Christmas Robin Red Breast...

Dear Christmas Robin Red Breast

Perched upon my sill

Whose morning call awakens me

With its song so shrill

Oh how my heart does flutter

And sweet colour flush my cheek

When I think of sitting you

In my palm

And duct taping your bloody beak!

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Grandpa...

Tell us the story

Grandpa

Of how it used

To be

Before the voices

Told you

To slaughter your

Family

Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Brenda...**BLOG POST**...

Ted's a character I introduced in a series of writings I penned a while ago...He's a thirty-something young man of best intentions and dubious outcomes with an insufferable old granny whom he loves very much despite her terminal irreverence to everything!...

I'm sure Ted will share such goings on with you some other time but for now, he has a few things he needs to say about his friend...


BRENDA...

I first met Brenda at Slimming World...I helped open the double doors to let her in. 

It was a beautiful summers day which was perfect because a little party was being held outside in celebration of one of the members losing an amazing amount of weight in a very short time...(personally, I thought cancer was cheating but...hey-ho! a party's a party I suppose).

Me and Brenda got chatting over a low-fat pork pie at the buffet. Well, I say 'chatting'...she was trying to wrestle it out of my hand. Nevertheless, I couldn't help thinking how eye catching she was...not every woman could carry off a muzzle. 


To break the ice I asked her how she'd got there that day...(I suspected airlifted)...and before we knew it we were nattering away like old pals. I'm glad to say that that's exactly what we became.


Our relationship's always been platonic and that's nothing to do with her prices...to be fair she does offer a discount for mates...it's just how it was and there was no one as happy as I was when she met Barry through the 'Syphilitics On-Line Dating Agency'.


Brenda said it was uncanny really because she remembered Barry from when he was a little lad. Him and a few of his like-minded mates, each keen violinists, formed their own little group called 'The Kiddie Fiddlers'.



Apparently, they were very popular too in their youth and used to perform a lot at children's parties but sadly, for some reason, they weren't as well received when they got older.


Anyway, me, Brenda and Barry have all been pals together now for many years and in that time, I'm proud to say, I've got to know their families very well. So much so that I even got an invite to Barry's Dad's execution in Georgia last Christmas. It was a warming affair, I can tell you. 

As for Barry's Mum, well that woman always makes a particular effort to make people feel at home...indeed she never fails to welcome everyone with open legs...as Brenda's Dad will attest most fervently.


But enough of all that! I think it's time we got on with the celebration of the occasion..so all that's left to say now is......

"Ladies and Gentlemen...without further ado...would you please be upstanding and join me in raising your glasses, to the Bride and groom....Brenda and Barry...........hip hip......hoorayyyyyy"

Ahh, I do love a good wedding...

©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Dancing Dead...

When a midnight moon

Smiles on them

And there's no one

There to see

The dead rise from

Their earthy beds

For a night of gaiety

Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Resisting A Rest!... **BLOG POST**

At some point in our lives each of us will suffer from stress. Some more than others...and anyone who says they have never experienced stress...are either liars....or carriers!  I'd probably suggest the latter in most cases.


Given the nature of my numerous neuroses I practically live on a diet of fingernails and chocolate, spending each day with a brow so furrowed as to render me Klingon in appearance!



So on occasion, when nervous energy is spent, you'll find me flopped upon the couch trying to prise my clenched fists open, in an attempt to relax with a milky coffee and a Prozac sandwich.

But I don't always manage to achieve this state of reverie, as was the case the other day.  I'd barely un-knotted my eyebrows before the phone started ringing!


Some hysterical, hyperactive individual, with a voice not dissimilar to what I'd expect if you'd hand reared a chipmunk on a diet of helium and crack, squealed an enquiry as to my well-being, before assaulting my senses with a garbled mention of changing energy suppliers.

I listened politely for some time before interrupting his monologue by saying...

"Well this has been lovely...but now I need to go and spend some 'me time' ramming the fridge door into my head"...and thus we parted.

That over with, I settled down again and gradually, I could feel sleep creeping up on me...and if it hadn't been for the door bell ringing it would have caught up!

Wearing the twitch of discontentment I dragged my reluctant body up from the settee and opened the door to find a dreaded Jesus Preacher standing there, dressed like an auditionee for Men in Black, with his obligatory child accomplice!

These people must get to choose their own side-kick before they set off for a days worth of knocking on doors pissing people off!.

Sometimes it's a kid, sometimes there's a person in a wheel chair with them...and if they're REALLY going for the pity-party jugular...the kid will be in the wheelchair!



Still, on that particular day, for all I cared, he could have been accompanied by a choir of weeping orphans singing Old Shep, clutching tear soaked photos of their poor deceased mother, to their consumptive little chests ...I simply didn't care!...I was far too worn out and agitated to give a shite...and that's why I told him I was a Satanist.


These interruptions were really getting to me now and ruining the day. I was sick of the phone ringing...sick of the door bell constantly ringing...and then I was just sick.

I was about to attempt to lie on the couch again, when I heard something being pushed through my letter box. Instantly, the neurosis I carry which enjoys catastrophising every innocuous situation in my life kicked in, compelling me to run to the door in a bid to quickly assess whatever life threatening object had been thrust upon me!

It was a plastic bag with a note attached asking for clothing donations to help the starving.



Now I am not an unreasonable person and I applaud all of the charities for the work they do but...you need to understand... I was on the edge of my wits here!...I'd been pushed to the limit!...and that's why I opened the front door to confront the startled guy who'd posted the bag by shouting at him...

"If they can fit into my clothes they're not effin' starving are they????"...and then I ran in...ashamed.

For the millionth time I returned to the sofa. I could feel myself drifting again...ahhh yessss...gently beginning to float upon a bubble of bliss...lids folding over sleepy red eyes...drool welling up in the corner of my gaping gob...and then the phone rang again!!!...

I jumped up and snatched it with the dexterity of a demonically possessed Ninja, with a temper to match!...

"Whatever you want to give me I don't effin' want it!" I bellowed

 "What I want you to do with whatever it is that you want to give me that I don't effin' want ...is to stick it sideways up your mithering, intrusive, bug bearing arse. Do you think you could do that for me? Do you?"....

There was a slight pause, followed by...

"Well, I'll give it a go but one of the library books you've ordered is a hardback so there could be a bit of a struggle!"...

The most peaceful happening to follow that, was the small funeral I held in the garden for my library card.......at least one of us got to rest in peace!...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Ranting an' Raging.... **BLOG POST**

Life found me wandering the streets at daft o'clock, the other morning, on my way to a hospital appointment. 

You see, I suffer from a chronic condition known as Premature Evacuation, whereby I am compelled to leave the house much earlier than necessary 'cos the fear of being late acts as an overly powerful laxative, the results of which can prove quite limiting to ones travels!!



Anyway, fancying a carefully timed coffee along the way, I was lured by a fluorescent 'Cafe Open' sign and, based upon this invite, made my move to enter. I'd barely put my toe beyond the open door when a disgruntled voice spat...

"We're not open yet" 


Honing in on the source of this melodious welcome, my eyes met with a face whose expression was as warming as a blast chiller and decorated with enough paint to suffocate a clown!!

"Erm...your sign says 'Open'...and your open door confirmed this!" I offered, with a raised challenging brow.


"Five more minutes yet" came the response, said through teeth gritted so violently I worried I'd suffer shrapnel from her fillings!



I quickly construed that the cause of her monosyllabic mumblings was partly due to the weight of her make-up having semi-paralysed her face and partly due to the fact that the enormous effort of dialogue was, obviously,  way beyond the limitations of her cognitive ability!

So, without wishing to complicate her day any further by putting more pressure on her brain cell to formulate a coherent sentence...I left her to enjoy the company of her mental void and continued on my way.



Well, things didn't go any better at the hospital. Without affording me any eye contact whatsoever the receptionist continuously botched my name and details up because she hadn't taken the time to read my particulars properly.


As a result she was looking at someone else's file...and she repeated this cock-up three effin' times with three different files belonging to three different people!...and all with the gaiety of a death row inmate.

Furthermore, behind the desk where she stood, in full view of the public, rested a notice taped to a computer which served to remind staff to 'Smile' at patients, especially when talking to them on the phone 'because they will hear it in your voice'.

Really!

It's worrying enough that it was deemed necessary to implement this 'Idiot's Guide To Common Decency' but knowing that the person dealing with me needed diagrams and maybe a DVD to demonstrate this complex manoeuvre...is soddin' tragic! 


Whilst I'm having this rant I'll tell you what else is pissing me off...

Why do we over-complicate things which are best understood in simple form?...

Some time ago, a colour coded weather warning system was introduced by the Met Office...



GREEN...No severe weather.

YELLOW...Be aware.

AMBER...Be prepared.

RED...Take action.


Is the weather forecast sponsored by Crayola?

What do you do if you're colour blind?

Wouldn't it be easier to ask a Sailor or a Shepherd?

Why are weather presenters so bloody patronising?

What happened to a succinct weather forecast which simply stated whether or not it was going to be a shitty day?

And what's going on with all these different titles to weight issues?



Obese...Super Obese...Morbidly Obese...Super Morbidly Obese...

An 'expert' even defined one group as being...'Extreme Super Morbidly Obese'...there's no need for this!!! It's almost encouraging people to upgrade!!...



Oh ok ok...I'll shut up now!! I could go on, but I'll save that for another time. You'll be glad to hear I've given myself a headache and nearly broken my typing finger through pummeling out my rage on the keyboard!

But then of course...I'm not called The Grumbling Gargoyle for nothing!!...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Serpents...

His words

Promised eternity

His touch

An assuring caress

But his soul

Belonged to

The devil

And his heart

Was a serpent's nest

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Waiting Patiently... **BLOG POST**

I loathe waiting rooms...particularly doctors waiting rooms!  As you walk what seems the impossibly long distance from the entrance door to the reception area, you know that everyone sat waiting for their appointment...is staring directly at you...


....looking you up and down, through their haze of boredom and bacteria, inwardly criticising and assessing all aspects of your life, purely through their evaluation of whatever your sickly form has managed to drape over its ailing frame that morning.




The good news is that, once you have survived this moment of  public ridicule and humiliation, you can sit with the rest of the Judging Panel and take the piss out of some other poor, ill sod when they stagger in.

It's during the lull between victims, such as these, that you become conscious of the possibility that one...if not all...of the surrounding people could be infectious...and that's when you start to weigh the other up for any signs of contagion. 

You look at the rasping old dear in the corner and, as her fragile body bends and buckles under the strain of a hacking cough, you think to yourself..."the only thing keeping her together is phlegm"!...before continuing your viral vigil whilst trying to avoid inhaling or ingesting any air borne spittle!

Much to my annoyance, recent events found me sitting in one of these places, lolling with the lousy...and not in a laugh-out-loud kinda way.  I was just in the process of mentally diagnosing a middle aged man, whose gait and facial expression suggested he'd spent a considerable amount of time travelling on horseback with a cactus for a saddle...when two women and a child of about six years of age shuffled in and plonked themselves down in the row of seats directly in front of me.

During the course of the 'wait' the two ladies, who I presumed to be mother and daughter, seemed to think we inmates at the surgery were part of a child-minding service, dedicated to the entertainment of the unruly kid who accompanied them.


The kid being the kind of kid whose objective in life will be to piss people off, AND given the mother's pathetic, whispered, half arsed attempt to control him...he will succeed spectacularly in his endeavours to do so...probably already having earned himself a Fisher Price Asbo at least!




Anyway, after a while of my enduring the fact that neither women could be bothered with the boy, and my resentfully realising  that I was beginning to feel quite sorry for him...I put up with his magic tricks and his incessant questioning.... thus becoming a peculiar part of his upbringing...for  at least half an hour anyway...



Oh and, as all this was going on, to my left there sat an elderly lady, whose knees were nonchalantly positioned at quarter to three...leaving me in little doubt as to her medical complaint!!....



Still, on the whole, whilst I feel I exit these places more affected than I enter them...sometimes my life does feel a little richer for the experience.  Not necessarily from a medical perspective...but from my learning to appreciate the value of the ever unreeling film of  fascinating characters who I've encountered, as I've dawdled on the edge of madness and disease, thanks to the bizarrely entertaining company of the unusual and the un-diagnosed ...

©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Peeping Tom...

She's very prim

But rarely proper

Yet should he touch

He'll come a cropper

And so he peeps

At what's on offer

Through the crack

In the old privy door

Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Hallelujahs and Hypocrisies... **BLOG POST**

Some time ago, as (once again) I suffered the immeasurable agonies of a queue, I happened to find myself grid locked in front of two middle aged Christian women.

How did I know they were Christians? 'Cos they began every effin' sentence with the emphatic proclamation ..." Well, as a Christian!!!!"

I was in Edinburgh at the Fringe at the time waiting to see a show and the queue was quite voluminous and these two women were all but perched upon my shoulder each competing with the other as to who God loved best via the verbally volleyed details of 'Good deeds they had done and souls they had saved through their 'Christian' ministrations'...

Mercifully, I was momentarily distracted by two flies copulating in mid air, however my attention soon returned to the sainted duo when I heard one of the anointed heatedly berating a member of their flock...

"I don't think she's fit to be part of our group...blah blah...as a Christian...blah blah...and as for her husband...he's as bad as her...blah blah...it isn't Christian... blah blah...neither of them are any good....blah blah...I'm going to have a word with...( didn't catch the name...probably 'God'! )...and tell him we can't be having the likes of her or him coming to our Church"...

This tirade went on for some time halting only when the time arrived to enter the venue. I went on my way to watch a magic show and they went on their way, taking their Christian magic with them whilst no doubt continuing their generous castigation of all those they considered less virtuous than themselves! (I'm sure they loped off to watch 'Tokyo Shock Boys')

Also, whilst remaining attached to the "As a Christian" thread, just before Christmas last a random offering on the TV caught my attention when the programme, which was highlighting public offenders, focused on a homeless guy who had set up a little camp for the night in the vicinity of a Church Hall but was told to move on by the police as the Christians from the Community Hall had complained saying they considered his presence would intimidate their members and deter them from entering their hallowed halls !!!

Well, we can't be having that can we eh?...Poor honest Christians being threatened by the fragile, despondent, nasty vagrant guy menacingly hugging a rain soaked blanket on a cold, wet winters night....oh no indeed...we mustn't have the untidy destitute fracturing the warm and all loving ambience of their Christian gathering!!

Absolutely not, I mean, their blessed Christian knees may become arthritic from all that praying for the needy but don't let any of those dirty needy little f***ers come near them or their polished pews!!...


My final rant on this subject comes as a result of a particular news report from some time ago, which outlined the Russian president Vladimir Putin's controversial "gay propoganda" law,  which many feel has as good as legitimised homophobia! 

Included in the report was footage showing scenes of extreme violence towards some members of the gay community. And I'm telling you this to get to THIS point...and that is, that one guy, who had sprayed pepper spray in the eyes of a gay man, when asked "why"? replied that " As a Christian" it was his duty to "help him"!!!!!

I'll shut up now 'cos my temple's throbbing, but you get the point? You can see it eh? To regurgitate my usual, I couldn't give a flying shite as to who abides by which religion and NO I'm not saying all 'Christians' are the same but...well...at the end of the day...I am in absolute agreement with the person who said....

" I'd rather spend time with a rough around the edges sinner than a well polished hypocrite!"........HALLELUJAH!!...

 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

To Pee or not to Pee... *Blog Post*

I hate using public toilets and the challenges they force upon you. Challenges like, trying to decipher which loo is actually vacant 'cos the little red & green indicators on the doors are permanently stuck half way between both, just to test your level of assertiveness!!


I also happen to think that the method you choose, to determine the status of occupancy, tells you a lot about an individuals personality...for example...

...there's the dominant user who just barges in, violently pushing at each door until one finally surrenders and slams open with such force as to frighten the shite out of the poor constipative in the adjoining cubicle! (bonus, I suppose).

This is the kind of person who would fearlessly elbow a pensioner under a bus just to get ahead of the queue and out of the rain!

Then there's the timid little mouse who edges its way in gradually and stands with its back against the sink, feverishly biting its nails as it tries to work out, via telepathy, which of the loos are free, because it doesn't dare run the risk of confrontation should it inadvertently attempt to gain access to an occupied stall.

Of course, the mouse could take the ultimate risk and get down on all fours to check underneath the cubicle for legs, but that could involve a lot of embarrassment, awkward explanations...and possibly death, should an occupant choose that very moment to vacate its haven.

Horror defined, would be if either of those risks were  undertaken, only for the mouse to discover the occupant of that particular loo was none other than the pensioner pushing 'dominant' from our previous encounter!!...hence the prospect of 'death'...

Now, this poor mouse is the kind of person who would not only let you use her as a doormat, but would happily oblige by having the word 'welcome' shaved into her back hair (if she possessed any...which she probably wouldn't...but that's why we have permanent marker).

Obviously we're in need of an inbetween here, and that's the cautiously confident loo-user who breezes in, scans the room, spots the 'mouse' at the sink, asks if it's waiting for the loo, to be told the lie "no thank you" through tremulous little squeaks and thus is able to proceed, with confident strides, towards the toilet doors where it cautiously, but firmly, gives them a push until, eventually, an unoccupied lav is revealed, resulting in immediate access...

....much to the misery of the mouse who, by this time, has crossed her legs so tightly as to compromise circulation!

This kind of personality is the kind which is able to smile warmly whilst looking a 'Big Issue' seller directly in the eye before delivering a stoic..."No"...

Oh and whilst we're at it, let's not forget about the other detestable attributes of these places.  I mean, have you ever been bursting for the loo and rushed in, quickly pulling your necessaries down, only to sit your unsuspecting backside upon a warm seat???....yeah....me too....*shudder*...How vile....someone else's buttock heat permeating your pores!



Or worse than that,  A WET SEAT!!!.....Arrgghhhhhhh!!....Oh yes, I've been there and sat in that!!!! I was so repulsed once I considered a skin graft!!!

Oddly, there's also a kind of bizarre etiquette which is frequently applied in these establishments, like the 'walking-into-a-smelly-cubicle' etiquette.

This usually happens when you're in a queue and a kindly soul, having completed her own toiletry needs, holds the door open for you to enter and thus tend to those toiletry requirements of your own.

Now then, that's all very well, but if the previous occupant has left in her wake an odour of such toxic proportions as to paralyse your nostrils and remove the lining from your nasal cavity, then there lies a big problem...Because...



...the unwritten rule is that you persevere with the heinous whiff, as, given you have entered this area of your own free will, you are now, consequently, fully committed to its occupancy and have no choice but to suffer all odorous terrors therein.


Indeed, to do otherwise, and instantly vacate the urinal, would be seen as a direct insult upon the previous occupants bowel movement and ultimately its life choices, particularly those connected to all things dietary ...and THAT...is simply not the done thing!!...



'Course, what IS acceptable, is that as you leave, and hold the door ajar for the next in line, you whisper a discreet "I-am-not-responsible-for-the-olfactory-meltdown-you-are-about-to-experience" as your paths momentarily cross.




It's a bit like a relay actually, such whispers being repeated and passed on and on until the foul bouquet is completely eliminated.




Yep.....seems the call of nature is often one for help!!

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012