday. Good to see the Vulcan in flight and the US F-22 Raptor was awesome! Come on people, we want Concorde back up there. James was there as you can see.

My Muse and I, today.

An Evening
William Allingham

A sunset's mounded cloud;
A diamond evening-star;
Sad blue hills afar;
Love in his shroud.

Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a summer day;
Sweet Love dead.

Love the suit, very classy. Was it acquired for a special occasion perhaps?

Congratulations James!

The Convergence Of The Twain
Thomas Hardy (incomplete)

In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls--grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?". . .

Horrified Robert Jones ended up with a careless driving charge after his satnav left his BMW perched on the edge of a cliff.


Satellite Navigation = Unpredictable Destination.
----------------------------------------------------------
A road less travelled, not tarmaced but gravelled,
Well the satnav says we're here!
Are you sure that there should be,
a steep cliff edge and then the sea?
Perhaps you'd better try reversing now my dear.

Back up a little more or we'll end up on the shore,
The lady's telling you to turn right,
Are we supposed to be on this runway?
Does she think we want a holiday flight?
Ooh! I saw the undercarriage of that plane almost,
Well, one thing is for certain we're no longer at the coast!

So, we've travelled 6.2 miles that she said to,
My word, but how these bends are getting tight!
Do you really think we should be up this mountain?
You're in danger of a nosebleed at this height.
There certainly is a a most spectacular view from here,
If you slow to under 60, you can look and I will steer.

Ah, thank goodness, here we are, back nearly home now,
Darling, I know you are a little bit obsessed,
But in reality although you think she's gorgeous,
Please picture her as eighty two and plainly dressed,
Perhaps I will drive tomorrow, with the satnav off, instead,
When we again set off to Tesco's, for a loaf of wholemeal bread.

Elaine x

In Broken Images
Robert Graves

He is quick, thinking in clear images;
I am slow, thinking in broken images.

He becomes dull, trusting to his clear images;
I become sharp, mistrusting my broken images,

Trusting his images, he assumes their relevance;
Mistrusting my images, I question their relevance.

Assuming their relevance, he assumes the fact,
Questioning their relevance, I question the fact.

When the fact fails him, he questions his senses;
When the fact fails me, I approve my senses.

He continues quick and dull in his clear images;
I continue slow and sharp in my broken images.

He in a new confusion of his understanding;
I in a new understanding of my confusion.

Shakespeare

His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles,
His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate,
His tears pure messengers sent from his heart,
His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth.

I LEAVE THIS AT YOUR EAR
W.S. Graham

I leave this at your ear for when you wake,
A creature in its abstract cage asleep.
Your dreams blindfold you by the light they make.

The owl called from the naked-woman tree
As I came down by the Kyle farm to hear
Your house silent by the speaking sea.

I have come late but I have come before
Later with slaked steps from stone to stone
To hope to find you listening for the door.

I stand in the ticking room. My dear, I take
A moth kiss from your breath. The shore gulls cry.
I leave this at your ear for when you wake.

Blokes.
---------
Yes James, you were robbed, you should have got a Bafta over a (oh God they're so boring) cookery programme. Long may the flowery shirts reign especially the BFS and jeans are always ok.
Anyway, you always scrub up well and look smart and handsome in your tux.