h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

ok, now mvp is cooking, I am quite hungry, what is over the campfire

also mvp is detailing with Cathar sexy scenes,

people are wandering around admiring the trails, the ruins, the scenery and I, innocent that I am , don't want to know what they getting up to in the crumbling b +b

they are what?

oh, gardening, dry stone walling, plumbing, cooking, or something

well, I couldn't possibly say

*knocks down campfire fire, puts ashes outside,adds slow burning logs to campfire,

(um, gave them a good blow from underneath , sounds dodgey typing, but the campfire is slowburing nicely now and I didn't blow ashes everywhere)

checks out tree, fairy lights still looking good being powered by fairy magic of course they would be,

and we have done well to make sure the meltages haven't got out of hand*

huggles in close to campfire,give me a good prod about breakfast time

love you daydreamers and

I hope you're not really round a campfire, Peanut. You'd be under water by now!

*tunes guitar*

Oh, bury me not on the English plain,
Where the foxes bark in the endless rain,
They've ploughed the verge of the old A-5,
With ditches deep, till you just can't drive.</>

Giddy-up.

Funnily enough we decided not to camp for this Christmas this year, two reasons we haven't got our stove yet and everywhere is under water, so we opted for our well flood defended house

'Morning flamekeepers!

bark bark

What's that barking sound?

Tis the foxes barking in the endless rain.

How are we all then?

Oh bury me now on the English plain!

bark bark

S'cuse me foxes, could you let up a moment please? I'm trying to think.

Oh bury me now on the English plain! (clutches brow) Now? Or not.

bark bark crash crash splash splash

Forget it, can a poet write these days, without being disturbed by the urban fox rootling though the dustbin in the endless rain?

What am I talking about? I know not! Yes! And isn't the holiday season pure hell for the outsider? I'm decided that the hell is even purer than it used to be, , but there's a certain poetic sweetness in the challenge of survival, mainly involving a lot of writing with a lime green crayon, and eating turkish delight in the endless rain.

exit pursued by an urban fox.

bark bark

The foxes bark on the English plain
because they're tired of the endless rain!

You're right about Christmas being hell for an outsider. What do you think an alien would make of Christmas?

Why do those people get in their funny vehicles and sit in queues for hours?
Why do they bring trees into their houses and scrap them a fortnight later?
Why do they eat so much and drink so much that it makes them ill?

Truly they are a decadent people!

The aliens wonder.

imagine if they recovered this thread

(after the queueing and stuff was long gone as in observable)

how we be interpreted

and wouldn't it be great

Ah yes.

I felt like a true alien this year, on Christmas morning. It wasn't a negative feeling, in fact it linked me with childhood in a curious way, and I was wide eyed with wonder.

It was a challenge indeed, I had to confront quite a lot of fears within me.



The spouse was recovering from a bad bout of flu, so he was really weak and had to stay in bed most of the day, although he was over the worst and was more tired than ill.

We decided to cancel our plans to pack sandwiches and binoculars and head to the coast for a spot of widgeon watching on the Exe estuary. The widgeons and avocets will be there, we will see them in 2013. heheh.



He was OK, so I slunk out of the flat at first light, and headed out on my bike, to the river, in town, a couple of miles down the road.

The road was deserted, and it was amazing. I felt guilty, an outsider, an alien wanderer, and yet I felt simple and happy, it was so strange, could I allow this?



Am I turning into a bag lady? Who am I? Am I lonely? Am I sad? Is a middle aged lady allowed to do this, be seen on Christmas morning, all wrapped in waterproofs, with a notebook and a box of turkish delight in her panniers.

Christmas was never like this in the days when my parents were alive, I was a bit scared, and yet somehow I felt like I used to feel, as a kid, as if I had returned to something.


As I cycled past the station, a flock of Canadian geese flew in formation across the morning sky, all silhoutte and wingflutter, and I felt like a pilgrim, with nothing but the moment to offer as my gift.

The morning sun was a liquid golden light over the river. I cycled through the mud and pools from the recent floods. There was a few people around, walking dogs, we greeted each other, merry christmas! An out of control jack russell in a red coat ran up to my bike to greet me. Merry christmas little hound!

part two to follow ...

Can't wait, with nothing but the moment to offer as your gift...aahh...

I have had a couple tequillas myself

plus the on offer between paragraphs

apologies between splutters for mis-reading panniers,

and bag lady, if you get anywhere close to Glastonbury, look for me

I'll be walking, not cycling

We went to Ashdown Forest with boots and binoculars. On the way we crossed the river Ouse, which had flooded the farmland on both sides of the road.

We trudged up to a clump of pines, where you can usually see miles but all we could see was advancing rain. From there we went to down to a stream, which was red and foaming. And I thought how surprising it was that people used to smelt iron ore in this part of Sussex. (It's the iron in the rocks that makes the stream red.)

I don't think I felt like 'a pilgrim with nothing but the moment to offer as my gift', but I did have a feeling of the layers of human experience. And it struck me that, when Winnie the Pooh and his friends go wandering through Ashdown Forest, it's always sunny...

we shouldn't have walked along the wooden walkways on the levels as they were closed due to flooding, we did so a bit and don't think caused any damage to anyone's planks
it felt like we walking in neolithic footsteps, on the sweet track but not high enough

not that we trod on anything achaeological, wouldn't do,

planks with chicken wire, well walked modern day pathway no where near anything historical and niether did we disburb anything, very recent, still we could hear widgeons

and it felt like that walking in footsteps

heheh.



A few tequilas eh? mmm. nice. See you on the Tor, my luv. I'm the one with the box of turkish delight tucked under my purple beanie hat.

Typo alert. There was a few people around?. There Was??


hullo panda!

So I turn back from the river and head towards the local hotel. There's a light on in the bar. I see an old guy standing outside with a pint. It's 8.40 am. There's another guy trying to wipe off some green face paint with shaking hands.

I head into the bar. There are hotel guests having breakfast, I feel secure. The barman tells me that there's no coffee for non residents till 10, but just for me he'll fetch the coffee pot and pour me one, strong black please. He even offers me cake.

I'm a wandering wordpainter wrapped in waterproofs, and I settle in the corner, and stare at the TV screen. Jeremy Clarkson (Top Gear) is racing Jags through the streets of Mumbai.

The barman changes the channel. There's a morning service from an English cathedral, with a choir singing Silent Night, and a lady vicar offering me hope, despite my sin.

I take out my notebook and write with a lime green crayon.

I think about my loved one at home, who is probably by now staring wildly at the mirror with funny eyes, because he gets alien fever worse than I do, especially at Christmas. Time to return.

I wish I could write a poem about silhoutte geese flying in formation over the railtrack on Christmas morning, but I'll just have to be content with my lime green scrawlings. I'll read them back later. I think they might spell gloria in excelsis! or help! or something entirely other.

ooh! postings have appeared, while I was bashing on!

will read later!! I'm late, glory lovely hootoo souls!

I wish i could hold that tune ' hosanna in excelsis'
betterer still Ho sanna




Ding dong! merrily on high
In heav'n the bells are ringing:
Ding dong! verily the sky
Is riv'n with Angel singing.


Gloria,
Hoe sanna in excelsis!
Gloria,
Hosanna in excelsis!

E'en so here below, below,
Let steeple bells be swungen,
And "Io, io, io!"
By priest and people sungen.



Pray you, dutifully prime
Your matin chime, ye ringers;
May you beautifully rime
Your evetime song, ye singers.

to all ye Marys, hoes, bell ringers, singers, peoples, sing joyeusly and peace be with you

I-O.

The hymn to Pan. Io, Pan.

Which is why I like that carol so much. It maketh me to chuckle...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=toYx6y-RUgU