Intermission
Note from the Author:

Come on, admit it – the world’s worst invention was Football, singularly responsible for the breakdown of communications in many marriages.

The second most popular cause of communication failure is if either of the parties involved is a writer.

If both parties are writers – I really wouldn’t hold out any hope at all. There’s no home big enough for that ‘duel’. (Well – Stephen King’s wife Tabitha is also an excellent writer – but they have a VERY BIG house – so it’s OK.)

 

                                                                         MOTD

 

I wonder what I did to cause this icy silence in the room
I’ve broken some unwritten laws and earned the now unbroken gloom.
His face, like thunder, as he grips more tightly the remote control.
Between his teeth he bites his lips – the other side has scored a goal.

I cautiously release the breath that I’ve been holding well in check.
I thought that I should meet my death – those hands of his around my neck.
I watch him stiffen and inhale – the evil spirit exorcised
For all is well, they did not fail; the Wanderers have equalised.

A celebration now ensues, as rapidly they score again
He’s smiling and it cures my blues. I tentatively lift my pen.
I know that I must write a verse and pray I have the skill to rhyme.
I hope the score will not be worse when finally we reach full-time.

 

Time for a Change 

    In the early days, sleep was a luxury. At least twice during the night, the baby would make his presence felt at a decibel level almost beyond human endurance. Laura would always wake first, but in fairness, Ben would eventually wake too.

    “Shall I give him his bottle?” he’d ask.
    “He’s finished it.”
    “Shall I ‘burp’ him?”
    “Done.” she’d reply. Ben would roll over and be asleep before she could say anything else, leaving her to deal with the less attractive task of nappy-changing.

    At last, the night came when Jason didn’t wake up for the 2 am feed. At 6 am, Laura woke in a panic, realising that dawn was breaking and she’d slept for 7 hours. The crib was empty. She raced downstairs, her heart pounding.

    She stood in the doorway of the living-room and surveyed the chaos, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Relief made her opt for laughter. Ben opened his eyes and shushed her, pointing at the baby, asleep on the floor beside him. 
    “Why is he wearing a tea-towel?” Laura whispered as they moved towards the kitchen.
    “I couldn’t work the nappies,” Ben waved an arm at a pile of discarded disposable nappies. Some had parted company with their adhesive tapes; others had contrived to fall to pieces and leak their filling over the carpet. “I gave up and tied that around him.”
    “What’s that?” Laura pointed at the slimy yellow stain on Ben’s pyjama top.
    “Don’t ask,” he said. “A man’s got to have some dignity left.”

    Half an hour later, with Jason wearing a nappy and back in his cot, Laura and Ben sat in bed drinking tea.
    “I did my best, love”
    “I know you did, and I’m very proud of you.”
    “I’m glad it’s Saturday.”
    “So am I.” Laura placed her empty cup on the bedside table and snuggled down to go back to sleep. Ben stroked her arm.
    “I know what would really help you relax,” he said.
    Needless to say, he didn’t.

 

 

Breakfast

“What shall we do for our anniversary?"
“Oh God, when is it?” Alice couldn’t believe she’d forgotten. Jim looked puzzled.
“You’re kidding, right? Friday night, what do you want to do?”
Alice laughed. “I knew that,” she lied. “How about the theatre? Cabaret’s on at the Rep. That girl’s in it. The one that won the thing on the tele.”
“What girl? What thing? No, never mind. We’ll never get tickets at such short notice and I hate musicals.”
“OK, what do you want to do?”
“Anything you like, love. Your choice.”
“I’ll have a think and we’ll talk about it at lunchtime then.” Alice picked up her briefcase and left for work. Jim cleared away the breakfast dishes and took the morning paper out into the garden.

Lunch

“I’ve got it. Let’s call Lucy and Steve and go to Luciano’s. We haven’t been out for Italian in ages.”
The silence at the other end of the line was just a little too long, then,
“Lucy’s a pain since she got pregnant. It’s all she ever talks about.”
“OK. Not Lucy and Steve, then. Paul and Babs?”
“Er, do we have to ask anybody else? It’s our anniversary, after all.”
“Just the two of us, then? But Luciano’s is all right?”
“Gotta go, hun. Doorbell. We’ll talk tonight.”
Alice replaced the receiver and returned her attention to her computer screen.

Dinner

“You’re a great cook, Jim. That chicken was so good. Do you think we should make a reservation for Friday, or will they fit us in?”
“Fit us in where?” Jim was clearing the table. Alice sighed. It was always like this.
“At the restaurant, for our anniversary.”
“Do we have to eat out? I mean, you’ve just said what a great cook I am. I’ve got this new recipe I’ve been dying to try out. We could eat at home - a nice romantic dinner for two.” He was pleading. She smiled.
“OK. Then you can take me dancing after dinner.”
Jim loaded the dishwasher.

Friday Night

“You look drop-dead gorgeous.” Jim was grinning as he poured the last of the red wine into Alice’s glass. “Happy anniversary, darling.”
“And the same to you, now where are we going dancing, to finish off the evening?”
Jim took her hand.
“I know a much better way to finish off the evening than dancing,” he said.
Needless to say, he didn’t.

 

 

Go on - admit it. You saw the title "Duel Control" and your first thought was 'Stupid cow can't spell."
Well, think again. According to Wikipedia - that fount of all wisdom and knowledge  a duel is ‘an engagement in combat between two individuals with matched weapons...’
Can you think of a better way to describe a relationship between a man and a woman?
Ever wondered who really wears the trousers? That’s where the control comes in.
Elementary, my dear student. Now please take a seat.

Explanations are over – it’s time for instruction. Please turn to Round 1, ( you can’t have chapters in a duel) and pay attention! I’ll be asking questions later.



Round 1 – Irreconcilable Socks

I once owned a tea-towel that bore the legend, “It starts when you sink in his arms and ends with your arms in the sink.” A truism, if ever I heard one. So where did it start? Oh yes, it’s all coming back to me.

They met at her twenty-first birthday party, back in the days when 21 was considered your coming-of-age. He came with mutual friends, a couple she’d known for years. He was ‘playing gooseberry’ as they used to call it back then; a single guy, dateless on a Saturday evening, tagging along as the spare wheel. Perhaps she should have read the warning signs. No, that’s not fair. There was nothing wrong with him. He was fun and they fell in love, and got married and had kids and all that, just like in the stories.

So, did they live happily ever after?  Does anyone?
Years down the line, unloading the washing machine before going to fetch the kids from school, she had a revelation. None of his socks matched. They used to – she was sure of it, and hadn’t she been sorting them week in, week out for years? It was as if they entered the machine as couples and many of them came out single. That was it – the washing machine was a divorce court that produced a regular quantity of irreconcilable socks. Suddenly her life seemed like that. She sat on the kitchen floor and cried for a while, wondering when she had stopped being happy.

“Mummy, why are your eyes all puffy?” They were outside the school gate and Jason was struggling with the toggles on his duffel coat.
“I think I’m getting a cold, sweetheart. Now hurry up. The Juniors get out in 5 minutes and we don’t want Lizzie to think we’ve forgotten her.”
Outside the junior gate, Lizzie posed the same question.
“It’s just a cold, love.”
The eight-year-old was not convinced. “It looks like you’ve been crying.”

Ben hung his jacket on the back of the chair, loosened his tie and sat down at the table. He opened the evening paper and read until she placed his dinner in front of him. He looked up, as he folded the paper.
“Got a cold, love? You look a bit rough. Pass us the salt."
In silence, she passed the salt to the Prince Charming who had stolen her life.
 
After a hot bath, she decided to have an early night. There was football on the TV, so Ben would be occupied for quite a while. She picked up the romance she was reading and climbed into bed. Five minutes later, the bedroom door opened and Ben stood there, grinning. “I know how to make you feel better,” he said.

Needless to say, he didn’t.

 

  END OF ROUND 1.

I woke up this morning with an original idea to revolutionise the world of blogging.

Everyone blogs nowadays, so I’m sure to be on a winner with my idea of a blogging technique for the technically-challenged. Heck, it’s designed for people who haven’t even got computers!

I’m so excited I rush through the morning routine: shower, dress, breakfast, meds. Then I’m ready to charge down to the High Street and pick up the equipment I need to start my new blog.

There’s a sale on at W H Smith, so I save £1.50 on my purchases – a pack of three spiral notebooks and ten ballpoint pens. (Black ink, fine point – so much more sophisticated!)

I’m about to race home, when a text message reminds me I’m meeting an old friend for coffee.

“You seem a bit distracted this morning, is everything OK?” Elaine has been talking to me for five minutes and I haven’t heard a word.

“Sorry. I’ve been caught up in a new writing project. It won’t get out of my head.” I take a gulp of my cold coffee and a swipe at the fly that has been making a meal of my doughnut. All I want to do is get home and start writing.

“Well, don’t let me distract you. I have to be at the hairdresser’s in ten minutes. Call me at the weekend, yeah?” We hug. Elaine leaves.

Back at home, I unpack the new stationery, make fresh coffee and take advantage of my cell-mate’s temporary absence to start the project.

No title - just the date, followed by a random recording of the day’s events so far and my thoughts and feelings.  I write for half an hour and then Nature calls.

As I return from the bathroom, I discover that my son has stopped by. He is replacing my notebook on the desk.

“Sorry, Mum. I didn’t realise it was your diary.”

Diary? How could anyone think that my new computerless blog was a diary?

After all, a diary is a random recording of the day’s events often including the writer’s thoughts and feelings ...

...Oops! Back to the drawing-board.  

  

 

I've often heard it said that some people work to live while others live to work. The debate as to which is better goes on and on. I fall into the 'work to live' category these days, because although I've always loved my day job I now appreciate my freedom and rest time more than ever.

Take last week for example. I worked from Monday to Thursday at a very reasonable school, not too far from home. Then I had a long weekend. That was great. Time to deal with stuff including having a rest. Time to write and catch up with people. Time to go shopping with my daughter. The weather on Friday was brilliant again. The kids I'd been teaching all week were on their annual rewards trip  to some theme park or other.
"Wouldn't you have liked to go with them?" asked a friend.
"Not on your life!" I said in all sincerity. My life on Friday was my own. No-one was paying for my time and no-one could ask anything of me unless I was prepared to give it freely. I think it's one of the main advantages of working the way I do now as a supply teacher (or a mercenary). If I don't feel like working I can refuse without feeling guilty. I don't have the responsibility I used to have, and I don't lose sleep over work anymore. Except when I worry that there may not be enough work to cover the bills. The restoration of the work/life balance for me has only been achieved through part-time working and removal of responsibility. It restored my love for my job and the quality of my life simultaneously.

Today, I'm at another very reasonable school actually covering my own subject for a change. It's really not a bad way to make a living.

Nowadays we seem to spend our lives setting and chasing targets in all aspects of our lives.
It was a big thing a few years ago when schools had to introduce target setting for every individual child on their books. It was also a lot of meaningless paper work. "Target Practice" is the title I chose for my new work in progress, which is a memoir of my years in teaching. I want it to be funny and heartwarming, so if you get a chance to look at it on Slushpilereader.com or Authonomy,(Yes, I went back for the feedback). I'd really appreciate your opinions.

For those who follow the progress of my verses - I am preparing a submission of poems about school at the moment. Really it just involves collating and editing stuff from my own personal collections of slush, going back years.

Watch this space and I'll let you know if I get anywhere.

Keep Smiling. :)

Another wonderful sunny day. So good to be able to dry the washing outside. I've been investigating a few ideas and will be making moves soon towards publishing more poetry.

This week was good to me. I worked full time at a local primary school and loved every minute of it. I'm back there for a couple of days next week as well, which is delightful.

Too hot to blog properly tonight but will try to be more inspired next time.

Does anyone else have trouble deciding to delete emails?
Last night I realised that I had thousands of them that were just sitting there in my inbox taking up space. Now I know some things are worth archiving for future reference, but really, some of the stuff I'd saved was just garbage or chit chat. I mean, I wouldn't dream of saving all the phone calls I've made for a year. I had over 300 from one friend - stretching back for about a year. Anyway - I took the plunge and deleted practically everything. Just waiting for the fallout now, when I find that I've eradicated some crucial piece of information that I should really have saved.
The new resolution is "if in doubt, chuck it out". Now, if I could only apply that to the rest of my life all would be well.

Happy days! Tomorrow is my grandaughter's first birthday, so it's party in the park time. Jelly and ice-cream and giggles. Does life get any better? I think not.

That was always going to be the title of my collection of poetry, except that until recently, I've never seriously considered making most of my poetry public. It's kind of personal a lot of the time, and therefore it only ever gets shown to the people it's written for.

Anyway, I've had a change of heart lately and I'm going to post some of my poetry on the website. I'd love to hear reactions to it for many reasons, but mainly because I want to know if it's any good. Seriously, folks - for me, writing poetry is very easy, I have some sonnets that took an average of 10 minutes each. I think in verse and I love the challenges presented by adhering to a strict format sometimes, but can anything this easy be worth reading? Please click on the link : http://verse-artiste.weebly.com/poems-prayers-and-parodies.html  and have a gander.
If you want to comment email me: [email protected].