A cosy night in front of the telly.

Published January 10, 2018 by norfolkmountain

“Aa Ha” says The One who was Previously Bearded “That’s her, the one that used to be a doctor and then was a cowgirl in that program we once watched.” “No” says Little-Mum that isn’t who you think it is. In fact is isn’t even who I think it is either. It’s the other one. It’s the one you think is a nurse in the detective drama but isn’t.” “You know, I think you’re right!” says the One who was Previously Bearded. “Of course I’m right,” says Little-Mum “I’m always right.”

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Dog Days in the mountain.

Published January 9, 2018 by norfolkmountain

The pack took a trip to the edge of the earth. The barked, panted and tried salt water which they did not like. After many hours of sniff, sniffing especially of other dogs posteriors they lumbered back to the trusty steed and were taken back to the kennel in time for turkey treats.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Upside Down Christmas

Published January 6, 2018 by norfolkmountain

All of us here in the mountains have been finding it hard to reconcile ourselves to the fact that some that come from here abouts and others from the Land of the Mids have spent the season of yule upside down. Why they wish to have blood rush to their heads and become all red faced, hot and bothered is something the one who was previously bearded cannot understand. Little-mum looks out on the rain, the hail and the mighty wind and thinks she may see why they went. One thing we can be sure of they did not go to see many Noble English Men battle to great effect with willow on leather. But then to see that wouldn’t be Cricket dear boy.

Solstice over and just waiting for spring to be sprung.

Published December 27, 2017 by norfolkmountain

This will shock those of you who have visited these parts before and I suggest you avert your eyes if only momentarily . . . The Bearded one is no longer bearded and will now be referred to as The Bearded One That Was.
Snow is falling onto the moat that has formed once again in front of the Castle of the English here atop the mountain. The Doormouse has headed South in search of second Xmas and Little-My is tucked up in her Little House.
Little-Mum is tucked up in many layers of fleece and socks watching the Pockercoos sleeping as only post yule pockercoos can sleep. Each is taking up more space than a medium elephant on his preferred sofa leaving Little-Mum room to perch precariously while typing, drinking tea and watching 46th black and white moving picture of the festive season circa 1947.

Poem – The Letter

Published December 27, 2014 by norfolkmountain

The letter was never appreciated

The letter it rankled for sure

Who wants to chat on an order?

A forced conversation’s a bore

The letter was never appreciated

The letter it rankled for sure

A note that was noted by everyone

A lawyer,  my union and more.

The letter was never appreciated.

The letter it rankled with me

Lose friends and alienate people

It worked I’m sure you can see

The letter was never appreciated.

The letter it rankled with me

Passed round like a dirty postcard

But it did cause hilarity

The letter was never appreciated.

The letter it rankled with all

Those privileged enough to read it

Agreed it was a bad call

The letter was never appreciated.

The Rubicon crossed, I’d say

Like poor Julius Caesar –

Stabbed in the back one day.

The letter, one of the many

Mistakes we’ve seen these last days

Set us off on the path that we follow

Along tortuous lanes and byways

Look over your shoulder and wonder

Look back from where you have been

What’s that we see in the distance?

Your own Ides of March can be seen

Eyes that always will follow

Suspicions continually nag

You’ll find the knowing/not knowing

Make months, weeks and days kind of drag

You’ll wonder what could have happened

You’ll wonder what might have been

You’ll rue the day that you wrote it

You’ll wish it had stayed unseen

The letter was never appreciated

The letter it rankled with me

I think that I’ll have it published

A fitting epitaph to you from me

Poem . . . No hand can hold the stick by which a man is measured.

Published December 27, 2014 by norfolkmountain

No hand can hold the stick by which a man is measured.

Sand-grain years fail to tell his worth in any case.

This man a golden link with others

Their history lined his much loved face.

He brought his learning to our table

And let us hear their proud song sung.

We knew our bones were made for labour

But now we knew our minds too could be strong.

For words of generations wise and patient

Echoed round our youthful ears

And our duty pure and simple

Make them echo for a thousand years.

Let those who came before us

Show us what it is we need to do.

Lay a path for youth to follow

Make our children strong, proud and true.

Where to each what he is needing

From each all that she should rightly give

Is the maxim that buys us all a right to freedom

To a life that we can then most truly live.

No hand can hold the stick by which a man is measured

But our minds and hearts most clearly know

That those most like our dear *******

Show us all the way we each should go.

 

August 2012

Update of the Youth

Published September 29, 2013 by norfolkmountain

Up here where the air is thin there has been much celebrating and drinking of mead. Little Mum and The Bearded One can announce that Little My is returning to the land of her birth. She has been grinding bones for many years in the lands of Brum but these days are now numbered. Once more will her thumping feet be heard glumphing down the stairs, once more will the aged folk lay in bed awaiting the sound of her key rattling against the keyhole in the early hours of the next day. The Dormouse will remain in foreign parts having built a nest in which to doze. Obviously the Dormouse himself did not build said nest. This was left to the remarkable skills of The Bearded One  assisted by Little Mum during many a month of snow, frost and fog. The Dormouse busied himself with checking the level of all surfaces, inspecting workmanship with a magnifying glass and cheerily emptying his bank of all his pennies. Little Mum proudly watched as the two men of the family ruffled each others feathers while she went out on jolly jaunts to the chip and fish shop and was to be seen loading unprecedented piles of plasterboard onto her trusty steed.