In English we call them theatres of war, but there is not
much in the way of entertainment in such places. There is so much tragedy and
violence around right now – in Gaza, Iraq, Syria and Ukraine – demonstrating
the brutality inherent in the Beast that is Man. Perhaps the most pernicious
aspect of all is that some frequently try to justify their evil by flying
banners of race or religion. Let’s be perfectly clear: there is never anything commendably
national or spiritual about killing ones fellow man.
To offset all those horrendous goings-on, my summer posting
is in silly-little-poem form, dedicated to all our guests who came to share
their holidays with us – and to those on whom we are about to descend shortly!
Our summer – so far
This summer we had
lots of rain
Which helped the garden grow
But a 5-minute storm of heavy hail
Put our veggie plants
on go-slow
But we had lots of
visitors
To help us pass our days
Clarinet-playing Uncle Dimitris
And Aunt Maria came from Germany to stay.
Then we called up a local lad
Whose job can’t be
much fun
He came to empty our
cesspit
He must have siphoned off a ton!
Here is his trusty turd truck
Or crap cart - gosh,
naming is such fun!-
Whether void vehicle or loo lorry
It got ….the jobbie
done!
Then Margaret and Alastair
From the Shetland
Isles came too
And to continue the scatological theme
As a gift brought us ….Puffin Poo!
No sun-dried tommies
this year
But sauces by the pint
Apple and peach
liqueur and jam
Over winter should see us right
Kristina came from
Lithuania,
Swedish friends from
near the north pole
It was great having them all at the table
But on my waistline it’s
all taken its toll.
But now it’s time for
moving on
We’re going off on
holiday
So we must pack the
cases
For soon we’ll be on
our way
To Exeter to visit Pam
Then to Rufforth for
Jacqui’s ‘do’
In Edinburgh for just
one night
To see Isobel and
Kenny too.
To Crieff to visit
Mags and Bill
Old pals from Aberdeen
Then with sis and
hubby to posh hotel
In Stirling - to live like kings and queens!
The question in my
mind is this
When homeward we have
landed
Will Scotland have
taken the vote
And the UK be disbanded?
Just as well we leave
before then
Should any blood be
spilt
And just in case my
husband
Is obliged to wear the kilt!
And to mark the occasion, I give you my very own rendition,
in oils, of the emblem of dear old Scotia, our thistle!
