Disordered Eating


Always clear your plate
Here , have some more
Always say thank you
Don’t you know the trouble I went to?

Eat up, eat up
Otherwise you won’t grow big and strong
There’s children in Africa starving
Or there was once a war, you know
Are you spoilt or ungrateful?

Never waste food
It’s so expensive
Never say no, thank you
What do you mean you don’t like it?

If you’re sad or lonely
Food is medicine for the soul
Or even when you’re ill
Then food will be your cure

Make as big a dish as possible
Well, won’t everyone want seconds?
Ladle it out by the bucket
Well, aren’t you hungry?

Serve up a huge ole slab
Blow everyone away
Is it talent or just impressions?
Never mind, there’s supposedly love in every bite

Love is food-shaped
It is smothering, choked upon
Aren’t we fortunate?
Here have some more

Food brings us together
The backdrop to all the fights
The solution to all the problems
Food solves everything




Will you?
Will you really?
My heart leaps with hope
Don’t I say
Too late
My heart feels not thinks

Heroes Yet Villains


Once upon a time, when we were young
The heroes were white and pure
Stood apart, tall and strong
When did we raise them?
So they would always be taller?
Did we make them or did they make us?
Their gold glittered at us
Sunlight or human natyre?
But it was only there to fill the cracks
Distraction, lure, deception
Yet how we believed
Maybe we wanted to believe, hoped
Regardless, no matter what
For someone bigger, better, stronger than ourselves
But we worshipped eggshells
Fragile, broken, redundant
Hollow and empty, with nothing to offer
Yet they cast long shadows
We are forever in their thrall

The Challenges of Monogamy


(Before you start questioning my morals or anything, just read the link.  Monogamy is difficult).

Baby, don’t look at me that way | Yarn Harlot.

A Verse


Blue Sky

I am my sunshine and my rain

Some days it pours and other days it shines

You are my sunshine and my rain

Some days it pours and other days it shines

The Help Conundrum


Swan's Head with Dripping Beak

Maybe it’s the easiest thing in the world to say ‘oh, if there’s anything you need…’ but what do we mean by that?  Do we mean anything other than that we’re expressing a vague sentiment of fellow-feeling, sympathy, pity, interest, concern …?  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s a bit like that other chestnut that we all spout in daily life: ‘how are you?’  (Or other less formal versions, if you prefer).  Is it a greeting or a question?  Do we really want an answer?  And what kind of answer do we want?  The truth?  Or just some socially acceptable platitude?

I like to think that I would help someone, I like to think that I would be prepared to do something other than just utter the words.  And I know that there have been times when I have specified, I’ve asked ‘can I help you with this?’ or ‘do you need help doing…?’  It’s easier, more practical for all concerned, me and them.

Truth be told though, I’ve been feeling more and more redundant in recent years and even pretty utterly useless at times.  I can’t believe it’s four years since we last had a vehicle and that, obviously, completely changed how I could help people.  And when.  And, nastily, it even made me increasingly reliant on other people.  I don’t like that.  I don’t like being a burden (to my mind, at least).

And there’s not an awful lot you can do about it when your body is conspiring against you.  It’s just taken me a longer time than it should to realise it.  Because … well, why would  I want to?  But forgetting, not realising just how much my body is failing me leads to sticky situations.  For example, a few months back, I went to help an elderly chap pushing a wheelchair because I am an experienced pusher and he was struggling and it wasn’t right that he was having to do it all by himself … then I realised that I don’t have the strength to push anything anymore.  Very embarrassing.

But if I can’t help other people, what is there left for me?  My whole raison d’être is to look after people, to care, to help.  It’s what I’ve done my whole life.  It’s the only way I can justify my existence.

Whatever I have, I share, I give.  It’s my nature, not a boastful statement.  Sometimes I give what I do not have.  I do not have energy nor health.  Not anymore.  And so I have nothing left to give.  There is nothing left.  I cannot help myself anymore.

And that is the most painful and humiliating admission that you can ever make about yourself.  I am utterly useless.

What is there left for me?

Off to the knacker’s yard?


So when people say ‘oh, if there’s anything you need…’, what am I to say?  How should I respond?  The same way that I steadfastly respond  to the ‘how are yous?’ – with a smile and a cheerful response?  Because does anyone really want to know the reality?  Because do I really want to share?  Because do I want to shamefully admit that I need a hand, that I cannot manage alone?  Because is there anyone actually listening?  There’s too much heartache and embarrassment in baring your soul to a wall that doesn’t want to know, after all.

I wish that I could be an island, self-sustaining, but I know that realistically that isn’t possible.  Or even healthy.  But I can’t help but feel that there’s a certain honour in trying.  But for how long?  And at what price?

This post was inspired by a post over at Dead Men Don’t Snore.  What do you make of her practical advice?

A Canary Conversation


We got talking about canaries the other night, Husband and me.

We have recently found out that Norwich was once the capital of canary breeding in England.  Maybe that explains the nickname for the local football team, more than just the colour of their strip.

Husband, however, was telling me that canaries aren’t really yellow after all.  I know, I was having visions of several pillars of my childhood and culture disappearing down the pans marked ‘myth’ and ‘lie’ faster than you can say goldfish.  Well, don’t worry, canaries are yellow but they’re just not meant to be.  Apparently, it’s a genetic mutation that one breeder made rather popular.

So what colour are real canaries then?  I want to know.

And where do canaries come from?  The Canary Islands?!  (I know the canary wine, an old-fashioned brew that I have never met in modern life came from there; they used to pay the poet laureate with it).

I know little about the birds that people keep as pets.

I thought I had canaries, at least, sussed.

Apparently not.

And if canaries come from the Canaries then all I could suppose was that budgies come from a car hire place.  Husband was not amused.

(I believe budgies are the blue ones with the stripes.  I await this theory being destroyed also …)

Apparently, it isn’t that wild canaries (wherever they do hail from) aren’t ever yellow but this colour makes them too vulnerable to predation so they don’t survive.

I discerned a flaw.

What about parrots?

Parrots?  Husband wasn’t quite sure what path my brand of logic was leading me down.  (I don’t blame him).

Parrots are bright colours.  How come they don’t get predated?  Or is it just because they live in Brazil where everything is bright coloured?

Sexual selection.  Came Husband’s sage reply.

I spent a moment trying to work out what sexual selection had to do with predation rates.  I failed.

They’re bright colours to help them attract a mate.


So we’re saying that bright yellow canaries aren’t sexually attractive to other canaries?

I was indignant on behalf of the thousands, if not millions, of yellow canaries that live in this country, if not their natural habitat.

Husband decided that he was rapidly coming to the end of his scientific knowledge about canaries.

Anyway, why do parakeets live in Australia when parrots live in Brazil?

The wordsmith in me has always wanted to know; the words sound related but are they?

And what’s the difference between cockatoos and cockatiels?  I know one is white with a fancy hair do but I can never remember which.

Husband retreated inwards to his own musings.

I was left digesting my newly acquired knowledge.

And what about Canary Wharf?

He looked up.

Canary Wharf.  You know, Canary Wharf.

It was possible that he did.

Is that where canaries used to be disembarked or something?

Neither of us knew.

Then we hit upon a major discovery:

The Klingon security officer in Star Trek wears a yellow uniform.

Why is this?

Because he’s a Canary Worf.