Monday, September 14, 2009

my lovely sister finally got married to her man on saturday (yay!) here is the poem that i wrote for the of all events to follow soon....

He sat next to her, they met on a train,
that hustled and bustled through hammering rain.
They travelled together, through turbulent weather,
to big school in Wales,
to draw and drink ales.

The quaint little house on a terrible street,
was home to the two, for a year and a week.
We painted the artex and covered the cracks,
and transformed the terrace to palace, from shack.
He bought her a hamster, he was two tones of grey,
was kept in a sock drawer until her birthday.

A holiday was planned in a damp caravan,
“To Barmouth we’ll run for a few nights of fun.”
With ‘Richard the sand elf’, and ‘Sally the brave’,
decided to rebel and pierce her navel.
Mummy was shocked, and Daddy just laughed,
Kate took photos, and out Sally passed.

After bumbling home in the old CV6,
that struggled up hills, and tripped over sticks.
With the grace and finesse of a fine ballerina,
Richard ran back to his yellow Cortina.
He patched up ‘old yeller’, with the finest wall filler,
that crumbled away as the metal got thinner.

Kate moved down south, to live in a Bath,
that ran hold and cold as the weeks slowly passed.
With out her boy, her friend, and her lover,
the water grew cold, she needed her plumber.
He couldn’t resist her, and from London he flew,
to be with his girly who came from the Shrew.

They brought a small house in Bailbrook Lane,
with a hairpin corner to challenge the brave.
They ripped put the 3 bar, and tiled the floor,
restored it to greatness, but still there came more….
The garden on a shoe string, that soon became fave,
the best blog around from the money they saved.

I can’t see them leaving their beautiful home,
with squirrels abundant, and black dial up phone.
With Stella the cat on the window sill perched,
to gaze down the road, to the rusted tin church.

After 10 years together, 10 years since that train,
that hustled and bustled through hammering rain,
we all come together to cheer and elate,
the wonderful wedding of Richard and Kate.

monday 14th september
new poem, sorry its been too long...

The boy of my dreams, his ridiculous feet,
the way he smells and the things that he eats.
All of the things that I truly despise,
become things that I love with rose tinted eyes.

He forgets to listen as I rabbit on in style,
when asked when and where, just his vague little smile,
just a shrug and a “hmm?” as he rejoins the room,
not the faintest idea of what and of whom.

In large groups of people he becomes at home,
cracking 2 year old jokes, that make people groan.
He skis like a dream, and can ping pong the best
he can bowl, he can skate not to mention the rest.

Pulls my ears in public and pinches my bum,
the bits that I hate his main source of fun.
Steals my showers, my toothbrush, barges in when I pee,
stinks out the bathroom and blames it on me.

Of all of the things that get under my skin,
none are as bad as this number one thing,
tho I love him forever it has to be said,
I curse him like hell to find toenails in bed.

The boy of my dreams, his ridiculous feet,
the way he smells and the things that he eats.
All of the things that I truly despise,
become things that I love with rose tinted eyes.
backdated blog

Friday 13th June – Byron Bay.

I am afraid there is no excuse for my lack of attention paid dans la blog.
Not much has happened recently, well nothing interesting, funny or downright weird enough to write about.
Tho you are now reading The Tales of Gluten Free Salpant. I became totally fed up of post muesli belly bloat, so decided join the rest of the population of byron, and reduce my food cupboard by at least half, by removing all those nasty gluten ridden foods and a few secret harbourers too.
I have also returned to my beloved bikram yoga. I felt it was time to take up the 7 days for $20 offer, and return to the gloriously sweaty torture chamber that is the daily bikram yoga class. And needless to say I am loving every minute, the sick woman I am and have taken back to it, like a well greased duck to water.
I have now joined up for a month and have launched back into my old routine of attending class 5 times a week. 2 weeks in and I hurt like hell, the age old feeling that someone has booted me rather aggressively with a stiletto shoe in the middle of my spine…ah that old feeling, welcome back friend.
I am assured by Andrea my chirpy American teacher, that this is normal and will pass. Hmm…we shall see.
backdated blog.

Sunday 24th may – Byron Bay

It had to happen at some point. My first hangover in 5 months.
I have just polished off my third piece of toast. The first was scrambled egg and tomato sauce which I managed to plan, prepare and carry all the way to our room before dropping it on the dusty yoga studio floor, then scooping it up with my hands, picking out a few bits of fluff, and scoffing the lot. Hangovers have no boundaries.
The second was the rather old school topping of banana, a simple but favoured choice and the third was the classic, my friend and yours, peanut butter and jam.
I woke up on the balcony trapped inside my beloved boys dressing gown. During the few hours I had slept, I had managed to entangle myself completely. The chord wrapped around my feet, wrists and tummy in an umbilical like fashion. After panicking slightly as I opened my eyes to see a wall of woollen gown encasing my body like some alcoholic butterfly in her cognac cocoon, I emerged and glanced down to find my self still dressed, tho not so fancy now, in grey leggings with a black and red lace swim suit over the top. Flash backs from the night before hit me like a wet fish. The dancing, the posing, the lecherous boys dressed as Hugh Heffner in dressing gowns and garish boxer shorts, the B grade bimbos dressed as play boy bunnies in stilettos and bowties, and me and Rachael as the outcast and renegade, Yoga Bunnies in our slapdash outfits and drawn on whiskers….there was alcohol, there was definatly alcohol that’s for sure…
I staggered into our bedroom and crawled into bed with my beloved bunny, who slept soundly whilst emitting bilious breaths of sour milk, home brew and cigarettes. He cuddled up and muttered “what time is it?” knowing full well he had to work as the infamous ‘dish pig’ by 9am. “7.30” I slurred back as my eyes dropped shut, my head hit the pillow, and my stomach lurched for the 4th time that morning.
I awoke again sometime later as the sunlight glinted thru the blind in a vein attempt to remind us that it was infact day time. I rolled over and dared to sneak a peek at the time, trying not to wake my still snoozing bush baby who was attached like a small chimp to my back. He must have felt my wriggling as his eyes snapped open “oh my god what time is it Sal?!” “Relax, its 9.20” “Oh Shit im supposed to be there at 9!” I have never seen anyone leap so gracefully yet so drunkenly out of bed. He shoved on clothes of some description, and dashed out of the door still reeking of debauchery after a quick peck on the cheek “see you later baby” I faintly heard, as I giggled and snuggled down for some more glorious bedtime safe in the knowledge that my only plans for the day were to make it thru in 1 piece.
I spent the rest of my day on the veranda watching movies, and drinking numerous jugs of Rooboos tea with too much honey. The highlight of my day had to be making it to the shower at 4.30pm to scrub my battered, and dance abused body and hair, rendering me just fresh enough to don a faded purple shirt of ollies, some clean underwear, and crawl back into my pit of chick flick films and muesli to await my hard working man who returned to my bedside with fresh falafels, ginger beer and scones.
True love I am sure.