Ha! My horoscope predicted that the burd would be a planet magnet this week. Needless to say, it’s been the same old, same old. But a trip home to my ain dear Gallowa’ beckons for a family do and that will always put a smile on my face. There’s a moment when you reach the top of the Bennane hill when impercetibly, the landscape alters and you know you are almost out of Ayrshire and into Galloway. The view is glorious and each and every time, it makes my heart sing.
Don’t ask my why but I reckon this Patsy Cline classic could have been written for Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. Poignant, tearjerking, in a kind of can’t live with them, can’t live without them way. The burd bids a fond farewell to perhaps the last of the Hollywood greats.
I never, ever tire of listening to Arvo Part. There is no better stress buster than lying in a dark room with everything still and immersing yourself in the majestic minimalism of Spiegel am Spiegel.
Finally, a request. Something for the dancing queen. x
Brought to you by the chicklet. These are the choons that have been tickling his fancy recently. And is anyone out there really foolhardy enough to suggest he’s got better musical taste than the burd?
What would Jesus drive? – Fragile Mansions
Lower Dens – Hospice Gates
Kassidy – I don’t know
Though I would confess he’s had little choice but to listen, and like, this last one…. Still, what good ears my boy has!
It was World Poetry Day this week, not of course to be confused with the much superior UK Poetry Day. Which is why we sniffily ignore the UN event to celebrate poetry around the world. The joys of being an island in isolation. But the burd will happily take any excuse to immerse myself in some of my favourite poets.
This week also saw a lunar perigree. To the layman, a super bright, white moon. We nearly missed it here in Scotland, thanks to cloud, but for short periods it peaked through.
Both events provide a stellar opportunity to post one of my favourite Sylvia Plath poems – The Moon and the Yew Tree.
You’re supposed to learn from experience, apparently. And you would think that having reached my forties, the burd would have sussed things out a bit. And learned how to play by others’ rules. But no. Life sometimes feels like one long 33rpm on constant play.
So, do you cling to scraps of hope or give up, move on and get on with it? Losing something you value can be painful, but it can also be cathartic. But there’s still time for a maudlin and bizarrely defiant moment or two.