Let me Count the Ways I love Myself
painted the Sistine Chapel juggling ferrets
extended immortality by an extra week
arm-wrestled The Rock and broke his wrist
broke Wonder Woman's heart
ran round the world hopping on one leg
let Jesus know in no uncertain terms his miracles were pish
could play faster than Django Reinhardt with no fingers
told Sean Connery to lisp so he would be immortalised
cheered Andy Murray up for seventeen seconds
The real thing?
evergivingcoolbumbling ... Sandy
The Shark Whisperer
They call me the shark whisperer. I haven’t met a white yet that won’t let me tickle its belly, or a mako that won’t let me scratch its gills. There was a mishap once with a wobbegong. The less said about that the better. The secret with sharks is simple. Relax. Keep the vibes good. I was on telly once, standing waist deep in a lagoon full of bulls – the tough guys of the shark world. There was no electric tension, not from me. I was cooler than a 500 year old Greenland. That was back when I had the two legs of course.
Singing the Blues
I have loved the Blues since I first heard them. Loved Bessie Smith (irritated that a film about her has just been released ) won't see it as I don't want to confuse what I see - or hear, with the real image . Like recalling a dream makes less of the original and each retelling changes it.
So back to Me.
I wanted to sing the Blues and decided I needed education. The singing teacher wanted me to sing Gaelic and Scottish traditional songs - not the same thing. The teacher was not impressed with my voice - I was.
I recorded myself singing –
I don't know why, there's no sun up in the sky,
since my love and I aint together,
it’s raining all the ti-ime.
I thought it sounded great, so now, I sing as I walk along the road sea road, preferably in the rain.
AND I can now make excellent bread, I can design interiors that would attract Elle Decoration to employ me on the mag, and I am potentially a genius at creating anything that turns my fancy.
In my dreams
I sing like a lintie
Sharing pleasure and the beauty of the music.
I sail out to sea, handling the boat expertly
Exhilarated by the spray and the wind.
I can still climb mountains
to enjoy striding along a ridge
with beauty on either side,
I soar in elemental exhilaration.
And, like in the Barnyards of Delgaty,
I can drink and no get drunk
but sparkle with bon mots.
The once-best man
Oh for my once-linear blast-furnaced mind
that drew rings around the complex numbers
and cut soft arguments like Occam’s razor.
If that mind was a bird it’d have been a gannet,
Fish-spear fast (if I can dream).
Now fast-fraying under dreich skies
Scarred by autocorrected gibberish
And the fug of box-setted Netflix.
Oh for a metabolism that kept me wired
with only Diet Coke and fags for fuel
(Marlboro light, since you’re asking)
Now paying the price and possessed of knees
That have me hobbling
Whenever I exert a little
For gannet, read chicken - battery raised.