After yesterday’s continuous drizzle, today is sunny again. The forecast for tomorrow doesn’t look too hopeful but, looking at the Atlantic charts, I’m expecting them to revise that. The forecasters these days seem to relish in making us expect the worst; it may be that they all have shares in umbrella companies of course. Not that I’ve seen a British-made umbrella in years.
That’s made me remember an encounter with gay-bashers in a subway near Clapham Junction, years and years ago. I wasn’t in the mood for being bashed, so far as I recall, and I grabbed my stout British-made umbrella and chased them off, screaming the opening lines from Jabberwocky at the top of my voice.
It’s a good battle-cry, is Jabberwocky.
I’d sort of planned to go into Swansea for a birthday badge today. You know: ’70 today and up for anything‘. Perhaps I shall find one in Burnham-on-Sea tomorrow, something more along the lines of ‘Kiss me quick, I’m 70 today‘. Or perhaps not.
Anyway. The morning sun has hit the roofs of the houses opposite, raising steam-wraiths, wisping over the ridges and off into the blue sky. I’m planning to sit for a while now, and watch it until the show is over.
Ah. Must record my waking dream from this morning. It was an impression rather than a narrative, and I was back in the days of the Beats in Paris, all Gitanes and peanut butter. They might tell you that they lived on Gitanes, croissants and strong coffee but I’m here to tell you that, when they could, they smeared their croissants with good peanut butter, sent over in parcels from their Moms in America. And the Gitanes were an affectation mostly–they much preferred Marlboro when they could scrounge them.
20 Gitanes, please, and make it snappy
There was music in my head, too. Sidney Bechet making his saxophone sing. That really is a strange association, because the Beats were far more into modern bebop jazz than the good old stuff. But, then, there’s no accounting for dreams.
70 — it’s the new 60!
Happy almost birthday.
I’m staying 69 thank you.
What happened to the stars? No more rating? lol
John, since you’ve shown us pictures of your younger self a few times, I’ve got quite the mental picture going of the incident with the goons on the subway. Well done!
Happy Birthday Eve!
Ah, you have my toes tapping.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY eve!
Happy 70th, John. As I remember, that was a good age – still plenty of get-up-and-go. N0w 80-not so much “go”.
Age is but a number.
You are probably snuggled up in bed with Dolly now and will not see this until your tomorrow, so Happy Birthday from Canada.
Loved the umbrella story. I also thank you for the bit about the Beats.
John, may you wake up to a very happy birthday tomorrow!!! Have a very good night’s sleep and an even better day tomorrow…. Hurrah and congratulations!!!!
A very happy 70th to you!
Now if only Graham could be there as well! I do hope it’s a merry day with lots of lovely food, and perhas an extra glass of wine!
Happy Birthday John!
Happy Birthday John.
Now dod what I did at 50: stop counting.
Of course, you can see why I stopped counting at 50- lack of mental acuity. Change dod to do in my preceding post.
Good morning, John!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
A very Happy Birthday to you!
Hope your Happy Birthday is splendid and rollicking!
{{{{{Special Birthday Hugs}}}}} from The Land of Morning Calm, ~ Sil
British brollys brandished at bashers ,
birthday badges, Beatniks and Bechet…
there’s a Beowulfian alliterative poem in there somewheres.
;-0