Sunday, May 14, 2017

The more a mind takes in the more it expands.

One of those hot in the sun, cold in the shade type mornings. This 'can't make up its mind' weather is usually a sign that a thunderstorm is going to roil down from the mountains. The PONs wait more or less patiently while Angus decides whether or not to wear a jumper over his shirt.

An early PONburst of energy. Collar doves chased, the garden checked for c-a-t-s : the word that must never be spoken aloud. We turn right out of the far gate. Sophie watches the donkeys, gives the goats a cursory glance to make sure they're behaving and is nearly scared out of her skin by three horses that wander over to the fence to see her. She and her brother have been busy exploring something malodorous in the drainage ditch and haven't seen them walking towards them. Bob sensibly comes and stands behind my legs and glares at them. Sophie scampers round and takes up a back stop position behind him. Her 'Don't worry about a thing Bob. I'm here ' position.

In the PONs defence I would say that from down at lane level the three young horses high on the bank must look quite intimidating.

The horses trot amiably alongside us as we turn and head for home. Sophie waits until we've got back to The Rickety Old Farmhouses gate, then stops, turns and emits one shrill bark. The horses have been told in no uncertain terms who controls this village. She then sprints into the house and makes a beeline for the kitchen.

Here's a poem by the 'Twitter' poet Brian Bilston for this Sunday morning. Who'd have thought Twitter would become an art form ?


As I grow old
I will not shuffle to the beat
of self-interest
and make that slow retreat
​​​to the right.
I will be a septuagenarian insurrectionist
marching with the kids. I shall sing
‘La Marseillaise’, whilst brandishing
homemade placards that proclaim
I will be an octogenarian obstructionist,
and build unscalable barricades
from bottles of flat lemonade,
tartan blankets and chicken wire.
I will hurl prejudice upon the brazier’s fire.
I will be a nonagenarian nonconformist,
armed with a ballpoint pen
and a hand that shakes with rage not age
at politicians’ latest crimes,
in strongly-worded letters to The Times.
I will be a centenarian centurion
and allow injustice no admittance.
I will stage longstanding sit-ins.
My mobility scooter and I
will move for no-one.
And when I die
I will be the scattered ashes
that attach themselves to the lashes
and blind the eyes
of racists and fascists.


  1. Well, that poem is uncompromising, isn't it ... leaves you in no doubt! I hope I;m as feisty as that in another fifteen years!!

  2. There's something uncompromisingly 'feisty' about it.

  3. A beautiful morning here, too, and we were out before 7 a.m. Not a soul about, except for a cheeky squirrel sitting in the middle of the road. Inca (my Labrador) gave chase, but the squirrel was half way up the nearest telegraph pole in no time, and she was left wondering where it had disappeared to ! Today she learned that even if you keep your eye on the ball (or squirrel) it sometimes vanishes right in front of you !
    I know we keep saying it, but Bob's a very lucky boy - his country is beautiful.

  4. Bob and Sophie's approach to the horses is so much more sensible than Bertie's. He has not yet worked out that horses are capable of giving a rambunctious wire-haired fox terrier (even a slightly oversized one) a good kicking.
    Cheers, Gail.

  5. That poem made my day. To the barricades!

  6. In these times, that poem is excellent.

  7. As always, your posts are a part of my morning ritual. Today's post along with the poem was especially delightful. I've shared the poem with many friends. Thank you for sharing Bob and Sophie with us.

  8. Bob, Sophie and horses, what a great beginning to my day 🐎❤️

  9. The poem is perfect for today - it's my birthday!!

  10. My oh my that poem ! After events this week I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
    Laura and Mungo in MA.

    1. Well, I thought the first few days after January 20 were humorous, then pitiful because DT was in so far over his head. But now I am angry at the pure nerve of the lying fool who thinks he is king.
      I live in NH...voters bussed from MA to vote illegally here? Impossible! When you live and vote here you know every election worker and checker by their 1st name. You know their Mom, their kids and often, their dogs. Strangers are NOTICED.
      Please Lord, let there be tapes!!! Pam

  11. Delightful all around; thank you, Angus.

  12. Love the poem... the last tweet especially!!!

  13. That poem: Right on!
    But not "that slow retreat to the right."
    Those horses look quite frisky, glad that Sophie is keeping them in line.

  14. Great post Angus! The PONs look so fit and happy!
    The poem is very inspirational. It reminds me of one of my favorite local New Hampshire heroes, Doris Haddock aka Granny D. She was a Patriot. Where are our American political heroes now?
    Pam in NH

  15. Happy Mother's Day to One and ALL.

  16. Brilliant poem.
    Age is no excuse for apathy.

  17. Lovely poem! As I get up there in years this makes perfect sense!

    Well done Sophie for showing those horses who is the boss.