Finally finished the animation to go with my track 'Chill' that I started in 2018 when I did 'Scroll free September'
Friday 19 June 2020
Tuesday 2 June 2020
May 2020 Lockdown Musings facebook round up.
Friday 1st May
This poem is better than I remember it so I’m posting it here, or maybe my brain is just getting ever sludgier. It definitely is, but these days, I think that is an asset.
I'm too lazy to keep a lockdown journal, so I'm just rounding up my facebook thoughts at the end of each month and now I fancy myself as some latter day Samuel Pepys but lucky for you, I haven't written it all in a secret code!
This lovely rabble have been turning up for meals just lately.
Here's a short ambient mixcloud playlist to calm your nerves.
https://www.mixcloud.com/helenthomas/ambientesque/
This poem is better than I remember it so I’m posting it here, or maybe my brain is just getting ever sludgier. It definitely is, but these days, I think that is an asset.
May Day
on telephone buttons let dust accrue
no will to receive and no-one to call
carnivore neighbours in gardens pollute
smoke wafting aloft carcinogen coils
from cow coal cremations on barbecue
conversations beefed up malodorous
to self promotion of bluff power tools
Bank holiday impulse bought at Argos
glasses clink jarring with icy chit chat
babbling dry like a bubblewrap creek
one-upmanship sinking minus life raft
I wish war film skies, orchestral then bleak
a scornful flash then harsh bullet rain pours
peace now the refugees head back indoors
28th April 2010
Please
don't any of you ever use that new emoji on any of my posts because if I
keep being sick in my mouth, I'll rot my teeth. Ta.
I'm too lazy to keep a lockdown journal, so I'm just rounding up my facebook thoughts at the end of each month and now I fancy myself as some latter day Samuel Pepys but lucky for you, I haven't written it all in a secret code!
This
afternoon I spent an unecessary amount of time looking in the mirror
while holding an old pair of knickers up to my face like a yashmak to
see if I could turn them into a face mask for Owen.
Fuck it. 'Got tinnitus' might well be my answer to 'What did you do in the time of Coronavirus?'
I've started wondering how long it's going to take for me to turn into a butterfly. Night all.
I
had a cracking anxiety dream that touched all the bases and was
thoroughly enjoyable. I might send this to my friend who is a
psychologist after I've written it out here. Sit tight, here goes:
Owen and me were living in a flat in central Manchester. Owen had done a deal with a local department store and they were selling his skulls in the homewares department. They'd have weird, complicated special offers on whereby if a certain thing was on offer, everything else in the department would have some money off too. Owen had to make sure that it was clear that his skulls weren't included so I had to list all of the item offers that he was exempt from for the store. I went in everyday to see what his takings were. On this particular day his skulls had been sold at a discount because I'd forgotten to include wool on the list. When I told him about the error Owen said, "You forgot to list wool?! WOOL!"
Later on, the dream took on an apocalyptic vibe, somehow linked to the current crisis. It was like the beginning of a disaster movie where everyone's in a hurry to get home. I was trying to make my way home too. One of the streets on my route was blocked off by the residents, most of whom seemed to be members of The Socialist Worker Party, so I decided to go up the next street running parallel to it. I'd also lost my mobile phone, so was a bit antsy as I couldn't phone Owen to tell him I'd be late.
On the next street, the sun was shining and a group of Americans were watching a screen and laughing. Blanche from the 'Golden Girls' had cracked some joke about a man with a small willy and it was very funny. There was a woman near the screen who seemed to be responsible for it so I hugged her and said, "I needed that, thank you." then carried on on my journey.
Later on, I took a detour through a pub and found myself a bit lost so I flagged down a taxi. There were two people in the front of the taxi along with the driver who was a cross between Norm from 'Cheers' and Jeremy Clarkson. He was also quite sinister. I started to feel ill at ease, but couldn't phone anyone as I'd lost my phone. I put my hand into my bag to keep hold of my purse which was quite heavy and full of loose change. The taxi was stationary at this point and the driver somehow leaned back and was trying to attack me. The other two passengers had melted away by now, surplus to dream requirements apparently. Anyway, a struggle ensued but at some point I realised that I hadn't lost my phone and it was in the bottom of my bag. The pressure was on now to phone Owen and get help. Taxi man seemed to realise this and was leaning over and trying to subdue me so I smashed him on the side of his head with my purse and kept hitting him until I'd pummelled him unconscious. I pummelled him a bit more for good measure and found it quite satisfying. I then got out my phone and was just about to phone Owen, when I woke up. THE END.
Maybe this is why I'm not fully on board with the ever creeping cashless society. You can't pummel a rogue taxi driver to death with a debit card can you?
Owen and me were living in a flat in central Manchester. Owen had done a deal with a local department store and they were selling his skulls in the homewares department. They'd have weird, complicated special offers on whereby if a certain thing was on offer, everything else in the department would have some money off too. Owen had to make sure that it was clear that his skulls weren't included so I had to list all of the item offers that he was exempt from for the store. I went in everyday to see what his takings were. On this particular day his skulls had been sold at a discount because I'd forgotten to include wool on the list. When I told him about the error Owen said, "You forgot to list wool?! WOOL!"
Later on, the dream took on an apocalyptic vibe, somehow linked to the current crisis. It was like the beginning of a disaster movie where everyone's in a hurry to get home. I was trying to make my way home too. One of the streets on my route was blocked off by the residents, most of whom seemed to be members of The Socialist Worker Party, so I decided to go up the next street running parallel to it. I'd also lost my mobile phone, so was a bit antsy as I couldn't phone Owen to tell him I'd be late.
On the next street, the sun was shining and a group of Americans were watching a screen and laughing. Blanche from the 'Golden Girls' had cracked some joke about a man with a small willy and it was very funny. There was a woman near the screen who seemed to be responsible for it so I hugged her and said, "I needed that, thank you." then carried on on my journey.
Later on, I took a detour through a pub and found myself a bit lost so I flagged down a taxi. There were two people in the front of the taxi along with the driver who was a cross between Norm from 'Cheers' and Jeremy Clarkson. He was also quite sinister. I started to feel ill at ease, but couldn't phone anyone as I'd lost my phone. I put my hand into my bag to keep hold of my purse which was quite heavy and full of loose change. The taxi was stationary at this point and the driver somehow leaned back and was trying to attack me. The other two passengers had melted away by now, surplus to dream requirements apparently. Anyway, a struggle ensued but at some point I realised that I hadn't lost my phone and it was in the bottom of my bag. The pressure was on now to phone Owen and get help. Taxi man seemed to realise this and was leaning over and trying to subdue me so I smashed him on the side of his head with my purse and kept hitting him until I'd pummelled him unconscious. I pummelled him a bit more for good measure and found it quite satisfying. I then got out my phone and was just about to phone Owen, when I woke up. THE END.
Maybe this is why I'm not fully on board with the ever creeping cashless society. You can't pummel a rogue taxi driver to death with a debit card can you?
Money isn't real, especially that money that I used to pummell a taxi driver to death with the other night.
Getting
a bit weary of all the 'when this is over' whimsy making out that we'll
all look back on the current shitshow with something akin to nostalgia.
Fuck off.
For those who like that sort of thing, #HomeAlone2 is just starting on #Film4
Hands up if you've quietly declared that your English sitting room is a satellite of Scotland.
I think the big problem with this lockdown is that no one's got any news. Please put your news in the comments. I have no news.
I reckon Pence thinks he can survive Covid-19 because he's got Jesus, but he doesn't reckon Trump can.
I
think the local veg box providers should also offer a service whereby
they hide the fruit and veg in and around your garden, in trees, on the
shed, hidden in flower pots so that you have to work for your food and
get some mental / physical exercise like they do on monkey world.
I'm
still staying at home but I did nip out to the post box and walked back
and now I'm back in and not going anywhere. When do I get my medal? I'd
make my own but I haven't got any paper plates.
I've
got a bloody hedgehog emergency now. Hog in the feeding box, apparently
sleeping, had a wound on its head - possibly been strimmed. I've got it
in a box indoors, but it still appears to be asleep. It looks well
apart from the wound, so hope it's not too deep. I'll have to stay up
now so I can phone the vet and hog rescue in the morning.
Hog
update. It's still alive and is going to be taken to local rescue to be
checked over. I will be leaving the box in the porch for the volunteer
hogbulance driver to collect. I'm also getting a veg box later, so feel
free to write your own imaginary sitcom where the local hog rescue takes
delivery of a pineapple.
I had about 45 minutes sleep last night and now I've got to stay alert?
News just in. The #hedgehog
is a boy. The lady who took him to the rescue has asked that he be
named Joseph. He shouldn't need to stay at the rescue for very long.
I've done a load of baking and I don't mind telling you, I'm feeling quite worthy.
I've made some soda bread now. It was nice. Much better than the igneous boule that my Mum made in the 70s.
Soda bread in the 2020s. I've got 3kg of flour to get through so...
They've said 'over worked, under paid' too many times on channel 4 news and now I've got the Wombles theme tune as an ear worm.
This lovely rabble have been turning up for meals just lately.
Joseph
the hedgehog has returned from the hog spa. I put him straight into the
unoccupied hog box when he was brought back from the rescue - I saw him
later in the garden trundling about. No photos because I think you know
what a hog in a box looks like.
Potato
news: There are signs of life in my swing bin but I think the one in
the bucket has perished because of poor drainage. I cut the corners off
the bottom of the swing bin so there is a hole about the size of a 50
pence piece at each corner, so drainage is good. The bucket just has
some stones at the bottom and no holes, so no good. It's actually an old
milking pail so I'll have to ditch the spud and get a cow.
I'm
still reading that article but it occurred to me that I could reboot
that poem that I wrote, 'Why fruit bats should always eat fruit' and
instead of it being a basic healthy eating message, Fred's unsuitable
diet could result in the emergence of a deadly new zoonotic virus that
finishes the job started by covid-19. Sorry about this, it's just how my
imagination works.
That drug that Trump is on causes hair loss.
Made more soda bread. It was nice. Next stop crumpets.
I
was hovering over the 'like' button and all the emojis appeared and
started pulling faces and then I got a bit antsy because they're so
close together. I think I'll go to bed.
Is piss a vector for coronavirus? I assume it is. All the public toilets are shut to daytrippers, so...
I've
won a piece of art called 'Man with willy'. This pleases me. If you
like art, animation and satire, Happy Toast is well worth following on
twitter and facebook.
Do not invite me into any rooms. I don't trust any of you.
Quick reminder to please leave shallow dishes of fresh water out for the wildlife.
Warrington Market has just confirmed that I am human. Phew!
Potato update.
Video of those spiders.
I made up a joke. One for the birders:
A member of the family Sturnidae, native to Asia, walks into a bar.
The barman says, "I'm sorry, we don't serve mynas."
A member of the family Sturnidae, native to Asia, walks into a bar.
The barman says, "I'm sorry, we don't serve mynas."
I'm
in a bad mood now. The climbing rose that trails over the top of a
small juniper tree, then up into the hawthorn, got blown down and was in
danger of breaking. I've spent some time wrestling with it to get it
back to where it was. I'll spare you the details, just imagine John
Cleese in 'Clockwise' if he was a gardener.
I
just looked at the duration of the track that I'm listening to and
thought it was the time: 3.43. I then looked at my watch: 2.20 -
assumed it had stopped but was mystified by the fact that the second
hand is still moving. I'm not even drinking. How are you?
You
can all stop sending me that vid of a crow 'helping' a hedgehog across
the road now, thanks. Hogs out in daylight are usually unwell and
corvids will have a peck if they think they're in with a chance of a
free meal. Nature isn't as nice and kind as we'd like it to be.
POTATO UPDATE:
Sentences
I never thought I'd write two months ago #9504043709340494294, "Kate
and Mike are coming round to sign my will in the garden so I need to
clean the bird shit off the chairs."
Here's a short ambient mixcloud playlist to calm your nerves.
https://www.mixcloud.com/helenthomas/ambientesque/
They
just said on the news that you can have people round to sit with you in
the garden and they can nip in to use the loo as long as they clean
down all the surfaces after. I've just cleaned the bathroom and toilet -
if only I'd known, I could have invited some friends round to do it for
me.
A
confused, deaf old woman just phoned. Despite me telling her that she
had the wrong number, explaining that she doesn't know me and that I'm
not Beth or Ruth, she proceeded to tell me her news anyway. I told her
my name again and reiterated the fact that she doesn't know me. I could
hear her turn to someone and say, "It's someone called Hannah," and then
she hung up. I hope she's not one of these new contact tracers.
Actually, if they're bringing back the horse racing, I might put a fiver on pestilence.
This handcart that we're all going to hell in seems to have sped up somewhat.
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