Sitting in the newly renovated patio area dubbed ‘Mally’s Bar’ after my late father, there’s soundscape of birdsong as a backdrop to journaling these observations. As if conducted by Sir Simon Rattle, this ensemble of blackbird, blue tit, magpie and wood pigeon treating yours truly to a beautifully melodic tweet arrangement.
Their tuneful arioso drowning out the distant rumble of rubber tyres on the M62 motorway surface. It’s not a tune I recognise as anything previously gracing the hit parade, but that matters not. As with non-English operatic arias, not being able to interpret the refrain’s meaning doesn’t have to detract from the refinement, or brio, of what’s being performed.
Sitting at my feet, predominantly shaded by the patio’s pergola, is my little canine buddy Coco. The charming pooch watching the garden avians every move, along with being irked by flies who’re buzzing around her head and posterior.
A heavily pregnant blackbird perches on the far periphery of the back lawn. At least I’m presuming the female avian is pregnant and the bulk around her midriff isn’t a consequence of bearing the huge appetite possessed by Coco the lab/retriever. As chronicled before in prose, my ‘shapely’ canine chums calorie intake not dissimilar to that of a ‘Man Vs Food’ contestant on a particularly hungry day.
Looking back at me are a trinity of pots filled with marigold, petunia and begonia bedding plants. The achromatic synchronicity of the circular pots bringing to mind the mirrored visions bequeathed from childhood stares down a kaleidoscope’s tube.
With prevailing temperatures usurping yesterdays lukewarm efforts, it’s gonna be an uncomfortable day for young Cokes today. Consequently, I’ve placed a cooling collar around her sandy furred neck and placed her water bowl under parasol shade.
With previous panting levels decreasing, indications are she’s coping with temperatures at this juncture….. Which’ll be a boon later when I’ve occasion to contact my bank on telephone; the panting perhaps disturbing any female customer representative and potentially earning me an unwanted police caution!
As an aside, I’ve been dabbling with writing a new fictional tale , which holds a working title of ‘Life’s Not Quite The Same’. A warts and all tale of a man who thinks life isn’t quite the same. As it stands, I’ve not written a great deal of this yarn, other than the fella has warts and he thinks existence isn’t what it was. However, I’m sure from those seeds I’ll be able to flesh it out from those bare bones of a story.
As it stands, though, I haven’t even thought of a name for the chap who rues life has changed for the worse. However, I’m resolved to him bear a whimsical moniker, Initial thoughts are the fella to bear a title such as Erst While, or Horst Chestnut-Tree; a scientist with Scandinavian or Germanic roots who’s desperate to find a cure for warts…… And maybe even all!
Whether ‘Life’s Not Quite The Same’ ever gets completed, or ends up amongst a pile of other half written tomes I’ve lost interest in mid-creation remains to be seen. I do, though, feel a need to conclude at least one tale in my life which’s longer than short blog format.
Now in retirement, I’ve no excuse not to focus on a book length literary odyssey. Well apart from being my mum’s full-time carer and seeking a cure for warts…… Oh, I forgot, the latter aspiration is that of Erst While/Horst Chestnut-Tree, not mine. Ignore that excuse.