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One For Zorro, Two For Joy, Three For….

To utilise urban patois, this afternoon the West Yorkshire sun is cracking the flags. If yours truly could muster enough enthusiasm to paint his current garden view, the spectator of the final oil based vision would be bequeathed an aesthetically pleasing horticultural landscape. This sight incorporating a manicured emerald lawn, sandstone retaining wall, along with florescent clematis, aquilegia and digitalis.

Actually, if truth be told, I’m over egging my artistic capabilities when suggesting I could produce a landscape painting as accomplished as, say, John Constable. If I drop all prevailing semblance of misguided hubris, in candour I’m actually rubbish at creating artwork on canvas….. Or indeed any other blank page or parchment.

My creativity rests solely within the field of applying pen nib on papyrus. The forming of art via oil or watercolour paint application as alien to me as conducting the London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Not that I natter over this impotence in the company of brush and easel. My true creative amour and calling is undoubtedly waxing lyrical. The brio consequential from forming entertaining, insightful prose provides an exhilaration little else in life has mirrored. If the adage is right and the pen is indeed mightier than the sword, I’m striving hard to get to a literary level where being confronting by Zorro is minus any notions of unease.

Footnote – I’m aware the chances of meeting the Spanish Californian righter of wrongs is highly unlikely….. Actually, as he’s a fictional character, utterly impossible – However, I’m struggling to think of another famous swordsman at this time, so I’ve utilised my old friend artistic licence…… There are, of course, the Three Musketeers. However as they’re also fictional, not to mention have harder to spell monikers than Zorro, their inclusion was never an option.


I’ve just undertaken a double take after seeing a shadow on the retaining wall which bore a likeness to my late dad’s face. A construction he built himself in 1990. If it was my old man coming back to give me a message, by the look of indignation on his face, it must’ve be to admonish me…… Possibly, to have a go at me for still not returning his ladders over three years after borrowing them from him!

Although respecting people’s right to possess a belief in the after-life, it isn’t a concept I subscribe to. The sun’s moved now and the shadow which caused my double take has morphed into an altogether shape; this vision has a look of a horse playing table tennis. It’s worthy of record the horse looks as agitated as my old man did…….. I’m unaware what’s rattled Dobbins cage, I do know, though, I’ve not got the equine’s bloody ladders!!

As I commence this paragraph, I’ve just completed a ranch steak, chips, tomato and mushroom dinner. The sun’s creeping ever lower, and the retaining wall my old man constructed with his bare hands is mercifully no longer bearing shadows of the disenchanted passed, or table tennis loving horses.

Now all I need is for the patio table parasol to desist spinning demonically and the garden lights to stop satanically illuminating without reason, and I might be able to relax a bit!!

Keep safe folks!!!

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