Poem #2

This is my favourite poem, written for the Abbe de Sade by his close friend Voltaire on the occasion of his naming as Grand Vicar of Toulouse. I likes it a lot for no particular reason.

Have you now, then, got it into your brain
As soon as you will have the name
The dull dignity, of grand vicar,
That you will all at once refrain
From Love and the art of giving pleasure?
Be as much a priest as you maintain,
You'll go on loving just the same;
Were you a bishop or the Holy Father
You would love and please again;
There you see your true career
You will love and please and gain
Forever equal degrees of fame
At Church and in the groves of pleasure.

From Love To Friendship

This is one of my favourite poems, so I'm posting it up here :)

From Love To Friendship

Voltaire

If you would have me love once more,
The blissful age of love restore;
From wine's free joys, and lovers' cares,
Relentless time, who no man spares,
Urges me quickly to retire,
And no more to such bliss aspire.
From such austerity exact,
Let's, if we can, some good extract;
Whose way of thinking with this age
Suits not, can ne'er be deemed a sage.
Let sprightly youth its follies gay,
Its follies amiable display;
Life to two moments is confined,
Let one to wisdom be consigned.
You sweet delusions of my mind,
Still to my ruling passion kind,
Which always brought a sure relief
To life's accurst companion, grief.
Will you forever from me fly,
And must I joyless, friendless die?
No mortal e'er resigns his breath
I see, without a double death;
Who loves, and is beloved no more,
His hapless fate may well deplore;
Life's loss may easily be borne,
Of love bereft man is forlorn.
'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,
Which I so oft in youth repented;
My soul replete with soft desire,
Vainly regretted youthful fire.
But friendship then, celestial maid,
From heaven descended to my aid;
Less lively than the amorous flame,
Although her tenderness the same.
The charms of friendship I admired,
My soul was with new beauty fired;
I then made one in friendship's train,
But destitute of love, complain.

Kettles and Puppies

A new email from my mother.

Hallo Mary
We had to get a new kettle with it came a book written in many languages. The advice on its use in English consisted of the following- clean your kettle with vingar regularly ,do not boil milk or fruit juice in your kettle do not put any part of your kettle in the dish washer. Notes on the toaster said do not fill your toaster with water do not let anyone irresponsible use your toaster. The tumble dryer guide said make sure the tumble dryer is bolted down if you wish to use it on a ship.I still find the whole idea of boiled fruit juice really horrible.

Sara bought Dolly the puppy round to show me she is really adorable and tried to chew my jumper. She does look a bit like a pig but will improve with age. I have not forgotten the Symingtons fruit cremes. We are going to Waitrose on Tuesday I will try to get some there. Have you mended your cardigan yet? It keeps raining here so I have yet to wear the hat. Have you discussed rodent removel with A-d yet?
See you soon Mummy

(shrugs)

Conkers and Spiders

I met up with my mum today.

During lunch, she told me about her plan for reducing the number of spiders in the house. Apparently, someone on TV had asserted that by placing conkers outside the front and back door, you can reduce the number of spiders in your house by half.

Me - (Sceptical) "How?"
Mother - "You put the conkers outside the doors and it puts them off. They give off a gas which the spiders don't like."
Me - "So you're saying that spiders only come into the house through the doors?"
Mother - "How else would you get into a house?"
Me - "I'm not the size of a spider."
Mother - "They come in through the cat flap as well."
Me - "I don't think it's going to work."
Mother - "It is working. There are significantly less spiders because they don't like the conkers."
Me - "Maybe you just think that there are less."
Mother - "No, there are less. It's the gas."
Me - "Maybe the conkers are a secret signal known only to spiders not to go into the house. Like hobos with their signs."
Mother - "Maybe it's the spider sign for lady with a hoover."
Me - "Mummy, you shouldn't hoover them up. You should put them outside."
Mother - "But then they just come back in through the door when I'm not looking."
Me - "But I thought the conkers kept them out?"
Mother - "They do. It's the gas."
Me - "I'm not sure conkers give off a gas."
Mother - "They do. An anti spider gas."

I'm not convinced.

Emails from my mother #2

Dear Mary
Russell broke the ceramic sign for the bathroom putting it back on the door. Looking for another on the Internet I found a site selling Acrylic Bongs. I thought you might like to share this thought Love Mummy

I do want to share this thought.

Bewildering email from my mother

My mother has a habit of sending me bewildering emails. I recieved this this morning. I'm not sure what she expects me to do. Lionel was my Siamese cat who died last year. The grey fur friend is a cat who lives next door.

Hallo Mary it has been raining down here with more ethusiasum than discretion but Daddy went out and cut the grass in a dry period and as we have had little rain for two months it was all right. He was very annoyed to find three fat mice eating the potatoes he had put in the Summerhouse. This is in fact his own fault as he did put one large and fat mouse in there which he rescued from under our bed when Lionel let it go. Either this is the same mouse and friends or its decendants. The garden is inhabited by at least four cats and a visiting Kestrel during the day and a whole flock of owls by night so the Summerhouse plus potatoes must seem a natural refuge. Daddy says he likes the mice but hates the way they jump out at him and eat the potatoes. The whole thing sounds like a cross between James Thurber and Beatrice Potter the Night the Bed Fell in on Timmy Willie. I peeled the potatoes and boiled them suggesting Russell provided the mice with toothbrushes and a bowl of water to wash their paws before eating or if he did not want to share to shut your grey fur friend in for a few minutes. If he did this the mice would get up and leave. Any suggestions you have will be gratefully received.
If you would like to meet up this month I could come up on Thursday 19 November as the carpet fitter is coming on 18th and the furniture should be returning sprayed white on 20 November. I can no longer delay doing the ironing I look forward to hearing from you soon Love Mummy

Wat.
I love my mum.

Chapter Three

Here it is. Hoping to average out one a day so tune in tomorrow if you care :)

Chapter Three

For tea out of plastic it was all right. Hot, at least. Lily shivered and curling her hands around the cup, glanced around at the tiny room. Hard blue carpet, peeling cream walls, Formica table; it looked like one of the huts from her old school, except in better nick. Certainly in a better class of nick, Lily thought irreverently, pushing the tea away and resting her chin on her elbows in a pose that would definitely have earned her a telling off from any bizarrely passing teachers. How long had she been here? She wondered if the lack of a clock was to disorientate her or simply to prevent people bitching to The Mail about how long they’d been kept waiting. Not that there was much reason for her to be here.
The most that she could tell them was that a minor celebrity had simply lain down in front of her and slashed his own head off. She hadn’t even really watched much of his stuff. Apart from that ghost hunting show he’d done. That had been OK. Just screaming in the dark really. She felt like she could do a little of that herself.
“Miss Marsh?”
Starting up rather guiltily, she looked up at the man who’d just entered the room, a sheaf of papers clutched in his large hand.
“Yes.”
She’d seen him before. Sweeping into the park like a king in a suit, ducking into the tent before emerging to exchange a few icy words with the polo shirted and hovering forensics. Chucking the papers down onto the table, he paused, smiled rather unexpectedly and held out his hand. Lily shook it, and watched as he folded his bulky frame into the chair opposite. “Good afternoon. I hope we haven’t kept you waiting too long? Do you need another cuppa tea?”
“No. Thanks, I’m fine. Honestly.”
“I’m Chief Inspector Bragg.” He had the tinge of a cockney accent and the wide, darkly uncommunicative face of a barrow boy done good. Late thirties, Lily thought. Probably got a missus and a kid and a mum in Essex somewhere.
“I hear you found the body?”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Recalled, Lily flushed and shifted. “I didn’t exactly find it, if you know what I mean. I was up a tree.”
“Up a tree?” A slightly untrustworthy twinkle came into Bragg’s eye, although his face remained stolidly impersonal. Lily decided that he was actually quite nice in a detached, bleak sort of way. “And what did you see up this tree?”
Lily explained. Bragg nodded, making notes. “And this couple on the towel. To the left. You say they started arguing just after she’d looked over at Mr Fellows make himself comfy. You reckon that was significant?”
“I don’t know. I got the impression they’d maybe had the row quite a lot already.”
Bragg grinned and leant back. “And then this woman walks past.”
“Not near him. She just took her dog off the lead, and walked through everyone, if you see what I mean. The dog went round him - it went to eat something, I think, but she called it back.”
“And what did she look like?”
“ Middle aged - I think. Blonde. Baseball cap. Three quarter length trousers, crocs – she was just like all the women round here.”
“I see.”
“No. No, you don’t.” Suddenly, stupidly, Lily felt herself wavering on the edge of tears. “The only person who went over at all was Patrick, and it – it was only then that – that we saw.”
Bragg reached forward and touched her hand comfortingly, “Hey. Look. You’re in shock. It’s like that. Delayed. You’re cold. Do you want another cup of tea?”
“No. Thank you. It’s just so – confusing.” She swallowed thickly and added with determined, acerbic clarity. “No. Stupid. He couldn’t have done it himself. Not suicide. But no one saw anything.”
Bragg sighed. “That’s pretty much the consensus. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, even you won’t go repeating it, yeah?” Lily nodded. “His throat was cut with a length of razor wire. We found it in the wound.”
“Oh.” Lily swallowed convulsively, feeling rather sick. “That’s not very nice.”
“Yeah, I know. Murder’s never pretty. And I’m not gonna keep you much longer. But this is why we need you to tell us. This Patrick. Had you met him before? Know anything about him?”
“No.”Lily shook her head, blushing. Bragg grinned. “But you were watching him pretty sharp.”
“Not really.”
“He’s a good looking lad. Go on. You can go. I’ve had enough that I can take of your shivering. Like a bloody whippet. Go and put a jumper on.”
Lily emerged into the hall. Bragg followed her, nodding curtly to her then strode off down the corridor, leaving her looking at her friends. Rosette jumped up and hugged her.
“Can we go now?”
“Yes.” She put her friend aside, and looked at Richard who was still sitting on the metal seat, staring at the floor, his knees hunched up to his chest.
“Richard? How did it go? Where’s Patrick?”
Richard shrugged one cross, laconic shoulder. “I can go. But they’re keeping Patrick in for questioning. Probably for a while.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Richard grinned, but mirthlessly. “Because he hated that cunt like fucking poison.”