Words, words, words.

My first published book of poetry

During the time between writing the last blog and now, I have written, no, started composing many others in my head, none of which ever came to fruition. For on each occasion the desire for a slice of cake, a laced coffee or even a small tot of cherry liqueur slipped into my mind and as you probably know a well fed mind that has no hunger within loses its’ desire to create. 

The next day and thereafter the process was repeated; not though today. 
For last night into my mind came nine words - a metaphor - which is like a long lost solitary piece of a jigsaw puzzle and it is still echoing in the recesses of my being. As yet I have neither inspiration nor inclination to do anything with it. That line will be entered in a page of a notebook which has other lost lines and like the others it will grow neither fat nor slim, until one of them drops like magic into a rightful place. Hopefully I shall get started soon and start scribbling away.

At this time of the year, during mid winter we listen to the radio far more than at other times of the year (no TV by choice). 
During my late teenage years I realised that listening to the radio was far better than watching the attention seeking one eyed monster in the corner of the lounge, because at the very least I could paint or read a book at the same time.
So when I reached the age of maturity my decision was not to have a TV. 

Writing about that non-sensical box has revived memories of the letters that I would receive annually from the TV licensing authorities and of the great delight I had when making my polite replies. All of that altered [the politeness - that is] when they changed their previous format and started their letter with a threat to prosecute me, to which I replied with extreme vehemence.
I told them how dumb they were in not noting the contents of my previous sixteen letters and of how they needed to keep a register of non-conformers like myself which would save both of us the cost of postage etc.

Since becoming a pensioner however, the powers that be have granted me a free TV licence for life and I no longer get any letters. That too has its drawbacks as I can no longer vent my spleen annually and rid my self of my accumulated angst !

Season of Goodwill

Obscenity is not just pornography or even provocative photo's of the human body. There are other types of obscenity. One of which is the portrayal of photo's on blogs and words describing their pre- christmas fare gluttony !I have just visited one blog that said that on the following morning that the author was so stuffed from the meal of the previous day that all they had was a slice of toast for breakfast. Well whoopee for you I thought!

Then I thought again about the five million people in the UK who are suffering from food and fuel poverty, also of the half million and more in Ireland who are in a similar situation. Well who cares - who actually cares ?

One might name a charity, almost any charity. 

Ah'yes! But be careful that they are not just in the Business of Re-distribution. For example the other day a national Irish newspaper published a list of forty-one well known charities of which there was only one in which the CEO took no salary. Of the other CEO's who did their salaries ranged from €80,000 to over €100,000 per annum.

That one single charity whose CEO receives nothing is Br. Kevin Crowley of the Irish Capuchins see  http://www.churchandhalston.irishcapuchins.com/Day_Centre.html

We stopped sending Seasonal Greeting cards a couple of years ago, instead we make a donation to an organisation that cares for people who are in great need, the numbers of which are growing daily. This year it will be to the Capuchins.

Whether you have a religion or a belief or not or are simply a pagan like myself. My wish for you is that you are warm, free from hunger and surrounded with Love.

One of My Pleasures!

We took ourselves off to Dublin the other day. For Mrs H it was a chance to window shop ( yes, I have her trained!) Actually she was accompanying me to the famous pipe manufacturer's Peterson's of Dublin, whose retail outlet is in Nassau Street at the bottom of Grafton Street. We had fun getting there for I insisted on staying on the bus a lot longer than what we should have. No matter the walk was good for us and by way of recompense. I out of the goodness of my heart pointed out the Dail (The Irish parliament building) to her.

Peterson's have a fine array of pipes on display however, many of them were well beyond price range and in any case their seconds accommodate my wallet far better and give a good service.

The last time that I visited them was about five years ago and the shop assistant recommended to me pipe which he felt that I would appreciate. He was absolutely correct!

For here we were, for me to buy pipe another of similar design.

The new pipe with the trade name of Killarney.
It is a gem to hold as well as to smoke plus it
has the unique characteristic of sitting down.

My previous pipe which sits well in the hand,
as well as sitting nicely on the desk without
spilling any ash.

The stem of each of the above pipes can be used
with a replaceable filter - I change the filter every two days.

A Driskule
This little fellow is a conical wired cage that
sits in the bottom of the pipe bowl and prevents wastage
of tobacco as well as keeping the bottom dry.

My favourite tobacco of which I smoke
about 50 grammes a week.

For many years now the bent pipe
has been my favourite.

I purchased this old timer in Germany
in 1958 and only very rarely do I use it.

'The Meerschum'

This takes pride of place in my tobacco cabinet.
The head is that of a bear.