TOOL TALK

okay gather round everyone and listen up
now this is a crow bar
this baby's a five foot one
but you can get six and even eight footers
like people
a crowbar is used for breaking up hard stubborn earth
like this clay soil
as well as for acts of criminality
it's got different shaped points on each end
check there are no shards of metal on the shaft before you use it
it ain't a swinging tool so you can wear gloves
bend your knees to avoid hurting your back
when you carry it hold it at the point of balance
when you put it down don't drop it
let your knuckles touch the ground before you let go...
now this is a rabbiting spade
also known as carmel's breakfast spoon
it's good for digging deep holes with nice straight sides
check the handle is securely attached to the shaft before you use it
use the ball of your foot when digging
don't use the middle of your foot
cos you can hurt your tendons
or your heel
cos your foot can slip and you can cut yourself
carry it by your side
with the blade pointing away from you...
this is a spirit level
you use it to check that posts are properly vertical
and rails are properly horizontal
it's a precision instrument so don't chuck it around
and don't leave it somewhere it could get trodden on
when you've finished using it
return it to the tool area...
these are wire cutters for cutting through gabions
when you carry them hold the lower handle
to avoid the jaws opening accidentally and giving you a nip
don't leave em in the long grass
as they can easily get lost
return them to the tool area...
this is a mattock
it's similar to a pickaxe
used for breaking up moderately hard earth
it's a swinging tool so don't wear gloves
the shaft and head are seperate
to make the tool easier to carry and store
when you put it together
you should be able to slide the head down the shaft
until it's about two inches from the bottom
if it can go any further don't use it as the head might fly off
when you're working
check there's no-one behind you
so you don't take a swing and hit them on the head
let the weight of the tool do the work
rather than your back...
this is tanalised timber
to prolong its life
it's been treated with a cocktail of nasty preservatives
including arsenic
when you carry it use gloves to protect your hands
and don't carry it over your shoulder
as you can get splinters in your neck...
as we're near water there are lots of rats
and lots of rat pee on site
which means there's a risk of leptospirosis or weil's disease
it's a nasty illness that attacks the spleen and other organs
and it can be fatal
make sure you wash your hands with soap and water
before you eat, drink or smoke
initial symptoms are similar to flu
but it can be treated with antibiotics if caught early enough...

the path slopes gently down the side of the reservoir
to a disabled access fishing platform
thick oozy mud clings to our boots like a spurned lover
spattering up and flying into our eyes
stray doggo lies every which way you turn
there is limitless potential for double entendres
when you're doing this kind of work
trev wants his hole filling
can you come and hold my end?
tool talk, anyone?
there are some characters
andy keeps reminding anyone who'll listen
about the hotdogs he's got for his dinner
ian will give the ground a brief prod with the crowbar
before wondering off for fifteen minutes
lee threatens to smash everyone's face in
pat's got a good line in corny jokes
did you hear about those two lads the police caught the other day?
one was drinking battery acid
the other was eating fireworks
one got charged
the other was let off
matt doesn't like the nuts channel
he thinks there's too much pornography on telly
as for derek
he's in his own world
but he enjoys sniggering at the smutty banter

UN RE THERAPY

on a starless cold and frosty night
the quiet street is dimly illuminated
only by an occasional lampost
or a chink in carelessly drawn curtains
a light appears at an upstairs window
a golden parallelogram framed by the fenestration
unsoftened by curtains
broken only by a bust of apollo in silhouette
now a tall slim figure appears
dressed in a dark hooded top
and folds itself under a desk
the top of its blond head peeping above the parapet
blondie's head doesn't move
but stares intently ahead
mediatating on a bright white stream of pixels
glancing down as his fingers tap out a soliloquy
negative thoughts prey on his mind
the trivial and the not so trivial
the folding bicycle that will not properly unfold
the flat tyres that will not inflate
the sweaty old waterproof trousers with the pvc lining
the kneading blade of the breadmaker
with its pealing non-stick surface
the books and articles left unread
the kind words left unsaid
the arguments left unhealed
the hair left unkempt
the emails and letters left unwritten
the situations vacant left unsearched and unapplied for
the lies and insincerities he heard on the radio today
the denial and inertia
that leaves this planet sleepwalking into an uncertain future
this morning he hauled his carcass out of bed unusually early
to take advantage of the sleeping house
and the quiet dawn
to roll out his reclaimed yoga mat
to force his stiff limbs and joints
into unfamiliar positions
rusty old sutras left out in the rain
to regulate his breathing
to re-establish some mental and physical order
to reinstate a restful mind and good posture
to reconnect with god
to regain some peace
from the chaos and disorder that has reigned supreme
now blond boy is alone again in the quiet house
he types doggedly away
making it up as he goes along
sitting upright on the psychologist's couch
dredging up dark thoughts
from the canal of his mind
in search of what?
some sort of therapy?
the bright white pixel stream melts away into black
the tall blond hooded figure unfolds
and retreats
plunging the street into darkness once again

STATE OF EMERGENCY

what would you do
if you were in a burning building
engulfed by smoke and flames?
what would you do
if your young child fell into a pond
and sank below the surface of the water?
what would you do
if your best friend collapsed to the floor
clutching their chest?
would you ignore what was happening
would you pretend that everything was alright
and hope the problem would go away?
our building is catching fire
our children are slipping into the pond
our friends
our families
our acquaintances
and everyone else
are starting to slump to the floor
and still we turn a blind eye
still we hope that somebody else will take notice
that someone else will call the fire brigade
call for an ambulance
call the police
make no mistake about it, my seeds
this is a state of emergency
and incredible as it may seem
our leaders
our greaters and betters
the powers that bee
are looking the other way
so tell me
are we really going to allow this to happen?

FOOTSOLDIER

as i leave the house on the hill
the sky threatens grim and grey
the menacing air damp and chill
mud spatters up from the road
stippling my jacket and shorts
the terrain slopes down to the river rea
then rises again abruptly to the eastern suburbs
i top the crest of another hill
then drop down into an unfamiliar suburb
a part of town where the faces are all alien
south asians
indians
pakistanis
bangladeshis
now the clouds part
and the dirty rain falls from the sky
soaking and blanketing me in a grimy cold chill
i park up the machine
and begin to make my way slowly
up the long curving terrace
draughty victorian houses
with steep gables
sheltering gothic windows
split in two by corinthian mullions
new pvc porches are de rigeur
but i focus on the letterboxes
some are at waist level
others strangely positioned
a mere inch above the step like a cat flap
a few are vertical
most horizontal
occasionally boxes have been built into the brickwork
unfortunately
draughty wide-open old-fashioned slots
convenient for sliding a leaflet through
are few n far between
most are more like man-eating plants
clamping my hand and stubbornly refusing to let go
as the rain pours down on my unprotected head
i quickly gain more respect for postmen
i gingerly extract damp yellow 'climate chaos' leaflets
one by one from a plastic bag
endeavouring not to pulp and shred them
as my knuckles are jammed between the stiff nylon brushes
the water overflows the gutters
and courses down drainpipes of porches
decorated with greetings written in arabic
a few cliched barking dogs cower behind curtains
but none is as lethal as the man-eating letterboxes
face to face encounters are few
an afro-caribbean man humps a gigantic tv set up the stairs
a lady in a headscarf thanks me
for retrieving her keys from her front door
an over-excited dog sets on me
as his owner sets out on a walk
i reach the end of grove road
double back on myself and turn into nansen and greswolde
where do these names originate?
as the sun pokes its head out
i run out of leaflets
and head damply homewards
footsoldiering done for the day

VISION

i live in a place i am proud of
a place i can truly call home
somewhere unique
like nowhere else
in a neighbourhood where i know everyone by name
and understand what makes them tick
my home is comfortable all year round
cool and fresh at the height of summer
cosy and warm in the depths of winter
it generates all the power we need
fuel bills are a thing of the past
our street belongs not to cars
but to people
children play in the road
people sit in the sun
walk
cycle
or stand in the middle of the road chatting
when i step out of my front door
the air is clean and fresh
i eat a healthy diet
my vegetables and fruit are locally grown
i even grow some myself
there is plenty of work for everyone to do in my locality
people don't have to commute
or sit in traffic jams
or fight over parking spaces
everything we need is a short walk or cycle ride away
i own only things that i love and value
i don't waste months every year
working to buy possessions i don't need
or an oil-guzzler i don't want
travelling has become a real adventure again
the journey is a thrill
and every destination has its own distinctive character
people feel the need to leave the community
only when they have a special reason
and when they arrive
they are welcomed as honoured guests
the wonders of modern technology
medicine
surgery
electronic gadgets
the excitement of speed, power and noise
are rare and special
and never simply taken for granted
citizens of all politics, classes and cultures
are able to put aside their differences
and come together with a common purpose
that of ensuring
that every man, woman and child
every beast and sentient being
in this great big unjust world of ours
has the same inalienable rights
to a decent standard of health and living

CLEAN-UP ACT

QUARTER

sometimes things don't work out as planned
what i was trying to say
may not always come out right
it might get mixed up
or misplaced
or read in a different context
the art of living is personal
but it shouldn't be taken personally
i realize i ain't the most tactful of people
i say and do a lotta things that i feel sorry about afterwards
though more often than not
it's the things i don't do that i regret
the thing you gotta remember about the art of living
is that it ain't a polished piece of work
nor a carefully edited text
it ain't a peer-reviewed paper
nor a prettily packaged product
it certainly ain't the finished article
the aol is what i feel like typing out
when i got enough p & q
to sit down at my sliding desk for a few minutes
i boot up
sign in
prod away at the keys
check for typos
change any bits that don't scan
remedy the clumsy misturns of phrase
then publish the post
it's raw and it's instant
and it certainly ain't perfect
the aol ain't always logical or rational either
it's more an aspiration
a search for truth
a detective trail
uncovering the meaning that lurks in the shadows
just below the surface
an ambitious goal
an honest confession
a winding road
a convoluted journey
a messy canvas
a stuttering story with a mistimed punchline
an evolving attitude
an open mindset
the aol is a little bit like democracy
it's something that has to be protected
nurtured
and fought for every day
sometimes it stumbles around hopelessly in the dark
other times it is drawn unblinkingly forward
toward a pure white shining light
it's like a punchbag
or one of those weird wobbly children's toys
that takes the punches
absorbs the punishment and pain
and keeps on bouncing back
it makes mistakes
and sometimes it probably makes enemies
but above all
it gives quarter
and expects it in return

WHO WAS SHANE?

shane worked at selly oak cycles
next to birmingham & solihull connexions
shane passed away on may 26th 2006
so the sign on the door says
shane smiles out from a framed photograph on the wall
looking vigorous and indestructible
shane worked among the grease and the grime
of the small shop he owned and ran with with brother
open monday to saturday
closed on wednesdays
spanners and allen keys were the tools of shane's trade
his fingers got into tight spaces
detaching chains and adjusting brakes
replacing inner tubes and pumping up tyres
shane was always honest about what needed doing
and always charged customers a fair price
unlike the cowboys
who thought nothing of ripping off their punters
left, right and centre
who undercut his prices and starved him of income
and the out-of-own supermarkets
who piled the bikes high and sold em cheap
whether they worked or not
shane once fixed the gears
of the tall, angular, well-spoken chap in tight cycle shorts
standing by the counter
shane rode a dawes galaxy worth 1700 squid
with click gears and brakes that worked in syncronicity
shane was graham's big brother
shane was paul's elder son
shane was just 27 years old when he died
shane's life ended in st mary's hospice
round the corner in raddlebarn road
shane's dad is still bitter about how it happened
he still can't accept it
the hospital staff told shane's family to bring in his clothes
his mum and dad and brother assumed shane would soon be going home
but it was not to be
shane passed away without ever putting on his clothes
shane died of a brain tumour
but his memory
his workshop
his cycle maintainance skills
and his ethics
live on

FORMAL COMPLAINT

reference #46245

dear sir or madam
this morning I put in a formal complaint at your office
regarding the state of manor farm park
the complaint related specifically to an information noticeboard
situated at the south-east entrance to the park
near the stable block
the notice has unfortunately been daubed with graffitti
making it semi-illegible
please can I request that the notice be scrubbed clean
in addition
the nearby rustic building and toilet block
at the top of the hill
both appear to be in a poor state of repair
and have also been attacked by vandals
the climbing frames in the children's playground
are in need of a good lick of paint
i am sorry to say that the park in general
has a very scruffy and neglected look about it
as if no-one cares about its upkeep
and given the current situation
it is no surprise to me that vandalism is a problem
would it be possible to employ someone
who has specific responsibility
for keeping the park in a decent condition
encouraging local people to take pride
in this excellent recreational facility?
i sincerely hope that urgent action can be taken on this matter
yours sincerely
fireseed

ECG

so many things to say
so little time
so hard to get people's attention
so hard to make em listen
you just might be the only seed to read this blog this week
but i am grateful for your time
for checking in
for keeping the art of living alive
because i know ya don't have a lot of free time to play with
that in these turbo-charged times
every minute counts...
fireseed at the docs today
obviously not been eating enough apples
or maybe there haven't been enough days?
been feeling a few ominous twinges in the chest area
what could it signify?
lung problems?
(my good wife suggests tb)
heart disease?
an undiagnosed hereditary condition?
indigestion?
only old geezers suffer from that, don't they?
general overindulgence?
fireseed has put on about a stone since returning to blighty
gluten intolerance?
been overdoing the muesli and home-baked wholewheat bread?
anyways
old dr shastri's stethoscope ain't revealing much
and he ain't at all sure what might be causing the twinges
so as a precautionary measure
he asks me to book in for an electrocardiogram
i strip to my waist
lie down on a couch
with my steel toecaps dangling over the end
grimace while the nurse sticks the cold patches
to my tender midriff
try to avert my eyes as she clips on the electrodes
brace myself for an electric shock
but hear only a rumbling noise from the machine
as it produces a print-out of what my heart is up to
the nurse says we're all done
and i pull my manifesto t back on to regain my dignity
she says the results look normal at first glance
and i've got a resting pulse of just over 60
which is good apparently
i tell her i've just cycled up to the surgery
in my usual last-gasp eleventh-hour full-throttle fashion
she looks mildly impressed
so perhaps there's a bit of life in the old dog yet...