IDENTITY CRISIS

i am he
as you are he
as you are me
and we are all together

planning a little get-away for two
in order to sell-berate mrs f's 'special' birthday next month
i suddenly remember my passport's expired
talk about a birthday
renewing a passport marks the passage of a whole deck-aid
now ye olde red tape n form filling
sit pretty much at the top of my pet annoyances list
(say no 2 id, folks)
but i had 0 id-ea what i was letting myself in for here...
i wade through the form
and the pages n pages of notes
breathe a sigh of relief that this aint my first passaporte
which now entails having an interview
(just like getting a job folks!)
i write in the right-coloured pen in the right boxes
eventually track down the damage on the website
a cool 72 squid
plus 4 squid for photos
plus another 7 squid for their 'check n send' service
(hey someone's making a nice little killing outta this)
at the post office
before i get the mug-shot
i study the two-page full colour guide
to what you can and cannae have in your photo
anal retentiveness reigns supreme here
as elsewhere
i'm so busy making sure that my head aint too big or small
that my hair doesn't look daft
that my eyes are in the right place
that my mouth is closed
that i'm not grinning
the result is a real scowl
yep - i would comfortably pass as a lifer at winson green
now i'm at the counter
the teller looks uncomfortable
as she compares my new passport foto to my old one
'i'd recommend' she says
'that you get your form countersigned
i'm not sure you're recognisable from your previous photo
...you have changed quite a lot'
oops!
there was me pondering how little i have changed
since feb 98
discounting the discarded ponytail
and the newly acquired facial hair
it's me
honest, officer
it is me
where are you taking me?
is this some kind of joke?
HEY IT'S ME!
IT'S MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WAKING UP

a glowing orange sun floods the woods
frost whitens the roofs
where the road curves downhill out of the sunlight
blackbirds stake out their chimneytop territory
at the park gates
magpies scoff
one-legged geese protest
wood pigeons flap
somewhere away in the trees
a lone woodpecker taps
a wagtail seesaws up from a rivulet and takes flight
beside the potholed path
i inspect the fruits of my labours
tender green shoots
force themselves through the damp turf
back at the house it's still quiet
i unroll my yoga mat
and tentatively ease my stiff joints through a few stretches
it's been a while but
ah - that feels good!
towards the end
the holidaying woodle appears
a bit tearful after getting her fingers trapped in the door
as usual she delights in disrupting my yoga
she giggles as she perches on top of me
titters as she slithers under me on her tummy
as i hold my back and hips off the ground
then i'm the one who's in stitches
as the woodle tries to copy my reverse headstand
and goes atumbling
keep trying woodle!

LONG (BUT MERCIFULLY CUT-SHORT) GOOD FRIDAY

7:30am: alarm clock goes off
open eyes and focus on woodle
sleeping peacefully and beautifically
mrs f already up n tapping next door
feel like a lie-in
roll over and go back to sleep
8:30am: woodle is up and at em downstairs
loud voices n some shenanigans going on
need the loo but resist
roll over again and carry on dozing
9:30am: open curtains n look out
morning sunshine on wet pavements
pull on dressing gown n head to loo
go downstairs and make breakfast
strong black coffee n muesli with soya milk
it turns out that raised voices
concerned super-dooper new washing-machine
pater losing it with mater
for putting on wash
without referring to instruction manual
there in a nutshell their opposite natures are captured
'caution n planning' versus 'dive straight in'
10:00am: eat brekky at living room table
with easter chicks mrs f and woodle have made
woodle switches on telly
mrs f heads back upstairs to continue blogging
10:30am: refill coffee
replace water filter on filter jug
run three lots of water through filter system
read a couple of pages of building green
whilst on throne
11:00am: watch cbeebies tv
woodle on lap
11:10am: uncle johnny suggests switching over
to watch anastasia cartoon film
woodle cooperates
m & p head off to do easter shop at sainsburys
woodle climbs onto uncle j's lap to watch movie
historical details are subject to considerable artistic licence
rasputin is a gross caricature
j n i gloss plot details to help woodle follow story
half watch film and half peruse washing-machine manual
12:00pm: get up to make more coffee for uncle j and moi
12:30pm: film ends
m & p return from supershop at supermarket
log on to wikipedia
to check out real story of rasputin, tsar nicholas and anastasia
1:00pm: shower
1:30pm: lump giant strawberry bag downstairs
full of accumulated washing from last week
but before anyone puts a wash on
dad insists on weighing out 6 kilos of laundry
using bathroom scales
to see how much machine can take
(6k = maximum machine capacity according to manual
though he hasn't actually read it)
6 kilos looks like a very large amount
dad seems satisfied
finally get wash on
2:15pm: heat up yesterday's tofu n vegetable stir fry
eat with couscous
3:00pm: make bread using breadmaker
3:30pm: make vegan flapjack mixture
4:00pm: flapjacks in oven
delicious smells of rising dough n baking flaps...
ah - that's enough cosy domesticity for one post
i'll leave ya to imagine the rest
a happy easter holy day to one n all

SUBURBIA

suburbia
where the developer bulldozes down the trees
then names the streets after them
where the cars slice violently through
the silence of the empty pavements
where fleeting figures emerge from vehicles
and disappear behind their net curtains
where white upvc and the nissan micra reign supreme
where the sun's trajectory is ignored
and light and shade is a random event
where design for living is conspicuously absent
and meaningful experience is not nurtured
where an empty expanse of turf passes for landscaping
where the pedestrian and the child are afterthoughts
where space and form collides instead of flowing
where the signature of the vandal's pen
doodles in frustration and alienation
where there is neither love nor care
thought nor harmony

RELATION SHIPS

the cheek of it!
a man cannae even maintain his own private blog
without his missus gatecrashing it!
in case you were wondering what was going on
it turns out that the last post
now deleted
the one that may well have looked like gobbledygook
since likely as not you haven't installed korean script
and probably can't read it anyway
was a well meaning attempt by my wife
to attach a link to her own blog
which now treats her readers
to my nasal singing
whenever they log in
what comes of having an automatic log-in on this pc
i guess
now mrs f's daily journal puts mine to shame
with its description and photos of each day's minutiae
and an interactive readership to die for
but she does need to get her links sorted...
you find me at the end of a fractious bedtime episode
in the company of the woodle
who is becoming more stubborn and stroppy by the day
i've always had a tricky relationship with the woodle
which i guess is not a huge surprise given the circumstances
of her growing up in the land of morning calm
surrounded by korean culture
with a korean mummy who was at home with her all the time
a korean nanny, aunties, etcetera
every aspect of her life was korean
except two - english tv/videos and her sweet daddy-o
now for long hours daddy wasn't there
and when he was
it was first thing in the morning or last thing at night
so it was always more difficult to understand or talk to daddy
particularly at emotionally charged times like bedtime
or when waking up in the middle of the night
in korea hannah got used to sleeping in our bed
or if i had to get up at the crack of dawn
she slept with mummy in her own bedroom
since we came to england
the routine hasn't changed
and she's stayed in our bed
refusing the comfort of her own cot
which is just a couple of feet away from mummy
now if she's in a good mood
she'll read bedtime stories together with me
but she still won't do lights out without mummy
no matter what
then when it comes to conflict
there's the dreaded good cop - bad cop routine
no doubt you've already guessed who the bad cop is
the one who won't promise ice cream or chocolate if she's good
the one who refuses to open another pack of biscuits
or let her watch another ten minutes on cbeebies
the one who ends up raising his voice when all else fails
the one who gets an 'i hate you!'
or provokes a hysterical tantrum
nice soft mummy is such a hard act to follow sometimes...
i tell myself
things will improve as she gets older
she'll be easier to reason with
but somehow i'm not so sure...