A Conversation

Sitting on a low wall outside at a recent wedding, I was approached by a young and rather serious boy, a relative of the bride's cousin, I believe.

Young boy to me – Have you ever burst a balloon.

Me, indicating the balloon in his hand – Yes I have. Why are you going to burst that balloon?

Boy, with half a shrug and no readable facial expression – Maybe...

Some seconds later, when I was looking the other way, the boy managed to burst the balloon by inserting his thumb into it, and then held it up, semi-proudly for my perusal when I turned back to him.

Minutes passed and the boy returned, minus balloon, still serious and with an enigmatic smile.

Boy – I think I'm going to die.

Me, a little uncertain how to take this – Oh, why's that? Do you have a horrible rash or something?

Boy – No, I have asthma. I can't breathe.

Me – Well you seem to be able to talk alright.

Boy, waving at the door – I went inside and took my inhaler.

Me, trying to think of something responsible to say – Oh good, well hopefully that will make you feel better. If you can feel any worse then make sure you tell an adult straight away.

And that was that.

The boy, still surprisingly calm at the thought of his imminent demise, left to join his peers some metres away and, for those who may be concerned for his safety, was later seen running around quite happily. With no evidence to the contrary, it seems reasonable to assume he survived the evening unscathed.

Songs

When I started this blog I intended to post quite regularly, but you may notice I missed out a couple of months.

This is because I spent a long time recording some of my songs and putting them on myspace (which is rubbish by the way - but don't sue me, Rupert Murdoch). Not the best recordings in the world ever, but they do give an idea of what I've been doing with my life since I was 16...

Take a listen and let me know what you think.

I'm walking by the river in the dark hours

I'm walking by the river in the dark hours:
The water – coursing roughly round my mind –
A metaphor, a vision flanked by dream flowers.
The pathway overgrown and rarely signed.

I'm racing on ahead, not quite alone, but out of sight
Where the snow upon the mountains gives a glow of lunar light
That reaches through the gloom into the corners of the night
And settles of the shadowed landscape, tinging it with white.

What happens next is something of a mystery,
A dream undreamt, a story still untold.
I might yet join the circus, or tour history,
Or stumble on that stolen pot of gold.

Whatever will take place is not decided.
As yet no plot, no characters, no themes.
Instead I wake and find myself divided
One half in life, the other in my dreams.